The Crown Tower trc-1

by Michael J. Sullivan

  The boy nodded, but Royce knew he hadn’t a clue. Probably wasn’t the point, though. The farmer expected that one day the boy would have cause to remember the time thieves had burst into their house. Maybe then everything he was saying would make sense, or more likely it wouldn’t and he’d shake his head thinking what a fool his father had been.

  The woman glared, then sighed. Grabbing a stack of wooden bowls, she moved to the hearth.

  “What’s your name?” Hadrian asked the farmer.

  “Tom. Tom the Feather. This here is my son, Arthur.”

  “Good to meet you. And thanks for the hospitality.”

  Bowls were set out. Royce ate his near the door, sitting on a bench he managed to drag over. He wanted to keep an eye out but couldn’t keep standing.

  The rain pinged the puddles and ran off the thatch roof into a narrow gutter that circled the house as a drain. How can dogs track in the rain? It didn’t seem fair. Dear Maribor, how he hated dogs. Still, the rain must make it harder for the dogs to follow a scent, and there was always a chance that a squirrel or rabbit would ruin the whole affair. If nothing else, the weather would take a toll on the men. A knight used to sitting out storms in warm castles must hate the idea of wandering rocky fields in the wet. When faced with the expansive countryside, might he trade the soggy search for a dry hearth and a hot meal?

  The woman handed Royce some lamb stew-a thick gravy rich with generous chunks of meat, carrots, and potatoes. He could taste thyme and even salt. Everything was fresh. It was the best meal Royce had eaten in months, which left him puzzled. Royce imagined that the life of a farmer would be miserable, repetitive, filled with backbreaking labor easily destroyed by the fickle nature of weather. Yet, he supposed, when times were good, when the harvest arrived with a smile, they ate like kings.

  Yip!

  Royce heard the singular faint sound and paused, holding his breath.

  Yip! Yip!

  Dogs.

  He pressed his forehead to the door where it met the jamb, staring out the crack. His sliver of the world revealed the road and movement.

  “They’re coming.”

  CHAPTER 20

  TOM THE FEATHER

  First the yelp and bay of dogs, then the shouts of men followed by the beat of hooves. Hiding in the back room with Hadrian and Tom the Feather’s wife and son, Royce caught bits of conversations as they took their time getting to the door.

  “Miserable sods.”

  “…sheep farm…”

  “…any daughters would be…”

  “…always clean them up…”

  “Still, you’ll never get the stink of sheep off.”

  “Not often.”

  “By Mar, why would you?”

  Laughter.

  The farmhouse and its three rooms were built around the chimney and the open-back hearth, allowing it to heat and light each of the rooms. The four of them clustered in one with little more than a great straw-mattress bed while Tom waited in the main room. Even though everyone had waited for it, they all jumped when the hammering began on the door.

  Royce could tell when the door opened by how the voices lost their muffled sound.

  “Who are you?” a voice demanded.

  “Tom the Feather.”

  “The feather?” Someone farther away chuckled.

  “He is a bit lean,” another remarked.

  “We’re looking for two men. Thieves. Wounded. One my size, the other a bit smaller.”

  “You’re the only strangers I’ve seen.”

  Royce heard the door bang against the wall.

  “We’re not strangers. We’re your church. That’s Sir Holvin of the Seret Knights outside.”

  Silence.

  “Our dogs tell us the thieves came here.”

  “Then your dogs are mistaken.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  A shifting of feet and Royce heard the table move.

  “This is my home. You can’t-”

  “You miserable little woolly, out of my way!”

  “You have no right to-”

  A grunt, a stumble, then the sound of a sword pulled from a scabbard.

  Royce saw in Hadrian’s eyes what he was going to do even before he moved. Royce was a fast learner, especially when it came to the study of people, and Hadrian wasn’t much of a mystery. The man was suicidal as long as he was acting for the benefit of someone else. He didn’t try to stop him, because this time it didn’t matter. After the knights killed Tom, they would be coming in anyway. But guessing Hadrian’s mind a second before he moved, Royce was able to follow right behind him.

