by Martin Owton
The wall loomed over him, seeming much higher than he knew it was. It was too deep for him to touch the lakebed so he trod water and unwound the rope from around his body. He took hold of the shank of the hook right-handed, testing its weight with a couple of trial swings, then he took a deep breath and relaxed to let his body sink down into the water. Then, with a great kick of his legs, he surged out of the water and tossed the hook and its trailing rope high into the air towards the wall. There was a clatter as the hook landed beyond the wall, and Aron carefully began to pull the rope in. It tautened as the hook caught on something, came loose and tautened again. Aron pulled harder to test the solidity of the grip and then began to pull himself clear of the water and up the wall.
He cautiously lifted his head over the wall and looked down into the rear of Castle Sarazan. He was very close to where he had intended to be. The sheds he'd climbed in the dream world were a few paces off to his right. The night breeze, gentle as it was, thrust cold knives into his wet body. Trying to keep as low as possible, Aron swung his body over the parapet and wormed his way along to where the solid shed wall joined the perimeter wall. He lowered himself seeking a solid footing, doubting that the roof would take his weight. His bare feet sought and found the stone, he stepped down and, dropping to a crouch, looked around. Nothing moved, no-one called the alarm; not a single light shone out from the dark bulk of the keep. He crept forward until he could see over the edge of the roof; below him was a line of wagons parked beside the sheds just as in the dream. Water dripped from him down onto the nearest wagon. Still in a crouch, he jumped and rolled as he hit the ground to finish up under one of the wagons. He crawled up the line to the farside of the first wagon and looked across the yard to where the sentry should be. The man was concealed in the deep shadow under the keep and Aron wasn't sure he was there until he stamped his feet to ward off cramp. There was no approach to his position that was not in plain view.
Concealed in the shadow under the wagon, Aron reached into his belt pouch and drew out a smooth round pebble and a soft leather sling. He fitted the pebble into the sling's pouch and crept out from under the wagon. He stood concealed against its dark body and stared intently into the darkness towards the sentry, awaiting his moment, shivering with cold, right hand cocked at his shoulder. Time passed and he began to suspect the man had fallen asleep at his post when, boots crunching on the cobbles, the sentry stepped out of the shadows towards him. Aron took a slow deep breath and sought the focus and inner balance that he had been taught. He held the stillness for a moment then, in a single flowing movement, launched the slingshot at the oncoming man.
The stone struck the sentry just below the rim of his helmet, he grunted in pain and collapsed, his crossbow clattering on the cobbles. Aron paused for a long moment, not daring to even breathe, to see if there was a reaction from anywhere, any further sentries he'd not seen. Nothing happened, so he scuttled to where his victim lay and dragged him back to the cover of the wagons as quietly as he could manage. From his pouch he drew out leather thongs to truss the unconscious man and a gag to keep him quiet.
Aron left him beneath a wagon and scurried, as quickly as his bare feet would allow, to the shadow of the keep and the stairway that the sentry had guarded. The stairwell was very dark and Aron felt his way up, listening intently all the time for any sound that might warn of an enemy above. The only thing he could hear was the rasping of his own breathing echoing back from the stone walls. The first level was utterly dark and silent as Aron crept on upwards past its entrance to the second level where the dream had placed Maldwyn.
It was as quiet as the first. Aron stepped slowly out into the passageway, his hands held out before him like a child's game of blind man's bluff. His fingers found the wall and he followed it until he reached a door. He raised the locking bar, gently laid it to one side and lifted the latch. The door creaked open and Aron slipped inside. A window provided sufficient illumination for him to make out the mound huddled on a narrow bed. He walked over to it and pulled the thin blanket off the sleeping man. He put a hand over the sleeper's mouth to stifle any cry and whispered in his ear.
“Keep quiet and do what you're told. We're getting out of here.”
