More guards joined them and under armed escort he was taken from the tower and down into the labyrinth of tunnels that riddled the earth beneath the keep.
He was tossed into a narrow cell. As soon as he had hit the rough floor a great weight fell across his legs. The guards slammed the door closed and locked it from without.
Gaelan blinked in the darkness, the weight pinning him shifted and groaned. He rubbed his cheek against the stone working the gag free of his mouth. He spat out the cloth and moistened his lips. “Burcott are you hurt?” He whispered.
Fullvie grunted rolling over onto his back and off of Gaelan’s legs. “Save for a knot the size of a goose egg on my head I’m fine.”
Gaelan winced, “I bear one that would rival yours in size.” Shifting around he leaned against the wall. He inhaled deeply and instantly regretted the action. The air of the chamber was damp and reeked of sewage. “These cells have stood vacant for more than fifty years, you would think the smells would have faded over time.”
Burcott laughed softly. “Thorunder’s garderobes empty into these levels. Just try not to sit anywhere that’s damp. The smells are sure to improve once the keeps populace awakens.”
Gaelan shook his head in wonder at his companions twisted sense of humor. “With what Goliad has planned for us come daybreak I think the use of toilets would be the least of our worries.”
“Goliad and Vernal will have much to answer for once we are released.” Burcott said threateningly.
“We will never be set free,” Gaelan said dejectedly. “Goliad has seized the crown and will never willingly relinquish it.”
“What has Vernal gained for his treachery?”
“Vernal thought he would gain the throne, Goliad however betrayed him as well. He will instead become lord over the lands held by the Landsmarch.”
“Your fathers life was brought for a high price,” Burcott mumbled. “The people will not follow Goliad.”
“No,” Gaelan agreed. “But they will follow my sister, and it’s through her he will rule. He controls her as easily as a Bard manipulates a puppet.”
They sat in silence for a few moments listening to the sounds in the darkness. The steady drip of water and the scratching of foraging rats kept them company.
Gaelan could take it no more, “We need to escape Burcott, any ideas.”
“We wait,” Burcott answered. “My men will be here soon enough once they learn of our fate.”
“How many men?” Gaelan asked his hope returning.
“Thirty two, not enough to take the hall. But they should suffice in getting free of this place. Between Vernal and Goliad they have over one hundred men. With the lesser houses support they may have as many as five hundred.”
Gaelan rested his head on his knees. He could not count on the palace guard. If they believed him to be the killer they would only fall in on Goliad’s side. There was no way they could retake the keep, Goliad was too well entrenched. “Where do we go if we win free?” He asked, unable to come up with any plan for the moment.
“We go east, to Carich,” Burcott answered. “My men hold that fortress.”
Gaelan closed his eyes. “We might as well get some rest, it will be well after sunup before your men notice you are missing.”
As Gaelan finished speaking the sounds of fighting reached their ears. A door was ripped from its hinges nearby.
“I forgot to tell you,” Burcott spoke over the noise. “It was with my men that I was drinking.” He laughed, “I would take any drunk man of my household over a sober guardsman any day.”
The sounds of fighting stopped and a dim light shone through the opening in the door.
“Lord Burcott?” A voice called out from the hall.
“Over here!” Burcott shouted in response pressing his face against the iron grill set in the door.
A crowd of men gathered beyond the door, the lock clicked as they tried the keys one by one.
As soon as the lock opened Burcott was through the door. His eyes and flashing in the dim light of the torches they carried. One of his men cut the cords that bound them.
“Garm!” Burcott shouted slapping the man on the shoulder. “Well done!”
The man smiled enduring the blow. “We must go milord, our men hold the corridor above but the alarm is being sounded.”
Burcott nodded his face growing sober. “Lead on then, we will need horses if we are to live out this day.”
“That’s already done,” Garm shouted as they ran down the passage. “Lord Hurin and his men hold the courtyard and the memorial gate.”
Gaelan smiled, they may actually succeed. “How many men are with him?”
“Close to thirty, most are his retainers but a few of the palace guard are with him, milord,” Garm answered suddenly aware that it was prince Gaelan at his side.
“That gives us more than sixty men,” Gaelan mused. “Could we capture Goliad with so few?”
“Perhaps,” Burcott replied. “But...”
“Nay,” Garm interrupted them. “There are at least twice our number in Morne about the keep.”
“Morne!” Gaelan shouted. “Are you certain?”
Garm stopped at the stairwell leading upward. “Black robes,” He said panting. “I got a close look, they are not men. Goliad greeted them at the gate himself. When I saw this I went in search of Lord Burcott. It is for this reason that many of the palace guard are with us.”
Burcott spat, “Does his treachery know any bounds. I’ll gut him like a fish for this.”
“That will have to wait,” Gaelan said cooling Burcott’s temper. “We have to escape and rally our people we cannot allow the Morne to get a foot hold in Trondhiem, if they do all of the east is doomed.”
They took the stairs two at a time quickly arriving on the landing above. Where a number of Burcott’s men stood guard, several of Vernal’s men lay dead on the ground. Having failed to fight past them.
