by Stuart Daly
Caspan had completely forgotten about it, and was surprised to find it tucked under his belt. He couldn’t remember putting it there. He nodded.
‘So you actually found something?’ Kilt asked, staring at the scroll. ‘What is it?’
Caspan shrugged and unrolled the parchment on a step. Sara leaned in close, illuminating it with her torch. ‘It looks like a map of some kind.’ He pointed at the strange symbols that ran around its edges, then traced his finger along the dark lines that he assumed indicated the borders of unfamiliar countries. ‘But I don’t recognise –’
There was a loud bang that reverberated from the front gate all the way down the stairwell. The friends glanced at one another, and were reminded that they still had the Roon to deal with.
Morgan rolled up the map, placed it in a pocket inside his cloak and motioned for the recruits to follow him. ‘Come. It’s time we left.’
They joined Cloud Dancer in the library, then all hurried back to the courtyard. Talon, Whisper and Bandit were still standing guard by the building entrance. The monks stationed atop the monastery’s perimeter wall were shooting arrows at the giants. A large group led by Lord Brok had assembled before the main gate, which vibrated and groaned with each charge made by the Roon outside.
Caspan turned to Morgan. ‘We can’t just leave them.’
The Master’s expression was grim. ‘This isn’t our fight. Not here, not today. We need to see that this –’ he patted the map ‘– is returned safely to our order.’ He regarded Lord Brok and his band of defenders, took a deep breath and shifted his gaze back to the recruits. ‘We should go.’ Morgan instructed Kilt and Sara to dismiss Cloud Dancer and Whisper. As the Wardens disappeared in puffs of blue smoke, he told the recruits to assemble before Talon and Bandit. ‘We can’t risk summoning Frostbite, so Caspan will ride with Lachlan and me. Kilt, you’re with Roland and Sara. It’ll be a little tight in the saddles, but we’ll manage.’
Roland climbed aboard his manticore and shuffled forward in the saddle, making room for Sara. He glanced at the Master. ‘There’s never a dull moment when you’re around.’
Morgan grinned. He gave a final glance back at Lord Brok, then gestured for the others to mount the Wardens. ‘Head south, and don’t –’
His words were cut short as the gateway came crashing down.
The Roon swarmed through the threshold and slammed into the defenders.
The centre of the monks’ line held, but the flanks were smashed aside by the ferocity of the Roon. Some of the giants turned to encircle Lord Brok’s core group of defenders, who formed a ring of steel that miraculously held its ground against the storm of black blades. Some tattooed warriors raced up the stairs leading to the wall, where they carved a path of death through the archers. Other giants lumbered across the courtyard, heading straight for the recruits.
Morgan handed Caspan the map, drew his sword and moved forward to intercept them. ‘Get out of here!’ he roared over his shoulder at the initiates, then ducked beneath a savage blow from an axe. Pivoting on his left foot, the Master delivered a kick to the nearest Roon and sent him staggering away. A wild slash from his sword forced the remaining four giants to leap back. They surrounded the Master, who held his blade high above his head in preparation to attack.
It wasn’t difficult finding discarded weapons in the courtyard, and Lachlan and Kilt snatched up swords and raced to Morgan’s defence. They came up behind two of the Roon and forced them to fall back, nursing wounds, then hurried to join Morgan. Talon chased after Lachlan, but turned to the side to engage a group of giants headed for the stairs. The griffin leapt into the air and smashed into the Roon, slamming one into a nearby wall. The other tattooed warriors tried to attack the Warden, but Talon kept them at bay, swiping at them with his sharp claws and snapping at them with his beak, which came crunching down like the jaws of a bear trap. Gradually, the griffin was able to pen the giants in a doorway alcove.
Caspan and Sara armed themselves with bows and quivers from a pile they found lying against the building. They sent the remaining two giants that had gotten past Lord Brok retreating behind their shields; one with a feathered shaft lodged in his chest, the other with an arrow in his thigh. Caspan’s archery training at the House of Whispers had paid off, and he felt grimly satisfied when his second shot found its mark.
