by Stuart Daly
Dale smiled and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Ah, the covert Brotherhood. Don’t worry, one day I’ll find out what your mysterious order does.’ He tickled Talon under the chin before giving the command for his soldiers to return to the city. ‘And so the cleaning begins,’ he muttered as he trudged down the hill, flanked by Morgan, the recruits and their Wardens. The Crimson Blades followed behind at a respectful distance. ‘Will you stay for a while?’ he asked, glancing sideways at Morgan.
The Master rolled his bruised jaw and winced painfully. ‘Thank you, but we’ve been delayed long enough.’ He saw the disappointed look on the recruits’ faces and added, ‘Though I’m sure we can stay for the night.’
Lachlan glanced at Caspan and mouthed a silent, jubilant, ‘Yes!’
Caspan was sure the Master wanted to return to the House of Whispers to inspect the map they’d discovered at Saint Justyn’s, but he also knew Morgan didn’t want to offend the Prince. There was also the issue of their wounds. A night of rest would be necessary to give them all time to heal.
Dale clapped Morgan on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be my honoured guests.’ He looked over his shoulder and clicked his fingers, summoning one of his bodyguards. ‘Escort our friends to The Hold and get them settled for the evening. The second guestroom will be suitable.’ He shifted his gaze back to Morgan and guided him around one of the slain Roon. ‘We reserve that room for Dougal, Master of the Hunt, but he’s not due to visit until the end of the month. You should come back then. Game is always plentiful at that time of year, and Father always leads a hunting expedition. I’m sure he’d be pleased to have you along.’
Morgan bowed courteously. ‘We’d be honoured, your highness.’
‘Good.’ Dale’s expression was grim as he scanned the bodies littered across the field. ‘Hopefully Darrowmere isn’t being attacked by a Roon army then.’
Caspan nodded solemnly as they made their way across the battlefield, trying his best to avert his eyes from the dead by focusing on the city’s fortifications. This was the first time he had seen a war, and he hoped it would be the last.
As arranged, Morgan, Caspan and Lachlan stayed the night in The Hold, where Duke Bran held a surprise banquet to celebrate their victory. Sitting with Lachlan and Morgan at the Duke’s table, Caspan felt like royalty. He ate and drank his fill to the accompaniment of entertainment provided by troubadours and jesters. It was a glimpse into a lifestyle he had only ever dreamed of on cold winter nights back in Floran, when he would stare up at the lord’s castle, wondering what it would be like to live there.
Everybody in attendance smothered the trio in praise, thanking them for saving the city. One of the minstrels even composed a ballad in their honour, named the ‘Lay of Darrowmere’. Caspan felt flattered, but he wasn’t comfortable knowing that many in the city were mourning, grieving the loss of loved ones and repairing sections of the walls and outlying farms that had been destroyed. Between songs and bursts of merriment, he heard craftsmen labouring through the night. He was also conscious of the empty chairs at nearby tables, and he wondered how many of these members of the lower nobility had lost their lives during the siege, or were out in the cold dark, overseeing the reconstruction of the city gates.
A group of men and women sat at a table to the left of the hall. They ate amongst themselves, making no effort to engage in conversation with those seated at Duke Bran’s table. Occasionally one of them would glance disdainfully at the royal table and make what was obviously a snide remark, eliciting sneers and malicious laughter from the others.
Lachlan nudged Caspan and gestured towards them with a flick of his eyes. ‘They’re the life of the party,’ he muttered. He looked at one particular lady in a black velvet dress sitting at the front of the table. Her lips were set in a thin, severe line, and her dark hair, greying at the temples, was pulled back tightly, accentuating her high cheekbones and hard eyes. ‘I wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley.’
Caspan nodded and wiped his sleeve across his lips, muffling his voice so that it wouldn’t carry. ‘The Prince told us not everybody here supports his father. I think they’re members of General Brett’s camp.’
Lachlan blew out a sharp, contemptuous breath. ‘I don’t know why the Duke tolerates them. I’d kick them out of here quick-smart.’
‘I’m sure he would if he could.’ Caspan didn’t know much about politics and court life, but he imagined it would be an endless game of bickering, rivalry, backstabbing and feigning politeness to people you detested. It was a world he wanted no part of.