Burcott took the fallen men’s weapons; he passed one sword to Gaelan. “Stay behind me if we run afoul of any of Vernal’s men.”
“I will do nothing of the sort,” Gaelan answered angered by the suggestion.
“It is my duty to protect you,” Burcott argued. “I have failed one king this night I’ll not fail another.”
“Then watch my back,” Gaelan said with a grin. “As to my fathers death you cannot take on that burden.”
Burcott frowned, a deep furrow creasing his brow. “I am a member of the Landsmarch it is our duty to protect the crown.”
“We will argue this point later, for now get us the hell out of here.”
Burcott nodded to Garm who took the lead. “I always wanted to be an outlaw,” he said falling in step beside Gaelan.
Taking a side passage Garm led them through the kitchens and into the dining hall beyond.
At the opposite end of the room several of Vernal’s guards were entering through the large double doors that opened onto galloglass hall. They shouted and charged.
The fight was furious but short lived; at the end six of Vernal’s men lay dead as well as two of Burcott’s own.
From the hall beyond came the sounds of running men.
“This way!” Garm hissed, leading them through a servant’s entrance away from the large doorway.
They ran down the narrow passage and turned into a short corridor that led to the king’s courtyard.
Chaos greeted them as they rushed out of the building. A fierce battle was taking place, members of the palace guard stood alongside Hurin’s men. They were fighting Goliad’s forces pressing them back into the keep.
Lord Hurin had gathered around fifty horses and some of his men held the reins of the frightened mounts near the gate.
Gaelan wasted no time; he vaulted onto a horse’s back. He led the mounted charge that smashed into the usurpers men. The mounted warriors became a wedge between the forces.
Giving the men on foot a chance to mount up. They did not have horse’s enough and a few ha
d to ride double.
The men within the keep rallied and pushed forward. Lord Hurin led the way as they retreated out the gate and into the twisting paths of the royal downs. Across ancient burial mounds the horses charged. Until they reached the low wall that surrounded the graveyard, with a final leap for freedom they entered the city of Rodderdam.
Rodderdam stood atop a steep sided hill known as Cal’Arev. Its streets were narrow and paved with rough sided cobbles. The iron-shod hooves of the horses rang loudly on the damp stones as they hurtled through the night.
Coming to the edge of the hilltop they hardly slowed, the horses plunging over the brink. It was steep and treacherous; four horses fell their legs flailing wildly as they rolled. Three men were crushed beneath them, the fourth was lost in the darkness.
At the base of the slope they called out for the missing, but no reply was heard. They were either dead or rendered unconscious, no matter their condition they could ill afford any further delay. From the city above the alarm bells rang and lights were kindled in many of the darkened windows.
“We can linger no longer,” Burcott charged eastward trusting that the others would follow.
The land about Cal’Arev was a low smooth plain of rich soil that supported many farms. Driving their horses hard they crossed many miles of open farmland. One of Hurin’s men died on the ride. He had taken a sword thrust to the belly; there was little anyone could have done to save him.
Burcott took the man’s sword and plunged it into the earth. The rising sun reflected from the polished steel, a beacon upon the field marking the resting place of a fallen warrior.
“We have no time for a proper burial,” He said apologetically. “The Farmers will see the deed done for us.”
After a few moments rest they set out once more their number now fifty-three. They rode northwest at a slower pace, their fears of pursuit somewhat lessoned. The plains about Rodderdam were vast and Goliad could not allow his forces to search them out until his hold on the palace was secure.
On the morning of their third day since escaping Rodderdam they reached the banks of the Rildrun River. The waters were deep and swift, from lake Valdecar the river cut across the land until it merged with the salt marsh on the shores of the Southern sea.
There was no way to cross the raging current. Lake Valdecar was swollen with snowmelt from the Raobahn Mountains. With the lake flooding and the river swollen it would be weeks until the torrent lessoned.
To the west lay the only crossing and towards it they rode. It took most of the day, in the late afternoon the bridge of Galtor stood before them.
The Bridge spanned the river in a single graceful arch of cut stone. On the opposite shore stood the village after which the bridge was named.
They crossed the span surprising the guards who warded it. They snapped to attention saluting the two Lords and the Prince who rode with them.
The townspeople turned out to see the bedraggled royalty as they rested their mounts at the livery. The hour was late and the men spent the night in the small inn that served as a barracks for the bridge guard.
With rested horses and supplies they set off shortly after daybreak. They made good time and left the plains climbing into the rising hills within the shadow of the Raobahn Mountains.
Following a well-worn trail into the dense pines that shrouded the lower slopes of the mountains. The air was brisk and the wood bursting with the songs of birds. The trail followed the lay of the land and switched back and forth many times in its climb up into the pass.
The pass was a deep groove cut into the high cliffs of the mountains. It opened at the upper limit of the forest, barren of trees with only a few skeletal bushes to mark its entrance.
Nestled within the shelter of the mountains stood the citadel of Carich tower. Rising a full one hundred feet above the trail its upper level pierced by narrow lancets spaced evenly about its diameter. Armored men could be seen behind the battlement that encircled its top.