There was no response. Aron muttered a curse and shook the sleeper roughly by the shoulder. There was a grunt but he didn't awaken. Aron searched with his free hand, found an ear and dug his fingernails into the lobe. The sleeper started violently and tried to sit up. Aron hauled him downwards cursing him the while.
“Maldwyn of Nandor?” The man grunted in acknowledgement and tried to bite Aron's hand. “Be still, the Gods rot you. I'm here to get you out. Now keep quiet and I'll release you.”
Maldwyn relaxed under Aron's grip and Aron removed his hand. Maldwyn began to speak and Aron replaced his hand quickly to silence him.
“Questions later. Now you do what I tell you and keep quiet.” Aron removed his hand again. Maldwyn kept gratifyingly silent. “We're leaving - now! You come as you are, carry nothing. I hope you can swim.”
Maldwyn stood up slowly, his hands pawing at Aron. Aron caught his arm and pulled him towards the door. Maldwyn stumbled after him, feet scuffling on the floor.
“I need my boots,” he said.
“Sssh,” Aron hissed at him. “Our lives depend on keeping quiet. Get your damned boots then.”
Maldwyn groped in the darkness and collided noisily with the chair. Aron ground his teeth in frustration. Maldwyn tugged his boots on and then kicked the chair again as he tried to step round it.
“Where are you?” he whispered.
“Here.” Aron reached out and caught hold of Maldwyn’s arm. “Keep as quiet as you can and just listen.” They stood for a long moment. The passageway was as quiet as before. Aron kept hold of Maldwyn with one hand as he felt his way along the wall with the other. He found the edge of the stairwell, stopped and Maldwyn blundered into him. Aron grunted in pain as Maldwyn stood on his cold bare right foot. Maldwyn began to apologise, but Aron silenced him abruptly with a hiss.
“Stairs next. Keep two steps behind me to the bottom.” Then he stepped into the stairwell feeling for the edges of the steps with his mistreated toes. Behind him Maldwyn scuffed and stumbled on the uneven stone, leading Aron to fear that he would fall and sweep both of them downwards in a tumble that would surely end the adventure.
Aron breathed a silent sigh of relief as he reached the bottom of the stair where the open doorway was outlined against the night sky. The dim light gave him his first chance to take a look at Maldwyn of Nandor. Edith had described him as a great tall dark hunk of a man, so Aron was not surprised to find Maldwyn topped him by a handslength; however, he doubted that many girls would consider him handsome. His nose, which clearly proclaimed him his father's son, dominated his face beneath a thatch of straight dark hair, and his limbs seemed to be just too long for his body. Aron supposed that in a few years he might fill out, so that his proportions would seem more natural; then a girl might look twice. Of course, he'd be an earl someday - if he didn't tread on Aron's toes too often.
Maldwyn was also staring at Aron, probably sizing him up in the same way, so Aron turned to look across the courtyard at the wagons where he had left the immobilised sentry. All was quiet as he whispered his instructions to Maldwyn, pointing out which wagon to head for, and then sent him on his way. There was no reaction to Maldwyn's passage across the yard, so Aron followed him, silently cursing as the cobbles bit his cold bare feet.
Halfway to the wagons Aron heard the tread of nailed boots coming from the direction of the main castle buildings. He sprinted the remaining distance to the nearest wagon and ducked into the shadows beneath it as two men, one carrying a torch, appeared in the archway that lead to the front of the fortress. They crossed the courtyard heading for the stairwell from where Aron and Maldwyn had just come. Aron thanked whatever gods protected the bold and foolish, grateful that he hadn't met the guards on the stairs.
&nbs
p; They had only a few moments before the sentry's absence was discovered. Aron crawled to the far side of the wagon and stood up in the space between it and the line of huts. Maldwyn was easily located in the darkness; Aron could hear him moving around beneath another wagon. Aron called to him softly and then cursed as Maldwyn struck his head on some protruding piece of the wagon's body, the noise echoing across the yard. The sound of boots on cobbles ceased suddenly. Aron pulled himself up on the wheel of the wagon and risked a look back; the torch was stationary. He was silently thankful for the guards’ stupidity in carrying a torch; they'd be able to see nothing beyond the pool of illumination it provided. Maldwyn reached his side and Aron hissed him to stillness, waiting for the torch-carriers to turn back to the stairwell. The guards stood for several breaths and then started walking towards the wagons.
