Divided We Fall

by Gareth Mottram

  ‘You’re right, of course, Princess and I really appreciate your help, you know I do. I’d give anything to be accepted into your warband, to fight for you… your father and…’

  ‘Good,’ Rowenna cut him short. She looked down and edged even closer to him. ‘Because my brother and I are going to have to try to hold Yeavering together against hundreds of Picts until father arrives and I really need you to be close by…’

  The tower door opened, and Wyatt stepped out. Will had been less than thrilled that the acolyte had been chosen to accompany the Princess in case his burgeoning powers were needed. He was even less pleased to see him right at this moment.

  The greasy-haired youth stopped and took in Rowenna and Will standing just a couple of feet apart. He stepped between them and tried to shoulder Will further away.

  ‘Don’t disturb the princess, urchin,’ he said as his long, spidery hands also began to push at Will. ‘Her Highness came out here for some peace and fresh air.’ He sniffed pointedly at Will’s old tunic.

  For a moment, Will didn’t move. He was shorter than Wyatt, shorter than most Angalsax actually, but the cossetted acolyte did not have the hours of martial training every day like he did. There was no way Wyatt could move him.

  But he couldn’t cause a scene. He shouldn’t have been standing so close to Rowenna. Quietly, he stepped away.

  Rowenna straightened up to her full height and Will could almost see the imperious mask slip back over her beautiful face. ‘Don’t fret, acolyte, the boy was being respectful… and kept the appropriate distance.’ She stared at Wyatt until he backed away a step. ‘What do you want?’

  Wyatt turned his back on Will to face Rowenna. ‘The skirmishers found the commander’s log in his quarters, your highness. I have read the last entry to Osbert already.’ He handed over a small rolled parchment.’

  Will bit his lip to keep himself quiet. Rowenna was leading them – she should have been the first to have any information, written or spoken. Typical Osbert - usurping control whenever and wherever he could.

  Rowenna scanned the parchment. ‘The last entry was yesterday at midnight.’ She shifted so she could see Will. ‘What do you think of this?’

  Will supressed a smile. This was another thing Rowenna did that he loved – she asked his opinion of certain things – mainly military. She respected his studies unlike everyone else.

  Rowenna began to read from the parchment, ‘…warning fires scattered by Picts before they could be lit. Message birds taken down by bolts and trained falcons …’

  Wyatt interrupted her. ‘I beg pardon, highness, but are you sure you want everyone to be party to this information?’ Wyatt twitched his head back over his shoulder towards Will. Will thought he might help twist it the rest of the way around but kept his hands down by his sides.

  ‘Of course,’ Rowenna said casually, ‘we are all in this together now.’ She carried on reading. ‘Over two hundred Picts and their druids are at the gates and towers. We can’t hold for long. Just been informed, something is climbing - ’

  Rowenna looked up. ‘It stops there. It sounds like the Pict attack was coordinated all along the wall, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe from both sides if they were shooting down our birds flying south—’ Will began.

  ‘The skirmishers say the fort is full of leavings,’ Wyatt cut in, ‘… mainly Angalsax but also some Pict. They didn’t mention anything on the south side of the wall.’ He looked down his nose at Will and sneered.

  Perhaps they didn’t look on the south side?

  ‘Regardless, this was carefully planned,’ Rowenna said, stopping any argument. ‘It would take all the clans working together on the one night to attack our entire section of wall.’

  ‘And they timed it when at least a quarter of the warriors were drinking to the season’s guard change,’ Will added.

  ‘Typical cowardly Pictish scum,’ Wyatt spat, ‘too afraid to face us on an open field of battle.’

  Rowenna ignored him. ‘We don’t even know if the Picts have just invaded Bernicia or come across into the Celtic kingdoms as well. Gods, all the Picts in Scotia could be outside Yeavering in another four days.’

  ‘Some of them sooner,’ Will said, moving around Wyatt so he could face him and Rowenna, ‘if they took horses from all along the wall and all the boats from the River Fort.’

  Rowenna thought for just a moment. ‘That would be no more than a hundred horses all told and boats enough to carry perhaps another two hundred if there were traders docked. We should still reach Yeavering first, and even if we don’t, she will hold against three hundred, even without two of her warbands.’