The towers base was hidden behind a stout wall of dressed stone. Rising thirty feet it contained only one gate, framed by two bastions. Within the gate a heavy iron portcullis had been raised, only its lower edge was visible to the riders as they approached.
Above the tower a large banner snapped in the wind, a golden stag rearing on a field of sapphire. It was the standard of the house of Fullvie and Gaelan felt safer seeing it.
Two men rode out of the gate as the riders entered the pass. They trotted slowly down the steep slope. When they recognized that it was the prince accompanying their lord one of the riders returned to the keep driving his horse at a dead run.
“Prince Gaelan,” The remaining rider said bowing his head slightly. “This is most unexpected, we have received no word of your coming. I am afraid we have no welcome prepared for you.”
“There will be little time for ceremonies and feasts guardsman,” Gaelan replied with a casual wave of his hand. “The reason for our visit is not something to be celebrated.” The prince spurred his horse past the bewildered guard and up the berm towards the open gate.
Gaelan rode into the bailey, hastily assembled, the thousand men of the guard stood in orderly ranks awaiting his inspection. He looked at the men’s faces. Many of them were too young to have seen combat and they looked on to their prince expecting some word from him.
Gaelan reined his horse to a stop directly in front of them. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.
“Men of the house Fullvie!” He said loudly, his voice echoing from the surrounding stonewalls. “I bear news most dire, seven days ago my father, your king was murdered in his very chambers. Slain by a traitors blade in the dead of night.” The men began shouting questions, hundreds of voices crying out at once. Gaelan sat in his waiting for them to grow still.
“Silence!” A voice bellowed from the gate, it was lord Fullvie his face reddened with anger. “Are you men? Or old women who cannot hold their tongues to save their very lives!”
The men snapped to attention, an eerie silence filled the courtyard. Only the sound of the sighing wind mixed with the snapping pennant broached the stillness.
“This foul deed was perpetrated by the lesser houses united by Vernal and Goliad.” Gaelan continued. “They have seized the throne and have either killed or imprisoned the Lords of the Landsmarch. To make their deed all the more grievous, they have allied themselves with the Morne. As we sit here the enemies of our forefathers walk within the very house of your king.”
All sense of order vanished the ranks fell apart. The bailey rang with the angry shouts of these men. Swords were drawn and a thousand blades flashed like lightning in the bright sunlight.
Gaelan’s horse spun about unnerved by the commotion. As he fought for control of the unruly beast Burcott stood in his stirrups his drawn sword held high above his head.
“Death to the traitors!” Lord Fullvie shouted. “Long live Gaelan, King of Trondhiem!”
The men took up the call, shouting it until the very stones of the mountains seemed to shake from their anger.
Gaelan held his hand out and after several moments the men quieted. “The road ahead is perilous, we will be branded as traitors our names will be slandered in our own homes. I will have no man among us who does not wish to be. There is no shame or dishonor, the gate stands open and if any should wish he may leave now in safety with his head held high.”
The men looked about, but no one moved. They were warriors of Fullvie sworn to the service of their King.
Gaelan nodded in approval to Burcott. The old Lord was smiling proudly.
“For Trondhiem!” Gaelan shouted, the men roared in approval taking up the new call. “Seal the gates!” He ordered dismounting and passing his reins to a nearby guard.
“Return to your duties!” Burcott bellowed above the din. “Sharpen your blades and remain vigilant. Our enemy will come to us soon enough.”
Burcott dismounted and strode confidently through the groups of men rus
hing off to ready the small keep for war.
Gaelan gripped Burcott’s shoulder. “These are fine men.”
“You’ll find none better, my king.” Burcott replied with pride.
Gaelan frowned, “I will not be called king until all of Trondhiem is free of Goliad and Vernal’s filth.”
Burcott nodded in acceptance. “As you wish, Gaelan.”
“Prince Gaelan,” Lord Hurin interrupted. “I must return to my house in Eramat. My people must be forewarned of the coming danger.”
“By all means,” Gaelan answered shaking the Lord’s hand firmly. “I owe you a debt of gratitude Lord Hurin.”
Lord Hurin bowed, “I did my duty as all who are loyal to the crown should sire. My house and men are in your service prince Gaelan. I shall return with the warriors at my disposal.” Hurin looked to Burcott and shook hands with the large man. “Hold fast until I return old friend.”
Burcott laughed, “Don’t worry we wont go off and win the war without you.” Burcott pulled his signet ring from his finger. “Would you be so kind as to swing south and tell my brothers what has transpired.” He tossed the ring to Hurin. “Give them this and they will know what is to be done.”
Hurin tucked the ring into the pocket of his amber riding cloak. “I will do as you ask.”
He mounted up and with a short wave farewell he led his men out through the gate.
Burcott led the way into the tower. A great hall comprised the entire lower floor. Thick columns of worked stone supported the upper floors. Lamps burned on the pillars their light flooding the room and dancing from the hundreds of polished shields that lined the outer wall.
The captains of the guard rose from their chairs, their faces and eyes filled with doubt.
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