by Stuart Daly
Taken aback by what he had heard, Caspan collected his sword from the guards and made his way slowly through the camp. Snow drifted down between the trees, but he was oblivious to it, lost in his own thoughts.
He hadn’t really known what answer he’d receive from Brett to explain his alliance with the Roon. But he was most certainly not expecting to hear that Brett was a direct descendant of Ulther Bloodcrest, or that King Elric MacDain had tried to eradicate Ulther’s bloodline. Only a few minutes ago everything had been so clear – Brett was a traitorous dog who had turned on his people and betrayed his king. But now Caspan wasn’t so sure. He hated to admit it, but Brett was right. There was another side to this story: a shade of grey that lay hidden between the forces of good and evil. It by no means justified Brett’s actions, but it made Caspan realise that you never truly understood somebody until you’d walked in their shoes.
Scott and Dale were still chatting quietly when Caspan returned to the shelter.
‘Where have you been?’ Scott asked, shuffling over to make room for him by the fire. He handed him a cup of warm, honey cider.
‘I went to check on Brett,’ Caspan replied as he tossed his sword onto a spare blanket.
Dale turned up his nose. ‘What for?’
‘He might be our prisoner and all, but I wanted to make sure he’s being fed and treated fairly.’
‘You’re far more compassionate than me. As far as I’m concerned, he gets what he deserves. Even life in a dungeon’s too lenient a punishment for him.’ Dale raised an eyebrow at Caspan. ‘And what did he have to say?’
There was a side of Caspan that wanted to ignore what Brett had told him, for nothing could justify joining forces with the Roon. But there was also a part of him that sympathised with the prisoner, and the treasure hunter wondered how he would feel if he were in the same situation. He doubted Dale would share the same sentiment, though. Not only had Brett betrayed King Rhys, he had also tortured Dale’s father. Darrowmere, the capital of Lochinbar, had fallen due to Brett’s treachery. Caspan had heard that Dale’s bodyguards, the Crimson Blades, had given their lives in order for the Prince to escape. Dale had been born and raised in the city, and Caspan imagined the Prince held the former General of the Eighth Legion’s betrayal close to heart. Caspan also didn’t know how the Prince would react upon hearing that one of his ancestors was responsible for slaughtering Ulther’s bloodline. For all Caspan knew, it was a great lie, but he wouldn’t be certain until he returned to the House of Whisper’s archive and investigated the matter for himself.
‘Not much,’ Caspan replied, taking a sip of his cider. He glanced at Scott and smirked. ‘Although, Brett thought your chowder tasted like swamp muck.’
The Master bristled. ‘Did he now! Don’t go giving him any more of my food. What a waste of Shepherd’s Chowder!’
Dale scowled. ‘I would have thrown it at him. That would have given him something to whinge about. But enough talk about that traitor.’ He regarded Scott. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘You were about to tell me about the time you went hunting near Mance O’Shea’s Break,’ Scott replied.
The Prince clicked his fingers and smiled. ‘Ah, that’s right.’
Caspan finished his cider, wrapped himself in a woollen blanket and lay down by the fire. He drifted off to sleep listening to the howling wind.
CHAPTER 23
THE FINAL BATTLE BEGINS
Caspan woke with a start. Someone was shaking him, and he looked up to find Master Scott kneeling by his side. It was still night, but the fire had died low.
‘Get up,’ Scott whispered urgently. ‘Something’s happened.’
Caspan jumped to his feet and strapped on his sword. ‘What?’
It was then that he heard the signal horn from the far side of the camp. All around him soldiers were grabbing their swords, lighting lanterns and hurrying out from beneath their shelters.
Scott shook his head grimly. ‘I don’t know, but it can’t be good. Come on. Let’s find out.’
The treasure hunters raced through the forest, heading through the trees to where the alarm had been raised. A large group of soldiers had already gathered there. Caspan had to stand on a stump to peer over their heads. In a clearing at the base of a tree, a soldier was being berated by an officer. There was too much commotion for Caspan to hear what was being discussed, but his eyes flashed with surprise when he noticed that the soldier being scolded was one of the guards who had kept watch over Brett. Looking beyond them, Caspan saw the towering oak where Brett had been bound, but at the base of the tree were several frayed lengths of rope.
