Brotherhood of Thieves 1

by Stuart Daly

  Caspan lost track of time, but he reckoned several hours must have dragged by before the sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of people.

  ‘Finally,’ he muttered, rising from his seat as three men entered the chamber.

  The man in the centre wore a black cloak, its hem caked in mud and dirt. He drew back his cowl when he saw the boys, setting his piercing blue eyes on them. His hair was damp with sweat, and he brushed a strand irritably away from his left eye. The lion emblem attached to the left breast of his oiled leather doublet identified him as a man of importance, perhaps a military leader, Caspan thought. This assessment was reaffirmed by the broadsword strapped to his side and the air of command he wore like an old glove.

  Standing to his left was a young man of regal bearing, Caspan judged, by the finery of his clothing. He wasn’t much older than Caspan and Lachlan, but he regarded them with alert grey eyes that belied a confidence and experience well beyond his years.

  The remaining man was perhaps in his late fifties. His thinning hair was flecked with grey and his eyes were rimmed with spiderwebs of wrinkles. He was quite tall, but stood with a slouch. Caspan noted that the inside of the top digit of his right index finger and thumb were stained with ink, revealing that he was possibly a scribe, or involved in a clerical position.

  The man in the black cloak sighed impatiently as he peeled off a leather glove and slapped it in the palm of his hand. ‘This had better be important,’ he remarked.

  ‘We have urgent news for Lord MacDain,’ Caspan said.

  ‘Then out with it,’ the man demanded brusquely.

  Caspan glanced at Lachlan, swallowed and shifted his gaze back to the cloaked man. ‘This is for Lord MacDain’s ears only.’

  The man blinked quickly several times, as if he had misheard the recruit. ‘For his ears only?’ He laughed, but it was void of mirth. ‘Perhaps I should drag the lord from his council meeting? I’m sure he’ll drop everything because two –’ he paused as he ran a critical eye over them, his top lip curling ‘– boys are demanding his attention.’ He slapped his glove aggressively into his palm again. ‘I am General Brett, Commander of the Eighth Legion. I am Duke Bran’s ears, sword-arm and anything else he should so desire. Now out with it!’

  Lachlan straightened his shoulders and stood to ­attention. ‘We’ve spotted a Roon invasion force, sir.’

  Brett stared at him. ‘Where?’

  ‘At the monastery of Saint Justyn. There are thousands of them.’

  The young nobleman’s eyes flashed with alarm and he looked urgently at the general. ‘We should warn my father.’

  Brett raised his hand and shook his head. ‘Lord MacDain is in council, Prince Dale. Best not disturb him with such … rumours.’ He regarded the recruits. ‘Thousands, you say?’ The boys nodded. ‘I have scouts in that area. Why haven’t they reported this –’ he waved a hand whimsically in the air ‘– invasion force?’

  ‘The Roon were only just disembarking from their war galleys when we arrived,’ Lachlan suggested. ‘Perhaps your scouts have not yet seen them.’

  ‘Impossible,’ Brett said abruptly. He considered them suspiciously for a moment, rocking back and forth on the heels of his boots. ‘And what would you have me do?’

  ‘Send an army north to confront the giants,’ Caspan said. ‘They’ve obviously come to cut off the northern legions and to attack them in the rear. We should catch the Roon in their own trap.’

  Brett smiled maliciously. ‘And you have much experience counselling generals in where they should send their armies?’ His lips straightened into flat, grim lines. ‘It’s interesting that you should arrive with this news, on the same day scouts have reported that an army of Caledonish warriors has formed in the borderlands.’ He called for the guards to enter the chamber, then set his ­intimidating stare back at Caspan and Lachlan. ‘How do I know you’re not Caledonish spies, sent here to raise unnecess­ary alarm and to make us dispatch our army north to face an imaginary enemy, leaving us exposed and ­vulnerable to attack from Caledon?’

  Caspan glanced at Lachlan, deeply worried by the general’s allegations. He looked back at Brett and shook his head earnestly. ‘We’re not spies.’

  Brett snorted and indicated with a flick of his glove for the guards to apprehend the boys. ‘I’ll let the torturer determine that.’

  ‘What?’ Lachlan blurted.

