Empire of Ashes

Chapter XIV - Hostile Hospitality

Temris was undaunted. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted across the moat, "I want to speak to your lord."

Fendur waved a large piece of white cloth for good measure. It looked like someone's undershirt. Even in times of war, a truce flag should still mean something to Cambrians. Or not, as the case may be.

"Bugger off, you northern filth," one of the spearmen shouted back. Easy to be brave when you were standing behind a wall, surrounded by friends. I didn't think he would be quite so bold if he was alone and in the open.

Temris turned to frown at us. "How does he know we're northerners?"

"No idea, Tem." I suppressed a laugh. They all had snow-tanned faces and wore strips of animal pelts under northern style armour. They wore no uniforms, and they were all mounted. You could just tell.

He shrugged it off and began 'negotiations' again. I winced a bit. He had a damned loud voice. "Either his lordship appears in the next minute, or I lay waste to the town. How many of you fine gentlemen have wives and children down there?"

Oh. That explained why he needed the town. We had too few men to storm the castle by force, so it made excellent leverage. The same spearman who had shouted sent a tyro scurrying off for the lord. You would think he might already be nearby, since there was a small horde at his gates.

"What will you do if he doesn't want to talk to you?" I asked.

Temris shrugged. "Exactly what I said. I would wager that before I'm halfway back to the village, most of the garrison would mutiny. Do you see the weakness of castles now? They're only as strong as the men defending them, and those men have other priorities."

"Oh, yes, I'm starting to see it," I admitted.

To my amazement, the gates gave a shuddering squeal and began to inch open. Behind them waited nine riders, one of whom carried a truce flag as well. Temris threw me a triumphant look and grabbed Nightmare's reins. I was going with him? What in the abyss..? I thought we had established that I no longer had a death wish.

Fendur and Bevan flanked the horse as we approached the riders cautiously. It wasn't hard to identify the lord from the eight guards — a tall man in an embroidered jacket. A circlet of gold rested atop carefully-groomed pale hair. Somehow, Temris looked twice as commanding in a plain tunic and without any sort of crown. He had different sort of regality about him.

"You must be the Sierran Dog," the lord observed once we got within spitting distance. Bevan, the proud fool, reached for this weapon. Temris gave him a hard stare, and the youth backed down. "I'd heard you were yapping around my lands."

Temris simply looked bored. "I'm not here to swap insults with you, m'lord."

"Oh, I know. You are here to terrify my peasants and take my castle for the king," he sneered. His eyes skimmed past Temris to land on me, the only girl. "Who's the wench on that fine horse? Some hostage to guarantee your safety?"

"This, right here"—the warlord tapped the sword at his waist— "guarantees my safety. Lyra is simply ... an accomplice, let's say."

The lord nodded but looked unconvinced. "Alright. We will discuss the town. What will it take for you to pack up your troops, tuck your tail between your legs and run off home?"

"You know, the dog metaphor is growing a little dull," Fendur commented dryly.

"And who are you?" he asked coldly.

"An Iyrak. So I suggest you start speaking to the Ragnyr with more respect."

Temris shifted in place. "Fendur?"