by Stuart Daly
‘Yeah,’ Roland interjected before Lachlan could respond. ‘Please tell me you took care of General Brett.’
Lachlan drank heavily from the flask and shook his head. ‘He got away. I went after him, but highlanders swarmed into the keep. Talon and I barely made it out.’
Roland frowned. ‘But you can’t be hurt.’
‘Talon can, and I can be captured. Try wrestling off twenty clansmen who are trying to pin you to the ground.’
‘And what of Roy Stewart?’ Caspan inquired, hoping that if the leader of the Stewart clan had been killed it would cause the union of the highland clans to fall apart. Better still, it might even tear a rift in the alliance between the Roon and Caledon.
‘I tried my best, but the Gall-Gaedhil wouldn’t let me get within ten yards of him.’ Lachlan raised his forearm, allowing everyone to see the Dray armband. ‘At least we found what we came for.’
We also know General Brett’s battle tactics and stopped the enemy from learning where King Rhys’s reserve troops have been deployed, Caspan thought to himself. That might prove more valuable than a hundred magical weapons.
‘I’m sure you boys must be tired, but we need to mount up and head off,’ Shanty said, strapping the blankets and saddle bags to the Wardens. ‘By the sound of it, you’ve created quite a commotion. It wouldn’t surprise me if the glen is swarming with highlanders within the next few minutes, and we’ll want to be long gone by then.’ He smiled at the boys proudly. ‘The King will be very interested in what you’ve discovered.’
Kilt turned up her nose, no doubt feeling cheated that she didn’t get to do much on the mission. She whistled for Whisper to come in from guard duty before dismissing her.
‘I think it’s time I take this thing off,’ Lachlan commented. He handed Caspan back his water-skin, then raised his right forearm to his lips and whispered, ‘Dloron Minathril.’
Caspan would never forget the painful scream that tore from Lachlan’s lips. The armour coating Lachlan’s skin turned into liquid metal, forming thin, snake-like veins that writhed and retracted rapidly inside the armband. Lachlan arched and convulsed violently, then collapsed to his knees and slumped forward.
Caspan grabbed his friend before he hit the ground and cradled his head in his lap. Talon knelt beside him, whimpering and nudging Lachlan with his beak.
‘What happened?’ Sara asked, terrified. ‘Somebody do something!’
‘I’m trying!’ Caspan attempted to tear the armband free, but its metal tentacles were grafted to Lachlan’s skin. Caspan stopped, shocked, when Lachlan’s eyes rolled back. He looked imploringly at his friends. ‘We’re losing him!’
Shanty raced over and pushed Talon and Caspan aside. He tore off the remnants of Lachlan’s shawl, placed his ear against the boy’s chest and listened intently. After a while he glanced up, his eyes wide with hope. ‘He’s breathing, but only just. We need to get him help.’
With Caspan’s and Roland’s assistance, he picked Lachlan up, lifted him atop Talon and strapped him into the front harness. Lachlan slumped forward, but Shanty climbed behind him and wrapped a forearm around his chest, keeping him firmly in place. ‘We’ll make for the House of Whispers.’
Caspan quickly helped Duke Bran to his feet and helped him onto Frostbite. ‘But it’s a long flight,’ he warned, turning to Shanty. ‘And both you and the Duke are injured. Are you sure you can manage?’
The dwarf’s expression was one of grim determination. ‘We’ll have to. I told Gramidge I’d bring you all home safely, and I’m not going to start breaking my promises now.’
To prove a point, Bran squared his shoulders and gripped the leather handle at the front of the saddle blanket. ‘I’ve still got some strength left in me. Just make sure I’m strapped in tightly.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Caspan said, ensuring the Duke’s harness was safely secured and his legs firmly fitted in the side straps. ‘You could fall asleep and you won’t slip out.’
Bran reached down and patted Caspan’s shoulder. ‘Thanks.’
With her position atop Frostbite taken by the Duke, Sara had no option but to summon Cloud Dancer. Fortunately, she’d brought along her saddle cloth, in case of an emergency. She stepped aside to allow Kilt to saddle and harness her pegasus, then glanced questioningly at Shanty. ‘But Duke Connal and the Masters won’t be at the House of Whispers. They’ve been summoned by the King. Nobody will be there to help Lachlan.’