  Entering the main room, he saw Tom on the floor, a stool turned over. Two men in leather and helms waited near the door. One in chain mail stood over the farmer. The guy near Tom was drawing his sword, his eyes on the fallen man, lips in a sneer. He was angry at the impudent farmer who dared to do whatever it was he’d done. He also wasn’t wearing his helm. The soldier stood sideways to the bedroom, his head turned slightly, presenting the hollow of his neck.

  Hadrian still had three steps to go when Royce threw Alverstone, which flipped half a turn before lodging in the man’s throat. The man collapsed with a gurgle and metallic thud as if someone had dropped a pot filled with rags. What surprised Royce was how Hadrian reacted. Without missing a beat, without surprise or pause, he ignored the falling man and went for the ones at the door. Neither of them had time to draw steel, and with a free swing, Hadrian’s massive sword cleaved the next closest man’s head from his shoulders. What impressed Royce the most was that his initial swing was from left to right, leaving the point of his sword aimed at the last man at the end of his stroke. A quick thrust and Hadrian finished the fight. At least in battle Hadrian saw three moves ahead.

  A heartbeat later Tom’s wife saw the scene and screamed.

  “The door!” Royce shouted.

  Outside, the rest of the troop started for the house, but Hadrian was able to slam the door and slide the wooden brace into place, locking it. A moment later pounding began, making the door rattle.

  “Now what?” Hadrian asked as everyone stared at the door.

  “I’m pretty sure this is the point where I remind you I was right,” Royce said. “You should have left me on that tower.”

  Royce retrieved his dagger from the guard’s neck and wiped it off. As soon as Hadrian was sure the door would hold for a while, he returned his big spadone to its scabbard and picked up two of the soldiers’ swords. The farmer’s wife clutched the boy to her as she stood between the rooms, staring at the dead bodies. Getting up, Tom went to her. They embraced as a family, the wife whimpering into the chest of her husband.

  “Hobart! Beecham!” someone shouted from outside, and they continued to throw themselves against the door.

  “There’s no other way out of here,” Royce said.

  “Wouldn’t matter,” Hadrian replied. “These guys are professionals. They have the place surrounded. Another door or window would just make one more point of entry we’d have to secure. We’re actually lucky to have only two.”

  “Two?”

  “The door and the roof.”

  Royce looked up at the rafters covered in widespread planking and thatch.

  “Think they’ll burn it?”

  “If it wasn’t pouring.”

  “Rain won’t last forever.”

  “No … no, it won’t.”

  The pounding on the door stopped.

  “Nice door,” Royce said.

  “Thanks,” Tom replied. “Oak.”

  “I’m guessing there’s an axe in the barn or a woodshed out there?”

  Tom looked to the boy, who said, “I brought them in the house on account of the rain. Pa don’t like the heads to rust.”

  “They might have brought their own,” Hadrian said. “Standard gear for a patrol is an axe, a pot, and a shovel.”

  “They’ll be a long time cutting that door down. Wood is hard as stone. I dulled three saws.”
r />   Now that the soldiers had stopped beating on it, Royce peeked out the cracks again. Four men stood right outside, including the knight, who remained on horseback. A few more lingered to the rear. The rest he couldn’t see. They spoke quietly.

  “A shame we couldn’t have gotten the knight,” Hadrian said. “He’s likely the only thing keeping the others here.”

  Royce took a seat at the table. He was feeling dizzy again, and the nausea was coming back. He had eaten too much too quickly. “So what else can they do? Find something to batter their way in? Figure out a means to tie on to it and have the horse rip the door off? They can climb on the roof and cut through it easily enough, or they could just wait for the rain to stop and set us on fire. Or they can do absolutely nothing. Time is on their side. They’ve likely sent a rider announcing their hounds have treed us.”

  “Right.” Hadrian nodded. “The way those bells have been ringing, in a few hours we’ll have an army out there. We’ll have to make a move sooner rather than later.”

  “What kind of move?”

  Hadrian looked back at the door as if he could see through it. “We need that horse. We can’t hope to escape without it. If we can kill the knight and get on the horse, we’ll have a chance of getting away.”

  “I think there’s about nine men out there. Nine men-some with bows-and a plated knight on horseback. What do you want to do? Throw the front door open and rush them? You with your wounded leg and me with a hole in my stomach?”

  “Do we have a choice?”

  Royce didn’t have an answer.

