“Ease your strings, boys,” he said, “and lay your bows down as he says.”
Four bowstrings were let down with a series of slight creaks. The bows were set on the ground and the arrows returned to their quivers. Crowley waited until the threat was removed, then rose slowly and walked forward. To Samdash’s slight bewilderment, he held his hand out in greeting.
“As I was saying, I’m Crowley and I’m delighted to meet you.”
24
SO NOW THERE WERE TEN IN THEIR GROWING PARTY OF former Rangers. Samdash’s companions were Lewin, Berwick—which he pronounced “Berrick”—and Jurgen. They were all names on Crowley’s list—Rangers who had been dismissed by orders purporting to come from the King. Samdash, however, was suspicious and, by dint of some judicious investigation, had determined that Morgarath was probably behind their dismissal. The four had banded together and their plan was to travel to Gorlan Fief and turn outlaw, preying on the couriers and traders serving Castle Gorlan.
“If nothing else,” Berwick said, “we can be an infernal nuisance to Morgarath.”
Crowley confirmed their suspicions about Morgarath’s hand in their dismissal. And he offered them a far more effective way of getting their revenge. When the newcomers heard of his plan to release Prince Duncan and face Morgarath at the Gorlan tournament, they were eager to join Crowley’s group.
There was one problem, however. Samdash was unwilling to accept Crowley’s leadership. They discussed it long into the night, without reaching an agreement. A vote would have settled it—after all, there were six in Crowley’s group and four in Samdash’s. But Crowley feared that if Samdash lost the vote, he would depart, with his followers.
“After all,” Samdash said, after some time, “I’ve been leading this group for the past four weeks.”
“And you led them straight into trouble tonight,” said Halt, who had so far refrained from speaking. “You didn’t take the time to find out how many men you were stalking. You just rushed in and let Egon get behind you. That’s not good leadership. That’s the sort of impulsive behavior that gets men killed.”
Crowley looked quickly at Samdash, whose face was flushed with anger. He felt it best to say nothing, but to see how the other ex-Ranger reacted. Surprisingly, it was Jurgen who spoke next, and he agreed with Halt.
“The Hibernian’s right. You’re a good man, Samdash, but you’re too impulsive to be a good leader. You’re impatient to get things done and that leads to mistakes.”
Samdash went to answer, but he was cut off by Lewin. Lewin had only been a Ranger for two years. He was one of the least experienced of the group. But now that the subject was raised, he was ready to add his contribution.
“I agree with Jurgen,” he said quietly. “You take too many risks, Samdash. On top of that, Crowley and his men have a real plan to take the fight to Morgarath. We were simply going to be a nuisance to him. I say we stay with them, and accept Crowley as our leader.”
Samdash, growing more flushed by the moment, looked to Berwick. Berwick was an older man. His beard was flecked with gray. He was steady and reliable and Samdash valued his advice. Berwick pursed his lips and shrugged. He knew Samdash wasn’t going to like what he had to say, but he also believed that he should hear it.
“If it comes to a vote, I’ll vote for Crowley,” he said. He inclined his head toward the redheaded Ranger. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, young man. And you were trained by a great Ranger.” He looked back at his former leader. “Sorry, Samdash, but he’s the better choice.”
“Well, that settles it, I suppose,” Samdash said, throwing his hands wide apart. “Crowley is leader.” He wasn’t happy about it. His ego was bruised by his friends’ rejection. But he realized that if he disagreed and left, he would be on his own. At least, by staying with the group, he would have a chance to strike back at Morgarath, and he wanted that more than anything else.
He leaned over and shook hands with Crowley, accepting his leadership. Crowley looked him in the eyes and judged that he was a man of his word. Samdash didn’t like the way things had turned out, but he’d accept Crowley’s orders.
“Thank you,” Crowley said simply. There was no point in making a speech. It was best just to let matters proceed.
Shortly after, they turned in for the night. Lewin volunteered to take the first watch. Berwick went to fetch their horses, which they had left in a glade five hundred meters away. The two groups of horses greeted each other and then moved quietly to graze close to the camp. The Rangers doused the fire and settled into their blankets. Like the others, the new members of the group had one-man tents. Soon the little campsite was quiet, except for the occasional gentle snore from one of the tents.
They moved on the following morning, riding in two files along the narrow forest track that led to the high road to Redmont. Crowley was pleased to see that their new recruits made a point of splitting up, not forming a clique but mixing with the established members of the group. Round the middle of the morning, he dispatched Jurgen and Berrigan to hunt. The two rode off together, rejoining them a couple of hours later with half a dozen plump mallard ducks.
Halt and Crowley rode together, some ten meters ahead of the others, where they could talk without being overheard.
“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t Cropper alert us earlier last night?”
“He would have if he’d caught their scent. But they came from downwind. By the time he heard them, it was too late.”
“Do you think Samdash will be all right?” Halt asked. There was an edge of doubt in his voice. Crowley considered the question for some seconds before answering.
“I think so,” he said carefully. “Though he does seem a little arrogant, and his ego took a blow last night.”
