Duel at Araluen

by John Flanagan

  She shook her head. “Hit him with my sling. Knocked him cold. He’s tied up by that clump of rocks you can see. Thought you might like to take him prisoner,” she added, looking back to her father.

  “You thought right,” Horace said grimly, and suddenly she thought it might have been kinder to the enemy general if she had shot him. As an invader, and leader of a rebellion against the crown, Trask would probably pay for his crimes with his life.

  “We’ll take him back to Castle Araluen for trial,” Horace said, as if reading her thoughts. She decided to say no more about the subject. Trask deserved everything he got, she thought. But she didn’t have to dwell on his eventual fate. She indicated the enemy soldiers, most of them wounded, who sat or lay on the grass around them.

  “What’ll we do with this lot?” she asked.

  Horace hesitated. That question had been troubling him. “We can’t take them with us,” he said. “Some of them can’t walk and those that can would slow us down.”

  “And we can’t leave our healers to look after them,” Gilan put in. “There are too many of them and we need the healers for our own men.”

  Thankfully, they had suffered relatively few casualties. They had lost two troopers and an archer killed in the battle, and another eight men had been wounded. But even that number would keep their healers busy on the trip back to Castle Araluen. The wounded could travel in the cart, which was still perched at the top of the path, outside the main gate.

  “Strip ’em and leave ’em,” Thorn said curtly. “They don’t deserve anything more.” He had no sympathy for mercenaries, and even less for the rebels who put his friends at risk—and Thorn counted Cassandra and her family as his friends.

  “How many of them are there?” Horace asked.

  Gilan, who had made a count, replied. “About thirty of them here, wounded to one degree or another. And twenty-odd who ran off into the forest. The others we don’t have to worry about.”

  The others were those who had died in the battle or in the ill-fated retreat to the woods. Horace sighed. It wasn’t an easy decision that faced him, but then, he thought, he hadn’t asked these men to invade his country. Or to rebel against his wife. Finally, he made up his mind.

  “Collect their weapons,” he said. “All of them—even knives. We’ll throw them in the river. I’m not leaving armed men here to cause trouble through the countryside, wounded or not. Then strip them. Leave them with their shirts and trousers. No boots. No coats. They can take shelter in the fort. We’ll leave the tents there for them so they won’t die of exposure. But they won’t be able to travel very far with no boots or weapons or proper clothing. We’ll leave them what medical supplies and bandages we can spare and they can take care of one another. That’s the best I can do for now.”

  Maddie looked at him, her head tilted in a question. “For now?”

  He nodded. “Once we’ve finished this business with Dimon, I’ll come back and collect them. They can stand trial if they’re locals. If they’re Sonderlanders, we’ll put them ashore on the Iberian coast.”

  Thorn grunted. “I’d throw them in the river with their weapons.”

  Gilan grinned at him. “You say you would, you old warhorse,” he remarked. “But you’re all talk.”

  “Either way,” Hal said, “let’s get busy collecting their weapons while they’re still in shock. If they recover a little, they might not like the idea.”

  The troopers, archers and Skandians went to work collecting the weapons from their defeated foes. Horace sent half a dozen troopers out to find weapons discarded during the headlong retreat to the forest. Once the Red Foxes were disarmed, they were stripped of their armor, outer garments and boots. They stood or sat shivering in their underclothes, thoroughly dejected. One or two tried to resist, but their former opponents were fully armed and vengeful and they soon saw that their protests would be to no avail.

  Finally, Horace addressed them. “We’re leaving you here. You’re unarmed and some of you are badly injured. We’ll leave you some medical supplies—whatever we can spare. Those who are not so badly hurt can look after the others. Winter is coming on and if you try to run you won’t get far without warm clothes. There are tents in the hill fort and we’ll leave them there for you. I suggest you make use of them, and repair the fort walls. The locals might not take too kindly to having a bunch of would-be rebels wandering loose. I’ll spread the word around the local villages so they’ll know you’re here—and they’ll be on the lookout for you. It might not be a good idea to try any tricks on them.”

