by Stuart Daly
Lachlan shrugged. ‘Beats me. I haven’t seen him all morning.’
‘Maybe he didn’t get the message,’ Sara remarked.
Caspan shook his head. ‘Gramidge told me that he’d spoken to each of us.’
Kilt folded her arms angrily across her chest. ‘Well, he’d better hurry up. It won’t look good for us if he’s late for this meeting.’
Several minutes passed before footsteps sounded in the nearby stairwell and Roland emerged from the corridor. He was munching on an apple and appeared to be in no hurry whatsoever.
Kilt shot him a scathing look and tapped her foot on the floor. ‘Typical. You’re summoned to an important meeting by Duke Connal – the head of our order, just in case you’ve forgotten – and you decide to visit the kitchens instead. You’re unbelievable!’
Roland joined his friends and took another bite from his apple. He attempted to mumble something, but his mouth was so full that nobody could understand a word he said.
Kilt shook her head. ‘It might help if you swallowed what was in your mouth first.’
Roland finished chewing, leaned casually against the wall and studied his fingernails. ‘Thanks, Kilt, I never thought of that.’
Kilt glared at him. ‘So?’ Roland stared back at her blankly, and she gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Why are you late, you great goose?’
Roland grinned and rubbed his belly. ‘A good old-fashioned nature-call, if you must know, my dear Kilt. All this food’s got to come out some time or another.’ Kilt’s top lip curled in distaste. ‘What? I’m only human.’ He nudged up against her and picked at some apple caught between his teeth. ‘Although, I’m sure you often wonder how someone can be this handsome.’
Disgusted, Kilt pushed him away. ‘Don’t touch me. I bet you haven’t even washed your hands.’
Roland clicked his fingers. ‘I knew I forgot something.’ He winked at the others, took another bite from his apple, then held it up against Kilt’s face, comparing the colours. ‘Hmm, interesting. You’re not related, are you?’
Kilt’s lips tightened. ‘I swear, one more red joke and I’ll throttle you!’
Even after bathing and scrubbing for an entire week, Kilt still had not been able to remove the red stain from her face and hair.
Roland grinned wolfishly. ‘I’m feeling a little cold.’ He warmed a hand before Kilt’s face. ‘Ah, that’s better.’
Kilt lashed out with her boot, kicking him hard in the shins. ‘And you don’t want to know where I’ll kick you next time.’
Roland whimpered as he rubbed at the spot he’d been hit. He drew his legs close together. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
Kilt raised an eyebrow. ‘Wouldn’t I?’
Lachlan sighed irritably as he turned to Sara and Caspan. ‘So does anyone know why we’ve been summoned?’
Roland’s attempt at feigning ignorance was as plain as daylight.
Lachlan’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What have you done now?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ Roland said, but this was betrayed by the grin on his lips. ‘Okay, if you must know I was caught up on the roof of the House of Whispers last night.’
Sara’s expression was one of utter disbelief. ‘What on earth were you doing up there?’
‘Light was coming from Morgan’s office, and I saw Scott in there with him. I thought they might have been talking about the map Caspan brought back from Saint Justyn’s. We all know that’s all they’ve been concerned about for the past few weeks. Morgan’s window is just below the eave, so I thought I’d climb up to have a listen in.’
‘I can’t believe you did that!’ Kilt exclaimed.
Roland shrugged. ‘What can I say, I’ve got a thing for roofs.’
Kilt leaned in close, her eyes narrowing. ‘So what did you hear?’
The black-haired boy smiled proudly. ‘Absolutely nothing, but the view was well worth it. Morgan must have the ears of a dog. He caught me even before I could get in position above his window. He wasn’t very impressed.’
‘You don’t say,’ Lachlan remarked sarcastically.
Roland smirked. ‘I don’t think he believed my excuse.’
‘I’m not too sure if I want to hear this,’ Caspan muttered under his breath.
Roland’s eyes glistened mischievously. ‘I told him I was cleaning the eaves above his window. You know, from spider webs and the like.’
Sara gaped at him. ‘You didn’t!’