Bran stared at her fixedly. ‘We’ll go to my brother, the King. Even if your friends are out, I know a man in Briston who’ll be able to tend to Lachlan. He’s the finest apothecary in the Four Kingdoms. If anyone can save Lachlan, it will be him.’
Shanty nodded. ‘Then it’s settled. We’ll make for Briston.’
The friends scrambled atop the Wardens and tightened their harness straps. Sara looked at their prisoners, still tied to the tree. ‘What about them?’ she asked. ‘We can’t just leave them there. They’ll die of starvation.’
Roland, his jester’s face serious and grim, pulled a dagger from inside his left boot and threw it. It landed point first in the earth between one of the highlanders’ feet. ‘Let them work it out for themselves.’
With Shanty leading, the companions took to the sky, determined not only to save a kingdom, but to save a friend’s life.
CHAPTER 22
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
Caspan stood on the balcony of his guest room, a warm tankard of elderberry cider in his hand as he gazed across the sprawling rooftops of Briston, out to the fields and woodlands beyond.
It was the dawn of a new day, and he felt as if his journey with the Brotherhood had gone full circle. This was the city where his adventure with the King’s secret order of treasure hunters started, over three months ago, when he’d competed against the best cadets in the kingdom to join the order. And now he was back, only this time he was a guest in the royal palace and an official member of the Brotherhood.
It had been a week since their desperate flight from the Caledonish highlands, and still Lachlan had not regained consciousness. Caspan and his friends had maintained a vigil over him since their arrival in the capital, taking shifts by his side, listening to his shallow breathing, hoping he would recover. As Sara had suspected, Connal and the Masters were out on reconnaissance and scouting missions, trying to pinpoint the location of Caledonish and Roon war bands, but Duke Bran had been correct in saying that he knew the finest apothecary in Andalon.
A frail old man with a grey beard and eyes that held the wisdom of the world, Arthur had been summoned to the palace at the King’s request. For seven days and six nights he worked tirelessly on Lachlan, keeping down his temperature with damp sponges and spooning secret herbal remedies through his lips. But nothing could stir Lachlan from his coma.
Caspan sighed, resigning himself to the possibility that Lachlan might never recover. He was drawn abruptly from his thoughts by an urgent pounding on his door. Wondering what all the fuss was about, he had barely placed his tankard on a nearby table when Roland burst into his room.
‘What on earth do you think –’
‘It’s Lachlan!’ Roland cried, his eyes wide with excitement. ‘He’s awake!’
Caspan stared at him, barely believing his ears. ‘What?’
‘Come on. Don’t just stand there gawking at me like a dazed deer. Let’s go down and see him.’
The boys raced through the castle corridors until they reached Lachlan’s quarters. Sara and Kilt were waiting for them at the door.
‘You’ve heard the great news?’ Sara asked.
Roland nodded vigorously. ‘A servant just passed on the message.’ He gripped his friends by the hands and jumped joyously up and down. ‘Can you believe it? Our little Lachie’s going to be okay!’
The door to Lachlan’s chamber opened slightly and Arthur peered at the treasure hunters. ‘Can you please keep the noise down!’ he reprimanded. ‘You’re making enough noise to burst my ears
.’
‘So it’s true?’ Roland asked, almost pushing the physician aside in his haste to look inside the room.
Arthur pushed him back and pointed a finger at him. ‘I must warn you, if you’re going to keep carrying on as mad as a March hare, I’ll send you back. Lachlan’s only just regained consciousness. He’s tired, confused and needs lots of rest. If I had my way I wouldn’t let you in until tomorrow morning, but he insisted on seeing you. Still, I’m only going to give you a few minutes.’
Roland screwed up his face. ‘Rest? Are you kidding me? That’s the last thing he needs. All he’s done for the past week is sleep! What he needs is a good old dose of Roland-time.’
It was then that the friends learnt that Arthur wasn’t only a skilled healer, but he was equally talented in kicking people up the rear end.
‘What was that for?’ Roland moped, rubbing his behind.
Kilt glared at him. ‘For being a rude jackass, that’s what!’
‘If there are any more shenanigans from you, you’ll find out very quickly just how hard I can kick,’ Arthur warned Roland. He took a calming breath and opened the door. ‘Now, remember what I said. He’s exhausted, so you can only stay a few minutes. And for goodness sake, keep the noise down.’