  The guards moved behind the recruits, and one tried to take Lachlan’s sword. He spun around and pushed the guard away. Caspan placed a restraining hand on Lachlan’s shoulder and raised his other hand in surrender. ‘Everybody needs to calm down. We don’t want any trouble here. We’ll come peacefully.’ He motioned with a flick of his eyes for Lachlan to give over his sword, then waited for the guards to return their half-drawn blades to their scabbards. ‘You’re making a huge mistake,’ he said to Brett as they were marched away.

  The general stared back contemptuously, but Caspan couldn’t help but notice the look of concern on Dale’s face.

  Lachlan paced up and down the small cell and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. ‘I can’t believe we’ve ended up like this.’ He kicked at the straw palette in the corner. ‘We came here to warn these people of an invading Roon army, and they accuse us of being spies and lock us up? It’s ridiculous!’ He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. ‘Nobody’s going to torture us.’

  Caspan peered through the iron-barred window in the door and sighed. The gaoler was sitting in an alcove halfway down the dungeon corridor, the edge of his halberd reflecting the light of the flickering torch on the opposite wall. ‘I’ll get us out. But I can’t do anything until that guard moves or dozes off,’ he whispered.

  Lachlan moaned. ‘We’ve been here for several hours and he hasn’t even budged.’ He joined Caspan by the door and peered outside. ‘You should pick the lock now,’ he murmured urgently. ‘There’s just the one guard. I can take care of him before he raises the alarm. It might be our only chance. The longer we wait here, the greater the chance the torturer will come.’

  Caspan chewed his bottom lip as he judged the distance to the gaoler. He took a long, deep breath and nodded. ‘Okay. But we only get one shot at this. We can’t make any mistakes. As soon as I pick the lock, you apprehend the guard. Then we go find Morgan, get to an area that’s open to the sky, and summon Talon. Then we’ll fly out of here.’

  Lachlan smiled nervously. ‘You make it sound so easy.’ He stepped aside, giving Caspan space to work on the door. ‘Pity this room’s too small to call Talon.’

  The guards had done a poor job checking Caspan for weapons, and he drew the stiletto from the scabbard strapped to the inside of his left forearm. Kneeling in the dark, he inserted the thin blade into the rusty lock. Wary of making any noise, he jiggled the blade around until he felt it catch in the internal teeth of the lock. He looked across at Lachlan and nodded, signalling for him to get ready.

  The sound of approaching footsteps reverberated down the corridor. Caspan leapt up and darted to the opposite side of the door to Lachlan. He braced his back against the wall, his heart pounding, ready to ambush who he was certain would be the torturer.

  Anxious seconds passed. The footsteps stopped immediately outside the door and lantern-light shone through the bars of the window. Caspan tensed, waiting for the door to open, when he and Lachlan would fight for their lives.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ a familiar voice said softly.

  Caspan looked questioningly at Lachlan. He recognised the voice as that of Prince Dale. Returning the stiletto to its scabbard, he stepped up to the window and saw the Prince flanked by two men wearing crimson cloaks.

  Caspan pressed his face up against the bars and whispered, ‘You believe us, don’t you?’

  The Prince shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know who to believe.’ He stared deep into Caspan’s eyes. ‘But I think you should make your report to my father and let him judge for himself.’

  Caspan exhaled in relief.
‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’m not setting you free. You’ll be under the guard of my personal bodyguards, the Crimson Blades.’ Dale glanced over his shoulder and beckoned to the gaoler to unlock the door. ‘Give me your word that you won’t try anything,’ he said to Caspan.

  Caspan regarded Lachlan, who nodded in agreement, then shifted his gaze to the Prince. ‘You have our word.’

  ‘Good.’ The Prince stepped back as the door was opened. ‘General Brett doesn’t know that I’m down here, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.’ He took the two crimson cloaks one of his guards was carrying and handed them to the recruits. ‘Put these on, and keep quiet. There’s barely a section of this castle that’s not infected with Brett’s spies.’

  Caspan slipped on the cloak and drew its hood over his face. ‘What of our injured companion?’

  ‘He’s already in my private quarters. I have my personal physician tending to him.’ Dale waited for Lachlan to put on his cloak, before gesturing for them to follow him and his Crimson Blades.

