“All right, I guess it won’t do me any good to argue with you. It never works for our father. But in that case, I’ve got another job for you. Ride with Jack as far as the watchtower. We need to know whether the gorn investigate the fate of their companions there, and what they do next. It would be a useful thing to know if thirty or forty gorn decide to start sweeping these woods in search of us. I’ll stay here to make sure that no other surprises come out of the castle tonight.”
“Okay,” Marian responded with enthusiasm. “I’ll meet you back here about daybreak.”
“Both of you be careful. You’ll need to make good time to keep ahead of the gorn, but don’t take any chances. It won’t do any of us any good if you break your fool necks galloping around in the dark.”
Marian and Jack saddled their horses and secured their bedrolls; then Jack came back to Owen, clasped his friend’s wrist and looked him in the eyes. “You be careful too, Owen. I don’t know what’s going on with those dreams of yours, but they are starting to worry me. If you can’t control that blasted headpiece, maybe you’d better bury it somewhere before it destroys you.”
“I’ll be careful, and I’ll consider your advice. You’d better get going now. Let my dad know where Marian and I are, and tell him we’re alright. Hopefully I’ll see you both in a week or two.”
As Marian and Jack trotted their horses off into the night to the northeast, Owen muttered to himself. “You’re right about one thing, Jack. I’ve got to find a way to control that headpiece. I don’t think that ignorance is going to work for me much longer. That sorcerer found me once. If he does it again I doubt very much that I’ll be able to resist him,” he sighed, rubbing his chest. He could still feel the fading pain of that encounter.
Chapter 6
Movements In The Night
Jack and Marian made their way quickly but carefully back toward the old watchtower that lay in the direction of South Corner. The gorn that had left Carraghlaoch that night had several minutes head start on them, but since they were on foot, the two expected to catch and pass them to the north well before they reached the tower. Having a better idea of the lay of the land, and with less concern of being spotted in the dark, they were able to take a slightly more direct route back than they had taken in their approach to the old castle. Still, in the moonlight, especially during those times that they were forced to travel through wooded areas, the going was slow. A quick trot was the fastest pace they were willing to take over the uneven ground of the foothills of the West Wall even in the open areas, and among the trees they were forced to slow their mounts to a walk.
They did not talk, except to occasionally stop close together and discuss their route forward in low whispers. They were uncertain of how sound would travel through the hills during this quiet night, and shrank into themselves, looking all around whenever one of their horses stumbled against a loose piece of granite, sending a loud click or the sound of a dislodged stone skittering across the ground and echoing into the otherwise silent darkness.
The night was cold and clear with a steady breeze at their backs as the frigid air off the mountain glaciers settled down into the valleys below. Marian pulled her cloak tight around her, and tried to keep as much of her legs covered as possible to protect them from the icy wind and to garner what heat she could from the mount beneath her. There would be frost by morning, she thought, shivering with the realization.
What had seemed a simple task when they set out proved to be a difficult problem in navigation through these hills that they had only traversed once, and that in daylight. They did not wish to swing too widely to the north, lest they lose too much time, but on the other hand they dared not stay too close to the gorn’s likely line of march lest they stumble upon them or be spotted against the starlit sky at the top of a ridge.
Fatigue was also a problem. Jack had gotten no sleep, Marian only an hour or so, and the constant strain of listening for evidence that they had gotten too close to their enemy, along with the worry of becoming lost and passing the old watchtower too far to the north in the dark, was wearing on them both. Finally, as they rounded the north side of a small hill, just below the crest, Jack called a halt and waited for Marian to come along side. The moon had passed its zenith and was about half way down towards the mountain peaks behind them.
“I think that copse of trees across the next valley and to the south is the one that leads to the tower, but I’m no longer sure,” Jack whispered. “Can you tell?”
“It looks like it, which would mean that the tower should be just past it to the right. I can’t make it out though, against the blackness beyond.”
“Alright, let’s continue straight across this valley, come into the woods from the north, and work our way down through the trees towards the tower. We’ll use the same vantage point we did before to see what the gorn do when they get to the tower.”
Alertly, Jack and Marian traversed the valley and entered into the northern edge of the small wood. Tethering their horses there, they quietly crept through the trees, and then crawled to their former vantage spot on the edge of the copse looking across the short distance to the tower. It stood like a black finger jutting up against the stars beyond. The gully they had used for their assault on the tower lay just to their right. They could see no movement on top of the tower itself, but just up the valley to the west they could make out a dark shadow flowing steadily towards them. The gorn were just minutes away. They were moving faster on foot than Jack had expected. If they continued their march past the tower, they would disappear behind the tower hill and reappear further down the slope from where the two of them lay watching.
Almost holding their breath, they watched the enemy approach as the moon dipped lower toward the dark peaks of the West Wall. Closer they came, striding loosely down the trail from the old castle. When they reached the low tower hill, they left the track and climbed the gradual slope up its western side. The watchers could hear them call out to the tower as they approached, though they could not make out the words. When they reached the top, several ran forward to the spot on the north side of the tower where the two gorn Jack and Owen had slain still lay.