Roland nodded. ‘You try coming up with something better when you’re put on the spot. It’s not easy, you know.’
Sara held her chin high with pride. ‘I’d never put myself in such a dangerous situation in the first place, thank you very much.’
‘And that’s the difference between you and me, my dear Sara. Who dares wins, I always say.’ Roland was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Or, in this instance, he who dares does laps. As convincing as I was, Master Morgan didn’t fall for it. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I’d blackened my face with charcoal.’ He winced and massaged his thighs. ‘I’m getting very familiar with the training yard. It was almost midnight before I finished my twenty laps.’
‘What did you think was going to happen?’ Lachlan said. ‘I think you got off lightly.’
Roland shrugged. ‘But what happened last night had nothing to do with any of you. I don’t understand why you’ve all been dragged in for this meeting now, as my accomplices.’
Kilt rolled her eyes. ‘The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know. I’m sure there’s a far more important reason why we’ve been summoned.’
Caspan nodded. ‘Like the map.’
‘I hope so. They’ve certainly taken their time with it.’ Roland slouched against the wall, still rubbing his shin. ‘It’s been three weeks since you returned from Darrowmere. Duke Connal’s been locked in his office every day, studying the map. I’m surprised he came out to conduct the induction ceremony.’
‘Master Scott told me that they were struggling to translate the language written around the border,’ Sara commented.
Roland drew breath to comment, when Duke Connal shouted out from behind his closed door, ordering the group to enter. Roland darted to the door, smiling roguishly at Kilt when she tried to push him aside. He then straightened his tunic and led his friends into the office.
The Duke sat at his desk, his solid frame made even larger by the bear-skin-collared cloak he wore. His chiselled features conveyed strength and authority, but his eyes seemed fatigued.
The map was spread on the table, weighed down on one side by a tankard and bottle, and on the other by a stack of aged, leather volumes. The teenagers formed a line side by side in front of the Duke, and Caspan craned forward eagerly, scanning the parchment. He hoped it didn’t reek of foot odour, having been shoved down the inside of his boot for two days.
‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ Duke Connal was so focused on the map he didn’t even look up.
‘There’s no need to apologise, my lord,’ said Roland. ‘Besides, I kept the others entertained.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Caspan saw Kilt reach behind Roland and pinch him on the backside. Roland flinched and gave a slight squeal, making the Duke look up at him and arch an eyebrow.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.
Roland snapped his heels together. ‘Yes, my lord. Things couldn’t be better.’
The Duke rested back in his chair and regarded the friends for a moment. They were all standing stiff, their arms held rigid by their sides. Finally, a grin spread across his face. ‘Am I really that terrifying?’
‘Of course not, my lord,’ Caspan replied, then thought that perhaps his answer might have caused offence. ‘I mean, yes. Actually, I’m not too sure.’ He shifted awkwardly, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him. ‘I really don’t know, my lord.’
Caspan never quite knew how to behave in front of the Duke. This wasn’t on account of Connal’s nature – he rarely smiled but was always p
leasant enough towards the members of his order – it was just that Caspan felt intimidated by his rank. Not only was he the head of the Brotherhood of Thieves, but he was also the Lord of Dannenland. Along with King Rhys, and Dukes Bran MacDain and Iain Winters, who controlled Lochinbar and Randerlonia respectively, he was one of the four most powerful men in the kingdom. Caspan wondered how he ever managed to perform both roles. Although the Brotherhood ran efficiently, the Duke was rarely at the House of Whispers, spending most of his time managing Dannenland from the fortress of Northhold. Just as Gramidge and Masters Scott and Morgan played an important role in managing affairs at the House of Whispers, Caspan believed the Duke must be dependent on a trusted group of officials to administer the duchy. Still, Caspan didn’t know how Connal slept at night, with the Roon having taken control of the northern part of Dannenland.