“More fool him for letting Egon sneak up behind them like that,” Halt said.
Crowley nodded slowly before answering. “That was careless. But then again, so was I. I should have posted a sentry to make sure we weren’t surprised.”
Halt shrugged. “We may have been at fault there—”
Crowley interrupted him. “Not we. I. I was at fault. I’m the leader. I should have known better.”
“All right,” Halt conceded. “But there’s a big difference between being a little careless and planning an attack without proper reconnaissance or preparation. He just barged in without taking the trouble to see how many of us there were.”
“Still, I’ll need to bear it in mind for the future. But you are right. Samdash does act too hastily. He sees himself as a leader of men but he acts without thinking. And he had no real plan as to what he and his men might do in the future. Mounting nuisance raids against Morgarath’s patrols wasn’t going to achieve too much.”
“The important question is, do you trust him?” Halt asked.
Crowley considered his reply for several seconds. “Yes. I do. When I explained what we had in mind last night, I could see he was impressed. He’d never thought it through that far.”
“I’d be surprised if he thought anything through.”
“I think you’re being too hard on him. If he’s given a detailed plan of action, he’ll carry it out, I’m sure.”
“If you say so,” Halt said reluctantly. He respected Crowley’s ability to judge character. The young Hibernian tended to make quick judgments based on first impressions and he knew they often turned out to be mistaken as time went by. Crowley, he knew, had a more measured view. That’s what made him a better leader than Halt. So if he felt Samdash could be relied upon, Halt was prepared to accept his decision.
They stopped for a quick midday meal of bread and dried meat and fruit, then proceeded onto the high road, where Crowley pushed the pace up to a steady canter. He kept glancing around nervously as they ate up the miles to Castle Redmont. As its name suggested, the high road was built on elevated ground, with extensive views over t
he surrounding farm and forestland.
“I feel very exposed here,” Crowley muttered to Halt. “We can see for miles, but that means we can be seen for miles. And we’re becoming a rather noticeable group.”
“Maybe we should split into two or three groups,” Halt suggested.
Crowley shook his head. “After we’re done with Baron Arald,” he said. “I think we’re relatively safe here in Redmont Fief.”
They topped a rise around four o’clock and found themselves looking across a small, shallow valley to Castle Redmont. In the late afternoon light, it glowed a dull red. The party stopped to study the land, spreading themselves out on either side of Halt and Crowley.
“That’s magnificent,” Halt breathed, looking at the massive red-hued building rearing up above the surrounding countryside.
“It’s quite something, isn’t it?” Crowley said. He had visited Redmont as an apprentice. “It’s built of ironstone. That’s why it glows red in the westering sun. It’s not as beautiful as Castle Gorlan or Castle Araluen. But I prefer it somehow. It’s more . . . businesslike.” He rode forward out of the line and turned so that he was facing the others.
“Halt and I will go ahead to talk to the Baron,” he said. “And to see if the Ranger Farrel will join us. But there’s no sense in letting the world know how many of us there are now. The rest of you head down to those trees”—he indicated a densely growing section of forest at the bottom of the slope—“and make camp there. We’ll join you after we’ve spoke to Arald and Farrel.”
There was a mumble of assent from the others. Samdash looked vaguely disappointed. He wanted to go with them into the castle. But he recognized the sense of what Crowley was saying and reluctantly agreed. He also knew he wouldn’t have thought of keeping their numbers a secret. He would have barged in with all the others. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. Perhaps he was a little too impulsive, he thought, and, for the first time, he accepted the fact that Crowley was a better, more thoughtful leader than he would have been. But there was something that needed to be said.
“What happens if you’re wrong about Arald and he claps you in the dungeon?”
Crowley smiled at him. “It’s a good point. After we’ve made contact, and we see how matters lie, we’ll send a signal from the battlements—there, above the main gate.”
They all looked at the spot as he pointed to it. “We’ll have someone wave a red flag there. So one of you stay up here to keep watch for it while the others make camp. If you don’t see it within an hour or two, you’ll know we’ve been captured.”
“What should we do then?” Leander asked.
“Two choices,” Crowley told him. “Either disband and go home or break into the castle and get us out. I know which choice I’d prefer you to make,” he added, with a half smile. “Egon, I’ll leave you to work out how that’s done.”
The others looked at Egon. Crowley had chosen him because he was the oldest and steadiest member of the group. He wouldn’t run any silly risks. He nodded back at Crowley.
“I’ll wait here for the signal then,” Samdash said, determined to have some role to play. “I’ll give it an hour after you’ve gone through the castle gate.”
“Better make it an hour and a half,” Crowley told him. “These days, there’s a lot of searching and questioning going on at castles like Redmont. We could be left cooling our heels for some time.”
Samdash nodded. “An hour and a half then,” he agreed. “I’ll time it from the moment you enter the gate.”
“Very well.” Crowley looked round the line of grim faces once more to see if everyone understood their role. Then he twitched the reins and faced Cropper toward the slope leading down into the valley. “Come on, Halt,” he said.
