Chapter 12
"Good friends are sympathetic, close friends give valuable advice. But the best kind of friends are those who are useful in times of need."
- Troy Franklin, 14 Decem, 1787 AC
The arrival of Marke and Ygretta Deumar with their twenty or so Archers and retainers ignited a celebration unlike anything the Redtails had ever dared. It seemed to Aidan that the bandits were actually celebrating the arrival of the Deumar food supply: salted pork, soft cheese, and fresh grapes and dates. And of course, the mead.
"Drink with me, Aidan," Charlene had said, handing him a flagon filled to the brim with honey-scented refreshment. "I need to know that I can trust you."
"Trust me?" He peered into his flagon and took a deep breath of its honeyed smell. "Some kind of divination?"
"No superstition. I don't trust any man I can't outdrink." She laughed, and Aidan felt his heart warmed by the sound, like a flock of birds taking flight in his soul. They clinked their cups, tipping a bit onto the ground to honor the forest gods, and drank deeply of the sweet and bitter mead. It filled Aidan with warm joy.
A minstrel who had been attending their family had decided to travel with them, Marke explained, and in no time at all was plucking and strumming at his lute and a dance had begun. The Redtails joined in singing the old, good songs that told tales of Caledonia's storied past. Some even re-enacted famous duels and battles, breaking branches from the surrounding trees as mock swords. Aidan saw the heretic shaking his head at the duel between Martin Baxter and Jeremiah Littlecreek.
"Not to your taste, Windhill?" Aidan clapped him on the shoulder, and the man shrugged.
"Not how it happened, is all."
"Well," Aidan took a sip from his flagon, then wiped away the foam that stuck to his mouth a little, "they say Baxter used a long sword, and that fellow just has an oak branch, but we have to keep safety in mind, eh?"
Windhill shook his head. "He definitely didn't use a long sword. The only claymores the Saukasi brought were the kind that explode when you step on them."
Aidan tilted his head, curious what the heretic meant by this. Swords that explode when you step on them? He shrugged, his head already growing cloudy with what everyone referred to as mead's mist.
"Have you ever noticed, Sir Aidan," the heretic continued, "how some House Crests have strange axes on them that are lumpy toward the middle?"
"I, uh, suppose ..." Aidan scratched the back of his neck, looking for an excuse to escape this conversation.
"Thing is, those didn't used to be axes. Their original design was-"
"Aidan, come dance with me!" Ygretta grabbed his hand, and he handed his flagon to Windhill, nearly spilling it on the man in his rush. Ygretta was red faced and laughing, cackling with glee every time they accidentally bumped into another couple. Behind her happy, drunken smile lay a deep, abiding worry, and Aidan wondered at its cause.
"Thank you," he said, in a moment when they came close together.
"For joining in your folly?" Ygretta jibed, her breath reeking of mead and strawberries.
"For getting me out of that conversation. The man's likely to be useful, but gods is he a bore!"
She laughed, and Aidan saw it again as the laughter receded - a sadness behind the grins and laughter. Seeing his inquisitive look, she just shook her head. "If you want serious, talk with my brother."
She pointed and then released him, trotting to a man seated near the edge of what had become the dance floor and grabbing his hand. They whirled and laughed together, and Aidan shook his head a little to see them. Ygretta in a fine dress, brown with gold and pink accents around the hems, dancing with a man in a doublet with moth-eaten holes and threading itself bare at the wrists, neck, and belly. Her fine hair swished and whisped, every strand perfectly spaced as she spun, while her partner's hair was matted so firmly to his head that from a distance he appeared to be wearing a cap.
"Sun and moon to see you," Aidan brought Marke a tankard full of frothy mead as his friend brooded while tending to his horse. "Truly, thank you for coming."
Marke took the tankard but set it on a nearby stump. He brushed his horse's mane as though in a trance. "Meadows arrested my father."
Aidan bowed his head, his arms shaking with the urge to hit something as his heart filled with icy despair. Marke turned, and Aidan saw that his eyes were red from shedding tears, his face suddenly appearing ten years older. "I'm sorry, Marke."
"A week. He's been in the Deputy's custody for a week now."
"What possible pretense could he have to-"
"One of the Guards who was present at your rescue claimed that the bandits who saved your skin were wearing our Crest on their livery. The Deputy is investigating, and only holding Father as a precautionary measure."
"Marke, I ... I'm so sorry."