Lachlan covered his mouth behind his tankard. ‘I hope she won’t be coming on the hunt. One look from her and every deer and fox in Lochinbar would drop dead.’
Caspan grinned as Lachlan drained off the rest of his drink. The large boy’s mood lightened when he saw an enormous sausage on a platter in the middle of the table. He leaned out of his chair, stabbed it with his fork and held it up for Caspan’s inspection. ‘Check this out. Can you imagine the look on Roland’s face?’
Caspan smirked. ‘It’s Mr Tasty’s big brother. You’d better watch what you say or he’ll beat you up.’
Lachlan held the sides of his stomach and chuckled. ‘Please, don’t remind me. I’m still sporting bruises from my last encounter with a sausage.’ He winced against his wounded side as he settled back into his seat, but couldn’t stop laughing.
Caspan assumed a mock serious expression and waved a cautionary finger at his friend. ‘Well, they can be very sensitive.’
‘Oh, believe me, I know.’ Lachlan held up the sausage again and scowled at it. ‘Watch yourself, or you’ll get chewed in half. In fact, I might teach you a lesson right now.’ He took a bite out of one end, and fat squirted in his left eye.
Caspan guffawed. ‘It’s got it in for you. I can see the inscription on your tombstone: Lachlan the Bold, Saviour of Darrowmere, slain by Mr Tasty’s Big Brother.’
‘What are you two chortling about?’ Morgan asked from the opposite side of the table. Seeing the sausage on the end of Lachlan’s fork, his expression became deadpan. ‘On second thoughts, I don’t want to know.’
The Master’s reaction made the boys laugh even more. It was the first time they’d had a chance to relax in the past two days, and they let all their fears and anxiety drain from their bodies.
Dale grinned at the recruits from across the table. ‘Care to fill me in on the joke?’ he asked, and tasted one of the sausages on his plate. He motioned with a wave of his fork for one of the servants to come close, an impressed look on his face. ‘Who made this? It’s exceptional.’
This was more than Caspan and Lachlan could take. Caspan laughed so loud he almost fell out of his seat. Lachlan slapped the table several times in hysterics, almost knocking over Caspan’s tankard, which the Master reached out dexterously to catch. Morgan kicked the boys in the shins from under the table.
‘What’s gotten into you? Behave yourselves!’ he hissed.
Looking down from his throne-like chair, Duke Bran raised a hand to signal that the Master need not worry. ‘Let the boys have their fun – they’ve certainly deserved it.’
Morgan cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘But not at the Prince’s expense, my lord.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Dale said, smirking at the boys. ‘I’m having just as much fun watching them.’
The Master sighed and muttered under his breath, ‘Boys!’
The banquet lasted long into the night. Caspan and Lachlan were terribly tired by the time it ended. They trudged through the corridors of the keep, following a servant to their guest chamber. They slung their weapons over the bedposts and, without bothering to change their clothing, flopped onto the beds. They waited until Master Morgan, who had remained behind in the hall to discuss important matters with Duke Bran, joined them. Caspan then blew out the bedside candle and climbed under his blanket.
‘Hopefully we won’t be woken up by an assassin this time,’ Lachlan remarked wryly.
&nbs
p; Caspan yawned, closed his eyes and pulled his blanket high around his neck. ‘Well, if any do, you can take care of them. I’m exhausted.’
They were silent for a while. Caspan had almost fallen asleep, when Lachlan asked, ‘I wonder if the assassin was sent by General Brett? We never really found out.’
‘I’m sure he was responsible, given that he rode out of here without the Duke’s approval only a few hours before the Roon arrived,’ Morgan said.
Caspan glanced wearily at the Master. In the moonlight streaming through the open window, he saw him lying on his back, his hands folded behind his head, staring at the roof. ‘What will become of him?’
‘I was discussing that with the Duke. He’s going to send out a troop of soldiers tomorrow morning to track down the General and bring him back to Darrowmere. He’ll be placed on trial for treason.’
‘Serves him right. That’s what you get for threatening to torture us.’ Lachlan stretched out and exhaled contentedly. ‘I wonder what’s happened to Roland, Sara and Kilt?’