Seizing the opportunity, Morgan, Lachlan and Kilt pulled back. They had almost reached Caspan and Sara, when a tremendous roar rose over the sounds of combat. The companions turned to gaze upon the monstrous Roon that pushed through the giants in the gateway, smashing aside three monks and two of his fellow warriors with a swing of one of his massive, double-headed axes. The colossal Roon lumbered into the courtyard and charged towards Morgan and the recruits.
Caspan’s blood froze. Impossible! It was the same arrow-riddled and battle-scarred Roon Morgan had slain outside the monastery wall.
The Master pushed Lachlan and Kilt away. ‘Leave. Now!’ He kissed the edge of his sword and turned to face the advancing berserker.
But none of the recruits was going to abandon Morgan. Caspan and Sara shot two arrows each in swift succession, three of which thudded into the giant’s chest, forcing him to reel back. Meanwhile, Lachlan and Kilt moved to the sides of the courtyard to flank the Roon. Morgan glared at the recruits, furious that they had not followed his order, then, shaking his head resignedly, raised his soul key to summon Fang.
The Master did not see the massive giant hurtle one of his axes at him. Kilt cried out in alarm, and Morgan looked up just in time. Cursing under his breath, he leapt instinctively aside. But he wasn’t fast enough. The weapon’s thick haft struck his temple with a sickening crack. He took two teetering steps backwards, dropped his sword and slumped to the ground.
The giant drew back his remaining axe and lumbered towards the stricken Master. Lachlan tore in from the side, roaring ferociously, heaving his sword in a two-handed grip. Kilt charged from the opposite direction, her sword held high above her head. Caspan and Sara tried their best to distract the Roon, unleashing the last of their arrows. But it didn’t stop the giant from turning to face Lachlan.
There was a whoosh of air as the Roon swung wildly with his axe, intending to cleave Lachlan in half. Unable to watch, Sara cried out and looked away. But Lachlan, anticipating the attack, dropped to his side and slid beneath the swipe, his momentum carrying him across the flagstones. There was a slash of silver as he passed the giant, who faltered back, clutching at his torso. As Lachlan slid to safety, Kilt reached the giant and brought her blade down in a gleaming arc, only to have the giant deflect her attack with his axe. Before Kilt had a chance to react, the Roon reached out and locked his hand around her neck.
Afraid of shooting Kilt, Caspan lowered his bow and sprinted towards her. Lachlan also leapt to his feet and turned towards the giant, who lifted Kilt high up in the air, his remaining axe drawn back. Caspan realised he would never make it in time, so he hurled his bow at the giant. It hit the Roon on the shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch. Only Lachlan was close enough to save Kilt, but the Roon barged the large boy to the ground, using Kilt as a shield.
Kilt gave a gargled, terrified scream as the tattooed behemoth prepared to swing his axe. At that moment Bandit tore past Caspan and sent the Roon’s axe skittering across the ground with a swipe of a clawed paw. Startled, the giant dropped Kilt and spun around to face the manticore – only to be sent sailing through the air by another massive swipe. The giant smashed into the monastery wall and dropped in a crumpled heap on the ground.
Roland looked down from Bandit’s back as Caspan raced over to assist Kilt and Lachlan to their feet. ‘I thought you might need some help.’
Kilt rubbed her throat and collected her sword. ‘I had everything under control.’
‘Well, we’re going to need more help if we’re going to face them.’ Lachlan pointed with his sword to a large group of Roon who, no longer afraid of being inadvertently killed by the ber
serker, had broken off from attacking Lord Brok’s defenders and were advancing towards them. ‘I think it’s time we take Morgan’s advice and leave.’
Kilt scrambled onto Bandit’s back. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
Sara climbed up behind her and notched an arrow to her bow from the new quiver she had collected. She glanced at Lachlan and Caspan, jerked her chin at the Master and took aim at one of the giants. ‘I’ll cover you while you get Morgan. But hurry!’
Lachlan ordered Talon to withdraw from the fight and fall back to join Bandit. He and Caspan then hurried to help Morgan. The Master had a nasty bruise on his temple, but he was conscious. Covered by Sara’s bow, they collected the Master’s sword and, supporting Morgan with their shoulders, rushed him over to Talon. Caspan strapped Morgan into the rear harness, sat in front of him and took a firm hold of the saddle horn. Lachlan swung atop his griffin and dug his heels into the Warden’s flanks. Talon gave several powerful beats of his wings and, carefully avoiding hurled axes and spears, flew out of the courtyard. With a final roar that made the Roon hesitate with fear, Bandit followed suit.