  He led them out of the dungeon and through the empty corridors of the central keep until they arrived at a nail-studded door at the top of a tower, which was guarded by another Crimson Blade. Dale’s bodyguards stood outside while he ushered the boys into the chamber beyond.

  The grey-haired man with the ink-stained fingers was standing beside the room’s solitary window, talking quietly to a tall, broad-shouldered man with a stern visage. But the recruits’ attention was drawn to the four-poster bed in the corner of the room, and on which lay Morgan. He stirred as they approached and, pushing away the physician standing by his side, propped himself up on an elbow to regard them. Morgan winced against the effort and looked around the room, a perplexed expression on his face. ‘Where are we?’

  Lachlan smiled reassuringly. ‘We’re in The Hold.’

  Morgan was taken aback. ‘The Hold?’ He rested his head back on the pillow, closed his eyes and tentatively readjusted the bandage on his forehead. ‘The last thing I remember is seeing that giant coming towards me.’

  ‘So you have seen the Roon?’ Dale said, motioning for the men standing by the window to come and join them by the bed. He tilted his head towards the grey-haired man. ‘This is Bill, my father’s most trusted friend, confidant and scribe. And this –’ he gestured with an open palm at the tall man ‘– is my father, the High Lord of the North, Duke Bran MacDain.’

  Caspan and Lachlan bowed, and the Lord bade them sit on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before clearing his throat and saying, ‘My son tells me that you have news that will be of interest.’

  Caspan nodded. ‘We discovered a Roon army near the monastery of Saint Justyn, north of this city. We believe the giants will attempt to attack the northern legions. Some of our friends have travelled there to warn those soldiers. We came here to see if we could convince you to send your army to attack the Roon in the rear and beat them at their own game.’

  Bran raised his forefinger and tapped his lips. ‘And why should I believe you?’

  ‘Because we are loyal subjects of your brother, King Rhys,’ Morgan said, staring up from the pillow, too drained to push himself up again. ‘We’re members of a secret organisation called the Brotherhood, which was created by your brother to safeguard Andalon.’

  Bran glanced at Bill, who shrugged uncertainly and looked towards Morgan, whose eyes were closed. ‘It most certainly must be secret, seeing that not even Bill has heard of it before.’ He pointed at his scribe. ‘Send a raven to my brother, asking for clarification of the Brotherhood.’ As Bill bowed and left the chamber, Duke Bran folded his arms and stared at his son. ‘You believe these people?’

  The Prince cocked his head to the side and bit his top lip. ‘I’m not too sure. But I do think General Brett was quick to cast judgement on them. A person should be given the chance to prove their innocence.’

  The faint trace of a smile crossed Bran’s lips. He considered the recruits again, rolling his tongue slowly across the front of his upper teeth, deep in thought. ‘You will remain under the care of the Prince and his Crimson Blades until I hear from my brother. Hopefully we’ll have word by tomorrow morning.’

  ‘But what of the Roon?’ Caspan asked the Duke. ‘They might have attacked the northern legions by then.’

  The Lord shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, but until I have proof that you are to be trusted, my army will not move north.’ He adjusted the folds of his cloak and made his way towards the door. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find General Brett and learn more about this Caledonish army that’s amassing on my border.’

  The Duke exited the chamber. The two Crimson Blades who had accompanied the Prince and the recruits from the dungeon entered the room and took guard on either side of the door, their hands resting on the pommels of their sheathed swords.

  Dale lifted the damp bandage from Morgan’s forehead and inspected the swelling. He gave a satisfied nod and turned to Caspan and Lachlan. ‘He’s fallen asleep, which is good as he’ll need rest. I’ll order some food to be brought up from the kitchens.’ He made his way over to the Crimson Blades and whispered something, to which they nodded dutifully. The Prince reached for the door handle and glanced back at the recruits. ‘I’m also keen to hear more of what General Brett has to say. I may be gone awhile, so please make yourselves comfortable. And don’t try anything foolish. If you are who you claim to be, you have nothing to fear.’

  ‘So we’re to remain prisoners in this room,’ Lachlan remarked dryly.

