The Final Battle

by Stuart Daly

  General Liam swung gingerly out of his saddle, drove his sword into the ground and removed his helm. Two of his soldiers lifted him onto their shoulders. The rest of the First Legion amassed around them, chanting and cheering and thrusting their weapons triumphantly in the air.

  Back aboard the Mangy Dog, Roland clapped Kilt and Caspan jubilantly on the shoulder. ‘Now, didn’t I tell you this was going to be epic?’

  Kilt grinned and pushed him away. Caspan noticed she was unable to divert her gaze from Baron Saxon, who, upon seeing the celebrations upon the beach, passed around a waterskin.

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything we can’t do as a team,’ Roland continued. ‘Not even a Roon invasion force is too much for us.’

  ‘Um, haven’t you forgotten something?’ a gruff voice asked, and the friends turned to see Shanty lying on his back, trying in vain to untie a leather thong securing one of his iron greaves.

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Roland replied, and placed a hand on Caspan’s arm to stop him from offering the dwarf assistance. ‘A Roon invasion force is one thing, but taking off all those bits of armour is biting off more than we can chew. Besides, I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling a little faint-hearted. Perhaps I’ve over-exerted myself.’ He winked at Caspan and Kilt, pressed the back of his hand on his forehead in feigned exhaustion, and sat against the port rail. ‘Ah, that’s much better.’

  Shanty glared at him. ‘Duke Connal’s going to have to look for a new Brotherhood member by the time I’ve finished with you!’

  Roland yawned. ‘Which means I’ve got about a decade left, given that’s how long it’ll take you to remove all that armour. Now do be a nice chap and keep the noise down. If it’s not too much trouble, I might have a little nap.’

  Shanty flushed red with rage, and Caspan and Kilt turned away and laughed into their sleeves. Roland might have survived the Battle of the High Coast, but they very much doubted he’d last long once Shanty got his hands on him.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE VICTORY FEAST

  As promised, Baron Saxon put on a celebratory feast like no other. The great hall of Castle Crag was transformed from a spartan, lightless chamber into a dazzling display of colour and splendour. Gilded candelabra bedecked tables and chandeliers hung from the ceiling rafters, filling the hall with golden light. Sea-eagle tapestries draped down the walls, and satin-backed chairs provided comfortable seating for the guests, who milled near the central hearth with tankards in hand, or sat around the eight large tables laden with trays of suckling pig, roast quails, warm loaves of bread and jugs of sweet cider. Much to Roland’s delight, there were plates full to over-spilling with sausages. Minstrels played lively tunes on lutes and pipes, and court jesters juggled balls and performed balancing tricks with chairs and swords, much to the guests’ mirth.

  ‘Now this is the type of life I could very easily get used to,’ Roland said, lounging back in his seat and rubbing his tummy contentedly.

  Caspan grinned at him and motioned with his tankard at Roland’s plate. ‘How many servings is that? Three?’

  ‘Three? Please, give me a little more credit than that. Try six full plates.’ Roland burped indulgently and unbuckled his belt. ‘Ah, that’s better.’ He eyed a platter of tarts at the far end of the table and licked his lips. ‘I wonder if I can make room for some of those?’

  ‘Eat as much as you want,’ Caspan remarked. ‘But don’t think you’ll be sleeping in my room tonight. You’re belching like a pig!’

  ‘So I’m destined for the pigpen?’

  Caspan smirked and nodded. ‘If you keep eating like that.’

  ‘Where do you put it all?’ Kilt asked Roland from across the table. ‘There’s nothing of you.’

  The black-haired jester patted his belly. ‘All in here, my dear Kilt.’

  Kilt pushed aside her half-eaten plate. ‘Well, I’ve had more than enough. And unlike you, I know when to stop.’

  Roland chortled as he decided he would try the tarts after all and waved his fork to have them brought down to his side of the table. ‘Glutton is as glutton does,’ he announced proudly.