The boys heard a shout, followed by laughter, then four or five gorn headed for the stairs leading to the entrance of the tower. From their vantage point, Jack could not see the gorn enter the tower, but soon three or four shadows appeared between the crenellations at the top of the tower. One leaned over the side, and a shouted exchange took place with someone on the ground.
In the meantime, the gorn still outside the tower seemed to be making camp. Four small fires were built, disappearing and reappearing again as the warriors moved around them. Jack was staring hard at the campsite, trying to determine whether the gorn would be staying the night at this location, when Marian nudged his elbow and leaned over to whisper in his ear.
“Time for us to move. I think I saw a party of four or five move into the mouth of the gully, and there is another group working across the valley in the shadows down there to the west. Looks like they are going to search these woods.”
“All right,” Jack whispered back. “Stay low and stay quiet. Let’s get back to the horses before they can get around behind us.”
Carefully, the two edged back out of the bushes. Once well into the trees, they stood and began to move more quickly through the woods. Not daring to run, lest the resulting noise give them away, they still managed a very quick pace, avoiding the occasional dead branch on the forest floor as best they could in the failing moonlight.
When they reached their horses, Jack spoke again, softly. “Let’s go straight north to that hill over there, then stop to see if they pursue us beyond these woods. They should be able to tell that their comrades have been dead for some time, and maybe they will assume that we’re long gone.”
Marian nodded, and they mounted and left the trees at an easy trot. She was almost sure that she could see a gorn lurking behind every tree and bush that they passed, a
nd had to work hard to suppress the instinct to shy away from the shadows. Their horses did not seem too skittish, though Sam was beginning to pick up on her panic, so she reasoned that it was all just in her imagination. On the other hand…
With their horses tethered behind the hill, Marian and Jack crawled around the edge just below the crest until they had a good view of the copse that they had just left. Although they stared at it for many long minutes, they could not see any movement in the dark under the trees. But while they could not see what the gorn might be doing in the woods, there was still sufficient light from the setting moon and the stars overhead to see that nothing was crossing the open ground between them.
“I think that they are making camp for the rest of the night,” Jack whispered. “There is no sense in either of us moving on until we know what their intentions are from here, so I suggest that we do the same. Do you mind taking first watch? I’ve about had it.”
“Go get some sleep,” Marian responded. “I’ll wake you in a couple hours.”
As Jack went back to the horses to get his bedroll, Marian carefully moved up towards a low rock outcropping. Wedging herself into a small gap, she was protected from the cold night breezes, but still had an excellent view of the copse and the open country to both sides. Now, the trick was to keep herself awake and alert lest the gorn expand their patrols beyond the woods across the valley.
Exhausted, hungry, cold and foot sore, Aaron Murray lay huddled in a small cell deep under the castle trying to sleep. The prisoners from South Corner had arrived at the magnificent old fortress earlier that day. Despite their fatigue, they had been awestruck at the sight of the great stone edifice rising up from the granite plateau near the deep, sheer-sided river gorge. It was a castle right out of the old stories, and Aaron almost expected to see mighty soldiers in shining armor with bright red plumes coming out of the tops of their helmets walking the walls and guarding the gates, but as they climbed the long ramp and passed under the portcullis that led to the main gates, they were greeted by only silence. The old stone fortress appeared to be completely empty.
They passed through the lofty gates, now sagging and leaning in decay, through a short stone tunnel that vaulted high overhead with narrow slits for archers and pikemen in the sides and murder holes in the ceiling, and toward another raised portcullis with heavy wooden timbers sharpened and looking like the teeth of some giant carnivore hanging down just in sight at the inner end.
Aaron looked up with amazement at the tall stone buildings across the broad open space inside the gates. Behind them rose the towers of the inner keep high into the deep blue afternoon sky. The line of captives slowed and stopped at the sight, and he would have just stood there and stared with the rest, but their guards, cursing and shoving, soon got them moving again toward a low slate roofed stone building that was set against the west wall. It looked to Aaron like a stable, but it was far bigger than any stable that he had ever seen. At least fifty horses could have been housed there, with rooms off the sides for tack and a large loft above for hay.
Stumbling on the dirt floor, the villagers were herded down to the far end, where they were allowed to collapse in exhaustion. A guard of soldiers was set between them and the opening.
Sarah and the other young women were kept aside, and taken back out to the river to fill their water bags. An old well stood at the edge of the gate square near the closest buildings, but its winch and cover had rotted and collapsed on top of the opening and would need to be cleared before the well could be made useable again.
A large soldier in battered brown leather armor and a long jerkin of heavy ring mail stood near the middle of the drawbridge and cast a heavy oak bucket on a long thick rope into the river far below. It skipped atop the wildly racing water a few times then dug in and quickly filled. The rope was nearly yanked from the soldier’s hands by the roiling current, but emitting a grunt he held on and hauled the bucket back up to begin filling the bags with the cold, fresh water off the mountain snows.