"Meadows' Herald told us that father would be treated kindly as long as we remained loyal to him." Marke sounded helpless, and Aidan knew the feeling. "We appealed to the King only to be told that it was a matter for the Deputy and that Royal intervention was unwarranted."
"This pissing contest between the King and his Deputy is getting out of control. Treating people like godsdamned Kahess pieces." His mind wandered suddenly to the vision he'd had the first night of his return, lying wounded and nearly dying in the hollow of the conjoined trees. Kahess pieces bleeding and crying out in death throes, the mock battlefield turned real. It's a matter of time, really.
The celebrations lasted long into the night, and Aidan saw the Redtails at their most unhinged. A few brawls broke out, but nothing serious. Mostly everyone just drank and danced until they slept where they had fallen, Aidan finding himself sitting against a large stump as he awoke. It took less than a heartbeat for his head to feel like it was splitting itself open.
Charlene skipped over and handed him some hot coffee in a thick ceramic cup covered in swirled designs of green and gold. He took a drink, the frigid air already cooling it enough to be just shy of scalding. It was black and bitter, and he made a face after the first drink, which set Charlene to a twittering laughter that sounded to Aidan like some kind of cruel bird.
"This helps?"
"So they say. Remember how you got here?"
"Can't say that I do." Aidan looked at his surroundings, recognizing the part of camp where they were, but having no memory of sitting against the stump or deciding to fall asleep.
"That's how you know it was a good feast, so they say."
He laughed, then grabbed his head as it pulsated with pain and heat. This set Charlene to laugh even more, then skip back to the mess tent and fetch more mugs of the black potion for the other victims of overdrinking already waking with moans all around him.
That day marked the first snowfall; winter had begun. Men and women exchanged their tunics and doublets for woolen smallshirts and fur-lined cloaks, their breeches for thick woolen kilts that stretched to their ankles and knee-high furred boots with rounded oversized soles that helped when walking in the snow. All of their winter clothing was white, brown, or green to allow for concealment in case they ran into a posse on the daily hunting forays. Men and women hunted in small groups of no more than three, lest they scare away the animals with too many tromping boots.
The day after the great feast at the arrival of the Deumars, the same day the snow began to coat the forest with its white frosty blankets, Aidan erected a large, circular denim tent that the Redtails had confiscated from one of their final raids of the fall. Top to bottom, it was covered with thick stripes of green and dark brown, clearly meant for a Noble hunting party who would pitch the structure in the woods as they rode about fletching deer from horseback.
Charlene came to help, staking the cords that held the roof and stretching the fabric tight over its collapsible wood-and-metal frame. Aidan thanked her, and she pecked his cheek. "And who will live in this great Keep?"
"It will be our command tent. Any time we need to make a plan or work our heads around a problem,
we'll meet here."
"We?" She raised an eyebrow and fiddled with her quarterstaff, spinning its head so that it almost looked as though it were topped with an open-topped circle instead of its well-defined crescent shape.
"We're not bandits any more, Charlene." His heart was heavy at the admission, and at the same time thrilled at the change. "We're an army now, and an army has rank, chain of command. Generals and Lieutenants."
"And who will be the generals of our little army?"
"You, for one."
"Obviously," she smiled and pulled the wall fabric down over where it made a corner around a post, removing the wrinkle that had formed and stretching it so that it stood smooth. She added sarcastically, "You'd be a fool to waste my talent."
"I would be. The Redtails have followed you for four years." He gave her his most devious smile and continued, "You must have done something right."
She hit him, but smiled playfully. "And who shall be joining me on the war council?"
"Marke and Ygretta."
"Hm." She pursed her lips, clearly disapproving, but shrugged. "I'm sure our people will get used to them, in time."
"And what does that mean?"
"They just arrived yesterday, and yet you mean to put them in charge?"
"They're both experienced fighters; Ygretta is a whirlwind with a blade and some plate." Charlene bit her lip, unconvinced, and Aidan pressed harder. "Plus, they can give insight into the minds of our enemies."
"Because they are also Knights?"
"Yes. They can help our fellows know what to expect on the field."
She bobbed her head back and forth as though considering these factors. Finally she nodded, only slightly, her approval. "I can make it work. It's me who's going to get the questions, you know."
"'The old order never really dies, it just changes hands periodically.'"
"Hm!" Charlene sounded impressed. "Read that in the little book you were carrying the other day?"