Caspan glanced down at Scott, stunned. ‘Brett’s escaped!’
Scott’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘Are you sure? I can’t hear what they’re saying.’
‘Trust me. He’s gone.’
Duke Bran and Dale arrived shortly at the clearing. The entire camp was alerted and search parties organised. Caspan and Scott assisted Dale and a band of soldiers search through the woods, but they could find no sign of the prisoner. It wasn’t until scouts checked the perimeter of the camp that they discovered Brett had crept his way through the sleeping troops, stolen a horse and headed south through the forest. A band of scouts were sent out to hunt him down.
‘You didn’t see anything suspicious when you spoke to Brett last night?’ Scott asked Caspan once they arrived back at their shelter.
Caspan shook his head. ‘No. His hands and feet were bound. Mind you, I didn’t think the guards were doing a particularly good job of keeping an eye on him. They were a lot more interested in their card game.’
Scott clicked his tongue. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. Bran won’t let them off lightly. Still, Brett will be easy to track in the snow. We just have to hope the scouts can catch him before he joins up with the Roon and tells them that Roy Stewart has switched sides.’
Caspan nodded gravely. ‘I never thought of that.’
He had been so busy searching for Brett he hadn’t realised that it was now morning. The blizzard had passed, and golden pillars of sunlight streamed down through breaks in the canopy. The sky was a perfect screen of blue. All around the forest patches of snow glistened like scattered diamonds. It was still cold, but not bitterly so, and Caspan stripped off his leather cloak and gloves and packed them in his saddle bags. He breathed in the crisp morning air and rolled his shoulders. In spite of having been woken early, he felt rested and ready for the day ahead.
‘Here,’ Scott said, handing Caspan a fresh bowl of Shepherd’s Chowder. ‘Didn’t I tell you the storm wouldn’t last forever?’
Caspan nodded. ‘I never knew the sky could look so beautiful.’
‘It’s just what we all needed.’ The Master motioned with a wave of his hand around the camp. ‘Look at the men. They’re refreshed and full of energy. They’re a little on edge after what happened with Brett, but that should help keep them on their toes. The Roon won’t know what hit them.’
Caspan’s stomach tightened at the thought of today’s battle. ‘There’s been no sign of Roy Stewart’s army?’
‘I heard that the Duke posted a band of scouts at the edge of the forest last night. When the wind abated in the early hours of the morning, they reported seeing a red glow in the distance, far to the north. They must’ve been the fires from Roy’s camp.’ Scott smiled encouragingly. ‘The highlanders have been keeping pace with us. Rest assured, they’ll be there when the battle starts.’
Caspan breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been worried that the highland army might have been delayed or lost in the storm.
‘But we need to hurry up and pack,’ Scott said as he started to untie their tarp. ‘Duke Bran wants to make an early start.’
Around him Caspan noticed soldiers stamping out their campfires, strapping on their swords and hoisting their packs over their shoulders in preparation to march. He scoffed down his breakfast, then saddled and bridled their mounts. ‘Why don’t we fly ahead on our Warden
s?’ he asked Scott. ‘We could join the First Legion in no time at all. We can also find out what’s happened to our friends.’
‘As tempting as that is, it wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do,’ Scott cautioned. ‘We’re dangerously close to the Roon army. We don’t want to alert them that we’re in the area. General Liam might have sent out advance units to ambush and harass the Roon, to slow them down until we join forces. Our drakes can be seen from miles away, and we could destroy their element of surprise. It’s better we stay with the Duke. I know you’re keen to see our friends, but we’ll be with them soon enough.’
Caspan nodded reluctantly. ‘I guess you’re right.’
A few minutes later they joined the head of the army and rode out of the forest. The snow was thick, hampering their progress, but nobody complained. They were all just relieved that the storm had passed and they could travel with the sun on their faces. As they had done for the past two days, they stuck to forest roads where possible, where the canopy had collected most of the snow.
