The Lost Stories

by John Flanagan

  “I think that’s enough cheering, dear,” she said.

  He looked a little startled. He had been quite carried away, he realized. “Oh yes, of course. Quite so, my dear.”

  All in all, it was a good thing that the ladies of Redmont were present that day.

  Finally, the wedding party processed to the Great Hall, where tables were set for the banquet. Arald eyed the glistening table settings and decorations. “This is the best part of any wedding day for me!” he said enthusiastically to Lady Sandra. She rolled her eyes.

  “This is the best part of any day for you,” she replied drolly. He considered the statement, then nodded emphatically.

  “I can’t deny it,” he said, and she smiled, knowing why she loved him.

  Horace and Evanlyn led the way onto the raised dais where the official table was placed. As Will followed in his turn, he looked up admiringly. The dais was surmounted by a magnificent canopy of tasseled white silk, supported on poles and a light framework, and standing three meters above the platform. It was a beautiful finishing touch, he thought.

  Everyone was seated, with a prolonged clattering as benches and chairs were dragged into position on the flagstone floor of the hall. Then Shigeru, who had remained standing, stepped to the front of the dais and spoke. Not the first time, Will was surprised by the depth and timbre of the voice that came from his slight frame.

  “My friends,” he said as silence fell about the room and people craned to see this exotic character from another kingdom,“I am told it is my pleasant duty as Patron-Sponsor to open these festivities. I am also told”—he turned and smiled at King Duncan—“that it is my equally pleasant duty to convey an expensive present upon these young people.”

  Duncan nodded gravely, then couldn’t help a grin breaking through. The role of Patron-Sponsor had been created by Lady Pauline and his own secretary at Halt’s wedding, to avoid an embarrassing situation in which the King had no role to play at the wedding.

  “Accordingly, I have decided to grant them the castle of Hashan-Ji, in the Koto province of my country, with income from its surrounding farmlands, timber forests and hunting rights.” He turned and smiled at Horace and Evanlyn. “By strange coincidence, it’s quite close to my summer palace.”

  There was an audible gasp of surprise from the audience, then a subdued murmur of conversation ran around the large room. This was a magnificent gift indeed.

  Shigeru held up his hands for silence and, gradually, the muttering ceased.

  “I have appointed a steward to administer the castle in your absence. But I hope there will be times when you will be able to visit. You will be known as Lord and Lady Kurokuma, of course.”

  He turned to the wedding table and bowed deeply. After a moment, as the full realization of what he had given the couple sank in, the people in the hall began to applaud. Then some stood, and others followed, until the entire group was on its feet, clapping and cheering as the slight figure resumed his seat.

  Horace leaned over to Cassandra and murmured something. She nodded enthusiastically and then the tall knight stood, holding his hands up for silence. As the noise slowly died away, he turned to Shigeru, bowed, then spoke. “This is a great honor, Lord Shigeru. My wife and I—”

  For a moment, he got no further. It was a time-honored tradition that the first time a groom used the phrase “my wife and I,” the entire gathering should cheer. He waited for silence again while they did, grinning sheepishly, then continued.

  “ . . . would like to request that all future income from the castle and its estate be shared among the families of those Kikori who gave their lives for you in the war against the traitor Arisaka.”

  A moment of silence greeted this announcement. Then Sir Rodney’s voice boomed around the hall.

  “Oh, well done, Horace! Well done indeed!”

  And the clapping and cheering started once more.

  Duncan rose to speak as a long line of servants emerged from the kitchen, snaking between the tables to serve the first course of the banquet. He welcomed Horace to his family and, with a wry grin, wished him well in his future life with Cassandra. Looking meaningfully at the grinning young man beside him, he offered one piece of advice.

  “Never try to change her mind when she has it set on something,” he said, shaking his head in mock despair. There was laughter at that. Most people knew that their Princess was a headstrong and determined young lady.