“You climb first,” whispered Aron. “I’ll deal with these two if they get too close.”
Maldwyn paused for a moment, but Aron gave him a shove to get him moving. Maldwyn scrambled up onto the wall with ease and, to Aron's surprise, did not put a foot through the roof. The guardsmen paused halfway down the line of wagons. Aron took the opportunity to climb up onto the perimeter wall. He did so as quietly as he could in his haste, but evidently not quietly enough because a shout went up from the two men in the yard and they broke into a run towards him.
“What now?” asked Maldwyn as he looked back to the commotion.
“Jump. And I hope you can swim,” replied Aron as he scrambled onto the top of the wall and launched himself feet first into the darkness.
The chill of the water bit into his body as he kicked out to bring himself to the surface. There was a large splash a few armslengths away as Maldwyn joined him. Aron struck out for the opposite shore with silent powerful strokes but Maldwyn, though he kept up a reasonable progress, thrashed around like a drowning man. Behind them in the castle bells begin to ring.
A light showed at the foot of the castle wall and was joined by more. There were curses and a large splash followed by smaller more regular splashes. Two of the lights began to move, bobbing, away from the wall. A boat had been launched, and was headed towards them guided by Maldwyn's noisy strokes. Aron looked for the shore and then looked back at the boat, measuring the distance, and concluded that the boat would catch them before they reached the shallows. He called out to Maldwyn to go faster. The splashing increased, the rate of progress did not and Aron felt a surge of anger at Maldwyn’s efforts.
The boat was gaining solidly on them, close enough now that Aron could count six men in it; four bent over their oars and two holding torches. Maldwyn seemed to be tiring as the boat bore down on him. Aron trod water as the boat cut between him and Maldwyn, turning to block Maldwyn’s path. Aron saw it heel over as the men tried to grab Maldwyn. No-one was looking his way and an idea formed in his mind. He ducked under the water and struck out towards the boat, guided by the flare of the torches. He swam under it to surface almost beside the gunwale. He reached up, caught the gunwale and pulled downwards for all he was worth. The boat, already unbalanced by the guardsmen’s effort to grab Maldwyn, tipped and capsized, spilling the guardsmen in the water.
Night swallowed the scene as the torches were quenched with a hiss, and for a short while, there was a maelstrom of splashing and yelling. Over a few minutes the splashes faded until there was only the din of the heir of Nandor propelling himself through the water. Aron struck out for the shore as the cold ate the last of his strength. .
***
“It was the monster. Sure as anything,” said Davo as he passed the spirit flask to Maldwyn who sat with a thick cloak wrapped about him. “I telled yer there’s a monster in there.”
Aron said nothing but concentrated on tugging on his boots with desperately cold fingers. The boots finally yielded and Aron stood up, water dripping from his clothes.
“We must get away from here. There'll be horsemen upon us in no time and hounds sent from the castle. There's a boat waiting to take us downriver. I hope you've strength enough for a run, my Lord,” he said to the shivering Maldwyn. “At least it'll warm you.”
CHAPTER 15
“We lost the trail, my Lord. The dogs found their scent easily enough on the lakeside, but there are just too many other trails when you get into the city,” the guard sergeant said hesitantly as the grey light of early morning struggled to light the chamber.
As well he may be thought Nicoras. Lord Hercival is, like his grandfather, not a good man to have to report failure to, particularly at this hour of the morning.
Lord Hercival growled with dissatisfaction but then composed himself.
“Only to be expected, Sergeant. If they'd gone straight for the hills, you would have caught them. At least we know which way they've gone. You've done your best, go and get some breakfast.”
