The Highlanders

by Stuart Daly

  ‘That has to be William Craigroy’s last stand at Kilmarden Bridge,’ Sara said confidently. ‘It was in 855.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Sara grinned. ‘Trust me. I spent my entire childhood reading about these battles in my father’s study.’

  She turned the middle ring until the correct date locked into place. They then turned their attention to the final scene on the shield. It depicted a great cavalry battle across a frozen lake. Sections of the ice had given way and heavily armoured knights with shields, surcoats and banners displaying crosses were falling into the freezing water.

  ‘It’s the Order of the White Wolves,’ Caspan commented, recognising the heraldic symbol, glad that he could make some contribution.

  Sara nodded. ‘They were the most famous order of knights to come out of Saxstein. They tried to extend their eastern frontier into Vorsklagov, but were annihilated at the Battle of Lake Sevastagrad in 971.’ She pointed at the final ring. ‘I’ll let you have the honour.’

  Caspan entered the date and eagerly pulled down the lever. There was a grinding noise from beneath their feet and the platform gave a slight shudder.

  Sara stared uncertainly at the floor. ‘Is that it?’

  Caspan shrugged. ‘I hope so. But we’re only going to find out if the platform doesn’t rise in a few minutes. Come on, let’s help the others.’ He reattached his lantern to his belt and, with Sara only a step behind, hurried over to their friends, who had assembled on the platform in the middle of the chamber. They were examining a sword and helmet they’d taken from the podiums on the landing.

  The team spent the next six minutes scrutinising the helmet and sword, until they were all convinced that they had discovered the genuine Dray items. Finally, the floor started to rise again, and the initiates moved to the edge of the platform, eager to begin the next level.

  Caspan was chuffed about their progress. They had got off to a fantastic start. There were still four landings left to explore and eight remaining items, of which they only needed to find three. They were going to pass the challenge. Of that, he was certain.

  CHAPTER 2

  RIDDLES AND MISTAKES

  Caspan could not have been more wrong.

  Not only did he and Sara fail to lower the levers on the next three landings, but their friends could only find one further Dray item.

  Their situation was desperate now. Should they fail to find the two remaining objects on the final ledge they would not pass the challenge. That would mean at least another month of training before they’d be allowed to start exploring Dray burial mounds and tombs.

  Caspan gritted his teeth, steeling himself as the platform drew towards the fifth landing. Standing several feet over to his right, Roland was a bundle of nervous energy, jumping on the spot, tilting his head from side to side. In direct contrast, the remaining three initiates waited in the middle of the platform, each looking more anxious than the other. Sara in particular didn’t seem to be coping well. She was biting her fingernails and muttering to herself as she stared apprehensively at the approaching level.

  Roland gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Why the glum face? We’ll get through this. I know we will.’

  She shook her head. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Hey, as if we’re going to fail with me on the team. This challenge is as good as done.’ Roland clicked his tongue and winked.

  Kilt shot him a disconcerted look. ‘Please. This is stressful enough without us having to listen to you.’

  ‘Just trying to keep morale high, my dear Kilt.’

  ‘Yeah, well, do it without opening that blabbering mouth of yours. The rest of us are trying to concentrate.’

  ‘Say no more.’ Roland jerked his chin at Caspan, drawing his attention. ‘I wrote the book on concentration.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Caspan replied, not really paying too much attention. He was feeling responsible for the group’s failure on the previous level. Whereas Sara had translated the passage on the lever-pedestal in only a few minutes, he could not decrypt the riddle. It had stumped him completely, and he was determined to make amends.

  The platform stopped and the friends rushed onto the landing. Roland, Lachlan and Kilt wasted no time in hunting through the dozens of scrolls and parchments atop the pedestals lining the wall, and Caspan and Sara raced over to the lever. A large stone block was set before it. Three hand-sized holes bore deep into its surface, above which was an inscription in a language Caspan couldn’t identify.

