by Stuart Daly
‘That’s right, my lord,’ Sara agreed, and all the friends nodded in unison.
The Duke nodded proudly. ‘I knew I could count on you. I wish I could have sent you on an easier first mission, but we have to find what’s inside that tomb. If the message on the map is correct, it contains one of the most powerful Dray weapons ever created. And we must get our hands on it. I’ve sent ravens to call back all the members of our order from Salahara, but they won’t reach here for several days. We don’t have the time to wait for them.’
Sara swallowed. ‘So we’ll be going by ourselves?’
Connal shook his head. ‘Fortunately, an experienced member of our order, a man named Shanty, has been conducting research in Briston’s library. I’ve recalled him, and he should be back sometime today. You’ll then head off at first light tomorrow morning.’
Caspan looked excitedly at his friends. This was the moment they’d all been waiting for, when they would be sent on their first mission to recover a Dray artefact.
‘What of the Masters?’ Kilt asked.
‘The King has sent for them,’ Connal explained. ‘I’m not too sure what role he wants them to play, but I’m sure it will have something to do with using their Wardens for reconnaissance. He’ll need to know the movement of enemy forces, and Fang and Shimmer move much faster than horses. I’ve also been summoned to Briston to join the King’s war cabinet.’
Roland puffed out his cheeks and exhaled slowly. ‘Fun times ahead.’
Connal gave the friends an encouraging smile, but it did little to ease their apprehension. ‘You’ve successfully completed your training. I’m confident you’ll be able to overcome any challenges you’ll encounter.’
Sara drew breath to comment, then paused. ‘I don’t want to sound selfish, my lord, especially in light of everything you’ve told us, but what of our leave? Having completed our training, we were promised a fortnight with our families.’
Connal nodded slowly and rotated his tankard again. ‘That’s true, and you’ve certainly earned that reward.’ He sat back in his seat and regarded Sara. ‘But the situation is dire. If we don’t find the tomb and the weapon it contains, I fear it will only be a matter of time before these lands are conquered. Then none of us will have any families to return home to.’
Sara held his gaze, but she couldn’t mask the disappointment in her voice. ‘Of course, my lord.’
‘I want you to spend what time you have left before you leave studying maps of Caledon,’ Connal instructed. ‘Familiarise yourself with the terrain – mountains, lochs, major roads, glens and the location of towns. The success of your mission may depend on it. Gramidge has prepared a table full of parchments and scrolls in the archive. Ensure you go there straight after lunch. Now, if nobody has any further questions, I’d like to get back to my work.’
When the teenagers didn’t say anything, Connal motioned them towards the door. They bowed and made their way from the office, but paused in the doorway when the Duke called after them. ‘I know things seem dark. War clouds have enveloped the north and all may seem lost. But it is in the darkest hour that the smallest flame glows brightest. And I see those flames burning in your eyes – flames that will turn into blazing fires and rid Andalon of all foreign invaders, whether they are tattooed giants or tartan-clad highlanders. It’s time for the Brotherhood – time for us – to save this kingdom.’ He gave a satisfied nod when he saw the determined looks on the friends’ faces, then turned his attention back to the map. ‘Roland, can you stay behind?’ he added, almost as an afterthought, not bothering to look up. ‘There’s a matter I’d like to discuss – something about you being on the roof last night.’
‘I knew it was too good to be true,’ Roland mumbled under his breath as he waved farewell to his friends and skulked back towards the Duke’s desk.
CHAPTER 8
SHANTY
The friends had a quick lunch then spent the rest of the day in the archive, studying maps and reading about the highland clans. In spite of the threat facing the kingdom, Roland lost interest after the first hour. He would have normally occupied himself by teasing Kilt about her red complexion, but he was having much more fun rolling up balls of dust and flicking them at her. Kilt sat as far away from him as possible and tried her best to ignore him, but it wasn’t long until her hair was covered in fluffballs.
‘Stop it!’ she yelled, hurling a book at him. ‘How am I supposed to concentrate with you doing that?’