When the bags were full Sarah and the others staggered back into the castle under the heavy load, where the soldiers relieved them of most of their burden. They were each left with one full bag with which to provide water to the villagers of South Corner. The wrists of the captives were still bound behind them, so Sarah lifted her bag for each in turn to assist them in drinking. The guards kept a close eye on this process, prohibiting talking and ensuring that water was the only thing transferred between the prisoners.
The day stretched into evening, and the soldiers seemed to be content to remain where they were in the castle. The guard on the prisoners, which consisted entirely of soldiers, never gorn, was changed at regular intervals, but the prisoners were left alone to make themselves as comfortable as possible on the dirt floor. No food was distributed this evening.
As the sky was slowly fading into twilight, a contingent of about a dozen guards entered the stable with torches, and separated out Aaron, Brad Stewart, Harrel Jenkins and Steven Patterson, all young men of about the same age. Under close guard, they were dragged out into the square. Once again, Aaron was amazed at the precautions being taken. They were surrounded by spears, and at least six archers were on the walls looking down on them, arrows nocked and drawn. A large barrel-chested officer that had not been on the village raid—Aaron would have noticed the eye patch and deep scar down the left side of his face—was giving the orders.
A long thin rope was used to link the young men together, a slipknot around each neck allowed them to separate one from the next by no more than four feet. Heavyset guards were stationed with a firm grip on the rope at each end of the line. A column of men with spears was formed on either side. When they were thus bound and surrounded, the officer gave the order and the prisoners were marched into a wide street that led deeper into the fortress in the direction of the keep. Aaron looked around in wonder. He had never seen buildings made with quarried granite before, and never even imagined that buildings could be built so tall.
“Keep your head down and your eyes forward,” a guard growled, and struck him in the ribs with the butt of his spear.
Aaron stumbled under the blow and almost fell, but managed to catch himself before he went down. Falling while tied in this manner could easily crush a windpipe, so Aaron was careful not to anger the guards further. Even so, the wonder of this place to a village lad who had never before traveled more than ten miles from South Corner was such that with his head down he still tried to see everything he could.
When they reached the central keep, they were led in through a small door, around the corner into a narrow, twisting hallway and to a stone stairway that spiraled down into the rock beneath the keep. The walls of the stairwell were of large fitted blocks to the first level down, but then became roughly hewn from the native rock. Torches had been placed in brackets at intervals to light the stairs with a smoky, wavering light.
During the descent, the awe that Aaron felt, and the pride that his ancestors had built so magnificently in the past, was replaced by a growing dread. He began to feel the weight of all that heavy gray stone overhead. While it had stood for hundreds of years, he could feel it pressing down. Surely nothing could withstand that pressure; the foundations must crumble under that mass, crushing all and everyone beneath.
The prisoners were led to the third level down, where the stairway stopped at a heavy oak door that opened into a short rough-walled passage leading to a similar door at the other end. A small alcove had been hewn from the rock just outside that door to allow for a guard station.
They were led through the second door and down a short flight of broad steps into a dungeon. At the base of the steps there was an open area with a heavy wooden workbench to either side. An old metal brazier lay on its side to the left, and a rack with a number of rusty metal implements hung on the wall to the right. Ahead, was another doorway leading to a wide hallway with individual cells off either side. Aaron guessed that there might be eighteen or twenty in
all.
The boys were marched down the hall between the cells, and the line was halted. The officer gave the order, and guards stepped forward and roughly seized the arms of the prisoners, one on either side. The rope that had joined them at the neck was removed, and they were propelled to individual cells on the left-hand side. Aaron noticed that no two prisoners had been assigned to adjoining cells. He had to stoop to fit into the low doorway, and as he did so the guards that held him stopped, cut the straps at his wrists, shoved him hard into the cell and tossed a single, thin blanket in after him.
Aaron was able to get only a brief glimpse of his cell as he stumbled in, trying unsuccessfully to retain his balance. As he hit the floor against the far wall, the cell door was slammed shut behind him cutting off all light except for a small dim patch that came through an iron grid near the top of the door. Pulling himself to a sitting position against the wall, he waited for his eyes to adjust somewhat to the dim lighting. What he had seen as he came sprawling in was not encouraging. He was in a rock walled enclosure, maybe six feet wide by eight feet deep, with a floor covered with dirt that may at one time have been straw. There was no pallet to lie on, but he thought he glimpsed a wooden bucket near the door for a chamber pot. That apparently was to be his only furnishing.
When all the cell doors had been slammed and barred, Aaron could hear the soldiers file back out of the dungeon. The door leading to the hallway and the stairs beyond was pushed closed, and silence settled in. Fortunately, one torch was left in a bracket near the door at the dungeon entrance, which cast just enough light to allow the prisoners to make out the outline of the grillwork on their cell doors. It wasn’t much, but without it Aaron feared that he would have quickly become completely disoriented.
The Staff of the Winds (The Wizard of South Corner Book 1) Page 13
