Duel at Araluen

by John Flanagan

  “Horace! Here I am!”

  He saw Horace’s head move slightly as he scanned the walls, then stop as he recognized the figure high above him.

  “Open the gates and lay down your weapons,” Horace called.

  Dimon laughed. “Do you think I’m mad? There’s no way on earth that I’m letting you and your men inside these walls.”

  “I’ll give you one chance to surrender. And then—”

  Dimon shook his head and cut him off. “And then what? You’ll storm these walls with sixty men? I’ll be delighted to see you try. Now I’ll give you one chance: Ride away and give us free passage to the coast.”

  “Or what?” Horace demanded.

  “Or I’ll burn out your wife and her men in the south tower. Her life is in your hands, Horace. Don’t put it at risk.”

  Horace laughed, but there was a hollow sound to it. He pointed to the tower. “You’ll burn her out, will you? Looks as if she’s put your fire out.”

  Dimon craned around to look at the south tower. The thick clouds of black smoke pouring from the windows on the eighth floor had lessened and had turned white as Cassandra allowed water from the cisterns to flood down, turning the smoke to steam. As he watched, even the white steam diminished to a series of small wisps. He cursed to himself.

  “Now I’m warning you and your men,” Horace continued. “If you harm one hair on Cassandra’s head, there will be no mercy. I will kill every one of you.”

  Even at a distance, the grim sincerity in his voice was obvious. Dimon felt a momentary frisson of fear. Horace was not an enemy to take lightly. He was a highly skilled and dangerous warrior—the champion knight of Araluen. Dimon began to wonder whether he could somehow use Cassandra’s life as a bargaining chip to allow his escape. Horace’s next words cut across the thought.

  “And here’s something else. Any of your men who surrender now will be given free passage. They’ll get a head start of eight hours to go in any direction they choose. I give my word that they won’t be pursued in that time.”

  “Can they keep their weapons?” Dimon asked. Another thought was forming. He might somehow be able to disguise himself and leave with those of his men who chose to surrender.

  “Are you joking?” Horace replied. “They will be disarmed and we’ll take a close look at every one of them—just in case you had the idea of sneaking out with them.”

  Dimon’s heart sank further at the words. He was not going to trick his way out of the castle, he thought.

  But then, Horace and his men were going to have a hard time getting in. Maybe some kind of compromise would be possible in the coming days as he continued to hold them off. The longer the stalemate went on, with Horace unable to force his way in, the more likely Horace would be to see reason.

  “That sounds like a worthwhile offer,” said a voice close behind Dimon. The words were spoken in a conversational tone, not shouted to Horace. Dimon turned angrily and saw eight or nine men who had followed him down from the tower—the mercenaries he had contracted to force Cassandra to surrender.

  He rounded on them in fury. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. Suddenly, he understood why the fire on the upper floors had gone out. These men had abandoned their attack when he had rushed down the stairs to the battlements.

  The man who had spoken was uncowed by his anger. “We wanted to see what we were up against,” he said. “We didn’t sign up to fight Sir Horace and his men. You said we just had to capture a woman and a few of her soldiers. Now we’re looking at troopers and archers. And there are Skandians there as well. We’re not fighting them.”

  The men around him nodded and muttered agreement.

  “So you’re afraid to face Horace, are you?” Dimon sneered.

  Again, the man showed no reaction to his manner. “Any sane man would be. As I said, we didn’t agree to fight him.”

  “Have you noticed that he’s outside the walls—and you’re inside?” Dimon continued sarcastically. “There’s no way he can get in.”

  “And there’s no way we can get out while he’s there. I don’t plan to be caught like a rat in a trap. He’s offering us a way out and I’m thinking of taking it.”

  Dimon drew his sword and took a step toward the surly group. But the sound of half a dozen swords being drawn echoed around the battlements as the men closed up around their spokesman. Dimon stopped and lowered his own sword. He tried not to let his desperation show. This willingness to surrender might spread to the rest of his force if he continued to argue with this group.