  Osbert stomped out through the door. ‘We’re rested and the fort’s empty - we need to go.’

  Rowenna stared at him, a patient, thin smile on her lips.

  ‘… if that is your wish, your Highness,’ Osbert said with an exaggerated bow.

  Rowenna held him in silence for a long moment then simply walked past. She was just disappearing into the tower when the cry came.

  ‘Runner! Runner from the west!’ It was Wilfor from on top of the tower. His brother joined him and together they notched arrows in their bows.

  Brant appeared at the door. Bare arms rippling with muscle, he gently urged Rowenna behind him.

  Rowenna accepted she should stay behind the armoured warriors, but she still took command. ‘All lobbers to the roof, one of you ward the other directions – this could be a diversion.’

  Osbert’s face flashed annoyance but he nodded.

  Wilfrid disappeared from view. Wilfor moved forward, putting one foot on the crenelated wall. Moments later, Alston and Iver joined him, bows at the ready.

  Will looked back along the wall they had just travelled. It rose sharply up a hill, steps leading up into the lighter mist of a pre-dawn sky. Perhaps a hundred yards away, he saw a figure running down the steps, its pace a little unsteady on the dew-damp stone.

  Will heard the creak of yew as the three lobbers pulled their arrows back to their ears and took aim.

  Will glanced back up at them. What if it was a friend, a messenger from…’

  ‘Move, scum,’ Osbert said and barged Will to one side. Will caught himself on the battlements just in time to be pushed aside again as Bragg bulled his way through to stand with his master. The two of them locked shields and hoisted their fighting spears high, ready to stab over the top.

  ‘Ready, lobbers,’ Osbert growled.

  ‘Aye, First,’ Alston answered.

  Will stared at the approaching figure, now at the bottom of the stairs and cutting through the thicker mist. Small and slim, the runner’s pace was still ragged, even on the flat.

  Brant edged in front of Will, drawing his fearsome long axe from its backstrap. ‘Spear,’ he rumbled.

  Will braced his spear ready although the chances of one small runner getting past Osbert and Bragg was next to nothing.

  ‘On my word,’ Osbert said.

  One small runner.

  The figure’s face lifted up.

  ‘Stop!’ Will shouted, ‘I know who it is.’

  Chapter 12

  Close Every Door to Me

  The sun rose dead ahead, turning the dawn mist into a bright opaque veil.

  ‘I can’t see a thing,’ Will said.

  ‘You only… need to see… the edge,’ Bridget panted. She was exhausted. As good a battle-runner as she was, she had run almost non-stop from the Anvil to catch up with Rowenna’s party.

  Good advice, I suppose. Will grinned. He was surprised at how relieved he was to have Bridget back bothering him, even if the reason she was here was about as bad as it gets.

  A disembodied howl rose through the shining white all around them. Three more answered it.

  ‘They’re getting too damned close,’ Alston swore from ten paces behind them. His javelins and bow seemed to give him extra, spidery limbs in the mist. ‘Move, you lazy scum or I’ll throw you both off.’

  Wil
l resisted poking backwards with his own spear butt. He gritted his teeth and picked up the pace. Bridget moaned but kept up.

  They had been running for an hour since Bridget joined them. She wasn’t the only one who had followed them from the Anvil.

  ‘Another tower,’ Will gasped as a shadow darkened and then loomed up as solid stone in the mist. He slowed to let Bridget pull ahead and be first in through the open door.

  She sagged against the far wall, scrabbling for her waterskin and breathing way too fast. Alston and the other three lobbers clattered in through the door and slammed it shut behind them. Iver drove the thick iron bolt into place as Will and the twins slid a heavy table over to him and upended it against the door.

  They were being hunted by vargs and Picts. Luckily, vargs couldn’t open latches so Bridget had been barring each tower door behind her on her run and the party quickly adopted the strategy. It had kept them alive so far. The vargs had to wait for the fastest Picts to catch up with them and smash into each tower.

