Keepers of the Western Forest

by Chris Kennedy

  Chapter 19

   

  It was approaching twilight when Darin came to the last bend in the forest path near the castle. He dismounted and tethered Dart to a tree. “Stay here, boy,” he whispered. Treading softly, he moved to the edge of the forest to spy out the land.

  The three big warhorses belonging to the knights he had seen earlier stood just outside the castle gates. As he watched, a stable lad came out and led one of them in; a voice from the castle somewhere barked out some sort of command. It was clear that Agravain and his companions intended to spend the night there.

  When all three horses had been taken inside, Darin crept from his place of concealment and ran across the open space to the castle walls. There was no one around, so he slipped in through the gate, made his way to the west wing and quietly let himself in by the little postern.

  Once inside, Darin stood motionless for a moment in the darkened corridor, listening for any sound that might help him judge the situation. From the great hall came the distant murmur of men’s voices. Something clattered in the kitchens.

  Quickly tiptoeing in the other direction, he soon came to his own chamber. He always kept his sword there, close to the bed, a habit that had remained with him since the night he had spent in the house of the blind old man; but his shield, along with the rest of his arms, was in the armoury at the other side of the main hall. He picked up his sword and sword-belt and stole back down the corridor. He was going to have to be patient and wait until everyone was asleep before he could go through the hall to the armoury.

  Suddenly, he heard footsteps. The flickering light of a taper appeared at the end of the corridor and advanced towards him. As it drew nearer, he recognized the plump figure of Morag, a servant woman. She bore a lighted taper in one hand and in the other a pitcher, which she was no doubt bringing to Darin’s room as she did each evening.  She looked startled for a moment as Darin stepped up closer to her.

  “Master Darin! I didn’t know you were back yet. I was bringing this in case you should turn up later.”

  Darin put his finger to his lips. “Sshh—I don’t want those knights knowing I’m here.”

  “Very well, sir,” she whispered back. “I can’t say I like them much myself. Two of them are courteous enough—but the other has been ordering us all about ever since he got here.”

  “That sounds like Sir Agravain.”

  “Aye, master, I think I heard that name.” Morag looked at him curiously. “But why are you so anxious to avoid them, sir?”

  “Don’t ask me to explain, Morag, please! Just trust me. I need my shield and armour. How long do you think I’ll have to wait before the three knights are asleep and I can get to the armoury without being seen?”

  “I can’t rightly say, master Darin. It may be quite some time. They are arguing about something and that Agravain is the only one drinking wine.”

  Darin thought for a moment. “Where is my mother? Is she in her chamber?”

  Bewilderment showed all over Morag’s matronly face. “I’m sure I don’t know, sir. I haven’t set eyes on her since she left with you this morning!”

  Now it was Darin’s turn to be bewildered. “What do you mean, left with me?”

  “Why, didn’t I see you talking together down by the old cottage when I looked out from my casement early? Then you both rode off on that new black horse of yours.”

  Darin gaped at her. “New black horse? I don’t have a black horse—and I haven’t seen my mother at all today.” An awful realization dawned on him. “Quickly, there’s no time to lose! Can you fetch me any sort of armour without them seeing you?”

  “I’ll try, master Darin.”

  Darin watched the light of the taper recede as Morag scuttled off down the corridor. He resigned himself to waiting. The murmur of voices from the hall continued, occasionally swelling briefly. That must be Agravain, he thought, in a bad temper as usual. At last, a glimmer of light appeared; he heard Morag puffing as she hurried towards him. Over her arm, she had what looked like some blankets.

  “Oh, master Darin!” she exclaimed in a breathless whisper. “I swear that bad-tempered knight was looking at me suspiciously as I went through the hall. I didn’t dare come back carrying a helmet or shield, for fear of what he might ask me. I’m sure I would have given something away.” She handed Darin the taper and lifted the blanket away from the bundle over her arm. “But I did manage to bring this. Heavens, young sir, how heavy it is. I’m sure I don’t know how you can prance around in these things the way you do.”

  Darin was relieved at the sight of his mail hauberk. He took it from her and discovered she had brought a coif as well, also of finely meshed chain-mail. He handed back the taper.  “Well done. This will do nicely.”

  He put on the hauberk and slipped the coif over his head. The steel links were cool on his brow, around the sides of his face and under his chin; they covered his neck and made a double layer of mail where they spread over the shoulders of his hauberk. A chain-mail hood like this would not afford as much protection as a helmet, of course, but it had the advantage of restricting his vision less and allowing him to move more freely.

  “You see, Morag,” he whispered, “it’s not so heavy when you are wearing it as it is draped over one arm. Now tell me, which way did my mother go this morning?”

  “Sir, you . . .” she broke off, puzzled. “I mean, Lady Etaine and—well, they rode along the track by the side of the forest, northwards, master Darin.”

  “Thank you. Now you had better go about your business as usual. Say nothing to anyone, mind!”

  “No, sir.” Morag wrinkled up her face again. “But I don’t understand. Where did my lady go, and who was she with, if it wasn’t you?”

  “I can’t really explain,” said Darin. “But those knights through there are after the wrong man.”

  He buckled on his sword belt as he watched the elderly servant waddle back in the direction of the great hall and then stepped quietly into the night. Once outside, he closed his eyes and forced himself to wait until he had counted up to ten; when he opened them again, they quickly accustomed themselves to the dark. The moon, being past the full, would not be rising for a while, but it would be big enough to give plenty of light when it did. As he approached the forest, he peered up the track running alongside the trees to his left. It was a well-trodden path—he knew from experience it would shine in the moonlight, making riding easy.

  Entering the forest, he found Dart waiting where he had left him. The horse snorted a soft greeting as he took the bridle in his hand, then suddenly grew uneasy and reared up. At that moment, a gleam of light reflected from the polished saddlebow. Darin spun around.

  Several dim figures were approaching out of the darkness. One of them held aloft a burning torch. Darin saw grim faces, grotesque in the lurid, flickering light: gaunt cheekbones, the white of an eye, men of all ages in the rough-spun clothing of farm workers. Someone seized his arms from behind. He strained to free himself, but two strong, heavyset men were holding him fast while a third wrestled with Dart’s bridle.

  The man with the torch came up closer.

  “Yes, that’s him, all right!”