Roland gave the physician a sheepish look then hurried with his friends inside the chamber.
Lachlan lay on his bed in the far corner of the room, a damp sponge on his forehead and a cotton sheet pulled up to his waist. He looked as pale as a ghost, and he smiled weakly at his friends as they sat on the chairs arranged around the bed.
‘How are you feeling, you poor thing?’ Sara asked, reaching out to stroke his cheek.
‘Exhausted,’ Lachlan murmured. ‘But I’m alive.’
Roland went to punch him on the shoulder, but thought better of it. ‘That’s the spirit, Timmity Tom. Just you wait and see – in no time at all you’ll be back on your feet and wowing all the girls with your red night-cap.’
Lachlan chortled, but the effort was too much, and his laughter quickly degenerated into a painful cough. Sara helped him take a sip of water from the cup on his bedside table, then flipped the sponge on Lachlan’s forehead and replaced it.
‘Is there anything we can do for you?’ Caspan asked, only now noticing that the Dray armband was still attached to Lachlan’s forearm.
Lachlan closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. ‘No. I just need rest. I’ve never felt so tired in my life.’ He forced his eyes open. ‘But I wanted to see you lot first. Arthur says I’ve been out for an entire week. Have I missed anything?’
‘Not much,’ Kilt replied, her green eyes soft with compassion. ‘You honestly didn’t think we’d be going anywhere without you, did you?’
‘Yeah, it’s been pretty uneventful,’ Roland agreed. ‘But I’ve found this fantastic butcher down in the city markets. He has some of the best sausages I’ve ever tasted. I’ll have to take you down there once you’re back on your feet.’
A faint smile played at the edges of Lachlan’s lips. ‘I’d like that. Just don’t introduce me … to Mr Tasty’s … brother.’ He closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep.
The friends sat silently by his side until Arthur motioned that it was time to leave. The treasure hunters crept from the room and met with the physician in the corridor.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ Sara whispered. ‘He looks so weak. He’s always been so strong, and now he can barely keep his eyes open.’
‘He’s been through a lot,’ Arthur replied. ‘It’s a miracle he pulled through.’
‘But he will get better?’ Kilt asked.
‘With time he will,’ Arthur responded, and Kilt sighed in relief. The physician gave Roland a wary look. ‘Provided he has rest, and plenty of it.’
Roland raised his hands in compliance. ‘Say no more. Rest it is.’
‘Good. Now, can I ask you to kindly move off? Noise travels easily down these corridors, and the last thing I want is your chatter waking up Lachlan.’
‘Of course. And thank you for letting us see him,’ Caspan said, then led his friends away.
As relieved as they were to see Lachlan awake, they were terribly worried about him, and they spoke little as they made their way back through the castle. Lachlan wasn’t the only one who needed rest. With all that had happened and the enemy armies preparing to launch attacks deep into Andalon, Caspan hadn’t slept much during the past week. He thought he might be able to catch a few hours now, though, and so bade farewell to his friends and returned to his quarters.
He was in the deepest of sleeps when there was a very loud knock on his door. He groaned and buried his head in his pillow, hoping whoever it was would go away. When the knock came again, only more forceful this time, he dragged himself out of bed to see who it could be.
‘I told you he was here, didn’t I?’ Shanty said to Duke Bran as they walked past Caspan and strolled onto his balcony.
‘Please, come in,’ Caspan mumbled sarcastically as he followed after them.
Bran placed the three tankards and jug he carried on a nearby table and glanced questioningly at Caspan. ‘We didn’t disturb you?’
Caspan chuckled wryly. ‘No. Make yourself at home.’
He was amazed at how quickly the Duke had recovered from his injuries. Other than a fading bruise beneath his left eye, you’d never know he’d been tortured less than a week ago. Then again, Caspan thought to himself, they didn’t call Bran the Iron Duke for nothing.
It was only now Caspan realised that he’d slept for most of the day. Evening fell softly over the land, heralding the coming night with a lullaby of nightingale song and draping its deep red blanket over the western horizon.
‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Shanty took a seat, rested his heels up on the balustrade, and poured everyone a drink. ‘You look tired, lad,’ he said, handing Caspan a tankard. ‘You should try to get some sleep.’
