The Final Battle

by Stuart Daly

  Lachlan and Talon had swooped down out of the sky and were tearing into the Roon.

  Lachlan’s flesh was coated in the black metal armour, which spread out in writhing tentacles from his Dray armband. He also wielded a shadow blade that sliced through enemy shields and weapons as easily as a heated knife carving through butter. He leapt from Talon’s back and fought on foot. In the chaotic press many enemy thrusts snaked through his defences, but the weapons glanced harmlessly off Lachlan’s magical exoskeleton. Talon fought by his side, slaying all who came before them. They battled their way through the enemy horde until they reached Caspan, Oswald and Legend, then carved a path over to Frostbite, Shanty, Ferris and the remaining horsemen. Caspan noticed that the dwarf grimaced and clutched the lower left section of his torso, where his mail shirt was mangled.

  ‘I couldn’t be happier to see you, lad. Your timing’s impeccable,’ Shanty said to Lachlan as he tossed aside his splintered and useless shield. He pointed his sword at Lachlan’s Dray armband. ‘But was that a wise thing to do? You know what happened the last time you put that thing on.’

  Lachlan parried aside a spear-thrust and grabbed the weapon by the haft. He yanked back, drew close the giant at the other end, and knocked him senseless with a punch to the jaw. ‘We’ll talk later,’ he growled. ‘Right now we’ve got a battle to fight and a war to win!’

  Caspan lost track of time. He hacked and slashed until his breathing came in ragged gasps and he barely had the strength to lift his sword. The battle became a kaleidoscope of blurred images; a montage of slashing blades, trampling hooves and fireballs.

  And through it all braved Lachlan. His tunic and breeches were singed and torn; his Brotherhood cloak a shredded mess pockmarked with smoking holes. Caspan feared that Lachlan would be overwhelmed by the sheer number of giants attacking him, but he cut them down in swathes. Soon he had slain dozens and none dared oppose him.

  A horn sounded, signalling the Roon retreat. The remaining giants trudged over to join their burly commander, then jogged back towards the main battle.

  Caspan stuck his sword in the ground, rested his hands on his knees and sucked in air. Finally, they’d been granted a reprieve. But he knew it would be brief, for the battle was far from over. A quick glance over at the encircled Andalonians revealed that the reserve cavalry was still trying to hack a path through the giants. Master Scott and Shimmer had joined them. They were meeting staunch resistance, though, and Caspan feared they wouldn’t prevail.

  He looked at his friends, their Wardens and the six remaining horsemen, wondering if they’d be able to muster the strength to join the cavalry. But they appeared even more exhausted than him.

  Oswald climbed gingerly out of his saddle and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We gave it our best shot. We couldn’t have done more.’

  Caspan shook his head, refusing to believe that the battle was lost. ‘But we can’t give up. Not after everything we’ve been through.’

  ‘Then what do you propose we do?’ Oswald asked, kneeling and resting his sword across his thighs. ‘If Frostbite could still fly we might have stood a chance. But Frostbite’s injured, and we’ve had it. Shanty’s hurt, and we barely have enough strength to lift a sword, let alone wield it. All we’ve got left is Lachlan, and we can’t expect him to take on an entire army.’ He cleaned his spectacles on a kerchief before pushing them back up on the bridge of his nose. He gave Caspan an encouraging look. ‘Smaller forces have defeated larger armies by employing guerrilla tactics. We can take to the forests and mountain passes. We’ll hit the Roon in lightning-fast raids and ambushes, then disappear before they know what hit them. We’ll harass and harangue them until they realise we’ll never stop, and that Andalon is more trouble than it’s worth. That’s how we’ll beat them.’

  Caspan eyes narrowed. ‘And what of our friends? What of Roland, Raven, Thom, Master Morgan, Prince Dale and Duke Bran? Do we abandon them? Do we just give up?’ He drew a deep breath, gripped his sword and climbed onto an abandoned horse. He looked defiantly at the elderly treasure hunter. ‘The Brotherhood never abandons its own.’

  ‘I’ll second that,’ Sara said as she set Cloud Dancer down near Frostbite. She swung out of the saddle and started scrounging through the battlefield for arrows.

  ‘As will I,’ Lachlan announced.