As Halt urged Abelard forward to join him, Crowley turned back in his saddle. “No fire,” he said. “Let’s not let the world know where we are. Make sure the camp is well hidden.”
Cropper would find them, he knew. The others wheeled their horses and began to ride single file down the other side of the hill toward the trees. Only Samdash remained behind. He slipped from his saddle and led his horse to a small copse of trees, where he would be concealed by the shadows. There was a patch of sunlight and he selected a straight branch from the deadfalls lying around. He drove it upright into the ground, noting where its shadow lay. Then he made a mark at a point that he knew the shadow would reach in a little over an hour. Making sure he had a clear view of the castle and his improvised shadow clock, he settled down to wait.
Crowley and Halt rode down the gentle slope. The castle was set at the top of a hill, dominating the landscape, but in the foreground, they could make out the roofs of buildings that marked a village. Several thin spires of smoke rose from among them. Cook fires, Halt thought.
“That’s the village of Wensley,” Crowley told him, and he nodded. “And there’s the Tarbus River, running between the village and the castle.”
They could see the river twisting and turning, glinting silver gray in the late afternoon sun. There was a timber bridge across it and Halt could see that the center section was removable. If the village came under attack, the people could retreat to the safety of the castle, removing the center section of the bridge as they went to impede the progress of any pursuers.
“Looks like a good defensive site,” he said.
“Redmont is one of the three great castles of the Kingdom. Castle Gorlan and Castle Araluen itself are the other two,” Crowley said.
They rode in silence down the main street of the village and from there to the bridge. Their horses’ hooves clopped loudly on the planks. Halt noticed the sound changed to a hollow note as they rode across the removable section. Obviously, it was made from lighter timber than the rest of the structure.
From the bridge, the hill became steeper as they rode up to the castle. Unlike other castles Halt had seen, Redmont was a three-sided structure, with a tall keep in the center, inside the triangular walls, and towers at each of the three corners.
“Three walls?” he commented to Crowley.
“They needed less ironstone that way. It’s not a common material. But it’s virtually indestructible. You could shoot away with siege weapons all day here and barely make a mark on the walls.”
The walls loomed above them as they drew closer. The road led to a huge drawbridge, set across the moat and currently lowered, with a heavy portcullis on the far side, in the gateway to the castle.
Two spearmen in half armor were on guard at the near end of the drawbridge. They stepped into the middle of the road to bar Halt’s and Crowley’s passage as the two horsemen drew closer. Crowley had re-donned his camouflage cloak for this encounter and now he produced his silver oakleaf insignia from under it, holding it up for the sentries to see.
“King’s Ranger,” he said, his voice full of authority. “I’m here on official business to see the Baron.”
25
THEY WERE KEPT WAITING IN THE ANTEROOM OUTSIDE THE Baron’s office for some twenty minutes. Crowley kept glancing at a water clock on the mantelshelf as the liquid slowly dripped away and the level lowered. Halt realized his friend was worrying about Samdash, sitting on the hill waiting for their signal that all was well.
Finally, Arald’s secretary emerged from the inner room and beckoned them in.
“The Baron will see you now,” he said.
The office was a large room, with a huge fireplace to one side and a low table surrounded by four comfortable-looking chairs on the other. In the middle, facing a window that looked out over the parkland, was Arald’s massive desk—an oak table set on four thick legs, with his high-backed chair behind it and three straight-backed wooden chairs in front.
The Baron was writing as they entered. He looked up and waved his quill toward the chairs. “Sit down,” he said. His tone was curt and decidedly unwelcoming.
Halt and C
rowley exchanged a worried glance and took their seats.
Arald was a burly, broad-shouldered man and Halt guessed he was in his mid-twenties. He was handsome and clean-shaven, and looked to be well muscled—although it appeared that he might have a problem controlling his weight. He had a hint of a double chin and his tunic seemed to strain across his middle. There was a large bowl of sweets on the desk close to his left hand and he absentmindedly popped one into his mouth and chewed on it. A long sword in a red leather scabbard, chased with silver, lay sideways across the table, its two-handed hilt within easy reach of his right hand.
Arald glared at them for some moments before speaking. “I suppose you’re two more of those useless fops Morgarath keeps sending to replace my Ranger,” he said harshly. Then he frowned slightly. “Although I have to admit, you don’t look like the others.”
“The others?” Crowley asked.
Arald continued. “He’s sent two so far—spineless couch lizards they were too. The first one came with a letter over the King’s seal, accusing Farrel of attacking and robbing a party of traders on the border between Gorlan and Redmont, and dismissing him from the Ranger Corps. I sent that one packing back to Morgarath.”
“You didn’t believe the accusation?” Halt asked.
Arald glanced at him curiously, noticing the Hibernian accent. “No, I didn’t—since Farrel was traveling with me at the time he was supposed to have committed the offense. I sent back a letter to that effect but the only reaction was another of those soft-handed idiots turned up, repeating the accusation and bearing a commission to take over as Ranger of Redmont Fief. Sent him packing too.”
He paused, eyeing them suspiciously. “But if you came from Morgarath, you already know this.”
The Tournament at Gorlan Page 16