The recruits disappeared into the safety of the mist. They continued to climb until they emerged from the thick blanket of grey, then brought the Wardens close together and hovered in the air.
Roland shifted in his saddle and craned forward to get a better look at Morgan. He cringed when he saw the bruise before glancing questioningly at Caspan. ‘How is he?’
‘He keeps mumbling and moaning,’ Caspan said. ‘We’ll need to get him to a physician.’
‘Until then, make sure he doesn’t fall off,’ Sara said concernedly.
Caspan turned around to inspect the harness. ‘You don’t need to worry about that. He’s strapped in tightly.’ He regarded his friends for a moment and shuddered at the memory of the fight. ‘That was close.’
Kilt exhaled, touching her neck tentatively. ‘Too close.’ She stared into the haze beneath them, where the high-pitched squeal of steel on steel revealed that Lord Brok’s monks were still making a last stand. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘Get as far away from here as possible. Then fly back to the House of Whispers with the map.’ Sara’s tone suggested that there should be no questioning the matter.
Lachlan gazed downwards. ‘I hate to abandon the monks, but we’re helpless against so many enemies. Sara’s right – all we can do is return with the map. That’s what Morgan ordered us to do.’
Roland chewed his bottom lip anxiously. ‘But what of the Roon?’
‘Lord Brok sent riders to warn the northern legions,’ Kilt returned.
Caspan arched an eyebrow sceptically. ‘What if they don’t make it?’
Sara readjusted the bow and quiver slung over her shoulder. ‘We’ll just have to hope they do.’
Caspan’s eyebrow arched higher. He wanted to distance himself from the tattooed giants, but knew that the northern legions had to be cautioned. ‘That’s a massive gamble,’ he warned. ‘And I’m not prepared to make it.’
Sara’s eyes narrowed. ‘What?’
‘We need to personally warn the northern legions. It’s the only way we can be sure that the message gets through.’
Sara planted her hands on her hips. ‘This isn’t a game, Caspan.’
He nodded sombrely. ‘I know. And that’s exactly why we have to do this.’
‘He’s right. The legions will be annihilated if they’re attacked by surprise from the south,’ Roland remarked grimly.
Caspan nodded at him, thankful for his support. ‘Morgan told us that the legions are only an hour by horse north of here. We’ll get there in a quarter of that time. They’ll also have medics who can tend to Morgan.’
Sara contemplated his words before sighing resignedly. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
Roland rubbed his chin and his eyes narrowed conspiratorially. ‘What if we beat the Roon at their own game?’
‘I don’t like it when you get that look on your face. It always means trouble’s brewing,’ Kilt replied.
‘What do you have in mind?’ Caspan asked.
Roland licked his lips. ‘We can set a trap for the Roon. We need to send word to the northern legions and get at least one of them to head south. At the same time, some of us can fly down to Darrowmere. If we can convince Bran MacDain to send an army north, we can hit the Roon army on two fronts. It would be a massacre. What do you think?’
Lachlan nodded enthusiastically. ‘It’s brilliant.’
‘I think we should do it,’ Caspan agreed.
Sara pursed her lips. ‘But what of the map?’
Caspan touched the parchment tucked under his belt. ‘It’ll have to wait. This might be our one chance to turn the tide of the war in our favour.’
‘And if Duke Bran doesn’t believe you?’
Caspan shrugged. ‘At least we would have tried. We’ve got nothing to lose.’
No further objections were raised, and Roland’s eyes glistened with excitement. ‘We’re actually going to do this?’ When the others nodded – including a reluctant Sara – he straightened his shoulders proudly and drew a deep breath. ‘So who’s heading south?’
Caspan thought about this for a moment. ‘Lachlan and I will. It’ll take a little longer for us to reach The Hold, but Morgan will be able to recuperate in a proper bed, and not in some makeshift tent in a military encampment.’ Nobody disagreed with him, and he smiled sadly as he looked at his friends. ‘I guess this is farewell for now.’