Sara looked up from the text she was reading. ‘Honestly, Roland! Why can’t you just sit still and behave? We’re about to be sent on the most important mission of our lives and all you can do is annoy Kilt! You need to help us and keep studying those maps.’
Roland grinned, undaunted by her reprimand. ‘What’s the point? It’s not as if I’m going to be able to learn anything that you don’t already know in this short space of time. For example, I bet you can tell us the average height of wheat stalks in the highlands.’
Sara’s eyes narrowed angrily. ‘Wheat doesn’t grow in the highlands of Caledon, you goose! It’s too cold.’
Roland slapped his thigh. ‘Aha! You see.’
Sara pointed to the furthest corner of the archive. ‘If you’re not going to help us, then sit over there and leave us alone.’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Roland moaned. ‘Come on, you lot. You’ve turned into a pack of fun sponges.’
Caspan was about to tell Roland to pull his head in when Lachlan looked up from the parchment he was studying and pointed at the black-haired jester. ‘That’s enough! Disturb us again and you’ll have me to answer to.’
‘Didn’t you learn anything from your meeting with Duke Connal?’ Sara asked Roland. ‘I hardly think he commended you for being caught on the roof. I wonder how he’ll react when I go down to his office and tell him what you’re doing.’
Roland grumbled as he moped over to a window and stared outside. ‘Look at the beautiful blue sky, and here we are, stuck in this musty old room. The world beckons and we –’
The door handle turned and Master Morgan peered inside the chamber, no doubt checking that they were using their time wisely. Roland grabbed a book and leapt onto the closest stool.
‘Absolutely remarkable!’ he exclaimed, acting so engrossed in the text that he didn’t even look up at the Master.
Sara waited for Morgan to leave before crossing over to Roland and turning his book – The Wonderful World of Horticulture – the right way around.
He smiled wolfishly. ‘Ah, that’s much better.’
Caspan took the book from Roland and handed him the leather-bound volume he’d set aside for later. It contained interesting facts about the highland clans, and he thought it might catch Roland’s wandering attention.
‘Geez, thanks,’ Roland mumbled. ‘What I’ve always wanted.’
The friends worked quietly for a while before Sara politely cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention. ‘I’ve been trying to work out the best way for us to head into the highlands without being spotted,’ she announced. ‘The most direct route would be to fly across Lochinbar, but we’d run the risk of being spotted. The highlanders have taken Darrowmere, and there’s no telling how many other parts of the duchy are under their control.’
Kilt considered this for a moment. ‘Then we should head north until we reach the River Trenter, then move east.’
‘Taking us straight to where the Roon are,’ Lachlan muttered. ‘I don’t think that’d be much safer than flying over Lochinbar.’
‘It’s only a suggestion,’ she said defensively.
Roland snickered. ‘Yeah, one doomed to see us used as archery practice for several thousand giants. You saw what happened to Frostbite the last time we tried flying past the Roon.’
Lachlan silenced him with a scowl and turned to Sara. ‘So what do you recommend?’
‘I think it’s best if we fly north-east until we reach The Channel,’ she said, looking down at the map out
stretched on her lap and tracing a course with her finger. ‘We can then follow the coastline all the way up through Lochinbar and into Caledon. Once we’re in the highlands, we can turn west and follow a mountain ridge called the Kilkaren Heights. It should take us straight to the burial mound.’
Lachlan went over to Sara to study the map. ‘It seems quite a hike.’
Sara nodded. ‘But it’s the safest.’
‘How long will it take?’ Caspan asked.
‘The better part of the day.’
‘Meaning we’ll have to stop somewhere to rest the Wardens,’ Caspan suggested. ‘Frostbite’s back on his feet again, but I don’t want to push him too hard. See if you can find somewhere halfway we can stop for lunch.’
Roland clicked his fingers. ‘Good thinking, Cas. We don’t want to miss lunch. In fact, once we’ve finished up in here I’ll pay a visit to the kitchen and make sure I pack us something special. Any preferences?’
‘We trust your judgement,’ Caspan replied. ‘Just make sure there’s something other than sausages.’
