The Final Battle

by Stuart Daly

Gramidge cuffed him across the shoulder again. ‘Don’t get smart with me. Now, are you ready?’

  Caspan held out his mop and nodded, feeling quite ridiculous.

  Gramidge took a steadying breath as he reached for the door handle. ‘Right, let’s do this.’

  CHAPTER 12

  THE QUEST FOR LIP SMACKER

  Their lanterns concealed behind their cloaks so as to not alert the rats, the friends inched open the door and entered the cellar. Lachlan parted his cloak, providing just enough light to see by, and they waited in silence, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Lachlan led the way forward. They crept down an aisle flanked by towering shelves stacked with barrels and bottles. Reaching a T-intersection, they turned left and, brushing past a silken screen of spiderwebs, continued for another twenty yards before turning right into another aisle.

  Lachlan beckoned Caspan forward with a jerk of his head. ‘The keg’s down the end of this corridor.’

  ‘It’s on the rear wall, at about chest height,’ Gramidge added, whispering into Caspan’s ear. He drew back the folds of his cloak, illuminating their immediate surroundings in a dull orange glow so that Caspan could get his bearings. ‘It looks quiet enough, but the rats are down there, hiding in the dark. Urgh!’

  Caspan studied the corridor for a moment, then handed Gramidge his mop.

  ‘Are you sure?’ the steward whispered.

  Caspan nodded. ‘You can dual wield. Besides, I can hardly climb when I’m carrying that.’ He tested his weight on the lower shelf of a rack then scaled it all the way to the top. Crouched near the vaulted ceiling, he looked down at his friends, waiting for them to advance down the aisle and draw the rats’ attention.

  Lachlan glanced up at Caspan, nodded, and pulled his cloak back behind his shoulders, flooding the cellar in flickering light. Scurrying and chattering noises echoed ominously from the far end of the cellar. Peering into the darkness, Caspan saw dozens of black shapes moving in the shadows.

  Lachlan advanced warily down the aisle. Gramidge huddled behind him, his mop held in a two-handed grip. They had barely moved further than ten feet when Gramidge froze and took a sharp intake of air.

  ‘Brace yourself!’ he yelled. ‘Here they come!’

  Dozens of large black rats stormed out of the shadows and swarmed the steward and the treasure hunter. Lachlan delivered a wild swipe at one on a nearby shelf. The rodent darted away, but the head of Lachlan’s mop smacked heavily into the side of a keg, dislodging it and sending it crashing to the floor.

  ‘Be careful!’ Gramidge hollered, staring woefully at the liquid spilling across the flagstones.

  ‘Easier said than done,’ Lachlan yelled back, kicking aside one rat and trying to swat another pack away with his mop – which again ended with another smashed barrel.

  ‘Stop breaking the kegs!’ Gramidge bellowed.

  ‘The kegs?! What about me? I don’t want to get bitten!’ Lachlan whirled his mop behind his head, forcing Gramidge to duck, then swung it around and smashed a stack of bottles.

  Gramidge moaned. ‘The rats are the last of your worries, you over-muscled, mop-wielding maniac! Break another bottle or barrel and I’ll sink my teeth into you!’

  Trying hard not to laugh, Caspan darted along the top of the rack. He quickly reached the end and was lying on his chest, his legs dangling over the edge, preparing to climb down, when something dropped from a ceiling rafter and landed with a heavy thud barely a foot from his head.

  Caspan froze.

  Dreading what he was going to find, he raised his head slowly and gazed into the eyes of the biggest, meanest rat he had ever seen. He gulped. He’d seen rats the size of small cats before in Floran, but this one was as large as a medium-sized dog. Its yellow-stained incisors glistened like daggers. Its tail slashed through the air like a whip.

  Caught at the rodent’s mercy, Caspan forced a nervous smile. ‘There’s a nice little ratty,’ he muttered.

  The rat hissed, tensed and launched itself at Caspan’s face.

  A scream caught in his throat, Caspan pushed back, launching himself in the air. The rat’s fangs and claws slashed barely an inch from his nose, and Caspan flew through the space between the racks until his back slammed into the opposite shelf. The wind exploded from his lungs and he dropped to the ground. Remarkably, he managed to land on his feet. Immediately in front of him was a keg with a red X painted on it. The barrel of Lip Smacker! But looking up, he saw the rat leaning over the edge of the rack, ready to pounce.