  Hadrian said, “They’re going to kill us whether we sit here and wait or go out there. That doesn’t matter. But if we sit here, the rain will stop and they’ll burn these people’s home. Possibly kill them too. They didn’t do anything wrong. They gave us food, remember? If we charge them-we’ll die, sure, but this family will be safe.”

  “How is that a benefit?”

  “Okay, let me rephrase. We can sit here and let them kill us with fire and smoke or we can try and take a few with us.”

  Royce smiled. “Better.”

  Hadrian bent down and rolled the chain mail-dressed corpse over. “Looks big enough,” he said, and began pulling the mail over the dead man’s head. “Nice throw by the way. I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “I’m full of surprises.”

  “You in there!” They heard a shout from the far side of the door. “I’m Sir Holvin of Ervanon, Knight of the Order of Seret. Drop what weapons you have and come out. You are hereby under arrest in the name of our Lord Novron and the Nyphron Church.”

  Royce glanced at Hadrian, then at the family, still clustered and terrified. He shook his head and sighed, then stood up. “We have a family in here. A farmer, his wife, and a boy. I have a knife to the man’s neck as I speak. If you try and come in again, we’ll slit their throats. Do you hear me?”

  “You can’t win. You have nowhere to go. If you come out now, I promise you will live to stand trial.”

  “I mean it. I’ll kill these people in here,” Royce yelled.

  Royce faced Hadrian, saying softly, “Happy?”

  Hadrian smiled back and nodded.

  Tom looked concerned, his wife terrified.

  “Relax,” Hadrian told them. “He just said that so they won’t think you’re helping us.”

  “Go ahead,” the knight replied. “I don’t care-but the longer you make me wait in the rain, the worse it will be for you.”

  Royce noticed the surprise on the face of the farmer’s wife. “I would have said the same thing,” he assured her, but the woman did not appear comforted.

  “Give yourself up,” the knight shouted. “Trust to Novron!”

  “This guy is hilarious,” Royce said, and sat back at the table. If they were going to make a suicidal charge, he wanted to rest first.

  Hadrian pulled the chain mail over his head. He struggled for a bit before pulling it back off. “Too small. You want it?”

  Royce shook his head. “I can barely hold up my own weight.”

  “Might deflect an arrow.”

  “I’ll dodge them better without it.”

  “You can dodge arrows?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You are full of surprises.”

  “I don’t make a living doing it.”

  Hadrian slipped his spadone onto his back and picked up the two swords again, feeling their weight. “I miss my own. These are awful. You about ready?”

  “Wait,” Tom said, and pried himself out of his family’s grasp. He disappeared into the back rooms, then reemerged holding a huge shield and a bow as tall as he was. “I used to be an archer in the service of Lord Marbury. I fought beside him. He granted me this farm. His Lordship is a great man, but just yesterday the seret arrested him on the charge of treason-aiding fugitives from the church’s justice. You two I imagine. If Lord Marbury felt you were worth standing up for, I won’t dishonor his good name by doing any less. Besides, you just heard how concerned the church is for the safety of my family.”

  “My pa is the best shot in the county,” the boy said.

  “Tom the Feather.” Hadrian nodded.

  Tom held out the kite shield to Hadrian. “It’s designed to stop arrows, covers the body fairly well.” Over his shoulder, the farmer wore a full quiver.

  “What are you going to do with those?” Royce asked.

  “Zephyr and I are going to provide some assistance-going to fight for His Lordship one last time.”

  Royce closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hand. “I just convinced them you’re not helping us. We’re going out there so they don’t burn your house and kill you. If you start shooting, they’ll know different.”

  “If I shoot, you might survive.”

  “You’re that good?” Hadrian asked Tom.

  “With Zephyr, I can hit a rabbit at two hundred yards and release six arrows a minute. And she’s made of fine northern yew-if I pull her deep, she can punch an arrow through plate armor.”

  “And if we don’t kill all nine, you will be executed,” Royce said. “This is the first and last generous thing I will ever do. Don’t spoil it.”

  “He’s right,” Hadrian said. “We’re just…” He looked at Royce. “We’re just a pair of no-account thieves. Think of your son.”

  The old man looked down at the boy still gathered in his mother’s arms. “I am.”