  “Pay us our five thousand royals and we’ll be on our way,” said another of the turncoats.

  Dimon laughed bitterly. “Pay you? For what? I hired you to bring Cassandra down from that tower. So far, you haven’t managed to do it. I’m not paying you a lead penny!”

  The man shrugged. He hadn’t really expected Dimon to hand over any payment, but it had been worth a try. “Then we’ll leave anyway,” he said, and his companions mumbled agreement.

  Dimon capitulated. It would be better to be rid of them quickly, before the rot could spread. He slammed his sword back into its scabbard.

  “All right. Tuck your tails between your legs and run,” he said. “And good riddance. But take another look: There’s a Ranger out there. Wherever you run to, he’ll track you down. All Horace is promising is an eight-hour start.”

  “That sounds good enough to us,” said the original spokesman. He stepped up to the battlements and shouted to the figure below.

  “Sir Horace! Ten of us are coming out!” Then, gesturing to his companions to follow, he led the way to the stairs leading down into the courtyard. Dimon followed them for a few paces and called to the men below.

  “Let those traitors go!” he said.

  The guard in the courtyard reluctantly opened a small wicket gate beside the main gate, and shoved a narrow plank bridge across the moat. The ten deserters made their way across it, tossing their weapons to the grass as they reached the far side. Then the plank bridge was withdrawn and the wicket gate was slammed shut and barred.

  Dimon watched as the small group were searched and closely inspected by the Ranger. Then they were stripped of their armor and boots and shoved on their way, heading for the coast.

  * * *

  • • •

  In the tower, Cassandra was puzzled by the sudden cessation of the attack on the door. She stepped closer to the barricade and tilted her head, trying to hear what was going on. There was a concerted rush of feet on the stairs, then silence fell. She frowned at her father.

  “What do you think is going on?” she asked.

  Then Ingrid called to her from the door leading out onto the balcony. “My lady! Come and see! It’s Sir Horace! He’s back!”

  Cassandra dashed out the door to the balcony. She hurried to the wall and leaned out so she could see the parkland beyond the main gates. Sure enough, there was a body of men gathered there, in neat ranks. Archers and troopers, she saw. She smiled as she recognized a third group—Skandians.

  And several paces ahead of them, accompanied by his standard bearer, was Horace, sitting astride his battlehorse, his armor gleaming in the sunlight. She laughed out loud. She had never seen a more welcome sight in her life. Sensing someone moving beside her, she turned to see her father.

  “It’s Horace,” she said, pointing. “Now Dimon will have something to think about.”

  Her father shrugged. “Horace still has to get inside the walls,” he said. “And nobody’s managed that in the last hundred years.”

  “He’ll manage it,” she replied confidently. “He’s got Maddie to help him get in.”

  Quickly, she told him of the plan she had discussed with Maddie, for the girl Ranger to lead a party through the secret passages to the gatehouse and let the drawbridge down.

  He smiled as she told him. “So sh
e found the secret tunnels, did she? Good for her.”

  Involuntarily, they both leaned out to peer down the hill to the small clump of trees and bushes that concealed the tunnel entrance. There was no sign of movement there. A thought struck her—a way to let Horace and Maddie know that all was well in the south tower. She called to Ingrid, who hurried to her side.

  “Go and bring down my flag,” she said. “Then send it up again, right side up.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Ingrid said, a broad smile on her face. She hurried away to do Cassandra’s bidding.

  “Now we’ll just sit tight until Maddie lets down the bridge,” Cassandra said to her father. “Then we’ll go down and join the party. I’ve got a few things to say to Dimon.”

  30

  Maddie led the Herons southward in a long arc, remaining inside the trees and out of sight until they reached the small clearing where she had kept Bumper. From time to time, she would halt the sea wolves and creep to the edge of the tree line, concealed by her cloak, to spy out events at the castle.