  ‘And don’t think for one moment that you’ll be leaving me behind!’ Shanty growled. ‘My blood’s up, and it’s going to take more than a blow from an axe to keep me out of the action. Dwarves are made of hardy stock.’ He looked quizzically at Lachlan’s shadow blade. ‘How’d you come by that?’

  ‘Compliments of Gramidge,’ Lachlan explained. ‘He figured Foe Slayer could be put to better use than collecting dust in the Eagle’s Eyrie.’

  ‘Now why didn’t I think of that,’ Shanty said. ‘You don’t happen to have the ring, Swift Feet, on you?’

  Lachlan shook his head. ‘Sorry. Gramidge brought it over with him, but King Rhys thought it could be best used by one of his messengers.’

  ‘Oh, well, I’ll just have to rely on good old sweat and brawn,’ the dwarf replied. ‘Still, that’s never let me down in the past, has it, Ferris?’

  The faun stamped a cloven hoof on the earth and nuzzled against Shanty’s shoulder.

  Oswald regarded the dwarf disapprovingly. ‘You should know better than this.’

  Shanty frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  The elderly treasure hunter pointed at Caspan, Lachlan and Sara. ‘They’re young and impetuous. They think they’re invincible. Doing things that are brash is in their blood. But I didn’t expect you to join them. You should well and truly know how dangerous it will be, charging back into the fight.’

  Shanty stared fixedly at Oswald. ‘I do. And that’s exactly why I’ll be with them every step of the way.’

  Oswald sighed and opened his mouth to comment, when a blast of bagpipe music sounded. Everybody turned to the east. There, in a line that stretched for over a mile along the crest of the valley hill, was the Caledonian army.

  Roy Stewart sat at the front of his highland force astride a chestnut stallion, its mane shining burnished gold in the sunlight. One side of the highlander’s face was covered in black war-paint and he gripped a massive claymore in his mail-gloved hand.

  Shadowing the Stewart Laird were his bodyguards, the Gall-Gaedhil. They were mounted on stocky, shaggy-maned horses, and wore shirts of black mail and carried small wooden bucklers in their off-hands. Behind them amassed the highland army, organised into companies based on their clans. Familiar with Caledonish tartans since his mission to Tor O’Shawn, Caspan indentified the Stewarts, Campbells, Macintosh, MacGillis, Camerons, Wallace and MacDonells. Their banners fluttered in the slight breeze, and their pikes and swords glistened like a silver forest.

  Roy Stewart pulled back on his reins, making his stallion rear up on its hind legs. He shouted something to his army in Chaelic, the ancient tongue of Caledon, then thrust his claymore high above his head and gave the command to charge. To the accompaniment of their bagpipes, the highlanders gave a deafening roar and tore down the slope.

  Ignorant of the secret alliance between Andalon and Caledon, the giants cheered and blew their war-horns in anticipated victory as the highlanders swarmed into the valley and formed up behind them.

  Lachlan cursed under his breath and trudged boldly towards the highlanders. ‘As if things weren’t bad enough,’ he growled before turning to look back at his friends. ‘Get out of here while you can. And take Talon with you. I’ll hold them off.’

  Caspan had forgotten that Lachlan wasn’t aware of the agreement made between Duke Bran and Roy Stewart. He hurried over and grabbed his friend by the sleeve. ‘Wait. It’s not what you think. Roy’s fighting on our side.’

  Lachlan blinked in disbelief. ‘What? But he’s our enemy.’

  ‘It’s all a bit too much to explain right now, but you need to trust me.’ Caspan’s heart raced as he stared at the Caledonish ar
my. ‘Let’s just hope Roy Stewart stays true to his word.’

  Lachlan lowered his sword and gazed blankly at the highlanders. ‘So he’s joined forces with us?’ he muttered, his voice heavy with doubt.

  Caspan nodded and pumped his fist. ‘Come on, Roy Stewart!’ he whispered, willing the highland laird, who stood erect in his stirrups for all to see, to honour his word. ‘This is it!’

  Caspan held his breath expectantly as Roy raised his sword high above his head and cried, ‘Attack!’

  The Roon cheered and drew aside, creating channels through which the highlanders could attack the Andalonians. The Caledonish warriors rushed forward, funnelling into the gaps, then turned on the giants. Hundreds were cut down before they even knew what was happening. By the time the giants had coordinated their defences and formed islands of shield walls, the combined armies of the highlanders and Andalonians swarmed them.