  As one of Master Tolan’s top battle-runners, she had been sent with two elite skirmishers to warn Rowenna that not all the warring clans had travelled south yet. Over a hundred Picts had somehow breached the Anvil just an hour after Rowenna had led her party away. Despite all their precautions, others might have seen her leave and be tracking her even now, hidden in the forest.

  The warbands had been rallying as Bridget and the skirmishers set off. However, at some point, the Picts and vargs must have gained the wall top and picked up their trail.

  The skirmishers hadn’t been able to keep ahead of the hunt. About an hour ago, they’d chosen to take their chances defending a tower and buy the young battle-runner more time to warn their beloved princess.

  The Picts and vargs had obviously got through.

  As soon as Bridget had reported, Osbert had grabbed Donal and dangled him over the wall with one huge hand, cursing him for a filthy little liar and shouting that he had known about the remaining Picts all along. Rowenna had been forced to twist Osbert’s head to look at her before the message about still needing Donal’s information sank in.

  ‘What in the name of the gods are you waiting for?’ Alston shouted. ‘Go!’ He pulled Bridget away from the wall and shoved them both out of the other door and then they were running again.

  Will didn’t complain - there was a good reason for Alston’s aggression this time. Osbert had quickly added to Bridget’s door-barring strategy, no doubt inspired by her companions’ brave sacrifice. The four lobbers would seal each tower behind them to slow down the vargs. If the hunters got too close, the lobbers were to make a stand on a tower-top, shooting down at them until all their arrows, javelins and throwing axes were gone. Then, and only then, they could flee for their lives.

  In the meantime, Osbert and the others would just keep running the princess towards the River Fort.

  The main party were almost two towers ahead now. Will had dropped back to help the exhausted Bridget the first time she had stumbled. He’d stayed with her as her pace slowly failed and the door-locking lobbers caught up with them.

  ‘Run,’ Alston shouted and actually prodded Bridget with an uncovered javelin tip. She pulled away but overbalanced. Will caught her under the arm, taking some of her weight for a few precious steps.

  ‘Less than a mile,’ he said, ‘I’m sure of it.’

  Bridget didn’t answer. Will glanced across at her and she lifted her head long enough to nod. Then her eyes went wide as she pointed at the ground below the wall.

  Dark shapes appeared out of the forest, bounding through the mist. Vargs – half a dozen at least. Heart pounding, Will looked over the merlons onto the Pictish side. The vargs were there too, running silently, easily keeping pace.

  ‘They can’t get up here,’ Will panted between breaths.

  ‘We can’t – go - down - there either,’ Bridget gasped.

  ‘Gods forsake us!’ Iver said from behind, wheezing louder than any of them. The short, stocky lobber was really struggling with the pace – even more than Bridget.

  A high, mournful blare drifted through the mist behind them, long and short blasts filling the night.

  ‘Pictish war horns,’ Iver gasped, ‘they’re on us.’

  Without a sound, over half of the vargs below stretched out their stride and streaked ahead. Rowenna’s party would soon be trapped on the wall top as well. There was no escape for any of them.

  Howling, hungry and triumphant, burst out behind them on the wall top. It sounded really close.

  ‘Hell, they’re through the tower already!’ Alston shouted. ‘Get out of my way!’

  Will shot a glance back. He couldn’t see the vargs in the mist, but Alston and the twins were bearing down on them, javelins lowered.

  He grabbed Bridget’s arm and pulled her on. If the lobbers got to the tower first, he was sure they wouldn’t hesitate to lock them out.

  For half a minute they managed to stay ahead then Bridget yanked Will flat against the wall an instant before Alston’s lowered javelin would have skewered him in the back.

  Alston and the twins barged past without a backward glance, leaving Iver stumbling ten paces behind. Will pulled Bridget back into a faltering run. They were still ahead of Iver – maybe Alston would keep the door open for one of his own.

  The howling burst out behind them again, desperate and exultant now that the vargs had caught their sounds as well as their scent. Bridget tripped and nearly fell flat. Will grabbed her arm and got them both running again. Iver closed the gap, his face red, covered in sweat, his eyes panicked and wild. Bounding shapes materialised in the mist just thirty yards back, becoming clearer, more solid with each long leap forward.