  Sara studied the engraved passage. Caspan glanced at her hopefully, watching her lips move as she mentally translated the words.

  ‘It’s in Old Saxstein. It says, “Follow the path of the third royal son.”’ She stared at the passage for a moment before shaking her head in confusion and turning to Caspan. ‘Please tell me you know what that means?’

  Caspan drew a deep breath as he studied the inscription and the holes. He reached out and brushed aside a patch of dirt just above the hole on the right, revealing a small bear chiselled in the stone.

  ‘The fact that it’s written in Old Saxstein suggests that the riddle refers to an event in Saxstein’s history,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much about that kingdom, but I do know that the bear is the symbol of the Saxstein royal family.’

  Sara nodded eagerly. ‘You’re right.’ She focused intently on the inscription. ‘So all we need to do is work out who the third royal son is.’ She chewed her bottom lip, her gaze drifting from the passage to stare blankly at the floor, deep in thought.

  ‘Which is easier said than done,’ Caspan mumbled, feeling useless.

  He had little knowledge of the kings of Andalon, let alone the rulers of Saxstein, one of the great kingdoms across The Channel. All he knew was that Saxstein had tried to invade Andalon several times in the past three hundred years. Every attempt had failed, but it was feared that Saxstein’s forces would cross The Channel and invade from the southern city ports when Andalon’s armies were busy fighting the Roon in the far north. For this reason, one of King Rhys’s legions, the famed First, was stationed along the country’s southern coastline.

  Sara stepped away from the pedestal and paced back and forth, muttering silently to herself. Suddenly she stopped, and she hurried back to join Caspan.

  She gripped the sides of the pedestal and stared at the inscription again. ‘It must be referring to the three sons of King Albrecht, the first Emperor of Saxstein. Albrecht was the first ruler to unite the different principalities and independent states of Saxstein into one country. But his empire didn’t last long. Upon his death the crown passed to his oldest son, but the middle son rose in rebellion. The empire fell apart not even a decade after Albrecht’s death.’

  ‘And what of the third son?’ Caspan urged. ‘Did he join one of his brothers, or did he remain neutral?’

  Sara gave a desperate sigh. ‘I don’t know. But what’s the relevance of that?’

  ‘Perhaps the holes represent the possible paths the third son could have taken during the civil war that tore Saxstein apart.’ Caspan jabbed a finger at the bear inscription above the hole on the right. ‘This is a symbol of legitimate kingship. It might represent the path followed by the oldest brother, who inherited the empire created by Albrecht.’ He pointed at the hole on the left. ‘This would represent the path of rebellion, as taken by the middle son.’

  Sara nodded. ‘Meaning that this –’ she tilted her head at the middle hole ‘– represents the path of neutrality.’ She smiled at Caspan. ‘I think you’ve worked it out.’

  ‘I wouldn’t start celebrating until you can remember which path the youngest son followed in the civil war,’ Caspan cautioned. ‘Now think. Perhaps there was a battle in which he fought, or a treaty he successfully negotiated.’

  Sara’s smile faded and she fidgeted nervously. ‘I’ll try my best, but I’ll need more time.’

  Caspan stepped back, giving Sara some space. The last thing he wanted was to pressure her so much that she made a
mistake. He glanced over at his friends, eager to see how they were going. They had placed a parchment in the middle of the platform, along with the other three items they’d collected on the lower levels. That meant there was now only one object left to find. They were close to successfully completing the first trial.

  He waited until a minute had passed, then joined Sara. ‘Any luck?’

  She nodded. ‘What you said about negotiating a treaty must have triggered some memory. From what I can recall, the third son was sent by the oldest brother to Muskograd to create an alliance with Vorsklagov. But he never made it to Muskograd. He was assassinated before leaving the eastern borders of Saxstein.’

  ‘So he remained loyal to his oldest brother – to the legitimate king of Saxstein?’