Sara gave an encouraging smile. ‘Before we know it, we’ll all be drinking cider in the Thirsty Wayfarer.’
‘That would be nice,’ Kilt said, her expression softening.
Roland grinned. ‘I wouldn’t say no to another Farmer’s Platter For Four. Right, let’s teach the Roon a lesson.’ He saluted the others, bid them the best of luck and kicked his heels into Bandit’s flanks, sending his manticore flying northward.
Sara turned in her saddle, waved back at Caspan and Lachlan and called, ‘Be careful.’
‘The same to you,’ Caspan whispered. He patted Lachlan on the arm, and the boys began their journey to Bran MacDain’s white fortress, encumbered by the belief that the fate of Andalon rested on their shoulders.
An hour later, Lachlan landed Talon behind a copse of trees on a small hill in a field near Darrowmere. He dismissed his griffin before helping Caspan carry Master Morgan along a dirt road towards the gates of the fortified city.
Lachlan had wanted to fly up to The Hold, the central fortress of Duke Bran MacDain, but Caspan had cautioned against this. He didn’t think they would be received warmly, appearing unannounced in the royal precinct. It was more than likely they’d be arrested the instant they arrived.
He was also unsure as to how the people of Darrowmere would react to Talon. The griffin had a ferocious appearance, and there was every possibility the Warden might be shot down by archers as they approached the city walls. The boys decided it would be prudent for them to keep their soul keys hidden beneath their tunics and to arouse as little attention as possible.
Once through the city gates, they made their way up towards the white fortress, pausing every now and then to check on Morgan and to rest their aching muscles. Many townsfolk gave them concerned looks, but nobody offered them assistance. Lachlan was angered by this, but it didn’t surprise Caspan in the least. Having grown up in the streets of Floran, he knew that the average person preferred not to get involved in other people’s business. It was safer to turn a blind eye and carry on as if nothing had happened, which suited him fine. As far as he knew, the less attention they attracted, the better.
After what seemed to take forever, they arrived at the fortified gate leading to The Hold. Two guards stood before the raised portcullis. The larger of the two eyed Caspan and Lachlan warily as they supported the injured Morgan upright on their shoulders. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded in a gruff voice, cracking the butt of his polearm on the ground to add authority to his words.
Caspan wiped a sleeve across his forehead, pushing aside strands of hair damp with perspiration. ‘We have an urgent message for Duke Bran.’
The second guard – a small man with rodent-like features – picked at something between his teeth with a grubby fingernail then dismissed the recruits to move off with a flick of his hand. ‘Don’t waste our time. Go play elsewhere.’
Caspan stared at the guard. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain to the Duke why you sent away people who had vital information about the Roon.’
The smaller guard’s eyes narrowed. He regarded them for a moment before shifting his gaze to consider the injured Morgan. He had a quiet word with his fellow sentry before hurrying through the gateway, only to return shortly with an officer who, after a quick inspection of Morgan, ordered for the Master to be taken inside to the infirmary. The officer asked two nearby guards to accompany him in escorting the recruits to The Hold. They passed through a courtyard and entered the central keep, where Caspan and Lachlan were told to wait inside a small audience chamber.
They had been sitting silently for some time before Lachlan got up, rolled his shoulders and peered out a window. He whistled and raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s quite a view from up here. You could see an approaching army long before they reach the city walls.’
‘Let’s hope that never happens,’ Caspan murmured dourly.
Lachlan smiled encouragingly at him. ‘Hey, why so glum? So far so good.’
Caspan returned the smile, but he was unsettled by the guards, who were waiting just outside the chamber. ‘I’ll feel better when we talk to Duke Bran. Every minute counts, and we’re cooped up in here like criminals.’
Lachlan looked at the guards and shrugged. ‘Don’t worry about them. I know I’d do exactly the same if complete strangers demanded to speak to the Duke.’
‘I suppose so,’ Caspan sighed. ‘Still, I don’t like feeling as though we’re the enemies here.’ He tucked the map down the inside of his boot as a precautionary measure.