They had covered several miles and were crossing an open field when everybody froze. Soldiers loosened their swords in their scabbards. One of the officers to Caspan’s right fought to control his mount. Its nostrils flared as it tried to buck him off. Pulling hard on the reins, the officer brought it under control, then patted its neck and made a soothing sound to calm it down.
Caspan scanned the open stretch of land, searching for the source of alarm. Then he heard it. His pulse quickening, he craned his ear to the west, focusing on the errant breeze that carried the faint yet unmistakeable sound of bellowing horns, trampling hooves and clanging blades.
The battle between the Roon and the First Legion had started.
Caspan shifted anxiously in his saddle and turned to Master Scott. ‘That doesn’t sound too far away.’
Scott nodded, his expression grim as he stared to the west. ‘Maybe in the next valley.’
The wind abated, leaving the field silent and still.
‘General Liam will be outnumbered!’ Prince Dale warned his father, keeping his voice low so as to not be overheard by the soldiers. ‘We have to hurry and join the battle before it’s too late!’
Bran nodded, but his features were as fixed as stone. ‘It’s no use charging the infantry ahead. We might have a mile yet to cover, and it’s no good having them arrive at the battlefield exhausted.’
‘But we can’t just stand here!’ Dale protested.
‘I never said anything about just standing here,’ the Duke retorted. ‘We’ll send companies of riders ahead. They can assist General Liam until our infantry arrives.’ He gave his son a sympathetic look. ‘I’m as keen as you are to help the First, but we have to be patient. We’ll advance the main army forward at a quick march. That way they’ll still have the energy to battle.’
As if reading the Duke’s mind, a mounted knight galloped up from the main column. The lion brooch attached to the lapel of his cloak identified him as an officer. Caspan and Scott moved aside, allowing him to draw rein before the Duke.
‘I’ll ride ahead with my company of lancers, my lord,’ the officer announced.
‘Go,’ Bran said resolutely. ‘Offer General Liam whatever help you can. We’ll be right behind you.’
The commander saluted, wheeled his horse around and hollered for his company to follow after him. They thundered across the field, their mounts’ hooves kicking up white clouds in their wake.
The Duke turned to the leader of his scouts, who rode near the Prince on a black gelding. ‘Ride ahead too, Andy. Take your trackers with you and find high ground. Form a skirmish line and harass the enemy with your bows. Try to draw as many of the giants as far away as possible from the First, but don’t engage them in close-quarters fighting. Stay mounted and ride away when Roon get close.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ The leather-clad, grizzled scout commander raised two of his fingers to his lips and gave a high-pitched whistle, summoning his band of cloaked trackers to his side. Their bows gripped in their hands, they set their heels to their mounts, spurring them across the snow-covered field.
Duke Bran nodded grimly as he tugged at the hems of his gloves and watched the cavalry units ride ahead. ‘Now, it’s time for us to move. We’ve got a war to win.’
He nodded at one of his commanders, who signalled for the main column to move forward at a fast march. Shields slung across their backs, their breath forming plumes of grey mist, the infantry of the Sixth, Seventh and Eighth legions trudged through the snow, following the compacted trail left by the advance riders. Units of heavy cavalry moved into position along their flanks, and a second unit of lancers formed a vanguard, the red pendants of their spears stark against the snow.
They covered perhaps a mile before a group of advance trackers, who were lying on their bellies on the crest of the hill, signalled that they had reached the battle. Caspan and Scott swung out of their saddles and, along with Duke Bran, Prince Dale and a band of officers, hurried up the slope. Not wanting to be spotted by the enemy, they dropped to their hands and knees as they approached the crest. The earth trembled beneath them. The squeal of steel on steel, the thud of steel-shod hooves and the bellow of war horns surged over the hill and seemed to make the very air vibrate. Caspan shuffled forward on his belly until he reached the top, swallowed and peered down into the valley.
His blood turned to ice. The greatest battle in the history of Andalon was being fought on the grassy plain below.
