The Highlanders

by Stuart Daly

  Caspan breathed a sigh of relief. ‘We’re in the clear,’ he whispered to his friends. ‘They’re going to the keep. We’ll wait until they reach the top before we –’

  The words were caught in his throat when the highlanders passed through the light of the fire from the iron brazier halfway up the climb. It was the first clear look Caspan had of the men, and his blood froze.

  The large one to the left, who they’d assumed was a towering clansman, was not a man at all but one of the dreaded Roon. The giant wore a wolf-skin cloak and a hauberk of black mail. Rather than carry one of the double-headed battleaxes favoured by his race, a thick-hafted broadsword was sheathed by his side in an oiled leather scabbard. The warrior’s cowl was drawn back, revealing his granite-like features – a hard jawline and deep-set eyes. Swirling black tattoos covered his forearms, neck and face.

  Caspan finally extracted his gaze from the giant and was about to tell his friends, when he glanced at the man on the Roon’s right and took a sharp intake of breath.

  No, it couldn’t be!

  The man’s cloak was drawn high around his neck, concealing most of his features in shadow, but Caspan immediately recognised his cold sneer of command and the merciless eyes. It was a face etched in Caspan’s memory.

  The traitorous General Brett.

  It was only now Caspan realised that the final man, who walked slightly in front of the General, was his captive. He was bruised and beaten, his hands bound behind his back, his clothing torn and stained, but Caspan still recognised him. His appearance now was a stark contrast to when they’d last met – when Caspan, Lachlan and Morgan had sat at the man’s table, at a celebratory meal held in their honour for raising the siege of Darrowmere.

  And now he was General Brett’s captive.

  Caspan turned to face his friends, his eyes wide with shock, any thought of sneaking out of the fort abandoned.

  ‘There’s been a change of plans,’ he whispered. ‘General Brett and one of the Roon are here. They’ve got Duke MacDain. And we’re going to save him.’

  CHAPTER 20

  THE ENEMY’S BATTLE PLANS

  The boys waited until General Brett and the Roon took their captive through the large wooden double doors that gave entrance to the longhouse. Caspan then led his friends up the side of the mound. They kept away from the stairs, wary of the fire that lit the path, and maintained a careful watch on the sentries posted outside the doors. Scrambling on their hands and feet, they reached the top of the steep incline, where they skirted around to the rear of the building and peered through an open window into the hall that dominated the ground floor.

  A large banquet had taken place earlier in the evening and was yet to be cleaned up. The long tables were littered with dirty plates and tankards, and scraps of food and puddles of spilt ale were all over the flagstone floor. The air smelt heavy of sweat and smoked meat.

  The focal point of the room was a large, wooden throne-like chair situated atop a platform against the rear wall. A claymore in a polished leather scabbard was propped against one of its arms and a tartan rug of the Stewart clan draped over its back. Similar banners hung from the rafters, illuminated in the flickering orange light of the torches set in brackets on the walls. A staircase off to the side gave access to the upper levels.

  Caspan’s gaze was drawn to Duke Bran MacDain. He was kneeling in the centre of the hall, his head lowered and shoulders slumped. The skin around his eyes was bruised and his torn tunic stained red. The Roon stood behind the Duke, grabbed him by the hair and forced him to look up at General Brett and the highlander standing by his side, clad in a kilt and shawl of the Stewart clan. As beaten as he was, grim defiance flashed in Bran’s eyes.

  ‘I must commend you, Duke Bran,’ Brett commented, pulling off one of his leather gloves. ‘You’ve remained true to your reputation as the Iron Duke. But everybody has a breaking point. Sooner or later you’ll tell us what we want to know. If you were wise, you’d tell us now. That way you won’t have to endure any more beatings. We’ll even give you some food and water.’

  Bran opened his lips as if to say something, drawing Brett close. The Duke then grinned defiantly and spat at the General.

  A solidly built highlander wearing a black tartan and shawl sat near the central hearth. He glanced over his shoulder at Brett and snickered before returning his gaze to the smoking embers in the fire. A dozen similarly dressed clansmen sat nearby, many with their sheathed basket-hilted broadswords slung over the backs of their chairs. Their faces were smeared in blue war paint, their long hair tied back. They chuckled quietly amongst themselves, as if sharing a private joke.