  Caspan rolled his eyes and turned to Sara. She sat beside him, but had barely said a word all night. He wondered if perhaps she was thinking about the battle against the Roon. Caspan was no novice to combat now, having seen his fair share of fights since joining the Brotherhood, but even he found himself distanced from the merriment at times, staring off into space, scenes of the battle flashing through his thoughts. It was during these moments that he wondered about Lachlan, who was left behind at the royal capital, too injured to participate in the fight. Since joining the Brotherhood, the boys had stood side by side during every battle. Caspan could picture him, standing atop the castle battlements, staring to the west, frustrated and angry.

  ‘I bet he’s glad he’s out of his armour,’ he said, and motioned towards Shanty with a flick of his eyes. The dwarf was standing on a table, waving his hands above his head as he danced a jig.

  Sara grinned. ‘I can’t believe he finally coaxed Roland to help him.’

  ‘“Coaxed” isn’t the word I’d use. More like “threatened”.’ Caspan lowered his voice. ‘Speaking of Roland, how do you think he’s coping with what happened to Bandit?’

  ‘He’s putting on a brave face.’ Sara leaned in close and whispered, ‘One of the sentries up at Haven’s Watch told me that Roland rode Georgina up there this afternoon.’ She smiled sadly at the black-haired boy, who was devouring his second mince tart. ‘He stayed there until sunset, staring out to sea, crying. I’ve also seen him pull out Bandit’s soul key several times tonight and hold it against his heart when he didn’t think anybody was watching. I’m sure he’s hurting deep inside.’

  Caspan nodded. ‘That’s what I think. Distraction is just what he needs.’

  Sara smirked as she pointed at Shanty, who almost toppled off the table but flapped his hands about madly and made a quick recovery. Roland saw the display in the corner of his eye and laughed so hard he almost choked on his food. He banged his tankard on the table and bellowed, ‘Encore! Encore!’

  ‘Well, Roland’s in the right place,’ Sara remarked. ‘There’s no shortage of distraction here tonight.’

  Caspan nestled back in his chair and sipped slowly at his drink as he regarded her. Again, he saw Sara’s smile fade, leaving her with a sombre, almost troubled expression.

  ‘Something’s on your mind,’ he said. ‘Care to tell me what it is?’

  Sara chuckled dismissively. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’ve barely touched your meal and you’ve had a distant look on your face all evening.’ Caspan nudged her and smirked. ‘I know I can be boring at times, but please, you’re crushing my self-esteem.’

  Sara grinned and pushed him playfully. Then she sighed and gazed around the hall. ‘Don’t get me wrong – I really appreciate the feast Baron Saxon’s thrown. It’s worthy of royalty.’ She clapped her hand to her mouth when Roland burped so loudly it left everybody at the table staring at him in stunned silence. ‘Roland! My goodness, remember your manners.’

  Roland’s expression was one of roguish innocence. ‘What? It’s a sign of appreciation for the great food.’

  Sara rolled her eyes and glanced back at Caspan. ‘All this is fine, but don’t you think it’s a little premature?’

  Caspan frowned. ‘We defeated the Roon fleet and saved the High Coast. I think we have every reason to celebrate.’

  Sara murmured in half-hearted agreement. ‘I wonder if Master Morgan and Scott, and Oswald and Raven are celebrating too?’ She turned to look at a nearby window. A cold wind rattled its shutters. ‘They might be out there somewhere to the far east right now, fighting for their lives.’

  The merriment drained from Caspan. He’d been so focused on defending the High Coast today that he hadn’t had time to think about the other members of the Brotherhood. He suddenly felt incredibly selfish and guilty. �
�You’re right,’ he muttered.

  Sara placed a hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry. Now I’ve gone and spoiled your evening. I should have just kept my big mouth shut. I’m sure everything’s fine and I’m worrying unnecessarily.’

  Caspan shook his head, unconvinced. ‘Saxon ordered messenger ravens out to the other armies and King Rhys with word of our victory. He also sent a message before the battle, informing the King that the Roon fleet had been spotted and that the Battle of the High Coast was about to begin.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But it’s strange nobody has sent us any messages. The Roon have two armies: one here at the High Coast and the other further east, at the Pass of Westernese. Their plan was to attack simultaneously. So why haven’t we received word of what’s happened at the Pass?’

  ‘They say that no news is good news,’ Sara said hopefully, but Caspan could see the doubt in her eyes.

  He shook his head grimly. ‘Not in this case. The silence scares me, and I don’t scare easily.’

