Duel at Araluen

by John Flanagan

  The lantern and the torches threw an irregular, flickering light over the rough clay walls and roof of the tunnel as it embraced them. Behind her, she could hear the shuffle of sealskin boots on the ground as the Herons followed in her footsteps. Occasionally, one of them would grunt as he brushed against the cold, clammy walls. They were all bigger than her, and there was less room for them. Something to be said for being small, she thought, grinning to herself.

  She became aware of another sound, a constant, harsh, sighing noise. She realized it was Thorn’s heavy breathing as he strove to keep his panic in check.

  “Are we nearly there?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  She turned to look back at him, smiling encouragement. “Not far now. We’ll be under the moat in a minute or so.”

  “Under the moat,” he groaned. “Did you have to tell me that?”

  “Hope the roof doesn’t collapse while we’re there.” That was Jesper again, Maddie realized. She wondered if he ever knew when to keep his mouth shut.

  Thorn’s heavy breathing came faster and faster at the thought of the tons of wet clay and water that would be above them. Then, as they started forward once more, moving down toward the moat, he let out a startled cry.

  Maddie stopped and turned to him again. “What’s up?”

  His eyes were wide in the yellow light of her lantern. He had his hand up above his head, feeling the empty air above it.

  “Something touched me,” he said, his voice shaking. “Something touched my hair.”

  “It was probably a root,” she told him. “They hang down through the top of the tunnel. They scared the devil out of me first time I came through here. But you get used to them.”

  “I don’t plan on getting used to them,” Thorn replied. “I plan on getting out of here as soon as possible.”

  She led on and they followed. She sensed that they were under the moat and called back softly. “We may get a little water dripping down here and there. But it’s quite normal and nothing to worry about.”

  “So you say. I just . . . Nyaaaah!” Thorn’s statement was cut off by his cry of alarm. Once again, he was feeling the empty air above his head, brushing his hand back and forward as if to ward something off.

  “That was you, Jesper.” Stig’s warning voice came out of the dim recesses behind them. “If you do it again, I’ll break your arm.”

  Jesper sniggered. It was as well that, in the darkness, he couldn’t see Thorn’s malevolent glare.

  Hal’s voice came from the rear of the party. “Cut it out, Jesper,” he said. “Or you’ll be baling out the ship all the way back to Hallasholm.”

  Jesper could tell when his skirl was serious. And he was serious now. He mumbled to himself about people not being able to take a joke. But he didn’t bother Thorn again as they continued.

  A few minutes later, they emerged into the concealed room at the end of the tunnel. The room was small and they were crowded together, but already Maddie could see color returning to Thorn’s pale face.

  He returned her gaze apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

  She shrugged. “No matter,” she told him.

  But Stig was puzzled. “I don’t get it, Thorn. You’ve never been worried about small spaces before. You go belowdecks on the ship without any problem.”

  “That’s different. That’s not underground. I don’t like the feeling of being underground.”

  Jesper opened his mouth to comment, then wisely changed his mind and closed it. Maddie heard sounds coming from the cellar beside the small secret room where they waited. She held up a hand for silence and pressed her ear against the door. Voices, she realized. Listening carefully, she could just make out their words.

  “. . . stay down here while Horace attacks. We’ll be caught like rats.”

  “Would you rather go up and tell Sir Dimon we’ve decided not to stay here? Someone’s got to guard these prisoners, after all.”

  “Why? They’re locked in their cells and not going anywhere. We’re not really needed here.”

  Thorn had pushed forward to stand beside Maddie, his ear close to the door as well. He frowned in concentration, then looked up at her. Two of them? He mouthed the words, making no sound.

  Maddie nodded.

  Thorn beckoned Stig forward and pointed to the wall, again mouthing his words, reinforcing the meaning with hand signals. Two men. You take the one on the left. Me the right.

  Stig nodded his understanding, loosening his battleax from the iron loop on his belt that held it in place and removing the canvas that covered the metal blade. Thorn was already unstrapping the hinged hook that took the place of his right hand and forearm, and taking his club hand from a sack strapped to his back. Quickly, he slipped the stump of his arm into the leather socket, then pulled the straps tight with his left hand and his teeth. He moved his arm back and forth, testing that the club was securely in place, then gestured to Maddie, pointing to the door.