  Caspan snatched the barrel and turned to bolt out of the cellar, but then he caught himself. An ominous creaking sound came from behind him. He spun around to see that the rack he had slammed into was teetering back. Holding the keg of Lip Smacker in the crook of his left arm, he grabbed hold of one of the rack’s support beams and tried desperately to stop it from falling. But his effort was futile.

  A mighty bang shook the foundations of the castle as the rack crashed into the one behind it, sending barrels and bottles smashing onto the flagstones. The next six racks were also knocked over like a set of falling dominoes. The sound of splintering wood was deafening.

  Cringing, Caspan watched helplessly as the chaos unfolded before him. Terrified rats screeched and ran for their lives. Cider flooded the floor like a wave racing across a beach. It only took a matter of seconds, but it seemed to Caspan that an eternity had passed before the final rack crashed into the cellar wall, bringing an end to the destruction.

  Dust swirling around him, standing ankle-deep in cider, Caspan looked back at his friends. They stood, mouths gaping, their mops lowered, staring at him in complete and utter shock.

  CHAPTER 13

  IN THE COMPANY OF FRIENDS

  The trio hurried back to Lachlan’s quarters, where they were joined shortly by Shanty, Sara and Roland. No sooner had Roland greeted Gramidge and Lachlan than he grabbed the big treasure hunter’s night-cap and took off around the room, hooting joyously as he bounced across the bed. Lachlan chased after his friend, tackled him to the ground and held him in a headlock until he handed back the cap.

  Shanty couldn’t resist joining in, exacting revenge, he claimed, for Roland’s refusal to help him remove his armour after the Battle of the High Coast. Roland tried to fend off the dwarf, but Shanty was too strong and only let go of the boy once he had ruffled his hair into such a state it resembled an old mop.

  ‘Thanks a lot, Shanty!’ Roland moped, inspecting his reflection in a window. ‘How am I supposed to get around looking like this?’

  ‘Isn’t that what that silly highlander bonnet’s for?’ Shanty replied, grinning from ear to ear.

  Roland snorted as he tried to fix his hair, then replaced his bonnet. He tilted it jauntily to one side, and checked his reflection out of the corner of his eye. ‘Call it what you will, you great puddenhead. It’s just very apparent that you have no understanding or appreciation of style.’

  ‘Style?’ Shanty guffawed and pointed at the bonnet. ‘Is that what you call that? It looks more like a bright blue cowpat plonked on your head.’

  Roland laughed in spite of himself. ‘How are you holding up, Lachlan?’

  ‘I’m slowly getter better.’

  Shanty nudged Roland. ‘He’s still strong enough to beat you in a wrestle.’

  ‘And wield a mop,’ Caspan added with a grin.

  Gramidge moaned, burying his head in his hands. ‘Let’s not mention that again. I can’t believe we made such a mess. It’ll take me months to clean it up.’

  ‘Did we miss something?’ Sara’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she pointed at Caspan’s breeches. ‘And why are you all wet?’

  ‘Best you don’t know,’ Caspan replied, then gave Gramidge an apologetic look. ‘I really am sorry.’

  ‘Is that why you can’t stop grinning?’ Roland asked.

  ‘I know, lad,’ Gramidge said to Caspan. ‘It wasn’t as if you did it on purpose.’ He patted the keg on the small table in front of
him. A broad smile crossed his lips. ‘Still, it was well worth it.’

  ‘What is it?’ Roland asked, leaning across the table to inspect the barrel.

  ‘Only the finest cider you’ll ever taste,’ Gramidge replied.

  ‘It’s called Lip Smacker,’ Caspan explained. ‘Gramidge made it when he worked here, many years ago. Only he’s forgotten the ingredients.’

  Gramidge lowered his head ashamedly. ‘I can’t for the life of me remember.’ He counted off the ingredients on his fingers. ‘I think there were plums, boysenberries, honey, goosenberries –’

  ‘Goosenberries?’ Shanty queried. ‘Does such a thing even exist?’

  Gramidge whined. ‘You see – I’m doomed! I’ll never remember how to make it.’

  Lachlan took six tankards from a shelf on his wall, filled them to the brim with Lip Smacker and distributed them. ‘Then let’s make this last keg count. Here’s to lost recipes.’