  The wind howled outside so loudly that it drowned out the minstrels and the joyful noise inside the hall. Caspan shuddered and looked anxiously at the rattling shutters, as if it was a grave omen.

  ‘Look at you fun sponges!’ Roland said from across the table, his mouth full of tart. ‘You sure know how to drain the life out of a party. You should go and sit near General Liam. Have you seen the look on his face? You’d think we’d lost today’s battle.’

  ‘Say it, don’t spray it!’ Kilt reprimanded, flicking a piece of tart that shot from Roland’s mouth and landed on her sleeve. ‘Urgh, you’re so gross!’

  Roland smiled proudly. ‘Just sharing the love, Kilt.’

  ‘Is my food that disagreeable to you that you’d rather flick it around the hall than eat it?’ a voice asked.

  Kilt turned to find Baron Saxon standing behind her. Her eyes went as wide as saucers and she rose quickly from her seat and bowed. ‘No, my lord. I … I …’

  Saxon laughed heartily. ‘Please, sit down. I was merely toying with you.’ He waited until Kilt eased back into her seat, then leaned over her and filled her tankard. ‘Have you tried this?’ Kilt shook her head.

  Saxon raised the cup gently to her lips and waited for her to take a sip. Kilt blushed and glanced at her friends self-consciously, particularly Roland, who raised his sleeve to his mouth to muffle his laughter.

  ‘It’s a cider we make along the High Coast,’ Saxon explained, his passion for the drink reminding Caspan of Gramidge and his homebrews. ‘Its main ingredients are elderberries and strawberries, but there’s a special nut we grind to add to the mixture. We age it for several months in small oak casks we store in the cellar.’ He lowered the tankard and stared expectantly at Kilt, waiting for her opinion.

  She licked her lips, savouring the flavour. ‘It feels like there’s a small fire in my belly. It’s very nice.’

  Saxon gave a contented nod and glanced at Caspan, Sara and Roland. ‘I hope the food is to your satisfaction? It’s the best we could scrounge up in such short notice.’

  ‘It’s perfect, my lord,’ Caspan replied.

  ‘And the sausages?’ the Baron asked Roland.

  ‘Absolutely sausage-tastic,’ Roland said, but Caspan noticed a sad, faraway look in his eyes. Roland took a final swig of his drink and grabbed a serving girl by the hand. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get something out of my system,’ he announced to his friends and the Baron, then led the girl to a free space between the tables to dance. The girl giggled, enthralled by Roland’s unique dance style, which reminded Caspan of a dog chasing its tail.

  Saxon extended his opened hand to Kilt. ‘Would you like to join me?’

  ‘To dance?’ Kilt asked.

  The Baron nodded, and Kilt smiled from ear to ear. ‘I’d love to.’ She held up a finger in warning. ‘But only if you give me your word you won’t dance like that.’

  Saxon regarded Roland and shook his head. ‘I don’t think I could even if I tried.’

  Chortling merrily, Saxon and Kilt headed over to join Roland and the servant.

  Caspan watched them for a moment then glanced at Sara. ‘You don’t want to?’

  She turned up her nose. ‘Not unless you want me stamping all over your toes. Sorry, Cas, but dancing’s not my sort of thing.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ Caspan filled his tankard and lounged back in his seat. ‘I’m finding it entertaining enough just watching Roland.’

  As if on cue, the black-haired jester performed an ambitious leap in the air, but slipped and did the splits. The servant reached out to help him to his feet, but ended up falling on top of him instead. They lay on the ground, laughing hysterically.

  The celebration carried on late into the night. It was when fresh logs were being added to the hearth that Sara nudged Caspan, drawing his attention to a soldier who had just entered the hall. He stood beside the door, scanning the hall, then crossed brusquely over to General Liam. He whispered something in the commander’s ear and handed him a sealed letter.

  Caspan and Sara watched carefully as Liam broke the seal and read the message. He stared at it for some time, his expression dark and foreboding, before he drained off his tankard, summoned his officers and hastily left the hall.

  ‘That can’t be good,’ Sara whispered.

  Outside, the wind howled again. Caspan nodded, his stomach knotting with dread.