  Caspan and his friends raced over to join the fight, but it was difficult for them to reach the giants over the hordes of Caledonish men. No doubt determined to enact revenge for their company of slain scouts, the highlanders fought in a thick press that prevented anybody from coming forward. Not even Lachlan could push his way through them.

  Caspan darted to the rear of the Caledonish warriors, probing for a way to reach Roland and the other Brotherhood members. Eventually a gap opened before him and he hurried forward to join the Andalonian soldiers. He searched desperately through the sea of faces, hunting for his friends, but it was impossible to find them in the chaotic press. All around him men were surging forward, trying to fight the giants. A horse slammed into Caspan from behind, knocking him off his feet and sending his sword flying from his grasp. He rolled clear of its trampling hooves and staggered to his feet.

  ‘Caspan! Over here!’ a voice cried over the ruckus. Caspan spun around and spotted Prince Dale twenty yards away, still atop his stallion. The treasure hunter pushed his way through the mass of soldiers until he reached the Prince and climbed up behind him.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re alive!’ Dale yelled over the sounds of combat. ‘It’s been a while since I last saw you or Frostbite. I thought we’d lost you.’

  ‘I’ve been with the reserve cavalry, trying to break through the Roon to save you.’ Caspan continued to search for his friends in the crowd, hoping he might be able to spot them from this elevated position. ‘Where are the others?’

  Dale pointed with his sword to the left. ‘Not long ago I saw Roland, Raven, Thom and Morgan over that way. Don’t worry; they’re alive and well.’

  Caspan scanned the groups of Andalonian soldiers and exhaled a relieved breath when he finally saw his friends. Roland and Thom were riding tandem atop Georgina, and Morgan and Raven still rode their magical dire wolves. Captain Jace fought on foot, wielding the broken haft of a spear. They were all streaked in sweat and dirt, their clothing torn and their blades notched. But they were alive.

  Dale tried to turn his mount around to join them but couldn’t push through the mass of soldiers. The Prince and Caspan eventually managed to reach Duke Bran, who barked commands to his soldiers, protected by a core unit of heavily armoured horsemen.

  For hours the battle raged, the combined armies of Caledon and Andalon maintaining the upper hand, until a horn bellowed, signalling the Roon retreat. What was left of the Roon army abandoned the battlefield and tried to escape back along the valley. The Andalonian cavalry gave chase, pursuing the fleeing giants far into the hinterland.

  Caspan dismounted from behind Dale and stared across the battlefield, struggling to comprehend that not only had they won the battle and saved Andalon, but that he had also survived. All across the valley, exhausted soldiers dropped their weapons and slumped to their knees.

  ‘We did it!’ Dale exclaimed, sliding off his saddle and clapping Caspan on the shoulder. ‘We actually did it!’ he yelled triumphantly, thrusting his sword into the air.

  Caspan nodded, dumbstruck. ‘It’s hard to believe.’

  ‘Now, I don’t care what you say, but that was epic!’ said a familiar voice.

  Caspan and the Prince turned to find Roland behind them. The black-haired jester climbed gingerly from his saddle and tossed aside his sword.

  ‘Come here, you great big puddenhead,’ Caspan said as he hugged his friend, never more glad to see him alive and well.

  CHAPTER 26

  PEACE AT LAST

  ‘And now, without further ado, I’d like to commemorate our victory at Chester Hill with a song I’ve composed specially for the occasion,’ Roland announced from where he stood at the head of the table. He raised his bagpipes to his lips.

  Shanty sprang from his seat with such urgency he knocked over a tankard of cider. ‘Blood and thunder! Now look what you’ve made me do! Somebody stop him!’ he yelled, pointing at Roland. ‘I had to listen to him practise last night, and I can’t take any more of it. My head will explode!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Roland,’ Dale called out from the royal table nearby, ‘but Shanty’s right. If I hear another tune from your bagpipes, I’ll have to arrest you.’

  Sara, who sat across the table from Roland, raised an eyebrow at the Prince. ‘Tune? You’re being generous.’

  Roland laughed humourlessly and glanced at Dale. ‘You’re not serious, are you?’

  The Prince’s expression was deadpan. ‘Oh, I am.’