  ‘To lost recipes,’ the friends repeated as they clanked their tankards together and drank.

  ‘Mmm. It’s absolutely delicious,’ Shanty said. ‘It’s similar to October Cider, but even fruitier.’ He licked his lips. ‘Is that peach? And maybe even a hint of passionfruit?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gramidge moped. ‘Don’t make this any worse than it is.’

  They sat in silence for a while, savouring the cider. Caspan felt increasingly sorry for Gramidge. Lip Smacker was undoubtedly the finest drink he had ever tasted. He also knew how much pride the steward took in making ciders and cordials. Along with taking care of the House of Whispers and looking after his bees, creating homebrews was one of his greatest passions.

  ‘How’s Braggarts’ Reward coming along?’ he asked, hoping to distract Gramidge with happier thoughts.

  Roland’s ears pricked up. ‘Braggarts’ Reward? What’s that?’

  ‘Whatever it is, it sounds like it’s tailor-made for you,’ Shanty commented.

  ‘It’s my latest cider,’ Gramidge explained, interrupting Roland before he could respond to the dwarf’s quip. ‘I’ve been working it on for several months now. The hardest part was deciding on which barrel to mature it in. Oak gives drinks a distinctively vanilla flavour, but I wanted a minty flavour, so went with cedar.’

  Roland stared at him deadpan. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’ve never been more serious in my life,’ Gramidge replied. ‘The flavour of the wood seeps into the cider and enhances its flavour.’ He held his chin high with pride. ‘Making great cordials and ciders is an artform. It takes years of trial and error.’

  ‘All the more reason you should take better care of your recipes,’ Roland muttered under his breath as he raised his tankard to his lips.

  The friends chatted for over an hour before they discussed the impact of the war on the capital and the steady flow of people abandoning the city and heading south.

  ‘What are your parents going to do?’ Caspan asked Sara.

  ‘I wish they’d flee the city and head south to Floran, but Father will never leave the library,’ she replied. ‘Those books are his life. Some of them are hundreds of years old and contain the history of the Four Kingdoms. To him they’re just as valuable as the Dray artefacts we seek. He’ll never risk stacking them in the back of a dirty old wagon and damaging them. And if he doesn’t go, neither will my mum. They’ll stay here and tough it out.’ She sighed and smiled sadly. ‘I just want them to be safe, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s why we have to crush the Roon at Chester Hill,’ Roland remarked with a grim resolve that prompted Lachlan to raise an eyebrow at Caspan.

  They ate a late lunch, and the treasure hunters left shortly after. It was a sad farewell, leaving Lachlan and Gramidge behind in the courtyard, who waved up at them as they flew over the battlements and climbed high above the city. Caspan wished desperately that Lachlan could have joined them, but he knew it was for the best. By his own admission, Lachlan was not yet ready to wield a sword in combat for a prolonged period of time. He’d be more of a liability than an asset, with his friends having to keep a constant eye over him. Still, Caspan couldn’t help but feel as if their team was starting to fall apart, and it upset him greatly.

  Caspan had learnt to trust and depend on his friends. Lone wolves, he now knew, never survived long without the support of the pack. But now his pack was dwindling; being cut back after each successive mission. Bandit had been severely injured, Kilt had remained at the High Coast, and Lachlan still wasn’t fit for travel, let alone charging onto a battlefield. Caspan’s greatest fear was that he would lose everyone he cared about, leaving him alone and abandoned. There had been a time when he cherished solitude, but he had come a long way since then. Now he didn’t think he’d be able to survive on his own.

  He hunkered down in his saddle and drew the hood of his Brotherhood cloak over his head to ward back the chill, dreading what he might discover when he arrived at Rivergate.

  CHAPTER 14

  RIVERGATE

  The treasure hunters arrived at Rivergate just as darkness fell. The stronghold was a solid defensive position, set in the middle of a causeway that spanned a swift-flowing river. A barbican guarded the northern causeway, its portcullis lowered and its drawbridge raised. Lit torches were set along the battlements, where cloaked sentries kept watch. They looked up in alarm and nocked arrows to their bows when they saw the friends and their Wardens approach from the south. But Caspan heard an officer call out, assuring the guards that they were reinforcements, and Shanty directed Caspan and Sara to land their Wardens in a small courtyard.