  ‘He’s a bold one, ah’ll give him that,’ uttered the sturdy highlander, not bothering to look at Brett. ‘Perhaps ye should give him tae me for an hour or two. Ah’ll make him sing like a bird.’

  As if things couldn’t get any worse, now we also have to deal with the dreaded Gall-Gaedhil, the Sons of Death, Caspan thought to himself.

  Brett smiled bitterly at the man, the struck the Duke across the face with his glove. ‘I’ll make you talk, so help me! By the time I’ve finished with you, I’ll know everything about the location of the Andalonian legions and King Rhys’s plans for defence.’ He placed the sole of his boot against Bran’s chest, pushed him back into the knees of the giant standing behind him and shook his head in disgust. ‘You once commanded Darrowmere, the greatest fortress in Andalon. Now look at you. How the mighty have fallen.’

  The highlander in the Stewart tartan strode over to a table and took a draught from a tankard. ‘Ah need the information as soon as possible, Brett. Ah plan on marchin’ south before the end o’ the week. Ah need tae know what King Rhys has in store for us.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure,’ the General hissed. He motioned with a flick of his glove for the Roon to lift the Duke to his feet. ‘Take him upstairs and tie him to the rack.’ He smiled at Bran. ‘I’ll come up shortly to watch. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

  Bran was barely able to stand without the assistance of the giant, but he stared boldly at his former general. ‘I bet you wouldn’t, you coward!’

  Brett turned and waved his glove impatiently, sending the Roon away with his captive. The Stewart clansman waited until they had left the hall before addressing the General.

  ‘Yer Roon allies can be trusted?’ he asked doubtfully.

  Brett joined the highlander and poured himself a drink. ‘As much I can trust you, Roy Stewart.’

  The highland leader grinned. ‘Then it’s a fine mess we’re in.’

  ‘You may rest assured, Roy Stewart, that the alliance is firmly in place,’ came a voice from the far corner of the hall. No torches or lanterns lit this section of the room, and it took Caspan’s sharp eyes a moment to spot the woman sitting in the leather-backed chair. She was dressed in dark velvet, and her black hair was pulled back tightly, accentuating her sharp, pale features.

  Caspan recognised her from back at Darrowmere, during the celebratory feast after the siege. She had sat distant from the merriment, glaring at Duke MacDain and his family, making Caspan wonder if she was an enemy of the royal family. There was no doubting that now.

  ‘All that remains is for you to keep your side of the bargain and lead the highland clans,’ she continued. She yawned and turned away from the Stewart Laird. ‘I hope you can keep them under your control. Highlanders are notorious for letting their petty arguments and quibbles get in the way of things. If there’s one thing they’re good at, it’s waging war amongst themselves.’ She glanced at Roy and gave him a frozen smile. ‘No offence intended, of course.’

  The comment was clearly intended to insult the highlander, but he regarded her calmly and sipped slowly at his drink. Her remark wasn’t so easily dismissed by one of the Gall-Gaedhil, who sneered contemptuously at her and opened his mouth to comment but was silenced by a stern look from the solidly built assassin, who Caspan assumed was the leader of The Sons of Death.

  �
�O’ course, Lady Brook,’ Roy replied. ‘That may hae been the way things were in the past, but nae anymore. The clans hae sworn oaths. They are mah liegemen, an’ now stand united, firmly under mah leadership.’

  ‘Or under your sword?’ Lady Brook motioned with a flick of her eyes at the Gall-Gaedhil. ‘I should have you pay a visit to my kennelmaster. You might be able to teach him a thing or two about taming wild dogs.’

  Again the highland Laird exercised restraint, smiling broadly and bowing at her. ‘It would be mah pleasure. It’s a well-known fact that Lochinbar dogs turn on their masters.’

  Lady Brook’s lips tightened and her eyes filled with hatred, but Roy didn’t give her the opportunity to respond. With a satisfied grin, he turned to Brett. ‘We should talk tactics.’