"My father's words, actually."
"He sounds wise."
Aidan nodded, forbidding himself from indulging the feelings that now welled up in his chest. He decided he should visit Nadya later, share stories of his family now long gone. It will help me focus for the long days ahead.
"Anyone else in our little club?" Charlene's words knocked him out of his daydream, and he cleared his throat.
"Connel and Rodrig. And that is all; six of us to command the army of Redtails."
She nodded, then added hesitantly, "Erick's going to feel slighted."
"He's a dangerous malcontent who is only barely effective enough to justify his continued presence as it is." She surprised him by bringing him up, considering the big man's actions the day they had ambushed Lord Hauser. "Do you really think I ought to give him a position of power?"
"I didn't say that." She glared at him, her usual easy humor now gone from her furrowed brow. "I'm just telling you what you can expect. He'll want a promotion, to be sure, and he has enough friends who will likely agree with him to make for a problem."
"Every problem has a solution." Aidan said, peering around camp for the War Council members. Charlene was silent for a long time, and he glanced to his side to make sure she hadn't left. She was staring at him, eyes wide in surprise.
"Are we talking about a permanent solution?" she whispered, looking about as she uttered the words to ensure they remained private.
Aidan laughed, unable to control himself. "No, no. Nothing like that. I simply meant we'd send him away."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "You had me worried, you giant buffoon. Erick may be a pain in our ass, but he's still one of us. I'd turn on you in a second if you proposed we murder one of our own for the sake of convenience."
"That would undermine my cause a little." He grinned, and they shared a quiet, happy moment. He saw Rodrig and Connel helping unstick the wheels of one of the carts that arrived with the Deumars from some thick, snowy mud. He waved them to approach, and they apologized to the men they were helping and marched straight over.
Marke was strolling around with a small, steamy mug in his hands, surveying the operation and examining the various workings of the bandit camp. No sooner had Charlene offered to go get his attention herself than he looked up as if he knew they were talking about him. Ygretta was fencing with a few lads with wooden swords called wasters. Marke noticed Aidan trying to get her attention and pulled at her sleeve. After a few words, the siblings approached the command tent in silence.
"Each of us will have charge over a different aspect of camp life," Aidan explained once they were all within the tent and sitting comfortably. "Charlene, you will serve as Herald, ensuring communication between myself and the troops."
"As long as you don't make me wear a ridiculous white livery, I'm sure I'll do just fine."
The group shared a nervous laugh, and Aidan was glad of his choice. Charlene's humor was as disarming as it was witty, and she had the ability to make a person feel both listened to and valued, even when she poked fun at their manhood.
"Marke, you've always had a talent for figures." Aidan spoke with solemn respect as he addressed his friend, seeing the worry and fear that still covered his face. "Would you be willing to act as Steward, keeping good charge of our resources?"
"If that is where you think I am most needed," he said, taking a deep swig of his coffee. "then by all means, hand me the ledger."
"And what did you have in mind for me?" Ygretta asked, twirling her waster as its tip burrowed into the soil at their feet.
"Since you seem to have taken it upon yourself," Aidan said, smiling in a way he hoped was reassuring, "I'd like you to train the troops for battle."
She blinked a few times, looking at each face in the room as though trying to discern whether she was the butt of some terrible joke. "Will they take instruction from a woman?"
"Let me assure you, My Lady," Charlene said, using the same mocking tones she often used with Aidan, "if they refuse to take instruction from you, it won't be because you were born without a penis."
Rodrig scoffed and looked sheepish as Aidan glared a warning. He turned to Ygretta. "Be confident and take comments in stride. If anyone gives you real trouble, bring them to me."
She still looked suspicious, but a smile began to spread over her face as though she couldn't believe this was actually happening. "If anyone gives me trouble, they'd better run to you for protection."
Aidan nodded and smiled. "Indeed. Connel, I'd like for you to help the heretic with any supplies he needs to fix the armor. The more of us who can wear Kannitick suits, the better we'll fare in the days to come."
Connel nodded, keeping typically silent. That left only his old scraggly-haired horse master, who looked at Aidan and smiled as though eager to know his part in the venture. "Rodrig, you are in charge of security. Manage the sentries and rotations, keep us safe from ambush and unpleasant surprises."
"Suits me," he said, nodding and smiling in satisfaction.