  Then the crowd was applauding the King’s speech and he resumed his seat. As the first course was cleared and the servants brought the second course, Selethen rose to his feet and delivered a charming speech of congratulations from the ruler of his country, and his own personal best wishes. Again, the crowd applauded, but not as enthusiastically as they had for Duncan. Selethen, after all, was not a well-known figure in Araluen.

  The enthusiasm returned with the next course and Erak, the next speaker. The huge Oberjarl took his place at the front of the platform and delivered his own best wishes and congratulations to the couple. There had been a time when a Skandian ruler would not have been a welcome guest at an Araluen ceremony. But that was long past. The assembly knew of the debt they owed to the Skandians. Gundar Hardstriker and his crew, present today in the hall, had helped save the Kingdom from an invasion by the fierce Scotti tribes.

  Erak spoke of an earlier battle, when a small group of Araluens had helped his men turn back an invasion by the fierce riders from the east—the Temujai. He singled out Cassandra for particular praise, recounting her cool courage in the battle as she continued to direct the shooting of a small group of archers, even when they were under direct attack. Many of those present knew the overall story, but they hadn’t heard the specific details of Cassandra’s courage on that day.

  Diplomatically, he neglected to mention the fact that, at the time of the battle, she had been under sentence of death from his predecessor, Ragnak.

  There was more cheering as he sat down, then more servants arriving with more food.

  Will, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, realized that Erak was the last of the distinguished overseas speakers and now it was his turn. He rose hurriedly.

  Alyss, seated beside him, put a hand over his and squeezed gently. “Take your time,” she said. “And speak from the heart.”

  He paused, took a deep breath and stepped forward to the front of the platform. His hand fluttered for a moment at the breast of his jacket, unconsciously seeking a speech that wasn’t there. He stood, looking out at the assembled people, and his mind went utterly blank. Then it cleared and he knew what he was going to say.

  “I had written a speech for this moment, but as it happened, it was burned in a fire some weeks ago. That may well turn out to be a good thing.”

  “Hear, hear!” came a gruff voice from the crowd. A voice he recognized all too well.

  “Thank you for that, Halt,” he said, nodding to the table where Halt, Pauline and Crowley were seated. He was glad that his old mentor had made it back in time for the wedding. He knew that his absence would have lessened the day for Horace and Cassandra. Another ripple of laughter ran around the room and he relaxed. These were friends, he realized. There was no cause for nervousness.

  “Since then, people have been advising me to simply speak from my heart.” He turned and smiled briefly at Alyss.

  “So here’s what’s in my heart. I came to Redmont as an orphan, with no family, no brothers or sisters. That has changed. Over the years, Horace has become closer than a brother to me, and Evanl . . . Cassandra,” he corrected himself, “has become the most beloved of sisters. I would trust my life in their hands. Horace has saved my life on too many occasions to recount. And Cassandra saved my sanity some years back. I owe them so much. It’s a debt I can never repay. All I can say is, I can imagine no better husband for Cassandra than Horace and no better wife for Horace than Cassandra. I love them both. Please stand and drink to their future happiness. Cassandra and Horace!”

  There w
as an echoing crash of benches and chairs being pushed back as everyone came to their feet, then hundreds of voices repeated his toast:

  “Cassandra and Horace!”

  The sudden noise rang through the vast hall and startled a swallow that had nested high in the rafters. The little bird darted out in sudden fright, the movement catching Will’s eye. Then, as the noise subsided, it perched on a massive support beam. But his eye, drawn upward, had registered something else. It was a detail he had forgotten—something so familiar that he had overlooked it completely.

  High above the floor of the hall, a narrow, stone-balustraded gallery ran around the inside of the walls.

  His heart pounding, Will returned to the table.

  Alyss smiled at him. “Well said,” she began, then, seeing his face, “What’s wrong?”

  “Maybe nothing,” he said. “I have to check something.” He glanced along the table. Horace and Evanlyn were deep in discussion with Shigeru. Erak and Duncan were similarly engaged.

  He made a decision. He’d handle this alone.