  Spying from the window, Lachlan nudged Caspan and whispered, ‘Can you believe this? General Brett’s in league with the highlanders! Hasn’t he fought against them for the past decade?’

  Caspan nodded. ‘But I’m more worried about the Roon. The northern legions are struggling to hold them off, let alone being hit in the flank by an army of clansmen.’

  ‘We should find out where they’ve taken Duke Bran and get him out of here,’ Roland urged. ‘We mightn’t have long.’

  Caspan held up a restraining hand. As keen as he was to save the Duke, he was curious to learn what was on the calfskin map General Brett had just produced from inside his cloak and spread on the table. ‘Just give me a second,’ he said, much to Roland’s annoyance, who groaned impatiently.

  Brett weighed down the edges of the map with tankards and stabbed a finger at it. ‘As far as King Rhys knows, this is where the main Roon army is, north of the River Trenter. But they’re just a diversion, keeping his gaze from drifting down here to the Pass of Westernese. This is where the main army waits – an army over seven thousand strong. Andalon will get the surprise of its life when the giants come swarming out of the mountain pass.’ He pointed at another location further south. ‘And this is where the Roon fleet lies hidden, off the Black Isles. Andalon believes the giants fled north after their defeat at Darrowmere, but they’ve been lying in wait off the islands to the west, biding their time for the army to get into position.’

  Roy leaned over the map. ‘An’ where will they strike?’

  ‘Down here.’ Brett shifted his finger to the south. ‘Just north of Castle Crag. The coastline is treacherous, but there’s a protected cove that offers a perfect landing point. They’ll wipe out the local fishing villages, destroy Castle Crag and head eastwards. Combined with the troops at the Pass of Westernese, the giants will have an army of over ten thousand warriors. They’ll encircle the capital and lay siege to it.’ A look of grim satisfaction crossed the General’s features. ‘Rhys won’t stand a chance against such a large force.’

  ‘Leavin’ me tae take care o’ Lochinbar.’ Roy jerked his tankard towards a location on the map. ‘That’s where the highlanders will amass. Once we’re over five thousand strong, we’ll march westward.’

  Brett studied the map and nodded his approval. ‘It’s a good location. Sharn O’Kare Glen is large and uninhabited.’ He pointed at the parchment. ‘The closest village is here, over an hour’s hike from the valley. You’ll be able to hide your army there until you decide to strike. By then it will be too late for Rhys. With Darrowmere already taken, Lochinbar will fall within days.’

  Roy regarded the General warily. ‘The Roon had better stay true tae our alliance. They can hae Dannenland an’ Randerlonia, but Lochinbar is mine.’

  Brett took a long draught of his drink and licked his lips. ‘And I’ll be the new High Lord of the South. I’ve always wanted to see the royal palace at Briston. Shortly it will all be mine.’

  The leader of the Gall-Gaedhil muttered a smug comment and his clansmen glanced at the General and sniggered.

  Brett’s eyes narrowed and he lowered his voice. ‘I don’t approve of your bodyguards. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll keep their mouths shut.’

  Roy gave the General an amused look. ‘They think the same o’ yer Roon allies, Brett. In fact, there’s nae many highlanders who approve o’ our alliance. The Roon hae never attacked Caledon before, but the clans donnae trust them.’ He turned to consider the Gall-Gaedhil. ‘An’ they’re no’ really mah bodyguards. They’ve pledged their loyalty tae me, but ah hae no control over them.’

  ‘And so you let them eat and sleep in your hall whenever they like.’ Brett’s lips curled contemptuously as he glanced at the black-clad leader of the assassins. ‘They’re like wild dogs, let inside by their master to keep out of the cold at night.’

  Roy leaned in close to the Brett’s ear. ‘A word o’ advice, great General – ah wouldnae say anythin’ tae insult the Gall-Gaedhil, an’ especially their leader, Ewan. He’d hae yer head off long before ah could stop him. An’ donnae think yer Roon friend would be able tae save ye. He’d cut him down even before his sword left its scabbard.’

  Brett swallowed and rubbed his neck, knowing it was no idle threat. Roy smiled and topped up his drink.