  The Prince nodded. ‘For the moment. I’m keeping you here in my private quarters. Things could be a lot worse.’

  Although Caspan was grateful for everything the Prince was doing for them, he couldn’t help but question why Dale was being this way. ‘What are your reasons for helping us?’

  Dale carefully considered his words before responding. ‘This castle may seem impregnable, but its heart is rotten, eaten away by political scheming and back­stabbing. There are those who believe my father is too set in his ways and needs to take a more aggressive stance towards Caledon. Chief among these critics is General Brett, who has clearly taken a great dislike to you. It was almost as if he wanted you locked up and silenced straight away. If you are indeed loyal subjects of the King, then I want to keep you from Brett’s torturer. And I can’t think of any safer place than my quarters. We’re atop a tower, and there’s only one staircase that leads to here. Nobody enters this room without getting past my Crimson Blades.’ With that, the Prince promptly left the chamber.

  Lachlan sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I hope Roland and the girls are having better luck than us.’

  He spoke softly, not wanting to be overheard by the guards and the Prince’s physician, who was busy preparing an ointment at a nearby table.

  Caspan took a seat beside him. ‘I hope Sara did the talking, and managed to convince the commander of the northern legions to send an army south. The instant Roland opens his mouth he’ll say something stupid and get everybody locked up.’

  Lachlan grinned. ‘We’d be lucky if we ever see them again.’ His smile gradually faded. ‘But I hope you’re right about Sara. Otherwise the north is in for one hell of a shock.’ He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled slowly as he inspected their surroundings. ‘Oh well, at least we’re not stuck in the dungeon anymore. I suppose that’s got to count for something.’

  ‘Everything’s going to be fine. We just have to sit tight and wait for the King’s message.’

  Lachlan shuffled around to inspect Morgan’s wound. ‘How is he?’ he asked the physician.

  ‘He’ll have a bad headache for the next few days, but he’ll pull through,’ the physician replied, too busy to look up from his work.

  Lachlan smiled appreciatively. ‘Thank you.’ He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘I hope King Rhys’s letter doesn’t take too long. I’d never thought that the fate of the north would depend on a raven. It’s not very inspiring.’<
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  Caspan smirked. ‘Better a raven than a short-sighted, three-legged pig.’

  Lachlan couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I guess so.’

  Caspan woke with a start.

  Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he thought he heard a gargled cry. Pushing himself up slowly from his seat, he waited for his eyes to acclimate to the dark, then stared about Prince Dale’s chamber.

  Morgan was fast asleep in the bed, and he identified Lachlan as the dark shape snoring in a nearby chair. The only other people who’d remained in the chamber after the Prince had returned after meeting with his father and General Brett were the two Crimson Blades. Dale didn’t reveal much about the outcome other than mention that until they were able to confirm the boys’ alleged sighting of the Roon, extra patrols of guards would monitor the city’s fortifications.

  ‘And us, too,’ Lachlan had whispered once the Prince exited, leaving his Crimson Blades inside the room on either side of the door.

  Caspan looked for them now.

  His blood froze when he found them lying dead near the open window, illuminated in a pool of ghostly moonlight.

  Caspan drew his stiletto instinctively and reached over to gently shake Lachlan. Placing a finger on his friend’s lips as he stirred, Caspan whispered in his ear, ‘Don’t make any noise. We’re in trouble.’ He pointed at the Crimson Blades, and Lachlan’s eyes flashed with alarm. ‘We need to –’

  He caught movement in the corner of his eye. Lachlan saw it too, and the boys peered into the darkness at the far side of the room, where a black shape stalked towards the bed. Moonlight glistened off the dagger it held.

  ‘Help!’ Caspan cried, hoping there might be guards posted outside the room, as he and Lachlan raced over to Morgan.

  Lachlan tripped on something and fell, but Caspan was accustomed to moving in the dark and leapt across the bed to grapple with the intruder. He locked his hands around the person’s right wrist and tried to wrest the weapon away, but the stranger lashed out with his left fist, knocking Caspan onto the bed. There was a gleam of silver as the dagger was drawn high to stab Caspan, but Caspan kicked out with both feet, hitting his assailant in the chest and forcing him to stagger back.