The Duke suppressed a smirk. ‘You seem a little uncertain, Caspan. But please, relax. This isn’t an interrogation or an interview.’ He waited for the friends to loosen up before motioning for them to come closer. ‘For twelve years now this order has hunted for Dray artefacts and weapons that will turn the tide of the war against the Roon in our favour. Some burial mounds and tombs we enter have already been pilfered; others might contain a soul key or a single shadow blade. But this –’ he jabbed a finger at the map ‘– claims to reveal the location of a tomb containing one of the most powerful weapons ever created by the Dray. This might be just what we’ve been searching for.’
The teenagers crowded around the table, their eyes wide. The map showed what appeared to be the borders of countries, but they weren’t familiar to Caspan, nor were the symbols written along its edge. He glanced questioningly at his friends. They all had baffled expressions on their faces, even Sara, who was rubbing her chin, her eyes narrowed in thought.
‘You look just as perplexed as we did when we first studied it.’ The Duke traced his finger along the markings around the border. ‘At first we couldn’t make any sense of these. We thought perhaps they were letters from a long-lost language.’
‘They look like the symbols used by the Roon,’ Caspan observed, thinking back to the engraved blades wielded by the giants he had encountered at Darrowmere.
Connal nodded. ‘That’s what we thought, but Master Morgan is skilled in reading runes, and he could make neither head nor tail of these ones.’ He shifted his finger along one of the black lines drawn across the map. ‘To make matters even more confusing, these don’t correlate to the borders of any known countries.’
Roland studied the map with interest. ‘Maybe it’s an undiscovered continent.’
‘We thought that too. But then we had a closer look at this.’ The Duke drew their attention to a squiggly line down the left-hand side of the map.
Caspan hadn’t paid it much attention until now, considering he was so focused on the mysterious letters. Shifting his gaze across to the line, he thought at first that it was a crease in the parchment. But upon closer examination, he saw it was drawn in a deep brown ink, setting it apart from the other lines on the map, which were black. It was also sketched too roughly to represent a border between countries. Territorial divisions were usually denoted by fairly smooth lines on maps, ensuring border disputes were minimal.
‘It’s a section of coastline,’ Caspan remarked.
Connal nodded, impressed. ‘The borders of countries change, but coastlines don’t. This was the clue we were looking for.’
Roland screwed up his face. ‘It doesn’t look like any coast I know. It’s certainly not part of Andalon.’
Sara pushed Lachlan gently aside so she could lean over the table. She scanned the map intently. ‘It’s a section of the western coast of Caledon. To be precise, it shows where Loch Bermon-Clyde begins.’
Connal stared at her in wonder. ‘It took us an entire day to work that out.’
Roland moved around to the opposite side of the table for a closer look. He stared at the squiggly line then shook his head at Sara, baffled. ‘How did you know that?’
She shrugged. ‘When we first started training, I thought I’d familiarise myself with maps of Caledon, Salahara and the lands north of The Scar.’
Roland rolled his eyes. ‘As we all do in our spare time.’
‘That’s where most Dray burials are located,’ she continued, ignoring him. ‘I thought I’d prepare myself as it would only be a matter of time before we were sent to those countries.’
Connal patted her commendably on the shoulder. ‘It appears we underestimated you. Perhaps we could have solved this a lot quicker had we included you in our investigation.’ He jerked his chin at the mysterious letters that ran along the map’s border. ‘Only last night we worked out what these mean. They are a code, providing coordinates to a specific location on the map.’ He tapped a finger just below one of the black lines. ‘According to the cryptic message, a Dray burial mound is located here.’ He paused and regarded the teenagers for a moment. ‘Within it lies one of the most powerful weapons ever created. What it is exactly, we have no idea. But we’re very keen to get our hands on it.’
Caspan stared hard at the location, a nervousness welling in his stomach. He had sworn during the siege of Darrowmere that he would do everything possible to end the war against the Roon. Now he knew exactly where his quest would lead him.
‘So what do the black lines represent?’ Kilt asked.