  Sara nodded and reached eagerly into the hole on the right. She extended her arm all the way down and pressed a metal switch at the bottom. Unlike before, when they had successfully stalled the platform at the first landing, there was no grinding noise; nothing to indicate that a locking mechanism had been activated. Sara stepped back, doubt registering on her face. She stared blankly at Caspan.

  His stomach tightened nervously. He didn’t like that look one bit. ‘What?’

  Sara cursed under her breath and kicked the stone block. ‘The third son was indeed assassinated before he left the borders of Saxstein. But the assassins had been sent by the oldest brother, who learnt that his youngest brother meant to betray him. Meaning I should have reached into the hole on the left.’ Her lips trembled on the verge of tears as she turned and looked at Caspan. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to stare into his eyes. ‘We did our best, and we’re not going to give up. Let’s get over there and help the others find the last Dray item.’

  Sara nodded determinedly and hurried after Caspan to join their friends. Caspan didn’t know how much time they had remaining, but he knew it wouldn’t be long – perhaps less than a minute – before the platform started to rise again, marking the end of the test.

  Together, the five initiates searched desperately through the scrolls and parchments, but they couldn’t find the elusive remaining artefact.

  Kilt kicked over a pedestal in frustration. ‘A fine lot of thieves we are!’

  Lachlan glared at her from across the landing. ‘Getting angry isn’t going to get us anywhere. Now go over there and help Roland.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Roland said jubilantly, turning to face his friends, a scroll in his hands. ‘I bet this is it. Let’s see if this makes Morgan happy. Although, even the slightest of smiles would force his face to crack.’

  Caspan drew breath to commend the black-haired jester for his discovery, when the platform started to rise from beneath him. The friends assembled in the centre of the moving floor and, as they drew closer to the final landing, got the shock of their lives to find that Masters Scott and Morgan were standing on the ledge, looking down at them. Both Masters were wrapped in the folds of their black cloaks, which concealed them in darkness. Scott pulled back his hood as the platform drew level, greeting them with a welcoming smile.

  Roland regarded them sheepishly. ‘You’ve been here the entire time?’

  Morgan drew back his hood and folded his arms across his chest. The corners of his mouth twitched in irritation. ‘Watching everything you’ve done –’ he paused, staring intently at Roland ‘– and said.’

  Caspan was sure that Roland wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. The black-haired boy lowered his head in embarrassment and muttered something under his breath.

  Kilt stared expectantly at the Masters. ‘Are you going to put us out of our misery?’

  It took a moment for Morgan to peel his gaze from Roland. ‘You worked well as a team. I liked how you identified your strengths and allocated roles. The test was difficult, and we didn’t expect you to stall the platform on each landing.’ This came as a great relief to Caspan, who was afraid he’d be held personally responsible for failing to solve the riddle on the fourth floor. ‘The challenge was designed to test how well you work under pressure.’ The Master considered each of the friends in turn, the corner of his mouth curling downward when his gaze paused on Roland. ‘And you performed admirably.’

  The recruits beamed. Morgan gave praise as regularly as a street urchin bathes.

  Scott raised a finger in conjecture and regarded Kilt. ‘Although, I wouldn’t advise kicking over pedestals. This is dangerous work. You have to keep a clear head at all times. Crack under pressure and somebody could get hurt.’

  Kilt lowered her gaze. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Sara gestured at the five objects they’d collected. ‘But did we pass?’

  This was the question on all the recruits’ lips, and their pulses quickened as they waited for the Masters to respond. The last thing they wanted was to fail and have to do another month’s training before being allowed to attempt the challenge again.

  Scott fastidiously considered each of his fingernails. He yawned and feigned surprise when he set his gaze on the initiates once more, as if suddenly remembering they were standing in front of him. He pulled a blank face. ‘I’m sorry?’

  Kilt gave an exasperated sigh. ‘The test?’