  She nodded to herself, satisfied that her father was keeping the Red Foxes’ attention away from the cleared ground below the castle, and the small copse where the entrance to the tunnel was concealed. She and her group would have to cross that open ground to reach the tunnel and she didn’t want anyone in the castle to see them when they did.

  Eventually, they reached a point in the trees below the castle, and she paused, surveying the terrain once more. She sensed something was different in the south tower. She looked closely at it. The dark smoke had ceased billowing from the windows and arrow slits. Now, only a few wisps of steam remained.

  “Well done, Mum,” she said quietly. She realized that her mother must have flooded the fire set by Dimon and his men with water from the roof cisterns. She could see heads moving above the balcony wall on the ninth floor, but it was too far to recognize individuals. Then her heart leapt as she noticed the flag, now flying upright. It was obviously a signal to her and to Horace that all was well on the ninth floor of the tower.

  She moved back inside the cover of the trees and approached Hal. “Are you all set?” she asked.

  He nodded, then indicated the waiting members of his brotherband. He and Stefan were carrying torches they had prepared on board the Heron—rags tied round lengths of wood and soaked with pitch to keep them burning for at least half an hour.

  “Should we light these now?”

  She shook her head. “Wait till we’re at the tunnel mouth. If we start up the hill with burning torches, we could be noticed. In fact,” she said, glancing around and studying the clear ground, “we might move a little farther west and angle up the hill to the tunnel. That’ll put the south tower between us and the men on the walls.”

  “Good idea,” said Hal. Then he turned to his men. “Right, let’s get moving.”

  Maddie led them a hundred meters to the west, until she judged that the bulk of the south tower would provide them with adequate cover from observers on the wall. As they crouched ready inside the tree line, she spoke to them softly.

  “Stay low and move slowly. Rapid movement attracts the eye. Make sure you have nothing on you that might catch the sun’s rays and send a reflection up the hill.”

  She waited while the men checked one another’s clothing and equipment, ensuring that no metal was left bared. They had elected not to bring their shields with them, reasoning that they would be too bulky in the narrow confines of the tunnel. She was glad to see that they didn’t wear the traditional Skandian horned helmets. Instead, they all wore knitted watch caps, with a small heron symbol on the front. Their clothing was dull-colored—leather and sheepskin for the most part—and that would help them move up the hill without being seen. She nodded to the first group. Stig, Thorn, Jesper and Edvin were ready to move out.

  “Remember,” she said once more, “low and slow. Use the long grass as much as you can, and don’t bunch up. Go.”

  Thorn led the group out. Stig waited until the one-armed sea wolf had gone ten meters, then followed. Edvin and Jesper left similar gaps. She watched them move furtively up the hill, crouching to use the cover of the long grass as much as possible, and angling across the slope to reach the small copse of trees. As Edvin crept in among the small bunch of trees, she signaled for the next group to move out.

  Ulf and Wulf, the identical twins, went next, with Ulf leading Ingvar, holding him firmly by the wrist. The big sailor’s eyesight was poor in the late-afternoon light, and Ulf was able to warn him whenever they reached rough patches in the ground. The head of Ingvar’s long weapon was wrapped in a piece of canvas, so that it wouldn’t catch the light and cause reflections. She saw Ingvar stumble once on a rough piece of ground, but Ulf’s secure grip saved him from falling. The two brothers waited until Ingvar had regained his balance and composure, then set off again, with Wulf dropping back to trail behind them.

  They moved more slowly than the first group, but they eventually reached the sanctuary of the trees with no sign that they had been spotted from the castle walls. Not that that was conclusive, Maddie thought. They might have been seen without the defenders raising the alarm or shouting. Then she shrugged. If they were seen, there was little Dimon could do about them. He had no idea about the concealed tunnel entrance, or about the tunnel itself. As far as he would know, they were hidden in the small clump of trees and bushes and well away from the castle walls.

  “Are we going?” Hal asked beside her.

  She realized she had been delaying while she considered the situation. She roused herself with a jerk and nodded. “Let’s go,” she said. “Follow me.”