  “Let him do as he wants,” Royce said. “I’m in pain, and if I’m going to die anyway, I don’t see the point in suffering. Let’s get this over with.” He moved to the door and peered out. “Four right outside and the knight’s still on his horse. No idea where the archers are. Frontal assaults aren’t my specialty. Any ideas?”

  Hadrian slipped the shield over his left arm. “Pull the brace and let me out first. Stay close behind. When we meet resistance, I’ll push left, you move right. Don’t fight the footmen unless you have to. Go for the horse. If you can, cut the stirrup and pull. The knight’s own weight will drop him. Then grab the horse, stay low, and let me do the rest.”

  “That will leave you to kill five men, not including the archers.”

  “You’re in no condition to fight. Besides, if you get that knight off his horse, you won’t need to worry about the others. Once I clear the field, we’ll hop on the horse and run for it. I just hope the archers can’t hit a moving target. Ready?”

  Royce stared at Hadrian, at his eyes. It was high summer on Herald Street, and the windows in that home were wide open.

  “You realize we’re about to die,” Royce said, then sighed. “It’s a real shame. I’m just starting to like you.”

  The door to the farmhouse flew open and they pushed out into the rain. The chickens were gone, but the puddles were still there, and so was the drumming roar of falling water. It was like jumping in the river again.

  Hadrian rushed forward and got the first swing before any of them reacted, before the first arrow flew. They had caught the
patrol by surprise. And even when the men in the barnyard reacted, they failed to see the threat. Soldiers spread out as if Royce and Hadrian were pigs bolting from a sty. One didn’t even draw his sword but held his hands out as if to tackle them. This left an open path to the one destination none of them could have expected a small wounded man with only a dagger would take.

  The moment Hadrian swung, Royce clenched his teeth and sprinted for the knight.

  Stabs of pain jolted through his body and brought back a wave of nausea and dizziness, but fear kept him running. He splashed through the puddles that threw brown water up to defy the gray water coming down. Something whizzed by Royce’s head, sounding like a bee with a purpose. He really could dodge arrows, if there was only one and he saw it coming, but in the rain he had only luck. Maybe the downpour caused just as much havoc with their aim as with his sight.

  He didn’t have far to travel. The whole barnyard was only a few yards across and the knight was in the middle sitting majestically on his white horse. He loomed above everything, all metal down to his shoes. Water rang off his plates and his horse puffed clouds, adding to the haze-a beast of the gray. He sat well above the muck, safe and aloof. Royce wondered if this was why he was the last to react.

  Whatever Hadrian was doing caught his attention. The knight’s visor was up, shielding his eyes from the rain-eyes that were not focused on Royce until he was only a few steps away. When he moved to draw his sword and spur his horse, the knight was still not looking at Royce.

  Royce had to time it right. He needed to shift his momentum, catch the knight’s leg, while avoiding being chopped in half or slipping in the mud. As it turned out, falling was unavoidable.

  The pain ripping through him was so intense he could have been hit by several arrows and not notice the difference. The dizziness was gaining strength. He could hear a ringing that was beginning to overtake the roar of the rain and that darkness was closing in again. He caught the knight’s foot. The move was inelegant-less an action of assault as one of trying to keep from falling. With his other hand he sliced the stirrup’s strap. He caught some of the horse in the effort and it jumped. Royce was amazed that a three-quarter-ton animal could jump so nimbly. That’s when he slipped. Royce was holding on to Sir Holvin’s foot as the horse jerked, and the mud was no help. He was still hanging on even as he fell, intent on pulling the knight to the ground, but he was too low. He didn’t have the angle. Using Alverstone the way he used his hand-claws, Royce gouged his way up the knight’s side, punching holes in the metal-by Mar, how he loved that dagger. Sir Holvin had no trouble noticing him then. Too close for the knight to swing, he hammered at Royce with the pommel of his sword. Holvin struck Royce in the head, and again in the face, but Royce refused to let go. He knew all he need do was hold on. The knight was right-handed and Royce was on his left. Sir Holvin was trusting to his stirrup for support-but it wasn’t there. All that metal, that vast tower of iron defense, lost its foundation and toppled. They were all falling. Not just the knight, not just Royce, but the horse as well. It had jerked twice more after Royce thought he heard more bees, and soon he had fifteen hundred pounds of horse and a metal giant crashing down on him.