  They were greeted by a soldier clad in a torn chainmail vest, a stained bandage wrapped around his forehead. The lion clasp on his cloak identified him as an officer of the Third Legion.

  ‘Welcome to Rivergate,’ he said, shaking the treasure hunters’ hands as they dismounted and dismissed their Wardens. ‘I’m Captain Jace. I’m sure I speak for everybody here when I say I’m glad to see you.’

  Caspan observed the injured soldiers lying on cloaks and makeshift straw beds around the courtyard. It looked more like an infirmary than a military stronghold. He hated to think how fierce the fighting must have been in the Pass.

  ‘You have many wounded,’ Shanty remarked, as if reading Caspan’s thoughts.

  ‘And these are those still fit to fight. The rest were sent south to safety.’ Jace sighed wearily. ‘We’re all that remains of the Second, Third, Fourth and Fifth legions: two hundred and thirteen men, all bruised and battered, but we hold a strong defensive position here and we’ll hold out until the First and southern reserves are in position. Although, I was hoping we’d be sent more reinforcements.’

  ‘We’ve flown ahead of the First,’ Shanty said. ‘They should reach Chester Hill by sunset tomorrow.’

  ‘Meaning we’ve got to hold out here for one day.’ Jace cocked an eyebrow at the dwarf. ‘Please tell me the First Legion is still commanded by General Liam.’ Shanty nodded and the Captain breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad to hear that. We lost all our commanders and senior officers back in the Pass, leaving me in charge.’ He regarded the black coats worn by the treasure hunters. ‘You’re not from the First?’

  Shanty shook his head. ‘We’re members of a special order created by the King.’

  Jace folded back the lapel of Shanty’s cloak, revealing the silver wolf embroidered in the collar. ‘The Brotherhood,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  Shanty’s eyes flashed, surprised as to how the soldier knew the name of the secret order.

  ‘There’s no need for alarm,’ Jace reassured him. ‘I only know because some of you fought alongside us in the Pass. They wore the same black cloaks and rode magical beasts into battle. I’m not certain what your order does, but there isn’t a soldier here who doesn’t owe his life to the Brotherhood. Your friends performed a delaying action, allowing what was left of the legions to escape.’

  ‘And what of our friends?’ Caspan asked, fearing the worst as h
e failed to see any sign of them or their Wardens in the courtyard. ‘Did they make it out alive?’

  ‘They can tell you that themselves.’ Jace jerked his chin towards a stairwell leading to the central keep, from which three black-cloaked figures emerged.

  Caspan held his breath as the people pulled back their hoods.

  It was Master Morgan, Raven and Thom.

  ‘I never thought I’d be so glad to see you!’ Roland rushed over to hug the Master.

  Morgan gave one of his rare wry grins and pushed him gently away. ‘My thoughts exactly, Roland. Although, I think we can skip the hugging in future. A handshake will suffice.’

  Roland nodded. ‘Okay, manly handshakes it is from here on.’

  The rest of the treasure hunters greeted one another then moved over to a quiet section of the courtyard.

  ‘We were worried you didn’t make it out of the Pass,’ Caspan said to Raven. ‘We heard the fighting was fierce, but never received any news as to who survived.’

  Raven smiled sympathetically. ‘I knew you’d all be worried, but we didn’t have any ravens to spare on private messages.’ She tousled Caspan’s hair. ‘It’s great to see you.’

  ‘So what happened exactly?’ Shanty asked. ‘We heard it was a massacre.’

  ‘We ambushed the Roon when they were deep inside the Pass,’ Raven explained. ‘We chose the perfect area for it, where the walls of the ravine closed in.’ She gestured towards Morgan and Thom. ‘We took position up on the ledges with the archers. We thought that in the bottleneck the sheer size of the Roon army would work against them, but they were too strong. They swarmed down the Pass under the cover of their shields. We took down as many as we could, but we couldn’t stop the giants. They just kept coming and coming until they smashed into our infantry. Initially the legions’ lines held, and they started to force the Roon back. We thought victory was ours. But then the Roon sent forward a company of berserkers.’ She shuddered and swallowed. ‘I’ve never seen anything like them. They cut down the Roon in front of them in order to reach our lines.’