Kellanved's Reach

The one who had shield-bashed him now came on, thrusting and jabbing with the point of his sword – he’d obviously been watching and learning. Gregar gave ground, circling.

Capricious Oponn’s luck was with Gregar then, as the fellow tripped on something: a hole, or a tangle of grasses. Gregar was immediately inside his guard, thrusting in over the shield to strike the neck and push inwards, feeling the muscle, the frail bones and ligaments parting and giving.

The man fell gurgling and clutching at his neck.

Gregar pulled back, turning in a full circle. He now faced a ring of infantry.

Strangely then, though the sky was completely clear, approaching thunder sounded, turning everyone’s head.

Two cavalrymen crashed into the ring of troopers.

They swung down at the soldiery, hacking from side to side. One heaved his mount to the left, the other to the right. Immediately, Gregar was forgotten. All the Grisians closed on the mounted fighters.

The newcomers fought with astonishing speed and ruthlessness. One threw himself from his mount even while still moving; he bore a tall spear that he whipped about, slashing. A banner rippled close to its broad leaf-shaped tip. The other remained mounted, hacking with two swords in elegant figure-eight motions. Even the mounts fought, lashing out to crush chests.

Gregar stared, stunned. Each rider wore an ankle-length tabard of a red so dark as to be near black. Sinuous down the front and back writhed a long silver dragon sigil. Their mounts’ livery shared this dark blood-red field and sigil.

The Crimson Guard.

The two finished off the Grisian infantry with brutal efficiency. Then the spear-bearer turned to regard Gregar, planting the long weapon. Haraj came staggering out of the brush then, attracting everyone’s attention; the lad tripped over a torn bloody body, took one look, then promptly vomited, heaving and gagging in misery.

The two Crimson guardsmen exchanged arched looks. The spear-bearer inclined his head to Gregar in salute and remounted, while Haraj waved an arm, wiping the spume from his mouth. ‘Wait! Wait! We want to join the Guard!’

The two shared amused smiles. ‘Sorry,’ answered the spearman. ‘Our roster is full right now.’

‘No!’ Haraj insisted. ‘You don’t understand …’

The spearman pointed north. ‘There are refugees in the Coastal Range. Outlaws too. They’ll take you.’ The two kneed their mounts and thundered off.

‘No, wait!’ Haraj called after them, but he let his arms fall. ‘Dammit.’

‘I don’t think we made much of an impression,’ Gregar offered.

‘I’ll make an impression,’ Haraj practically snarled. ‘What now? I’m famished and cold and wet.’

Gregar waved to the bodies. ‘This lot must have something. Search them. And quickly, before more show up.’

Haraj recoiled. He shuddered and hugged himself. ‘Must we?’

‘If you want food and water. Myself, I might try to find some armour that fits.’

After rifling through all the bodies they came up with a few pouches of dried meat and wrapped boiled barley and assorted light weapons, and Gregar had selected a coat of mail that he believed might fit.

‘Now what?’ Haraj asked, burdened by seven skins of water thrown over a shoulder. ‘Which way?’

Gregar had to smile. He motioned to the twinned deep sets of hoofprints.

They set off running as best they could.

*   *   *

The hamlet on the south shore of the river Idryn was so small it didn’t even have a formal name. The locals Dancer had asked directions from just called it ‘the town’, and pointed them onward.

No formal roads. Just mud paths between a few wattle and daub mud houses, sod-roofed. Fish dried on racks while a handful of sheep watched them nervously from a pen.

He and Kellanved walked down to the muddy waterfront and peered around. Dancer eyed the mage, who raised his chin to indicate the distant shore. ‘North – and west.’

Dancer grunted. This news eased his general ill-temper a touch. He did not like this errand much. Not much at all. Just a few lazy days’ journey east down the Idryn lay Li Heng. He did not want to see that city again.

Children played along the shore and Kellanved approached them. ‘We’re looking for a boat,’ he called.

The mud-smeared pack halted in their game of capturing frogs to gape at them. ‘Who’re you?’ one demanded.

‘A traveller. Now, do any of you know—’

‘You talk funny.’

‘So do you. Now, a boat, yes?’

‘No we don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’ Kellanved asked.

‘Talk funny. We talk normal-like.’

Kellanved opened his arms. ‘Well, it’s all a matter of perspective. Different peoples—’

Dancer held out a single Hengan silver round. ‘This goes to whoever can bring us a boatman.’

The children took off as a mass, straight down the shore. Dancer raised a brow to Kellanved, who huffed and rolled his eyes.

Moments later the gang returned with a stooped elderly man whom they alternately cajoled and pulled. Once they neared, the children abandoned him to mob Dancer.

‘I found him! Me!’ they all shouted at once.