They assembled every Redtail, along with the Deumar retainers, and explained the new system to them. Charlene did well fielding questions, and Aidan was happy to see that she was a good fit for being his Herald to this band. Erick and his band of followers remained silent at the meeting; the big man glowered at Aidan during the announcements but said nothing. The week progressed without incident apart from Ygretta and Rodrig needing to sort out their schedules so that someone wasn't expected to be walking perimeter at the same time they were required to attend the daily training. During that week, Aidan worked on their battlefield organization, and after some input from the rest of the War Council he decided on a model that was a hybrid of the organization of the Neo-Feudalist armies in the Heavens and held some similarity to the traditional order of battle given by Caledonian Nobles.
They divided the entire band into three large divisions, around seventy in each group. In those divisions they designated Sergeants to have charge over about fifteen Soldiers apiece, assigning troo
ps to those smaller platoons so that they would each have a balance of all-around fighters and specialists. It was a careful balance that had to be redone mere days after they informed their band. Thinking to mollify Erick, as well as put him in a position of direct accountability to Aidan, they awarded him a Sergeanthood.
"I want a division," Erick said, coming to Aidan in private just before dinner the day they announced the assignments, "or else me and the lads walk."
Erick's 'lads' were about twenty men who followed him and hung on his every word, no doubt drawn to his strength and ruthless cunning in a fight. Erick had learned Armor-fighting from Aidan with particular glee, and the men said he giggled whenever he stuck a dagger through a weak point to kill a Knight. Aidan didn't doubt it; Erick was nothing if not bloodthirsty and savage.
"Prove yourself on the field first." Aidan wouldn't shed any tears seeing the oversized lout leaving their group, but didn't want other unhappy groups getting the wrong idea.
"No. I've been a Redtail for ten years, since before Her Highness even joined, much less was elected." His eyes looked dangerous, and Aidan crept his right hand toward the mace at his side, just in case. "I have this coming; I'm only asking for what's mine."
Aidan promised he'd discuss it with the council, to which Erick spat and then got in the chow line. Aidan often mediated among various council members, but in this they were all unanimous. Keeping Erick out of the upper leadership was worth losing around twenty fighters.
"He threatened to leave when Greene died," Charlene said, speaking of the previous Bandit King, her former lover, "and instead stayed behind and bitched for a year. Not all of his lads will go, mark my words. And those who leave, we can spare."
Erick ended up taking only ten of his lads, but the initial effect was devastating. Regardless of Aidan's pleas for him and the group to leave late at night or early in the morning, they left during noonmeal when everyone not on sentry duty was sitting in circles and eating their fill. Aidan warned them to stick to the east and south parts of Graydon Forest, and not to cross the Yil River armed for hunting or any other purpose without permission.
A few days later, Aidan brought a clutch of curve-bladed bill pikes to Connel and the heretic, who were busily pounding dents and twisting gears. He set them on the workbench and walked to the young Knight as if to examine his workmanship.
"What's the word 'round camp," Aidan muttered discreetly, "since our friends' departure?"
"Not good," Connel said, pausing between hammer blows. "Some are nervous about the campaign, say they have demands of their own. I heard some who want divisions drawn on a map of the plots you'll give them once we've taken the town."
"They want allotments before we've even taken the field?"
Connel shrugged, then gave his metal plate a few more good smacks. Aidan recognized it at last: the uppermost scale of Kannitick backplate, which sat atop the base of the neck and the stretch of muscle that led to the shoulders.
"Any suggestions?" Aidan asked, panic beginning to freeze his own mind.
Connel looked at his handiwork and appeared lost in thought for a moment, squinting his eyes as though trying to see something in the distance. "Perhaps Rodrig will know what to do."
Aidan followed Connel's gaze and saw that his old horse master was indeed approaching, half stalking, half shuffling and tripping over obstacles that he really should see. For a heartbeat, Aidan worried that perhaps he had been wounded, and his hand crept once again to his mace as he anticipated the attack. When he came within fifteen paces, the rivers of tears that flowed down his hard leather cheeks revealed themselves, and Aidan caught him by the shoulders as he stumbled over an irregular bump in the mossy ground.
"Rodrig, what ..." Aidan paused as his Mardoni friend embraced him tightly as though desperate to keep hold of him. "Gods, man, what's the matter?"
"Nadya," he whispered, sniffling and sobbing as he choked out the next few words. "Nadya has died."