‘We’ll fly north tomorrow morning and find them,’ Morgan said. ‘After that we’ll return to the House of Whispers. I’ll make a report to Duke Connal, explaining all that has happened on this journey. And then we’ll have a good look at the map.’ He glanced at Caspan. ‘You still have it?’
Caspan felt down the inside of his boot. ‘Still there. But it’s sure to smell of feet by now.’
Lachlan chuckled and rolled over onto his side. ‘Master?’
‘Hmm.’
‘Promise you’ll never ask us to accompany you on any more trips north.’
There was silence for a few seconds, and Caspan wondered if the Master was suppressing one of his rare smiles. ‘I promise.’
Grinning contentedly, it wasn’t long before Caspan fell asleep.
Morgan led Caspan and Lachlan north the following morning, only to find that Roland, Sara and Kilt had returned to the House of Whispers two days earlier, after delivering their message concerning the Roon invasion force. Rather than send an army south, the northern legions had remained camped along the River Trenter. Scouts had reported that a massive Roon army was heading their way from the north, and they didn’t want to risk compromising their position by dividing their force.
His friends, Caspan had learned, had tried their best to sway the commander of the King’s armies, General Stene, but their efforts were in vain. The discussion became heated at one point, with Kilt stomping her foot angrily and calling the commander ‘a stubborn baboon’. She was lucky that the General didn’t take offence to her insult. On the contrary, he seemed impressed and informed his assembled commanders that he could win the war in less than a week if he had a thousand men with Kilt’s courage.
The journey north had aggravated Lachlan’s wound. He insisted that he was okay, but Morgan made sure they had one of General Stene’s surgeons attend to him before they headed south again.
They held their own banquet in the Great Hall of the House of Whispers later that evening to celebrate their reunion. Sara’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when Caspan and Lachlan told them about the siege. Kilt listened intently, her features sombre. The boys would have been able to tell their story in half the time had it not been for Roland’s constant interruptions. At one point he sprang up onto the table, knocking over a plate of food as he wielded an imaginary sword while re-enacting Master Morgan’s fight with the first of the Roon to enter the battlements.
In addition to the recruits, Duke Connal, Masters Scott and Morgan, and Gramidge were in attendance. Gramidge was so excited to see Caspan and Lachlan safe and sound that he hugged them so hard the boys felt he almost snapped their backs. There were no minstrels or jesters this time – although there was no need for any entertainment with Roland present – but the Duke put on a feast worthy of a king, presenting everyone’s favourite dishes. Normally the Wardens weren’t allowed inside the Great Hall, but buckets of food were set up for them in a corner.
Talon and Cloud Dancer ate peacefully, at times even taking it in turns to eat from the same bucket. Whisper skilfully pushed a pail across to the hearth, ate her fill and curled up on a rug in front of the fire. Bandit, on the other hand, was more interested in teasing Roland. The manticore had barely touched the food set out for him, when he padded stealthily across the hall, came up behind Roland and swiped a turkey leg off his plate. He did this three times before Roland tied him to a wooden support beam, leaving his Warden whimpering and staring longingly at him. Caspan was sad that Frostbite missed out on the celebration, but he knew that it was still too early to summon his drake.
Gramidge set up a keg of a special home-brew he had created called Slap Across The Face. It wasn’t alcoholic, but was sickly sweet and provided an energy boost guaranteed to wake even the drowsiest of people. Rather than save it for the following morning, to help the recruits get through their first lesson for the day, as he had initially planned, Gramidge thought it would be best served now, to liven up Caspan and Lachlan, who were weary from their journey south.
Kilt found it so sweet that she couldn’t drink more than one glass. Sara couldn’t tolerate more than a sip; even smelling it made her screw up her nose. Roland and Lachlan, however, loved it and competed to see who could down the most. Master Morgan advised them to stop after their third tankard, believing it would make them sick. But boys being boys, they disregarded his advice and scoffed down more when the adults weren’t watching.