  One of the lightly wounded men raised a hand. “What will we eat?”

  Horace jerked a hand at the fort once more. “We’ll leave some food for you,” he said. “But we need most of it ourselves. You’ll have to forage for whatever else you can find.”

  “But we could starve,” the man complained.

  Horace turned a steely gaze on him. “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you chose this course,” he said. “I really don’t have too much sympathy for you. Once we’ve put down the rebellion at Castle Araluen, we’ll come back and collect you.”

  He cast his gaze around them. Few raised their eyes to meet his. They were cowed and miserable, and that was the way he wanted it. He waited a few more seconds, then concluded. “I suggest you start making your way up to the fort. We’ll help the worst cases get up the hill. After that, you’re on your own.”

  Slowly, the defeated men began to straggle up the hillside to the fort. Horace detailed half a dozen troopers to help them. Within an hour, the remnants of the Red Fox army were ensconced inside the fort, squabbling among themselves over the tents that were still pitched there.

  Horace and Gilan listened to the arguing. It was obvious that the survivors had divided into two factions—the Sonderland mercenaries and the Araluen rebels. The two friends looked at each other and shrugged.

  “There’ll be little cooperation among those two groups,” Gilan said.

  Horace shrugged his broad shoulders. “Not our problem,” he replied. “Let’s get on the road to Castle Araluen.”

  27

  Maddie elected to travel overland to Castle Araluen with her father and Gilan and their men, while the Skandians returned by ship. The two groups set out the following morning, agreeing to rendezvous at the pier northeast of the castle, where Maddie had first met the crew of the Heron. The Skandians headed for the point on the river where they had beached the Heron. From there, they would sail back to the coast, turn south and take the River Semath inland once more.

  The Araluens struck to the west, looking for a shallow spot where they could ford the river. They found a convenient place seven kilometers away, where the river widened and shallowed. The little force crossed to the south bank once more.

  The village of Harnel was located on the north bank close to this spot and Horace sent a messenger, alerting the villagers that the remnants of the defeated Red Fox force were sheltering in the hill fort, and directing the village headman to raise the local militia and take them into custody.

  “It’ll take at least a week for them to get the militia together,” he said to Gilan and Maddie. “But I don’t think the Foxes will go anywhere in that time.”

  “Pity you couldn’t have got them to lend a hand sooner,” Maddie remarked.

  He glanced at her. “We didn’t have time. The Foxes were pressing hard on our heels. On top of that, they’re not really a trained fighting force and they would have been badly outnumbered by the rebels.”

  Maddie nodded as she thought of the local militia—mainly farmhands and laborers, unskilled and poorly armed with hoes, pitchforks and axes—facing the mercenaries. In times of war, when the militia was assembled, they were usually equipped and then trained for several weeks by the regular army.

  “Will they be able to handle them now?” she asked.

  Hora
ce smiled. “The Foxes are injured and they’re unarmed. They’ll be hungry and cold as well. I imagine they’ll be quite glad to be arrested. Particularly if it means they’re fed.”

  They rode on, heading south through the forest, then emerging onto cleared farmland on the second day. Maddie enjoyed the companionship of her father and Gilan. For his part, Horace continued to look at her with some wonder and a certain amount of pride, shaking his head from time to time. He hadn’t seen a lot of his daughter over the previous three years and he was impressed by her quiet self-confidence and her skills. Will had taught her well, he thought. But then, who better to teach her?

  Gilan did most of the talking. He was eager to hear details of how Maddie had infiltrated the Red Fox Clan’s meeting and discovered that Dimon was their leader. She related the details with a Ranger’s typical self-deprecation and understatement.

  Rangers didn’t boast, Horace realized.

  Gilan quizzed her about the secret tunnels and stairways inside the castle as well. “I’d always heard there were secret passages in the castle,” he said. “But I never met anyone who had seen them. I actually thought they were just a myth.”