Caspan yawned. ‘Really? The thought had never crossed my mind.’
‘We thought we’d pop in to toast Lachlan’s recovery,’ Bran commented.
‘Now this is nice,’ Shanty said, smacking his lips after his first sip. ‘It’s on a par with Gramidge’s homebrews. But please, don’t tell him I said that. I don’t think he’d ever forgive me.’
Caspan smiled fondly at the mention of the steward. He missed him enormously and couldn’t wait to return to the House of Whispers to see how his beekeeping was going and to crack open the first barrel of Braggart’s Reward. He imagined himself and Gramidge sitting in the Great Hall, warming their hands before the hearth, laughing and drinking. In a kingdom engulfed in war, it was pictures like this that gave Caspan the hope and drive to carry on. The enormity of the war sometimes overwhelmed him, with its grand battles and armies of thousands, and it was the simple things in life – like Gramidge’s unopened keg of cider, and watching the approach of evening from his favourite seat in the courtyard – that allowed him to put it all in perspective. Yes, they were simple things, but they were also precious and worth protecting.
‘Now, before I forget, please remind me to save some of this for Ferris,’ Shanty said, sniffing the contents of his tankard. ‘He’ll love it.’
Caspan smirked. ‘Of course he will, seeing that he has a taste for the simple things in life.’
The dwarf grinned. ‘Ah, you know him too well, Caspan. Besides, I can’t begrudge Ferris a little drink. I’ve barely seen the poor fellow for the past week.’
‘None of us have spent much time with our Wardens,’ Caspan muttered dourly.
Bran gave the treasure hunters a sympathetic look. ‘You have to remember that hundreds of people live and work in the royal precinct. They’ve never seen a Warden before, and I imagine it would scare them to death. The Captain of the Royal Guard is merely being cautious, insisting that you summon them only in the guest hall.’
Caspan nodded slowly, conceding his point. ‘Yeah, I know, but our Wardens wouldn’t hurt anybody. It seems so unfai
r.’
Bran reached up and turned Caspan’s face towards the setting sun, inspecting his cheek. ‘Your cut has healed nicely,’ he commented. ‘You can barely see it.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Shanty said. ‘All lads need a few good scars here and there. They’re character-building and show that one is becoming a man of the world.’
Bran arched an eyebrow at the treasure hunter. ‘Then what does that make us? We’ve got enough scars between us to make a butcher’s chopping board look like a baby’s backside.’
Shanty chortled and tapped his forearm proudly. ‘I’m particularly fond of this one. It’s my first wound from a highland sword.’
‘Only your first?’ The Duke pulled up his tunic, revealing a pearl-grey cut across his chest. ‘I’ve got a dozen more like this, all delivered from Caledonish blades. Wait until you get hit by a claymore. Now that’s something you won’t easily forget.’
‘Nor a Salaharan scimitar,’ Shanty added, pulling back his sleeve to show the purple slash along his bicep.
The dwarf and Duke spent the next few minutes comparing scars. Caspan marvelled at how they could remember the weapon responsible for each wound. He was also surprised at how strong a friendship Bran and Shanty had formed in the past week. They were rarely seen apart, and spent a lot of time down in the King’s cellar, sampling ciders and a particularly fine October Cordial.
Once they’d finished showing off their wounds, the Duke leaned against the balcony balustrade and regarded Caspan. ‘You handled yourself well at the meeting. I know members of the royal court who are intimidated by the King’s war council, yet you didn’t seem worried in the least.’
Caspan had been summoned to King Rhys’s military cabinet yesterday morning. It had been the second time since arriving in the capital that he’d met with them to discuss the enemy’s battle tactics. His nerves felt as tight as a drawn bowstring as he sat at the massive table with the King’s advisors and generals. They shifted markers representing troops around a huge calf-skin map of Andalon, and discussed the logistics of supplying and feeding armies in the field, battlefield terrain, the deployment of troops, and the best roads and routes to take. Caspan was overwhelmed with how much preparation and planning went into waging war. It wasn’t simply a case of meeting an enemy on a battlefield and defeating them with superior numbers. It was a battle of wits; a game of tactics. Caspan hoped his information about the enemy’s forces would give King Rhys the edge he needed.