the pile of horse-shit he was witnessing. All around him he saw true fighting men with expressions ranging from confusion to anger. Whatever these men were, they were not simple, and to see an idiot like Jakan given command of so many men was distasteful to warriors of the One.
‘Sir Fallon of Leith,’ said the king in his cracked voice.
Fallon composed himself quickly and motioned his unit to follow. In formation, they rode across the cobbles towards the command platform and the eastern gate. ‘My king,’ said the knight captain.
‘I unleash you as my first stroke in our war... ride now, my knight, ride for your king, for your God and for Tor Funweir.’
The Purple clerics banged their fists against their steel breastplates in a rhythmic accompaniment to the king’s words. Fallon’s salute was less than enthusiastic, but he saluted nonetheless.
‘Sir Theron, we ride east,’ he barked to his adjutant, before turning to see the eastern gates opened by bound men. He kicked the flanks of his horse and Knight Captain Fallon of Leith and his fifty knights of the Red rode in formation out of Ro Hail towards the realm of Scarlet.
* * *
Once out of sight of the ruined town, Fallon ordered his unit to slow down and within a few hours they were trotting leisurely across the featureless plains.
He had heard a certain amount of muttering among his men, mostly questioning the way the king had spoken or poking fun at Mobius and the other Purple clerics, but none of it was particularly insulting and Fallon decided to let it pass. Besides, he found himself agreeing with virtually every whispered word of dissent and a few of the comments even made him smile as he rode at the head of the column.
The main object of humour was the time the king had spent with the Fjorlanders, and what precisely they had done to him. Ohms joked that he’d been raped by a sweaty axe-man, while others suggested he’d been forced to bend the knee to Rowanoco. Fallon, however, was of the opinion that King Sebastian Tiris had been losing his mind well before his encounter with the men and women of the north. Also, he couldn’t fully reconcile the honour the Fjorlanders had shown in releasing the king when they said they would, with the barbaric image he had been trained to associate with them. He didn’t believe the same courtesy would have been shown if the army of Red knights had managed to capture a thain of theirs.
As the land began to look the same as far as the eye could see and the rain started to fall from the grey sky of Wraith, Theron of Haran rode to the front of the column and fell in beside his captain.
‘Would you mind if we spoke for a time, sir?’ he asked.
‘What would you like to speak about?’ Fallon himself found it infuriating when someone answered a question with a question, but he wasn’t really in the mood to talk.
‘When I was a boy in Ro Haran I heard a story about you from General Alexander Tiris... I just wanted to know if it was true.’ The young knight had a way of occasionally slipping into conversation the fact that he had served under Xander.
‘What was the story?’ asked the captain, prepared to humour his adjutant for the time being.
‘You were called the Grey Knight for a time in Ro Arnon... is that true?’ asked Theron.
Fallon smiled to himself. He’d not heard that story for a long time and had almost forgotten his old nickname. ‘Yes, it’s true. I’ve not been called that for a long time, though... I expect you want to know why?’
‘The rumour was that you killed a Purple cleric and got away with it,’ said the knight of Haran, unsure if he would cause offence.
‘That’s the general thrust of the encounter, yes, though, as with everything, there are nuances. It was a fair fight. I didn’t jump him in an alley or anything.’ Fallon dimly recalled the encounter. He could have been no more than eighteen at the time. ‘Neither of us were where we were supposed to be, and neither
‘Sir Fallon of Leith,’ said the king in his cracked voice.
Fallon composed himself quickly and motioned his unit to follow. In formation, they rode across the cobbles towards the command platform and the eastern gate. ‘My king,’ said the knight captain.
‘I unleash you as my first stroke in our war... ride now, my knight, ride for your king, for your God and for Tor Funweir.’
The Purple clerics banged their fists against their steel breastplates in a rhythmic accompaniment to the king’s words. Fallon’s salute was less than enthusiastic, but he saluted nonetheless.
‘Sir Theron, we ride east,’ he barked to his adjutant, before turning to see the eastern gates opened by bound men. He kicked the flanks of his horse and Knight Captain Fallon of Leith and his fifty knights of the Red rode in formation out of Ro Hail towards the realm of Scarlet.
* * *
Once out of sight of the ruined town, Fallon ordered his unit to slow down and within a few hours they were trotting leisurely across the featureless plains.
He had heard a certain amount of muttering among his men, mostly questioning the way the king had spoken or poking fun at Mobius and the other Purple clerics, but none of it was particularly insulting and Fallon decided to let it pass. Besides, he found himself agreeing with virtually every whispered word of dissent and a few of the comments even made him smile as he rode at the head of the column.
The main object of humour was the time the king had spent with the Fjorlanders, and what precisely they had done to him. Ohms joked that he’d been raped by a sweaty axe-man, while others suggested he’d been forced to bend the knee to Rowanoco. Fallon, however, was of the opinion that King Sebastian Tiris had been losing his mind well before his encounter with the men and women of the north. Also, he couldn’t fully reconcile the honour the Fjorlanders had shown in releasing the king when they said they would, with the barbaric image he had been trained to associate with them. He didn’t believe the same courtesy would have been shown if the army of Red knights had managed to capture a thain of theirs.
As the land began to look the same as far as the eye could see and the rain started to fall from the grey sky of Wraith, Theron of Haran rode to the front of the column and fell in beside his captain.
‘Would you mind if we spoke for a time, sir?’ he asked.
‘What would you like to speak about?’ Fallon himself found it infuriating when someone answered a question with a question, but he wasn’t really in the mood to talk.
‘When I was a boy in Ro Haran I heard a story about you from General Alexander Tiris... I just wanted to know if it was true.’ The young knight had a way of occasionally slipping into conversation the fact that he had served under Xander.
‘What was the story?’ asked the captain, prepared to humour his adjutant for the time being.
‘You were called the Grey Knight for a time in Ro Arnon... is that true?’ asked Theron.
Fallon smiled to himself. He’d not heard that story for a long time and had almost forgotten his old nickname. ‘Yes, it’s true. I’ve not been called that for a long time, though... I expect you want to know why?’
‘The rumour was that you killed a Purple cleric and got away with it,’ said the knight of Haran, unsure if he would cause offence.
‘That’s the general thrust of the encounter, yes, though, as with everything, there are nuances. It was a fair fight. I didn’t jump him in an alley or anything.’ Fallon dimly recalled the encounter. He could have been no more than eighteen at the time. ‘Neither of us were where we were supposed to be, and neither
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