Caspan lost count after their fifth tankard. By that time, his friends were well and truly full of sugar. Roland claimed to be the King of Squirrel Grove, where the acorns were always crunchy, and declared war on Lachlan, who he named the Badger-man of Badger Hill, where the badgers were always badgery. Having found a feather duster propped against a wall, Roland stuck its handle down the rear of his pants for a makeshift tail, did a ridiculous impersonation of a squirrel and tore off after Lachlan. Gramidge apologised profusely to Duke Connal and quickly returned the boys to their seats. Master Morgan discreetly advised Gramidge to take his keg of Slap Across The Face away and ensure that from here on the boys only ever received one tankard in the mornings. Roland and Lachlan didn’t get out of their seats again, but that didn’t stop Roland from making squirrel-like noises for the rest of the night.
Sara rolled her eyes at him after one particularly loud screech, then shifted her gaze to Caspan. ‘You glad to be home?’
Caspan was surprised at how much he had missed the House of Whispers. Having returned around midday, he’d handed the map to Duke Connal and spent the remainder of the day in his private quarters. His friends had accompanied Master Scott and Gramidge to Uckfield Heath to collect supplies, and he thought he’d catch up on some much-needed rest before they returned. Kicking off his boots, he’d lain on his bed, wiggling his toes and staring out the window at the passing clouds. Never before had he felt so safe and secure. He knew the war in the north was still raging, and the Masters and Duke were no doubt studying the map they had collected at Saint Justyn’s.
Despite carrying it down the side of his boot for the past two days, Caspan had only briefly looked at the parchment. He wondered if it held information vital for the Brotherhood, perhaps clues to the location of a tomb containing a treasure trove of magical weapons and Wardens. After completing their training, the recruits might be sent on their first mission to explore the tomb, possibly down in Salahara. But for the moment, both the Roon and the perils of the desert kingdom seemed a great distance away, and Caspan felt there was nothing in the world that could harm him.
He glanced around the Great Hall and at the familiar faces, smiled warmly and nodded.
Sara returned his smile. ‘Well, I’m glad to have you back. Although, I bet there were some things you didn’t miss.’ She motioned with another roll of her eyes at Roland, who was sticking out his front teeth and craning his head in the air, making strange sniffing sounds.
Caspan couldn’t help but laugh. ‘No.’
He was also conscious of Kilt, who was sitting opposite. She hadn’t spoken to him much since he returned. He had thought that their experience at Saint Justyn’s would have brought them closer together, but it appeared not. Perhaps, one day, she might lower her defences and tell him why she resented him so much. Until then, he just had to be satisfied that at least she was no longer mean to him.
Caspan poured himself another drink of warm honey cider, topped off Sara’s and Kilt’s tankards and raised his in a toast. ‘To the Brotherhoood.’
Kilt lifted her drink to join his and drew breath to repeat his words, when Roland thrust forward overzealously with his tankard, knocking and spilling Kilt’s cider all over her.
‘Oops, sorry, Kilt.’ He grinned, unable to hide his mirth, and winked at Caspan. ‘What were the odds of that happening again?’
Kilt scowled at him as she grabbed a nearby cloth and sponged her tunic. ‘You’re a complete and utter puddenhead!’
Caspan smirked behind his drink. It was indeed good to be home.
Caspan waited an anxious week before finally summoning Frostbite. To his great relief the drake had fully recovered, although he now had a scar across the grey-coloured scales of his belly. Caspan celebrated his reunion with his Warden by going on a long flight over the woods to the south of the House of Whispers.
They followed the wind currents, sailing above treetops and enjoying each other’s company, and stopped for lunch at a waterfall. As Frostbite frolicked in the water, Caspan reached into the leather bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a leg of ham and a section of freshly baked bread he had taken from the kitchen. He cut off slices of meat and tossed them to Frostbite, who skilfully snapped them in the air.
They found some old tracks, left behind by a bear that had travelled through the forest some time ago. Caspan didn’t think he was in any real danger, but Frostbite stood defensively by his side for the remainder of their lunch. Caspan didn’t think much about it at the time, but over the course of the next few days he became increasingly aware of how cautious Frostbite was during their training sessions. The drake performed dives slower than Bandit and Talon, and he had to pull harder than usual on the reins to get Frostbite to respond to his commands.