Sara grinned and returned to her map, but was interrupted by Roland.
‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ he blurted, staring at the page he’d opened in the book Caspan had handed him. ‘Check this out. The twelfth Laird of the Shannon O’Ror clan married his horse.’
Kilt rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah, right.’
‘It’s the truth,’ Roland said, adamant. ‘It’s all here, right in front of me.’ He fervently scanned another section of the text and hooted. ‘Wait! It gets better. Not only did he marry his horse, but he also allowed his favourite pet finch to nest in his beard and trained a squirrel to ride his pet wolf-hound. Now he’s someone we should visit.’
‘You seem to have forgotten that we’re at war with Caledon,’ Caspan commented.
Roland pouted. ‘Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.’ He went back to his book before looking up again. ‘It’s not as if we could have popped in to say hi, anyway. He died several hundred years ago. Nonetheless, it still gives us all something to aspire to.’
Sara frowned. ‘What? Marrying a horse?’
‘No, you puddenhead. I’m referring to training a squirrel to ride a wolf-hound. Although, in my case, I’d train one to ride Bandit. Imagine that!’
Lachlan exhaled impatiently. ‘I’m trying not to.’
For the next hour the friends focused on their research, doing their best to ignore Roland’s constant interruptions of bizarre facts. Even Lachlan and Kilt couldn’t help but burst into laughter when he announced that a clansman named Alistair McEwan refused to cut his beard. It grew to such a length that he wrapped it around his toes to keep them warm at night.
Shaking his head in wonder, Caspan returned his attention to the book he was reading. He’d discovered an interesting chapter on highland battle tactics. It was full of fascinating historical anecdotes, but the part he was drawn to contained information on the Stewart clan. Their fury was legendary. Identified by their blue and red tartan, they painted their faces in blue warpaint and were always in the vanguard of highlander charges. The next paragraph in the book was on a clan of highlanders that was even more terrifying, and Caspan felt a twinge of dread.
‘Listen to this,’ he said, drawing his friends’ attention. ‘There’s a group of Caledonish mercenaries called the Gall-Gaedhil, or The Sons of Death. They wear black kilts and shawls and fight like maniacs. They hire their blades to clans involved in feuds and specialise in assassinations. They sneak into enemy strongholds under the cover of night, wipe out everybody, then slip out like ghosts.’
‘Highland assassins,’ Lachlan muttered. ‘Great, that’s all we needed to hear.’
Roland puffed dismissively. ‘They’re nothing I can’t deal with.’
Kilt snorted. ‘You’d better watch out. If your head gets any bigger, you won’t be able to fit inside the House of Whispers.’
There was a knock on the door and Master Scott popped his head in. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time you lot finished up in here,’ he announced. ‘Gramidge wants you down at the stable. There’s something special he wants to show you.’
‘Maybe he got us pet squirrels,’ Roland said excitedly, slamming shut his book and practically running from the archive.
Scott frowned as the black-haired jester rushed past him. ‘What’s this about squirrels?’
Caspan smiled sympathetically at the Master. ‘Believe me, sir, you don’t want to know.’
Gramidge did indeed have something very special to show the friends. In place of heavy saddles for their Wardens, the steward had designed durable, lightweight, tanned cow-hide blankets that draped over their guardians’ backs and were secured around the chest with leather straps. A harness – quickly tied around the rider’s waist and shoulders, and attached to the blanket with leather cords – allowed rolls and dives to be performed without any fear of falling off. Further safeguards were provided by handholds and leather loops, which attached to the side of the blanket, and through which a rider slid their legs. Caspan thought the final loops – which were reinforced with extra stitching and iron studs, and in which he could securely lock his feet – would be particularly useful, allowing him to anchor himself in place. As an added bonus, each leather blanket had room for an additional person to ride tandem. Instead of cantles, sturdy leather straps, also fastened to the blankets with metal studs, provided handholds and allowed the riders to take a firm grip.
Gramidge had custom-made the blankets, bridles and reins for each Warden, meaning no adjustments would be necessary. Practical and functional, they were small and portable enough to fit into packs, which the friends could sling easily over their shoulders and carry whilst riding.