‘Clan territories,’ the Duke said confidently. ‘The clans are constantly at war, and the borders of their territories shift like strips of ribbon blown in a strong wind. It’s hard enough finding a contemporary map of where their borders start and finish, let alone what they looked like over a thousand years ago. Remember that the highlanders have lived in Caledon since the time of the Dray. That’s why it took us so long to work out what the lines represent.’ Connal tapped the location of the burial mound again. His stare lingered there for a while. ‘This land once belonged to the Shannon O’Ror clan, but it now lies deep in the heart of Stewart territory.’
Sara’s gaze darted to the Duke. She swallowed nervously and fidgeted with the folds of her cloak. ‘They’re the fiercest of the highland clans, my lord.’
Connal nodded sombrely. ‘That’s correct. But as far as we know, the clans have rallied and headed south.’
Roland smiled and nudged Sara with an elbow. ‘So there’s nothing for us to worry about.’
Connal lowered his eyes gravely and stroked his beard.
‘What’s happened, my lord?’ Caspan asked, knowing that for the highlanders to move south could only mean one thing – an invasion of Lochinbar.
The Duke sat back in his seat, folded his arms across his chest and regarded them for a moment, his expression grim. ‘The King sent a raven last night. Darrowmere has fallen.’
‘What?’ Lachlan blurted. He looked at Caspan, then turned quickly back to the Duke. ‘But that’s impossible! The Roon were defeated. We saw them withdraw and head back to their ships.’
Connal’s face hardened. ‘It wasn’t the Roon, but an army from Caledon.’
Caspan felt the colour drain from his face. After having helped defend the city, he knew some of its people and he feared for their safety. ‘There must be some mistake,’ he stammered.
The Duke shook his head. ‘The message bore the seal of King Rhys MacDain.’ He reached for the tankard and bottle at the side of the table and poured himself a drink. After taking a long draught, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth before regarding Caspan. ‘A highland army of several thousand warriors stormed the city last night. It was taken within a matter of hours.’
Caspan couldn’t believe it. How could the city have fallen so easily, and only three weeks after he, Lachlan and Morgan had gone to such lengths to defend it against the Roon? ‘Were there any survivors?’ he asked the Duke anxiously.
Connal stared into his tankard, which he rotated slowly in his hand. ‘Some members of the royal family – Duke MacDain’s wife and his two sons, Princes Dale an
d Luke – managed to escape and were last seen fleeing south.’
Caspan exhaled a breath of relief. He had befriended Prince Dale during the siege and was glad to hear that he at least had survived.
‘What of Duke MacDain?’ he asked.
‘He was last seen defending the battlements of the central keep, The Hold.’ Connal glanced up from his drink. ‘It’s feared he was killed.’
Lachlan was stunned. ‘It only seems like yesterday that Caspan and I were sitting in his hall, celebrating our victory over the Roon.’ He looked at Caspan. ‘So General Brett was telling the truth. A Caledonish army was heading towards the city. He wasn’t a spy working for the Roon.’
Caspan nodded dourly. ‘It appears so.’
Lachlan strode across to the window. He gripped the sill and peered out across the fields before turning to face the Duke. ‘What can we do to help?’
‘I do not counsel King Rhys, but I’m sure he’s already sent an army to retake Darrowmere and drive the Caledonish warriors back across the border,’ Connal said. ‘The problem, though, is that he can’t just summon an army out of thin air. He’ll have to send some of the northern legions, and this will no doubt strip the north of valuable men and leave Dannenland susceptible to an attack by the Roon. And if the highlanders aren’t dealt with and Darrowmere is retaken, there’s nothing stopping them from conquering Lochinbar and then pushing further west into Dannenland. We’ll be hit on two sides.’
‘What of the First Legion, kept in reserve in the south?’ Lachlan inquired. ‘Can’t they be brought north to deal with the clansmen?’
‘I’m afraid not. They guard the southern channel ports. King Rhys dares not move them for fear of Saxstein launching a surprise attack across The Channel.’ Connal sighed wearily. ‘Our armies were stretched thin before the fall of Darrowmere. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but things are very grim. Unless Lochinbar is quickly retaken … well, let me just say that the King – indeed, Andalon – is in need of our help more than ever before.’
‘We’ll do whatever is necessary,’ Lachlan said determinedly.