  She glided out into the open ground, with Hal and Stefan behind her, trying to mimic her movements and rhythm as closely as they could. She kept her cowl up so that she was able to keep an eye on the castle as she went, without exposing the pale oval of her face to potential watchers. Once again, there was no indication that they had been seen. A few minutes later, she guided her companions into the shelter of the small clump of trees. It was now quite crowded in the little clearing, with ten of them crammed together.

  Hal looked around curiously. “Where’s this tunnel?”

  She moved to pull the screening bushes to one side, exposing the dark hole of the entrance. The men with torches began to reach for their flints and steels but she stopped them.

  “Wait till you’re inside the entrance before you light the torches,” she said. “Even in daylight, they might see the flash of flint and steel from the castle.”

  Hal and Stefan nodded their understanding. A struck flint created a brief but brilliant flash of light, and it could well be seen if someone was looking in the right direction.

  She moved into the tunnel entrance and found the lantern she had left there when she had come this way, days before. There was still plenty of oil in its reservoir, and she raised the glass, exposing the wick. She nodded to Hal, beckoning him forward into the dark recess.

  “Give me a light for this, please,” she said.

  Hal quickly struck sparks from his flint into a small pile of tinder, then blew on it to raise a tiny flame. Maddie found a small dry stick and put it into the flame to get it burning. Then she transferred it to the oil-soaked wick of her lantern. The light sprang up immediately, intensifying as she closed the glass. She held it up while Hal set his torch aflame, then Stefan’s.

  The yellow light flared, but it only seemed to accentuate the darkness of the tunnel, stretching away from them toward the castle.

  “I’ll lead,” she told Hal. “You bring up the rear.”

  Hal nodded and moved aside to let the others past. Stig came first, then Thorn, looking nervously about him.

  “We’re going in here?” he said doubtfully.

  Stig looked at him in surprise. Thorn was fearless in battle. It had never occurred to Stig that he might be nervous in confined spaces. The t
all first mate found the tunnel’s confines unpleasant, but nothing that he couldn’t handle.

  “Are you all right, Thorn?” he asked.

  Thorn made a nervous gesture with the hook on his right arm. “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m fine.” But his voice belied the words. It was pitched a little higher than normal.

  More Herons tried to enter the tunnel behind Thorn, but he wasn’t moving. They all looked at him.

  “I can hardly see my hand in front of my face,” Thorn said nervously, peering around in the darkness.

  Ingvar, behind him, grinned easily. “Welcome to my world,” he said. “That’s normal for me.” He realized that his spectacles—tortoiseshell lenses pierced by tiny holes to help him focus—would be virtually useless in the darkness. He took them off and put them away in a pocket. Peering around owlishly, he realized that, even though his vision was blurry, he could see the light of the torches and the dark shapes of his companions. “Let’s go,” he said.

  But still Thorn hesitated.

  “It’s just a little tunnel, Thorn,” Jesper said, the amusement obvious in his voice. “Nothing to be frightened of. No boogermen in here.”

  “Shut up, Jesper,” Thorn said, his voice tight.

  Jesper opened his mouth for another sally. It was rare that he felt superior to Thorn in any way, and the opportunity to crow about it was almost irresistible.

  “Yes. Shut up, Jesper,” Hal said. His voice wasn’t tight. It was firm and grim. Jesper heard the underlying threat and closed his mouth.

  “Just let’s get going,” Thorn said.

  Maddie caught his gaze and nodded reassuringly. “It’ll only be a few minutes, Thorn,” she said. “And we’ve got plenty of light.”

  “Okay. Okay. It’s going to be fine,” Thorn said, speaking rapidly. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

  Maddie decided there was no point in trying to reassure him any further. Best to get the ordeal over with, she thought. She knew that some people had an inordinate, unreasoning fear of dark, confined spaces, and the tunnel definitely fit that description. She held her lantern high and set off, walking slowly so that the men behind her could keep their footing on the uneven ground.