  Roland slunk back into his seat and placed his bagpipes on the table. ‘That’s the last time I go to any effort to make your lives a little more entertaining,’ he moped. ‘Some people just have no appreciation of the finer things in life.’

  Sara pouted her bottom lip in mock sympathy. ‘Oh, you poor diddums. Just remember: there’s a time and place for everything.’

  ‘And the place for him to play his bagpipes is on top of the furthest mountain,’ Shanty commented, prompting Roland to snatch a bread roll from the table and pelt it at him. The dwarf dexterously caught it in his mouth, making everyone at the table roar with laughter.

  ‘They seem to be enjoying themselves,’ Caspan said to Lachlan.

  The boys were standing over by one of the three hearths in the great hall of King Rhys’s castle. It was a massive chamber, at least a hundred yards long and fifty yards wide, with an ornate, vaulted ceiling and walls bedecked with tapestries and banners. Hundreds of guests sat around the thirty long tables, which were packed with trays of suckling pig, glazed quail and roast chicken, plates of sliced turkey and venison, and baskets of freshly cooked warm bread. Caspan had attended several celebratory feasts since joining the Brotherhood, but nothing came close to the splendour of King Rhys’s spread.

  ‘They have every reason to,’ Lachlan replied. ‘I’m sure you heard earlier today that the last of the Roon were chased back beyond The Scar. The war is now officially over. And more importantly, we won!’ He raised his tankard of cider in a toast. ‘Here’s to peace and leading a normal life.’

  ‘I’ll drink to peace, but I don’t know if I want to live a normal life.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Don’t you think it would be a little, well, boring?’

  ‘Our lives will never be boring. We might have defeated the Roon, but we’re still going to continue exploring Dray tombs in search of magical items. I overheard Duke Connal tell Master Morgan that he’s thinking of sending us down to Salahara.’

  Caspan’s eyes flashed with excitement. ‘Salahara! I’ve always wanted to see the desert kingdom. Did he say when?’

  ‘Sometime next month. So don’t worry; you’ll be getting your full dose of excitement soon enough.’ Lachlan sighed. ‘But my life will never be normal again.’ He pulled back his sleeve to reveal the Dray armband attached to his forearm. ‘I don’t exactly blend in with the crowd anymore.’

  It was warm inside the hall, but Lachlan insisted on wearing his black Brotherhood cloak. Its hood was drawn over his head and he wore gloves, to conceal the magical armour that covered his skin. He’d been dressed like this since the Battle of Ch
ester Hill, one month ago.

  Caspan gave his friend a sympathetic look. ‘We’re incredibly grateful for what you did, but you didn’t have to do it.’

  ‘What? And miss out on all the action? Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing was going to keep me away from the final battle.’ Lachlan pulled off a glove and inspected his hand. The black exoskeleton reflected the flickering fire light. ‘I just have to learn to accept that this is how I’ll look from now on.’

  ‘So Arthur still doesn’t think you should try taking the armband off?’

  Lachlan shook his head. ‘After what it did to me last time, he doubts I’d survive. And I’m not prepared to take that risk. We fought long and hard to defeat the Roon.’ He smiled at Caspan. ‘I’d like to be around to enjoy the peace.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’ Caspan clanked his tankard against his friend’s and took a long draught.

  ‘It has its advantages, too,’ Lachlan commented, inspecting his hand again. ‘Weapons bounce off me, and I’d be almost impossible to spot in a game of hide and seek at night time.’

  Caspan laughed, glad that Lachlan could make light of his situation. ‘I hope Roland doesn’t cotton on to that. There’s no telling what mischief he’d try to get you into.’

  ‘What’s this about mischief and Roland?’ Kilt asked as she joined them, arm in arm with Saxon. ‘I thought the two were inseparable.’

  Just like you and the Baron, Caspan thought wryly. Kilt and Saxon had been invited by the King to attend the victory celebration and arrived at the capital yesterday afternoon. Caspan was glad to see Kilt again. Never before had he seen her so happy. For someone who rarely smiled she positively glowed, her laughter filling the hall.

  ‘I wonder if Roland’s collected any more war trophies,’ Saxon said. ‘I heard he salvaged a wagon-load of Roon weapons from the Battle of Chester Hill.’

  Caspan nodded. ‘It was pitch black before we finally managed to drag him from the battlefield.’

  ‘Where’s he storing everything?’ Kilt asked.