Prince of Thorns

“He looks dead to me,” Makin said.

“Broke his neck, I think. But that’s not the point. The point is that they know they’re not getting him back in one piece, so they’ll be looking to their own escape. There’s no going back to Kennick for those lads now. No welcome in The Haunt either. They’ll know Renar won’t want any part of this.”

“So what now?”

“We get him off the road. That beer wagon is going to come by here in a few minutes.” I threw a look down the road. “Hitch him to his horse. We’ll drag him into the wheat field.”

We took the armour off him in the gloom, amongst the wheat still wet from the day’s rain. It stunk a bit—Alain had soiled himself in death—but it was a good fit for me, if a bit roomy around the waist.

“What do you think?” I stepped back for Makin to admire me.

“Can’t see a damn thing.”

“I look good, trust me.” I half-drew Alain’s sword, then slammed it back into its scabbard. “I think I’ll give the jousts a miss.”

“Very wise.”

“The Grand Mêlée is more me. And the winner gets his prize from Count Renar himself!”

“That’s not a plan. That’s a way to get a death so famously stupid that they’ll be laughing about it in alehouses for a hundred years to come,” Makin said.

I started to clank back toward the road, leading Alain’s horse.

“You’re right, Makin, but I’m running out of options here.”

“We could hit the road again. Get a little gold together, get some more, enough to make lives somewhere they’ve never heard of Ancrath.” I could see a longing in his eyes. Part of him really meant it.

I grinned. “I may be running out of options, but running out isn’t an option. Not for me.”

We rode toward The Haunt. Slowly. I didn’t want to visit the tourney field yet. We had no tent to pitch, and the Kennick colours would inevitably draw me deeper into the charade than my acting skills could support.

As we came out of the farmland into the sprawl of houses reaching from the castle walls, a hedge-knight caught up with us and pulled up.

“Well met, sir . . . ?” He sounded out of breath.

“Alain of Kennick,” I supplied.

“Kennick? I thought . . .”

“We have an alliance now, Renar and Kennick are the best of friends these days.”

“Good to hear. A man needs friends in times like these,” the knight said. “Sir Keldon, by the way. I’m here for the lists. Count Renar places generous purses where a good lance can reach them.”

“So I hear,” I said.

Sir Keldon fell in beside us. “I’m pleased to be off the plains,” he said. “They’re lousy with Ancrath scouts.”

“Ancrath?” Makin failed to keep the alarm from his voice.

“You haven’t heard?” Sir Keldon glanced back into the night. “They say King Olidan is massing his armies. Nobody’s sure where he’ll strike, but he’s sent the Forest Watch into action. Most of them are back there if I know anything!” He stabbed a gauntleted finger over his shoulder. “And you know what that meant for Gelleth!” He drew the finger across his throat.

We reached the crossroads at the town centre. Sir Keldon turned his horse to the left. “You’re to the Field?”

“No, we’ve to pay our respects.” I nodded toward The Haunt. “Good luck on the morrow.”

“My thanks.”

We watched him go.

I turned Alain’s horse back toward the plains.

“I thought we were going to pay our respects?” Makin asked.

“We are,” I said.

I kicked my steed into a trot. “To Watch Master Coddin.”





45




I like mountains, always have done. Big obstinate bits of rock sticking up where they’re not wanted and getting in folk’s way. Great. Climbing them is a different matter altogether though. I hate that.

“What in feck’s name was the point of stealing a horse if I have to drag the damn thing up the slightest incline we meet?”

“To be fair, Prince, this is more by way of a cliff,” Makin said.

“I blame Sir Alain for owning a deficient horse. I should have kept the nag I came in on.”

Nothing but the labour of Makin’s breath.

“I’m going to have to see Baron Kennick about that boy of his one day,” I said.

At that point a stone turned under my foot and I fell in a clatter of what little armour I’d kept on.

“Easy now, you’ve three bows on each of you.” The voice came from further up the slope where the moonlight made little sense of the jumbled rock.

Makin straightened up slow and easy, leaving me to find my own way to my feet.

“Sounds like a good Ancrath man to me,” I said, loud enough for any on the slopes. “If you’re going to shoot anyone, might I suggest this horse here, he’s a better target and a lazy bastard to boot.”

“Lay your swords down.”

“We’ve only got one between us,” I said. “And I’m not inclined to lose it. So let’s forget about that now and you can take us to see the Watch Master.”