Caspan inspected the bridle and tightened the leather straps under Frostbite’s belly. He glanced at Gramidge, who was standing outside the stable, supervising them.
‘Why didn’t you come up with this design in the first place?’ he asked. ‘This is so much easier than using a saddle.’
‘And far less expensive,’ the steward replied. ‘I can’t keep up with making a new saddle every time one of you goes off on a mission. Is it really that difficult to remember to bring them back?’
Roland scoffed. ‘When you’ve got an army of Roon warriors chasing after you, it is.’
Caspan nodded, thinking back to when he had crash-landed his injured drake near the monastery of Saint Justyn’s. He’d had no option but to dismiss Frostbite and leave his saddle behind. Lachlan had likewise abandoned his in the fields surrounding Darrowmere. But Caspan could also see Gramidge’s point: saddles didn’t grow on trees – especially those specially made for Wardens.
‘Finished,’ Lachlan announced, stepping back from Talon and drawing the steward’s attention to his secured blanket.
Gramidge nodded, impressed, then checked the small sand timer he’d placed on the stable wall. ‘Ready in less than a minute. Not bad for your first attempt.’
Lachlan beamed as he reached into a leather pouch hanging from his belt and rewarded his griffin with a chunk of meat. He ruffled Talon’s mane and whispered in his ear, ‘Yet again, we lead by example.’
‘The aim is for all of you to do it in less than one minute,’ Master Scott announced, peering out from a side door of the House of Whispers. He jerked his chin at the steward. ‘How are they going?’
Gramidge stood at attention. ‘Making steady progress, sir.’
‘Good. Keep them at it until they’ve all mastered saddling and harnessing their guardians as quickly as possible.’
‘Which is easier said than done,’ Sara moped, after Scott had returned inside the manor house. She looked like a kitten ensnared in a ball of twine, struggling with the tangled leather straps beneath her pegasus’s chest.
‘Practice makes perfect,’ Gramidge remarked.
‘Well, I’m set,’ Caspan announced as he climbed atop Frostbite and slotted his legs through the leather loops. ‘Can I take him for a ride to test the new s
addle?’ he asked Gramidge.
The steward glanced cautiously at the doorway where Scott had appeared, making sure that the Master had indeed gone. ‘Only if you’re fast,’ he whispered. ‘The Master wants you back in the archive once you’ve finished up here, so only one lap around the field and then straight back.’
‘Thanks.’ Caspan secured the harness over his shoulders and looked questioningly at his friends. ‘Anyone coming?’
Roland nodded enthusiastically as he quickly fitted Bandit’s bridle and reins. ‘Count me in.’
‘And me,’ Lachlan added.
Sara glanced despondently at the boys, then gave a frustrated tug at one of the leather straps she was attempting to secure beneath Cloud Dancer. ‘I can translate any text in the world, but can I tighten this stupid thing?’
She’d been in a grumpy mood since being told that she wouldn’t be granted leave to see her family. Caspan had tried his best to cheer her up, even asking her for help translating an ancient Dray passage back in the archive. She’d usually jump at the opportunity, but informed him that the map she was studying was far more important and he’d just have to cope on his own.
Kilt sighed impatiently before turning to Sara and, to Caspan’s surprise, saying, ‘I’ll give you a hand.’ She finished readying her snow panther, Whisper, then checked Sara’s progress. She pointed at a tangled leather strap. ‘What on earth have you done here? No wonder you’re having problems. You’ve tightened this in the wrong place.’
Sara sat on the ground and tossed a rock angrily over the stable roof. ‘How am I supposed to know that?’ She turned to the others. ‘Don’t bother waiting for me. I’m going to keep practising this until the cows come home.’
Roland smirked. ‘I guess we’ll next see you when you’re old and grey.’
Sara poked her tongue at him. ‘Very funny.’ Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Gramidge, who was rummaging about on a shelf at the stable. ‘You’d better get going before Gramidge changes his mind and sends you off to the archive.’