The combatants were arrayed in battle formations that stretched from one side of the mile-long valley floor to the other. General Liam’s First Legion was deployed in a long, central shield wall, ten men deep, reinforced on the wings by cavalry and supported by a reserve unit of archers. A further mounted company waited back at the entrance to the valley, guarding the baggage-train.
The Roon were arranged in a similar formation, minus the cavalry. Their central shield wall was over twenty giants deep and grinded forward like a mobile fortress. On the flanks, where they faced enemy horsemen, the Roon curved their shield wall back and reinforced it with a façade of bristling spear-points. At the rear of the army, several hundred yards away from a company of archers positioned behind the shield wall, was a reserve force of over a thousand giants.
Snow lay thick on the flanking hills, but only a light dusting covered the valley floor. This favoured the Andalonians, Caspan believed, who relied heavily on their cavalry to move quickly from one side of the battlefield to the other to support the infantry and deliver devastating charges against the enemy. But watching the scene unfold, Caspan quickly realised that not even the fury of a hundred heavily armoured knights riding war-trained destriers was strong enough to break through the enemy lines. Their shields locked together, the giants braced themselves against the impact, then thrust with their spears and thick-bladed broadswords, cutting down many of the riders before they could withdraw.
Duke Bran’s company of advance lancers, two hundred strong, had joined the cavalry on the right flank. Andy’s band of green-cloaked scouts had dismounted near a clump of trees at the base of a hill. They fired an endless stream of shafts at the giants that charged towards them, stalling their advance and forcing them to form up behind their shields.
Even from this distance Caspan could spot General Liam. He sat atop his black stallion in the front rank of the shield wall, waving his gleaming sword above his head, rallying and spurring his troops. Beside him fought Maul. The great bear stood on his rear feet, towering over the Andalonians, skittering aside the enemy with swipes of his claws.
Caspan studied the battlefield, searching desperately for his friends. After a moment, he spotted Morgan and Raven atop their giant wolves amidst the Andalonian cavalry on the far left flank. Raven was wheeling Shadow around in a caracole and firing shafts at the giants. Meanwhile, Morgan was in the thick of the action, driving Fang hard against the enemy, hacking with his blade into their iron-rimmed shields.
Roland, Thom and C
aptain Jace rode close by, clad in chainmail vests and armed with broadswords and shields. Easy to spot in his blue bonnet, Roland sat atop a towering brown horse, which Caspan identified from its distinct white markings as Georgina. Roland fended off incoming spears with his shield and rained blows with his blade, trying to break through the enemy line.
It took Caspan a while longer to spot his remaining friends. They were in the reserve unit of the cavalry, protecting the baggage train. Shanty sat atop his faun, Ferris. Beneath his black Brotherhood cloak he wore an open-faced mail coif that also protected his neck. His chainmail vest was too large and bunched up around his waist over his belt. The dwarf stared grimly ahead, his sword resting across his thighs, and leaned forward to stroke Ferris reassuringly on the neck.
Off to his side stood Sara. She wore a thick leather jerkin reinforced with small iron plates, and fired arrows at a high trajectory over the heads of the Andalonian soldiers into the rear ranks of the Roon. Several yards to her right, Cloud Dancer spread her wings and stamped the earth restlessly. Then there was Oswald, wearing only a tunic and breeches beneath his Brotherhood cloak. He stood on a wagon, his head craned in the air, as he watched the battle unfold. His magical unicorn, Legend, waited obediently off to the side.
Caspan stared in awe at the Warden. For some reason he had imagined Legend would be white in colour, but he had a coat of deep grey, like soot. He was a powerful and majestic creature, standing taller than a draught horse. His black mane cascaded over his neck in silken ripples and faded to silver-grey on the forelock, where it parted around the spiralling horn that projected from his forehead.
Caspan felt the greatest sense of relief that his friends were alive. He had feared they might have fallen defending Rivergate, but now they were all in terrible danger. He was consumed by a desire to gallop down to the battlefield and guard them. It took all of his self-control not to draw his sword and spur his horse down the hill.