He waited until the man had closed the door before crashing both fists onto the wooden table before him and uttering a blistering oath.
“You cannot expect dogs bred to track game across open country to track men through a city, my Lord. It's just not realistic.” Nicoras stood with his powerful arms folded in front of him. “To be honest, we should be grateful they found as much as they did.”
“Thank you, Nicoras. I assure you I am duly grateful.” The heavy sarcasm told Nicoras that gratitude was the last thing Lord Hercival was feeling. “Please tell me something useful now. What is being done to capture these invaders?”
“Message birds have been sent to all highway guardposts with a description of Maldwyn. The posts on the Nandor road are being reinforced. Squads of guards are patrolling the city and near countryside, and I have put word out through our intelligence network offering a reward for information that leads to a capture.”
“How much?” Lord Hercival looked up suspiciously.
“Twenty in silver. I hope that meets with your approval, my Lord.”
“Not enough. Make it fifty. These men have made fools of us, and I want them in chains before my father finds out, Nicoras.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “How did they get in?”
“Over the lakeside wall it would seem, my Lord. We found a grapnel hook and rope lodged in the wall at the spot where a man was seen on the way out.”
“What about the sentry at the south tower?”
“He took a crack on the head, remembers nothing. He was found trussed and gagged under a wagon in the rear courtyard.”
“What happened to the boat?”
“Found floating upside down in the lake. We've recovered two bodies. No doubt the lake will give up the others in due course.” Nicoras hesitated before continuing. “The men are saying it was the lake monster.”
Lord Hercival’s eyes narrowed and Nicoras anticipated another explosion. “Superstitious idiots,” said Lord Hercival, pounding the table again with his fist. “I don’t believe that for one minute, do you?”
“No, my Lord. It can only have been the intruders’ doing, but I don't understand how.”
“No matter how they did it, it makes them dangerous opponents. Ten men we've lost to them and they are going to pay. I swear it, Nicoras. The house of Sarazan will not be mocked.”
“We will find them, my Lord. The scum of Sarazan would sell their own mother for ten in silver; fifty will have them fighting to bring these men to us.”
“If they're still here. But then there are ways of finding them if they are not. Wake up Master Ezrin and send him to me. Here’s something a little more demanding for him than a maid’s horoscope. And send up my breakfast.”
“May I remind you we still hold the other Nandorans, including Maldwyn's cousin. They are presently breaking rocks in the quarry by the will of the city magistrate.”
Lord Hercival sat back with a smile. “Thank you for reminding me of that; I had forgotten them. There may yet be something to salvage from this. Have them brought in to the castle. I’d like to talk to these Nandorans.”
***
“Can you find this sheepkisser then? You've heard of the embarrassment he's caused us?” said Lord Hercival, pushing back his plate.
“You can keep no secrets in a castle, my Lord,” Ezrin the sorcerer smiled unctuously. Now that Hercival needed something perhaps there was a chance of him gaining a little respect. He was not overly vain, but a man of learning deserved some honour. “It may be possible, depending on what he has left behind for me to work with,” he said in measured tones.
“Explain.” Lord Hercival's brow furrowed with puzzlement and suspicion.
Hercival had never listened, Ezrin remembered, when he had tried to tutor him and his brother in the arts of wizardry.
“It is quite simple, my Lord. I need something which has been in close contact with the subject, preferably part of him, to assist me in finding him. It is much like a hound needs a man's shirt to give him the scent. Blood would be best, but hair or even nail trimmings would suffice. Did the Nandoran leave a hairbrush or comb behind?”
“I've no idea, but no-one has been in his room today. If you wish to have it searched, Nicoras will provide a squad of guardsmen.”
“There's no need of that, my Lord. I've seen the guardsmen's idea of searching. I'll go myself and I’ll find more than they would I'll wager.”
“Very well. Keep me informed of anything you find.”
The tall grey-haired sorcerer turned to leave and permitted himself a small smile of satisfaction. Now Lord Hercival would learn the value of his arts.