  The Master suppressed a wry grin. ‘Oh, of course. How silly of me.’ He adjusted the left fold of his cloak, building the suspense for several more seconds. ‘As Master Morgan said, we saw everything you did. And those –’ he jerked his chin at the five items the friends had collected ‘– are indeed five of the Dray artefacts.’ He smiled warmly as he stepped onto the platform and shook hands with each of the recruits. ‘Congratulations. You’ve passed the first test.’

  The friends cheered and hooted as they hugged one another. Morgan gave them a moment to settle down before pulling a lever set against the wall, causing the platform to lower. Once it had returned to the base of the tower, Scott announced, ‘In view of tomorrow’s final challenge, there will be no training this afternoon. Use that time to prepare for the final test.’

  Roland cocked an eyebrow hopefully at the Master and nudged him with his elbow. ‘Any hints?’

  ‘No,’ Morgan interjected flatly before Scott could reply. He pointed at Roland, his expression grim. ‘And don’t think you’re getting off that easy. Meet me at the top of the training field in an hour.’

  Roland’s shoulders slumped. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Oh, and don’t forget to wear comfortable boots.’ A rare smiled played at the edges of Morgan’s lips as he strode off the platform and exited the tower. ‘I’d hate for you to get blisters during your laps.’

  CHAPTER 3

  SARA’S SELF-DOUBT

  Caspan sat in a shadow-drowned corner of the training yard later that afternoon, a mug of warm honey cider nestled against his chest. He’d only discovered this section of the House of Whispers after returning from Darrowmere, and it had become his favourite part of the manor. He often came here at dusk to watch night claim the land.

  Years of thieving on the streets of Floran had made him accustomed to darkness. It was a footpad’s best friend, cloaking his movement in secrecy. Even now, having left the Black Hand long behind, he still found comfort in the shadows. Dusk had always been his favourite part of the day. Just as the rest of Floran started to close down and head in for the night, Caspan and his fellow thieves would stir, sneaking out of their hideouts in the sewers to take to the alleyways and rooftops, waiting for night to drape her black blanket over the city.

  He took a sip of his drink and admired the field to the south of the manor house. It had been transformed into a deep red carpet by the setting sun, and the trees in the forest further south were tinged gold. Roland had only just finished doing his laps around the field. Master Morgan had sat on a log down near the archery range the entire time, sharpening his sword, Claw, on a whetstone. He had looked up every now and then and called out to the boy, telling him to pick up his pace or to stop cutting corners. Although drenched in
sweat by the time he finished, Roland was in top physical condition. To prove a point to the Master, he did an additional leisurely lap around the field, forty push-ups and twenty star-jumps before jogging off to bathe.

  Caspan chuckled quietly. No doubt Morgan wanted to throttle the troublesome initiate, but felt indebted to him for saving his life back at Saint Justyn’s, when the Master had almost died in the sand trap. In spite of his gratitude, Caspan could see how irate Morgan became whenever Roland was around. He scowled more than usual and always ended lessons in a foul mood. Roland was a skilled treasure hunter, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and it was this that drove the Master mad. Caspan was certain that Morgan couldn’t wait for Roland to complete his tests. Then he could wash his hands of the jester and send him off on missions to distant lands. Only then would the Master finally get some peace and quiet.

  Caspan was drawn from his thoughts when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Sara emerged from the manor house and sat down on one of the stools near the weapons racks. She wrapped herself in the folds of her cloak and stared solemnly at the ground.

  Sara had been reserved since today’s test, and had spent most of the afternoon locked in her private quarters. Knowing that she usually stayed behind after lessons, bailing up the Masters with dozens of questions, Caspan found this odd.

  Wondering what was upsetting Sara, Caspan was about to go over and join her, when Gramidge appeared. The steward was doing his evening patrol of the grounds, tidying up any items the Masters and initiates may have left behind during the day. Usually the weapons racks were left in a mess, and he could spend a good fifteen minutes rearranging the swords, gambesons and helmets.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ he said, startled, when he found Sara. He lowered his lantern and leaned on his broom. ‘What brings you out here by yourself?’