  CHAPTER 10

  GRAVE NEWS

  Dawn appeared bleak and grey as the friends gathered outside the stable the following morning. The wind had died down and the snow had stopped falling several hours before. Still, the castle was blanketed in white and it was bitterly cold, forcing the friends to wear the collars of their cloaks high around their necks. They warmed themselves around a crackling fire set in an iron-strapped brazier.

  ‘I can barely keep my eyes open,’ Sara said, yawning. ‘I barely slept last night.’

  ‘None of us did,’ Caspan remarked.

  Roland flicked the snow off the top of a barrel beside the stable and sat down. ‘What did you expect after the news General Liam dropped on us? Talk about killing the party.’ He snorted bitterly before staring hard into the fire. ‘It feels as if all we’ve done here was for nothing and we’re right back where we started.’

  Shanty gave him a reproachful look. ‘It’s not as if the northern legions sat on their behinds and let the Roon stroll through the Pass of Westernese. They would have fought hard and done everything possible to try to stop the giants.’

  Roland’s expression softened. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m just frustrated, that’s all.’

  ‘We’re all feeling like that,’ Kilt said, then turned to Shanty. ‘Have we heard anything about the survivors?’

  The dwarf was solemn. ‘I overheard General Liam talk to Saxon last night after the feast. Only several hundred soldiers managed to make it out of the Pass.’

  Roland gasped. ‘Several hundred! That’s barely any. Weren’t there over four thousand men in the army that went north?’

  Shanty met his gaze and nodded slowly. ‘They’ve retreated to Rivergate and will join with the reserves that have been pulled up from the south. General Liam will also lead the First Legion over to support them. Together they’ll battle the Roon somewhere near Chester Hill.’

  ‘But they’ll only be about two thousand strong!’ Roland said. ‘If an army of four thousand couldn’t stop the Roon, what chance will they have?’

  ‘They’ll do whatever they can,’ Shanty replied. ‘We can’t ask for anything more.’

  ‘We stopped the Roon here, and Caspan and Lachlan defeated them at Darrowmere,’ Kilt said pointedly. ‘If we’ve done it twice already, we can do it again.’

  Roland looked at her dourly and mumbled something under his breath. Then he pulled out a package from the inside pocket of his cloak, ripped off its paper wrapping, revealing the chunk of pork inside, and tore off a slice. He proffered it to his friends, who all declined, then shrugged and shoved it into his mouth. He che
wed for a moment before turning up his nose and spitting it out. ‘Ugh, that tastes like leather. What more could go wrong today?’

  Caspan gave Roland a sorrowful look. The black-haired jester could always be counted on to lighten the mood of a situation, no matter how grim. But everybody had a breaking point, and what had befallen Bandit and the military defeat at the Pass of Westernese was evidently too much for Roland. He’d tossed and turned all night, and called out to Bandit many times in his sleep. At one point he woke, sat up in his pallet and buried his head in his hands. Caspan asked him if he was all right and if there was anything he could do to help, but Roland shook his head. Caspan watched him in the pale moonlight that shone through the window, wishing there was something he could do to ease his friend’s pain. A long time passed before Roland’s heavy breathing became calm and regular, and he lay back down.

  Caspan smiled softly at him now. ‘I never thought you’d lose your appetite.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I never thought we’d find ourselves in this situation.’ Roland ran a finger along the edge of his dagger. ‘If that Roon army isn’t stopped, it’ll march all the way down to Briston. And if the capital falls, we might as well start looking for somewhere else to live.’

  ‘There’s been no news about Duke Bran?’ Caspan asked Shanty hopefully.

  The Duke had led a third army off to face Roy Stewart’s highland force in Lochinbar. Under his command were the men of the Sixth, Seventh, and the survivors of the Eighth Legion, along with his son, Prince Dale, and Master Scott. Caspan had formed a strong friendship with Dale during the siege of Darrowmere, and he often wondered how the Prince and Master were faring.

  The capital of Lochinbar, Darrowmere, had fallen to a surprise attack from Caledon. The Prince had been lucky to have escaped and for several weeks had conducted guerrilla-style hit-and-run attacks on the highlanders. He returned quickly to Briston upon hearing that his father had been rescued from Tor O’Shawn.