  Bridget found one last burst of strength from somewhere and lengthened her stride. Suddenly, the next tower rose up before them.

  The door was closing.

  Will let go of Bridget and shoulder-barged the wood. It flew open and Will tumbled in, Bridget finally fell but managed to tuck into a forward roll through the door.

  ‘You’ll get us all killed,’ Alston roared, kicking Bridget out of the way and reaching for the door again.

  About to slam it shut, he hesitated, swore and grabbed for something outside. His huge shoulders strained and yanked in Iver. As the lobber collapsed onto the guardroom floor, Alston slammed the door shut and shot the bolt.

  The twins, hovering by the far exit, dashed back to grab the table and flip it up against the door.

  ‘Get Iver on the roof,’ Alston shouted to them.

  Iver, a heap of heaving, sweating flesh on the floor, looked up. ‘What? No!’

  The door shuddered with one, then another great thump from outside. Frantic scratching tore into the wood, rasping and shredding Will’s nerves just as badly as the door.

  ‘Get him up there, now.’ Alston roared. The twins grabbed Iver and dragged him to the roof ladder.

  ‘You can’t leave me, they’ll--’ Iver gasped.

  ‘Orders.’ Alston cut him off. ‘Besides, we’re one more run short of the fort – you’ll never make it. You’ve more chance up there than being caught on the open wall or jumping off the side.’

  Iver stared at Alston for a moment then nodded and crawled towards the ladder.

  ‘Move, you two,’ Alston snapped, and he and the twins ran out of the other door.

  Will looked at Iver hauling himself off the ladder and onto the roof. ‘Bridget, can you make one more run?’ He had to shout over the scratching and baying of the vargs outside as they hurled themselves in a frenzy at the door.

  ‘You go, I’ll catch up.’ Bridget said, a tight smile fleeted over her lips.

  Will held her eyes for one moment. ‘We’ll hold with Iver on the roof.’ He began to help her away from the wall.

  ‘No,’ Bridget panted, ‘you go – we’ll be trapped up--’

  SLAM! the trapdoor crashed shut a bolt thunked into place.

  Will span around. The ladder was gone, too.
r />   A yelp sounded from outside – Iver’s first hit.

  ‘Go,’ Bridget tried to shout, ‘you’ve helped me more than enough.’ It came out as a wheeze.

  ‘I’m not leaving you,’ Will said, staring at the locked trapdoor and trying to think of options.

  Bridget punched him weakly. ‘You don’t even like me,’ she mumbled then grabbed his arm and pulled him outside into a lumbering run through the mist.

  Behind, they heard the thrum of Iver’s bowstring and a human cry – the Picts had arrived. How long could the exhausted lobber hold them off?

  Will looked down. Just one varg kept pace with them on either side of the wall now. Silent and running easily, neither attempted to jump up. The beasts could wait.

  ‘Yes!’ Bridget gasped.

  The River Fort appeared out of the mist, stretching out to either side of the wall before them, ghostly and deserted.

  Then they heard Iver’s scream. He had bought them maybe four precious minutes.

  They pushed forward and stumbled up to the fort’s first tower.

  The door was shut.

  ‘Please, no,’ Will whispered and lifted the latch. The door didn’t budge.

  ‘They’ve locked us out,’ Will spat, kicking the door hard. It hardly moved. He turned around and looked back into the mist. The howling had started again, wild and frantic – the vargs were through.

  Will gripped his spear and moved in front of Violet who was leaning against the tower wall, panting.

  ‘Leg up,’ she gasped between breaths.

  Will glanced back at her and then up to the top of the tower – six feet above his head. ‘You’ll never reach…’

  Bridget grabbed his tunic and swung him against the wall. ‘Hands!’ she breathed. Will sheathed his sword and linked his hands in front of him.

  Before he even realised what was happening, Bridget had leapt at him, stepping one foot into his hands, the other on his shoulder and jumping for the crenelated wall top. She had seemed to weigh next to nothing and flew upwards as if she had wings. Will span around to see her hanging by her fingertips from a crenel. He reached up with both hands to give a foothold, but Bridget was already scrabbling up the wall and pulling herself onto the roof.