  Alyss squeezed his hand. “Just be back before the bridal dance,” she said. Horace would be the next to speak, when the final course arrived. Then the dancing would begin.

  He nodded, a little distractedly. “I will.”

  As unobtrusively as he could manage—and Rangers could be very unobtrusive when they chose—he made his way down from the dais and headed for the opposite wall. Halt and Crowley were seated some distance away, out to his right. As ever, Halt had chosen to take as inconspicuous a position as possible. It would take time for Will to make his way through the crowded hall, and the thronging servants, to alert them. He saw a quicker alternative.

  Gundar’s crew were seated at a table between the two buttresses that Will had noted on the map. They were only a few meters away and he hurried toward them. Nils Ropehander saw him coming.

  “Good speech, boy!” he began. Will made a decision. Nils was big, and powerful, even for a Skandian. And he didn’t ask questions.

  “Come with me! I need you,” Will said urgently.

  Nils shrugged. “Then I’m your man.” He shoved back his chair and stood.

  As they made their way out to the wall, Will said to him, “Are you armed?”

  Nils shook his head, grinning. “They wouldn’t let us bring weapons.”

  Will realized the truth of that statement. Skandians, weapons and strong drink were not a good combination for a wedding. He, of course, had his two knives. They were part of the formal Ranger uniform that he wore. He searched the wall between the buttresses. There was a door here that led to a stairway, he remembered now. And that stairway would lead to the gallery above.

  One of the wedding marshals was standing nearby. There were six marshals, stationed at the exits throughout the hall. Their role was purely ceremonial these days, but it was a reminder of the times when order had to be kept at public assemblies like this. To that end, the man carried an official rod of office—a two-meter heavy blackwood staff surmounted by a solid brass knob. Will snatched it from the startled man’s grasp and handed it to Nils.

  “Here. Use this.”

  Nils hefted it experimentally. “Not bad,” he said.

  The marshal finally recovered from his surprise. “What the blazes do you think you’re doing, Ranger Will?” he began indignantly, but Will cut him off.

  “You’ll get it back. No time to explain!”

  Then he plunged through the small doorway that led into the narrow, ascending circular stairway, with Nils close behind him. They wound their way up the dark stairs. Will’s boots were soft-soled and they made virtually no sound on the bare stone steps. Nils, like most Skandians, wore sealskin boots and these were nearly as quiet. His breathing was less so and it became more and more noisy as they ascended the steep stairs.

  From the hall, Will heard a burst of applause and realized that Horace had finished his speech. The groom had been commendably brief. The next item on the agenda would be the bridal dance. Already, Will could hear the faint squeaking and twanging noises of the orchestra tuning their instruments.

  Then realization hit him like a thunderbolt. This was why the mark had been placed against the word Dance.

  This would be the time when Duncan would be most exposed to an assassin’s arrow. Previously, when he was seated at the wedding table, the silken canopy covering the dais had screened him from a high vantage point such as the gallery. But now, he and Cassandra would move down to the dance floor and circle the room on their own before the other guests joined them. For at least thirty seconds, he would be a perfect, unobstructed target.

  “Blast you, Horace,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just this once, couldn’t you have rambled on a bit?”

  “What say?” Nils wheezed. But Will just gestured for him to redouble the pace.

  “Come on!”

  He heard Desmond’s voice dimly through the stone walls as the head steward announced the moment when the King and the bride would take the floor. There was a long round of applause. Will pounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Behind him, he heard Nils stumble. In his mind’s eye, he could see Duncan holding out his hand to help his daughter rise from the table. They would turn and bow to the audience, then walk slowly to the stairs that led down to the main floor.

  He had only seconds.

  He reached the wood-and-brass door that led to the balustrade and, with an enormous effort, stopped himself from flinging it crashing back on its hinges. Quietly, slowly, he eased the heavy door open, a few centimeters at a time, then peered around the edge.