  “They’re real enough,” Maddie told him. “And just as well they are.”

  “How did you find them?” he asked.

  “I went through the old blueprints and plans of the castle. It was Uldred’s idea, actually.”

  “Uldred?” her father interrupted. “The head librarian?”

  “Yes,” Maddie replied. “He told me to look for discrepancies in the dimensions of places like the lower dungeon rooms. When I did, I saw that the lower cellar was several meters shorter than the one above it. I hunted around and found a hidden doorway in the end wall. It opened into the room where the tunnel entrances are located.”

  “Simple when you think of it,” Gilan said, shaking his head. “I should have done that myself.”

  “And how many of these tunnels are there?” Horace asked, his mind going ahead to consider the problems that would face them when they attacked the castle.

  “I found three. One is the way in and out of the castle. It goes under the moat and emerges in a clump of trees halfway down the hill to the forest. The second leads to the concealed stairway that goes up the south tower. The stairway is a series of ladders hidden behind a false wall. That was how I managed to reach Mum and make sure she was all right.

  “The third one is the most useful for us now. It leads up to the gatehouse, where the mechanisms to raise and lower the drawbridge and the portcullis are located.”

  Horace nodded thoughtfully. “As you say, that’s going to be very useful. But the gatehouse will be well guarded, that’s for sure.”

  “Sure to be,” Maddie agreed. “But nothing I can’t handle—particularly if I’ve got a dozen or so wild Skandians backing me up.”

  Horace rubbed his chin. “Yes, I imagine a dozen wild Skandians might cause absolute havoc in there.” He smiled grimly as he pictured the scene. “Don’t think I’d care to be part of the garrison if that happened. It’ll be decidedly unhealthy for them.”

  “And serve them right,” Gilan said, a note of savage satisfaction in his voice.

  “Handy people, Skandians,” Maddie said. “They were amazing the way they smashed into the Red Foxes. They went through them like a battering ram.”

  “They’re incredible warriors, sure enough,” Horace said. “Man for man, they’d beat any soldier I’ve ever seen.” He looked around. There was a small stream running through the fields to their left, its bank lined with trees. He pointed to it.

  “We’ll make camp there for the night,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’ll rendezvous with Hal and his men.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The Skandians were waiting for them when they reached the little dock early the following afternoon. The land party had forded the Semath river at a convenient point two kilometers to the east. Hal and Stig strode along the riverbank to meet them as they rode up.

  “Been waiting long?” Horace asked, after they had exchanged greetings.

  Hal cocked his head to one side. “We got here after sunset last night,” he said.

  Horace smiled ruefully, rising in his stirrups to ease his backside, aching after hours in the saddle. “Looks like that’s the quicker way to travel,” he said, nodding in the direction of the neat little wolfship tied up at the dock, its heron figurehead rising and falling with the wavelets and giving the ship the appearance of a living creature. “More comfortable too.”

  Hal nodded. “We made good time. But then, we had plenty of rowers,” he said. “So what’s the plan now?”

  Horace cocked one leg over the saddlebow and slouched comfortably. “We’ll take a look at the castle,” he said, “and see if anything dramatic is happening. All going well, we’ll get into position to attack tomorrow morning.”

  “And the attack plan?” Hal asked.

  “Maddie knows a secret tunnel into the cellars of the castle. From there, a hidden stairway leads to the gatehouse. She’s suggested that she leads you and the other Herons through there and you take the gatehouse. Then you can let the drawbridge down, and we’ll come in and start whacking Dimon and his men.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Hal said. “Nice and simple. Not too much to go wrong.”

  “Just as long as you and your men can clear out the gatehouse,” Gilan said.

  Stig turned a wolfish smile on him. “Oh, we’ll clear them out, never fear,” he said. “You just make sure you’re ready to come riding in and take all the glory.”

  “What about Wolfbiter’s crew?” Hal asked. “Do you have anything special in mind for them?”

