The Red Knight

In the morning, the captain left a silver penny and they were away with the sun, full to bursting with fresh yogurt and honey and walnuts.

They rode higher and higher into the hills, and passed a pair of heavy wagons loaded to the tall seat with whole, straight trees – oak, maple, and walnuts, trunks bigger around than a tall man might reach, and straight as giant arrow-shafts. The wagoners allowed as there were lumbermen working in the vales.

Gawin sneered. ‘It must be all they can do to move these monsters.’

The wagoners shrugged. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

Ser Alcaeus waited until they were past. ‘They float the larger logs on the water.’

The Keeper nodded grimly. ‘That’s what happened to my bridge.’ He led them down into the dale and they found the foresters hard at work – not local men, but easterners.

They had cut a swath through the dale, and a dam on the big stream that fed the Irkill. The leader of the woodsman stood in the new clearing, obvious in his long cloak. He had a heavy axe in his hand, gull winged and long hafted, and his wood-cutters were tall and strong, with long beards.

The Keeper rode up to him. ‘Good day to you,’ he said.

The man nodded. His eyes were wary. He watched the troop of horsemen – more armoured power than anyone liked to see, especially far from home.

‘What can I do for you?’ he said. His accent was thick.

The Keeper smiled pleasantly enough. ‘Pack and leave. Let the water off your dam slowly.’

The woodsman’s eyes widened and then narrowed. ‘Who are you, then?’

His men were gathering, and horns were blowing.

The Keeper didn’t touch his weapons. ‘I’m the Keeper of Dorling,’ he said. ‘You owe me the cost of a bridge, and more. No one logs these dales without my leave – and the time to cut was early spring, when the last snow lies on the ground.’

The captain swatted a black fly.

The woodsman frowned. ‘The woods are any man’s, or no man’s. This is Wild Land.’

‘No. These Hills are in the Circle of the Wyrm,’ the Keeper said.

The woodsmen began to gather. Many had spears, and every man had an axe. They were forming.

Gawin dismounted and, as fast as a dancer, remounted on his war horse. He drew his great sword.

The Keeper raised his hand. ‘Peace, ser knight.’ He looked back at them. ‘No need for arms.’

‘You have wisdom, old man,’ called the leader of the woodsmen.

‘You have been warned,’ said the Keeper.

The woodsman spat. ‘I laugh at your warning. What business is it of yours? And if one of your bridges is swept away by my logs-’ He shrugged. ‘There is wood everywhere. Build another.’

The Keeper looked around at the crowd of woodsmen. ‘If you remain here, every one of you will die,’ he said.

They looked unimpressed.

The Keeper wheeled his horse. ‘Let’s ride,’ he said.

The Keeper led the way, and they rode at a trot until they were out of the dale and up the next green ridge.

‘I feel as if I just ran away,’ Gawin said.

The captain grimaced. ‘Me, too.’

The Keeper turned in the saddle. ‘If the Wyrm is of a mind, he’ll kill them all for this, and us, too, by association.’

That night, for the first time, they camped. There was little grass for the horses, and they had to put nosebags on them and use the oats that the pack animals carried. Mag watched Gawin start dinner and then pushed him out of the way.

‘By the good and sweet Christ,’ she said. ‘At least use a clean knife.’

Alcaeus laughed and took the cook knives to the stream and washed them, scouring them with sand.

The Keeper rode out with the hillmen and came back with two big turkeys.

Gawin greeted them with a pair of big trout. ‘I take it there’s not much in the way of angling in these parts,’ he said. ‘Glad I brought a line.’

Mag looked at the birds and the fish. ‘What you catch, you clean,’ she said. ‘I’m a cook, not a servant.’

That made the captain laugh. He’d spent the late afternoon building a shelter and digging her a fire pit and now he helped clean the fish with a good grace. They drank the last of the wine by firelight.

‘Tomorrow,’ said the Keeper.

They rode with the dawn.

The next range of hills was bare of trees, as if a horde of sheep had clipped them clean – green grass rippled in the wind like a green sea, and the hills rolled away like a greater sea – from the height of their ridge, they could see twenty more ridges spread out like pleats in green wool.

Mag raised a hand. ‘Is that an eagle?’ she asked.

Far to the north-east, a great bird rode the air over the hills.

The Keeper looked under his hand.

The captain looked too. The great creature was farther away than he had imagined, and he looked and looked until he appreciated what he was seeing, and then his heart beat in pure fear.

‘Good Christ,’ said Mag.

‘My God,’ said Gawin.

‘That’s the Wyrm of Erch,’ said the Keeper.

It was flying. It was larger than a castle, and it was flying over the hills to the north. Even as they watched, the titanic dragon turned – for a moment its immense and spiky tail was clearly silhouetted against the northern sky, and its huge wings swept out on either side.