sat astride their horses and waited for the king’s address. The captain himself had done little in the hour it had taken them to prepare, preferring to sit by and ponder their situation. He didn’t like his orders and he liked the king’s intention to take South Warden even less.
‘Men at the ready, sir,’ stated Theron formally. ‘We ride at your order.’
The young knight of Haran was clean-shaven and had paid an unnecessary amount of attention to his long blonde hair. Fallon stood up from his perch on a barrel beside the horses and reached for his helmet. ‘Make yourself comfortable, lieutenant. King Sebastian tends to go on... and on.’
Theron laughed politely. ‘Very droll, sir.’
‘Shut up,’ responded Fallon without looking at his adjutant. ‘I can have my cock sucked by a whore if I want, I don’t need you to do it.’
Theron stuttered without forming any actual words and looked uncomfortable at his captain’s brand of humour, before deciding to do as he was told and shut up.
Fallon pulled himself into the saddle and adjusted his armour. He had been putting off repairing his breastplate for the last month or so and an annoying dent had developed in his stomach area. The saddle held his round shield and a two-handed sword that he occasionally used. His longsword, the weapon he had used for ten years or more, was sheathed at his side. It had a worn leather band wrapped around the hilt and a simple steel pommel. It was the only thing he was sure to look after. His face could stay unshaven, his cloak lost and his armour dented, but his sword would always be sharp.
‘Knight Captain Fallon.’ The voice was loud and came from Sir Taufel. Tristram’s adjutant was wearing his dress uniform, a pristine tabard and longsword, with a burnished red breastplate. His helm was of polished steel and finished with a high white plume made from the feathers of a dozen doves. ‘Your men are to remain by the eastern gate and to ride when the king gives command.’
Fallon leant casually forward on the pommel of his saddle and raised an eyebrow at Taufel. ‘Are we to be a part of his game, captain? Will his speech rise in a crescendo until he unleashes us eastwards?’
Taufel looked abashed at Fallon’s cynical appraisal. ‘I believe his highness wishes to emphasize his desire to defeat these peasants and lesser men.’ The adjutant used Mobius’s expression for the men of Ranen, and Fallon found himself disliking the term even more. ‘He has decided that you and your unit will have the honour of being his first blow in the campaign.’ His pious formality showed that he bought into the well-practised game of war.
Taufel saluted and marched away, heading towards the command tent on the far side of the courtyard.
‘Is he as naive as he sounds?’ asked Theron, showing more awareness than Fallon had credited him with.
‘You’d know more about naivety than me, lieutenant.’ The response was barbed, and once again Theron did not know how to react. ‘Assemble the men by the eastern gate... let’s do what the little prick says, shall we?’
Theron nodded, forgetting his customary salute, and turned to order Sergeant Ohms and the knights to follow. Slowly, Fallon’s unit of fifty knights of the Red rode across the irregular cobblestones of Ro Hail towards the eastern gate. They were the only mounted men in the courtyard and many eyes followed them. Each was dressed for combat, their travelling packs filled only with the essentials and their personal belongings left behind. They received several half-hearted salutes from men as cynical about their situation as Fallon. By the time they had assembled in front of the gates, most of the knights had been ordered to stand in tight ranks, waiting for the king’s address.
A bugle sounded and the senior knights barked at their men to come to attention. The noise of steel-shod feet echoed through Ro Hail and Fallon had to calm his horse at the sharp sound.
‘Good
‘Men at the ready, sir,’ stated Theron formally. ‘We ride at your order.’
The young knight of Haran was clean-shaven and had paid an unnecessary amount of attention to his long blonde hair. Fallon stood up from his perch on a barrel beside the horses and reached for his helmet. ‘Make yourself comfortable, lieutenant. King Sebastian tends to go on... and on.’
Theron laughed politely. ‘Very droll, sir.’
‘Shut up,’ responded Fallon without looking at his adjutant. ‘I can have my cock sucked by a whore if I want, I don’t need you to do it.’
Theron stuttered without forming any actual words and looked uncomfortable at his captain’s brand of humour, before deciding to do as he was told and shut up.
Fallon pulled himself into the saddle and adjusted his armour. He had been putting off repairing his breastplate for the last month or so and an annoying dent had developed in his stomach area. The saddle held his round shield and a two-handed sword that he occasionally used. His longsword, the weapon he had used for ten years or more, was sheathed at his side. It had a worn leather band wrapped around the hilt and a simple steel pommel. It was the only thing he was sure to look after. His face could stay unshaven, his cloak lost and his armour dented, but his sword would always be sharp.
‘Knight Captain Fallon.’ The voice was loud and came from Sir Taufel. Tristram’s adjutant was wearing his dress uniform, a pristine tabard and longsword, with a burnished red breastplate. His helm was of polished steel and finished with a high white plume made from the feathers of a dozen doves. ‘Your men are to remain by the eastern gate and to ride when the king gives command.’
Fallon leant casually forward on the pommel of his saddle and raised an eyebrow at Taufel. ‘Are we to be a part of his game, captain? Will his speech rise in a crescendo until he unleashes us eastwards?’
Taufel looked abashed at Fallon’s cynical appraisal. ‘I believe his highness wishes to emphasize his desire to defeat these peasants and lesser men.’ The adjutant used Mobius’s expression for the men of Ranen, and Fallon found himself disliking the term even more. ‘He has decided that you and your unit will have the honour of being his first blow in the campaign.’ His pious formality showed that he bought into the well-practised game of war.
Taufel saluted and marched away, heading towards the command tent on the far side of the courtyard.
‘Is he as naive as he sounds?’ asked Theron, showing more awareness than Fallon had credited him with.
‘You’d know more about naivety than me, lieutenant.’ The response was barbed, and once again Theron did not know how to react. ‘Assemble the men by the eastern gate... let’s do what the little prick says, shall we?’
Theron nodded, forgetting his customary salute, and turned to order Sergeant Ohms and the knights to follow. Slowly, Fallon’s unit of fifty knights of the Red rode across the irregular cobblestones of Ro Hail towards the eastern gate. They were the only mounted men in the courtyard and many eyes followed them. Each was dressed for combat, their travelling packs filled only with the essentials and their personal belongings left behind. They received several half-hearted salutes from men as cynical about their situation as Fallon. By the time they had assembled in front of the gates, most of the knights had been ordered to stand in tight ranks, waiting for the king’s address.
A bugle sounded and the senior knights barked at their men to come to attention. The noise of steel-shod feet echoed through Ro Hail and Fallon had to calm his horse at the sharp sound.
‘Good
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