  “Nothing special. They’ll come with us and knock heads together once they’re inside the walls.”

  “They’re good at that,” Hal said.

  Horace nodded. “So I’d noticed. Now let’s go and take a look at the castle. We’ve got spare horses if you’d like them.”

  Hal hesitated. “They’d be cavalry mounts, wouldn’t they?”

  Horace replied, straight-faced, knowing the Skandians’ aversion to riding. “Well, we didn’t bring any gentle old ladies’ palfreys with us,” he said mildly.

  Hal considered the offer, then shook his head. “We’ll walk,” he said firmly. “Give me a minute and I’ll fetch Thorn.”

  The six of them set out a few minutes later, Hal, Thorn and Stig on foot and Maddie, Gilan and Horace walking their horses to let the Skandians keep up. They made their way up the slope and stopped as they reached the crest, where they had a clear view of the castle.

  Smoke was pouring from the south tower, close to the top, billowing out of windows and arrow slits.

  “I don’t like the look of that,” Horace said, the worry evident in his voice.

  “Mum’s flag is still flying,” Maddie pointed out, but her father continued to look concerned.

  “It’s upside down,” he said. “That’s a distress signal.”

  “She did that days ago,” Maddie told him. “To warn me they were under attack. And look, the smoke is coming from the eighth floor. The ninth floor is still undamaged by the look of things.”

  But her words did little to lessen Horace’s anxiety. “All the same,” he said, “I don’t think we’ll wait till tomorrow. How long will it take you and Hal’s men to get in position?”

  Maddie estimated distances for a few seconds, then replied. “We’ll circle down through the trees. I don’t want Dimon to see us. Maybe two hours?”

  “Do it then. Stig, can you run down to the ship and get the rest of your crew up here please? And tell Jern to bring Wolfbiter’s crew up to join us.” Stig set off back down the hill at a fast jog. Horace continued: “Gilan, fetch our men up here as well.”

  Gilan nodded. “What do you have in mind?”

  H
orace answered, his eyes never leaving the south tower, with the long banner of dark smoke trailing from it. “I think I’ll let Dimon and his men know we’re back,” he said. “That might distract them from whatever they’re doing in the south tower. And it’ll give Maddie and the Herons time to get through the tunnel to the gatehouse.”

  Gilan wheeled Blaze and cantered down the slope, following in Stig’s footsteps. Unconsciously, Horace eased his sword in the scabbard a few inches, making sure it was clear and ready to draw.

  “How will we let you know we’re in the gatehouse?” Maddie asked. “We’ll need some kind of signal, won’t we?”

  Horace finally looked away from the burning tower and regarded her calmly.

  “We’ll see the drawbridge coming down,” he said. “That’ll be enough.”

  28

  Stricken with grief, Cassandra dropped to her knees beside the loyal old sergeant. She touched his face gently, fighting back the tears that sprang to her eyes. But Merlon was dead.

  She felt a rough hand on her shoulder. “Move back, my lady!” a voice cried. She looked up. One of the archers was urging her away from the danger zone by the gap. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be led to relative safety. Then she disengaged herself from the man’s grasp and pointed to the still figure of the sergeant.

  “Get him out of there,” she said, her voice breaking up with emotion.

  The archer shrugged. There was no point to it, he thought. Merlon was dead already. Then he saw the look in Cassandra’s eyes and hurried to obey her.

  “All right, all right. Whatever you say,” he muttered, dragging the still form into the room. Then he hurried back closer to the doorway onto the stairs, bow ready. But he could see nothing through the clouds of smoke, even though he knew the enemy must be crossing the new bridge across the gap.

  “That barricade won’t last much longer,” he said. It was well alight and burning fiercely. As he spoke, a section on the far side collapsed, the burned timbers giving way to a heavy blow from a battleax. Cassandra looked and nodded agreement. They had only minutes left before the barricade timbers burned through and were hacked or shoved aside by the men attacking across the bridge. She waved three men out onto the stairs.