Kellanved's Reach

They traced the broad circle of the envelopment, passing encampments, corrals, and tent towns of camp-followers. A few crofters’ huts had been taken over as quarters for the various nobles, but most preferred to erect their large field tents. One such collection displayed the bright orange pennants of the Vorian king, Gareth.

Leaving behind the last of the outlying pickets of the Vor camp, they passed beyond the curve of a Jurdan cantonment that commanded a rise to the north of the keep that contained the main entrance. In the fields and small copses beyond rose the carmine tents of the Crimson Guard bivouac.

Other off-duty soldiers were also passing, curious like them to take in the sight of the legendary company. Haraj, however, did not keep to a respectful distance and instead walked right up to two of the Guard who watched this side of the camp. Gregar followed, reluctant, but still curious.

The pickets on the path, a man and a woman, were accoutred similarly, in mail hauberks, with belted leather trousers and tall crimson-dyed boots. Both were helmetless, for the moment. The woman, very heavy-set, cocked an eye their way in greeting. Gregar, however, wasn’t set at ease – he knew that it was common practice among the company for all to pull regular duties no matter their experience or rank, and so he knew that he could be facing a legendary champion, even Petra.

‘I want to join!’ Haraj announced, and Gregar groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to press a hand to his brow.

The two pickets shared a glance that could only be described as jaded. ‘Is that so?’ the woman drawled. She looked the skinny, spotty, gangly lad up and down. ‘You a fearsome champion of some sort?’

Haraj blushed, hunching self-consciously. ‘No … I’m a talent. A mage.’

The two shared another glance, this time a doubtful one. ‘That so?’ the man said. ‘Why don’t you show me something. Prove it.’

‘All right,’ Haraj answered, and he extended a hand to the woman, who promptly smacked it aside, scowling. Haraj threw both hands up. ‘Just a demonstration.’

The woman eased her stance, though remained wary. ‘A demonstration,’ she repeated, a hard edge to her voice. ‘Fine.’

The lad slowly reached out and somehow the woman’s weapon-belt promptly fell to her feet. The two guards, as well as Haraj and Gregar, remained in shocked silence until the male mercenary sent up a loud laugh. ‘That lad’s gotten into your pants faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, Petra.’

Fener’s tusks! This was

Petra, one of the most fearsome of the Guard!

The woman’s lips compressed into a tight white line and she reached out to grasp Haraj. ‘C’m’ere, you little shit. I’ll show you a trick …’ But somehow he evaded her hand, twisting side to side. Snarling, she sent a backhanded cuff his way, and missed. Finally, her face reddening, she reached down for one of the maces at her feet.

The guardsman stepped out in front of her. ‘Whoa there, lass. Who’s on duty now for this?’

‘Red,’ Petra growled, adjusting her belt.

‘Then why don’t you get him so we can sort this out?’

The woman sent Haraj a dark look, but nodded. ‘Fine. We’ll sort this out all right.’ She stomped off.

The fellow turned to them, shaking his head. ‘Lookin’ to have your face caved in there, lad?’

‘But you asked for a demonstration …’

The guard raised a hand for silence. ‘Just show some judgement, will you?’ He looked at Gregar. ‘And what about you?’

Gregar motioned to Haraj. ‘Tryin’ to keep him alive.’

The guard grunted his understanding. ‘Looks like you’ve had your work cut out for you.’

After a short time Petra returned with a slim, unimpressive-looking fellow in loose, faded red trousers and shirtings, who despite his name did not have red hair, but instead a scruffy dark beard and equally scruffy dark curly hair. ‘This the one?’ he asked Petra.

‘That’s the one.’

Red looked Haraj up and down. ‘Yeah. He’s a talent all right.’

‘Dammit,’ Petra grunted beneath her breath.

Haraj raised a hand to the newcomer. ‘A word, if I may?’

‘Watch your trousers, Red,’ Petra warned. Haraj and the Guard mage spoke briefly, Red eyeing Gregar a few times before he nodded and waved Gregar over. ‘Let’s go talk to the boss.’

Gregar pointed to himself. ‘Me?’

‘Yeah – you can come along.’

Hunh. Well, what d’ya know? I’m gonna get a first-hand look at the Guard. He followed, very curious now – if not a touch envious of his friend.

Red led them into the sprawling encampment, past tents and horses being fed and brushed. The men and women of the Guard lounged about, most in the quilted and padded long shirts worn beneath armour that some named aketons, or haubergeons. Gregar struggled to put names to faces; two fellows sitting together looked quite similar and so he imagined they might be the famed Brothers Black, the Lesser and the Greater. A broad-shouldered woman sitting and having her hair curry-combed for lice might be Urdael of the two swords.