  ‘It’s good tae know where we stand an’ what boundaries shouldnae be crossed, but enough o’ such talk.’ Roy inspected the map again. ‘We need tae find where King Rhys is hidin’ his southern legion. Our spies hae reported it’s moved north, but we donnae know where. It could be the fly in the ointment that ruins our entire plan.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Bran will talk before the night is out.’

  ‘Ah donnae approve o’ torture,’ Roy replied. ‘It’s nae the highland way.’

  Brett arched an eyebrow. ‘Then you have a lot to learn.’

  Roy looked fixedly at the General. ‘Ah guess ah do. Ah’m nae too sure if ah’m lookin’ forward tae seein’ what other benefits o’ bein’ allied tae such a civilised culture will bring mah people.’

  Lachlan tapped Caspan on the shoulder, drawing his gaze from the hall. ‘We’ve heard enough, Cas. It’s time to help Duke Bran.’

  Trying to commit all he’d heard to memory – information Caspan knew would be vital to Andalon’s survival in the war and which had to be delivered to King Rhys – he withdrew from the window with his friends. They inspected the side of the building and found an open window on the top floor.

  All their training paid off, and the boys quickly scaled the façade of the longhouse and snuck inside. Roland drew his sword and darted through the darkness to peer through the open doorway into the corridor beyond. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, then, certain that the coast was clear, beckoned for Caspan and Lachlan to follow him. They crept through the building, pausing to listen by each closed door they passed.

  They were halfway down the corridor when Lachlan gave Caspan a worried look. ‘I hope we’re not too late.’

  Caspan nodded, fearing that in waiting to hear Brett and Roy Stewart discuss military tactics the Roon may have already extracted what information he needed from the Duke. It was a sickening thought, and his eyes flashed determinedly when he heard a pained moan carry from the far end of the corridor.

  ‘This way!’ he whispered, darting ahead of Roland and leading the way to an iron-studded door. Beyond, they heard the Roon’s guttural voice and what sounded like a crank being wound.

  Lachlan kicked the door in. The boys tore into the room, hoping to catch the giant off guard. He stood in the centre of the chamber, tightening the wheels of the rack on which Bran was strapped, his arms and legs drawn tightly.

  The Roon gave a startled cry and reached for his sword, propped against a nearby wall, but Roland was faster. He came at the giant with lightning-fast speed, slashing him across the chest with a swipe of his broadsword. The giant howled in pain and fury, and struck out with a wild punch. Roland ducked and slashed upwards with his sword, delivering another wound across the giant’s torso. Again, the Roon roared and lashed out with another punch, this time collecting Roland on the shoulder, sending him staggering back onto the rack.

  As much as Casp
an wanted to free the Duke, he knew they had to take care of the Roon first. He’d faced many before at the siege of Darrowmere, and he understood what formidable opponents they were. It would take all three of the boys to defeat the giant.

  Caspan vaulted over the rack, dexterously avoiding both Bran and Roland, and kicked the giant in the stomach. What would have caused a human to double over merely sent the Roon into a rage. Grabbing hold of Caspan’s foot, the giant flung him like a rag doll across the room. He tumbled across the floor until he slammed into the wall, then lay there, dazed and moaning.

  The giant grabbed his sword and lumbered towards him … only to be crash-tackled to the ground by Lachlan. In a remarkable feat of strength, the treasure hunter wrestled atop of the Roon and rained punch upon punch to the enemy’s jaw. But as powerful as Lachlan was, the giant was stronger, and he reached up, grabbed Lachlan by the throat, and threw him over towards Caspan. Lachlan hit the ground hard but immediately clambered to his feet. Rather than summon Talon or try to retrieve his sword, he reached down and placed on his forearm the armband, which only now Caspan realised had fallen out of the leather pouch attached to his belt.

  Lachlan stared grimly at the advancing giant. ‘Dloron Minathril,’ he said.

  The inscription on the Dray artefact glowed luminous green. The bracelet’s metal tentacles came alive and, wriggling like snakes, wrapped tightly around Lachlan’s arm. He gave a startled cry and stepped back, staring fearfully at the living metal as it encased his arm, extending rapidly over his shoulder and torso. By the time the Roon reached him, Lachlan was fully covered in an exoskeleton of glistening black metal.