  He felt his heart jolt with panic as he saw them. Two figures, clad in those familiar dull purple cloaks, crouched some eight meters away. One of them raised his crossbow. He stayed back from the balustrade itself, lessening the chance that he might be seen by those in the hall below. The second Genovesan crouched a meter or so beyond him. He had a crossbow as well. But his wasn’t leveled at the King. He would be the reserve shooter, in case something went wrong.

  Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion as Will slid the heavy saxe from its ceremonial scabbard. Behind him, he could hear Nils huffing and puffing up the last few meters. The stone walls enclosing the stairwell seemed to screen the sound from the assassins’ hearing.

  He had time to notice that the Genovesans weren’t using their standard crossbows. The ones they held were smaller, like the bows used by Arridi cavalry. He wondered about that, then dismissed the thought. The range was far from extreme. The smaller bows would be more than capable of hitting their mark. And besides, if the Genovesans ran true to form, the bolts would probably be poisoned—even a slight wound would be fatal.

  He saw the shooter’s knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on the crossbow’s stock, saw him take in half a breath.

  Then his own arm went back and forward in one action and sent the saxe knife spinning across the space between them. It was a blur of brilliant light as it crossed the intervening space.

  At the last moment, Will had realized that the shooter, if struck by the knife, might involuntarily trigger the release of the bow. He’d aimed for a different target.

  The heavy saxe’s blade, spinning as it went, sliced through the thick cord of the crossbow, severing it instantly.

  As the tension was suddenly released, the limbs of the bow sprang forward with an ugly crack. The bolt fell from the bow, bouncing and clattering across the stone floor of the gallery. The shooter recoiled in surprise as he tried to understand what had just happened. His companion was quicker to comprehend. Escape was now his first priority and he swung his bow on the figure who had suddenly appeared in the stairway door. Will’s throwing knife was already on its way as the bow swung toward him. He had drawn and thrown at the second Genovesan before he even saw the result of his first throw.

  He would have hit him if the first assassin hadn’t chosen that moment to rise from his crouching position, straight into the path of the spinning knife
. It took him in the chest, killing him instantly, and he sagged back against his companion, jolting his aim so that the crossbow bolt went off line, thudding into the wooden door, close by Will’s head.

  The shooter dropped the bow and drew a long-bladed dagger from inside his cloak. He shoved his dead accomplice to one side and advanced quickly on Will, who was now unarmed. He was only a meter or so away when Will felt a rush of movement behind him and Nils’s voice said, “Get down!”

  Instantly, he dropped to his hands and knees and saw the startled expression on the Genovesan’s face at the sight of the huge Skandian sea wolf who had just appeared in the doorway. Then Nils, holding the blackwood stave like a spear over his shoulder, shot it forward in an overhand thrust, slamming the heavy brass knob into the Genovesan’s forehead, right between his eyes.

  The force of the blow, with Nils’ shoulder, arm and body weight all behind it, was sickening. The Genovesan flew backward two or three meters before he crashed to the stone floor of the gallery. His dagger fell from his hand and he lay unconscious. Nils looked at the staff in his hand once more and nodded approvingly.

  “Not bad at all,” he said.

  Will rose and glanced hurriedly over the balustrade to the hall below. Nobody seemed to have noticed the commotion above them. The music probably drowned out the slight noise they had made, he thought. He saw that Duncan and Evanlyn were already halfway around their circuit of the floor. He looked at Nils, who was smiling contentedly, then jerked his thumb at the unconscious Genovesan.

  “Hold on to him,” he said. “I’ve got to get back down there.”

  “I’ll make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” Nils nodded cheerfully. Then, before Will could leave, he put a huge hand on his shoulder.

  “You know, Ranger, this couldn’t be a better wedding. A beautiful bride. A handsome groom. Good food, good ale. And to cap it all off, a fight. It’s just like being back home.”

  Then Will was fairly flying back down the stairs. He estimated that he had less than thirty seconds to get back to the dais and lead Alyss onto the dance floor.