  She moved to the spring-loaded door lock, but he held up his left hand to stop her, then turned to the other Herons, again mouthing and miming his words. Just two of us. The rest stay here.

  The Herons nodded. Thorn and Stig would be more than capable of dealing with the two guards. And if they all barged into the cellar at once, they’d get in one another’s way. Satisfied that they had got the message, Thorn nodded to Maddie once more. As she reached for the door release, she took a moment to marvel over the rapid change in Thorn’s manner. He had been nervous and uncertain in the tunnel. Now he was confident and back in control. She had a feeling that the guards on the other side of the door would pay dearly for Thorn’s former nervousness.

  She pushed on the door lock, and the door into the cellar sprang open.

  31

  “Sir Horace,” said the leader of the cavalry troop, “there’s someone waving from the south tower balcony.”

  Horace looked up to the tower. Sure enough, someone was waving a towel or a pillowslip from the balcony that ran around it. He thought it might be Cassandra but couldn’t be sure. He stood in his stirrups, drew his sword and held it over his head. Then he twisted the blade back and forth to catch the sun, creating a series of flashes to acknowledge that he had seen the signal.

  “I imagine they’ll move down the stairs once we start through the gate,” he said. Then, satisfied that the signaler on the balcony had seen his reply, he re-sheathed his sword and settled back in the saddle.

  Gilan moved Blaze up beside Horace’s battlehorse. The Ranger had been off to the left, watching the hill below them.

  “I thought I saw men moving up the hill toward that grove of trees Maddie pointed out,” he said quietly.

  Horace nodded. “So she’s in position. How long did she say it would take them to get through the tunnel?”

  He knew the answer but he was reviewing the timing for the coming events in his mind.

  “Ten to fifteen minutes,” Gilan told him.

  Horace chewed his lip thoughtfully and glanced at the sun, sinking lower in the western sky. Already the shadows of the trees on that side were stretching across the grassy hillside toward them. He estimated that there were two hours of daylight left. More than enough time to get the job done, he thought. He gestured to the cavalry leader.

  “We’ll start to move forward. Archers,” he added, turning in his saddle to address the men on foot, “keep an eye on the battlements. They’ve got crossbows up there. Anyone looks like shooting at us, pick them off immediately.”

  There was a low growl of assent from the bowmen.

  Horace glanced left and right, making sure his men were ready, raised his right hand, then lowered it forward. The mixed force moved together with a jingle of harness and equipment. On his right, the Skandians from Wolfbiter stepped out as well. They were in no fixed formation. They strode toward the castle with their weapons in t
heir hands and their shields ready.

  They had gone fifteen meters when a crossbow bolt whizzed past Horace, missing him by several meters. Instantly, he heard the rapid slapping sound of several bows releasing, and the whimper of arrows fleeting toward the walls. A moment later, there was a cry of pain, and he saw a man fall back from the battlements, his crossbow dropping from his hands and falling to the moat far below. Another bow released and a second crossbowman dropped back into cover just in time. Inadvertently, as he jerked back, he hit the release trigger on his crossbow and his shot arced high and wide of the approaching men. Horace saw Gilan riding with an arrow nocked to his massive longbow, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the battlements. Horace looked to see if Dimon were visible, but the Red Fox leader was staying out of sight. With an archer of Gilan’s expertise seeking him out, it was a wise decision, Horace thought.

  “Far enough,” he said, raising his hand in the signal to halt. They were close enough now to waste no time when the drawbridge came down. “Shields up,” he added and heard the clatter as the troopers brought their shields around to their front to protect them from further crossbow bolts. The archers had no shields, but they moved quickly to take up position behind the halted cavalry, where the armored men and horses would protect them from shooters on the walls, while still enabling them to shoot in return.

  “Don’t forget your own shield,” Gilan said quietly beside him.

  Horace belatedly let his buckler slip around to the front. He glanced at his companion. “What about you?”

  Gilan shrugged. “I’ll stay behind you and that massive beast you’re sitting on.”

  Horace gave him a pained look. “That’s no way to talk about a thoroughbred battlehorse.”

  Gilan sniffed disdainfully. “Thoroughbred ox, more like it,” he said. Stamper and Blaze didn’t seem to share their riders’ sniping. The two horses whinnied at each other in a companionable way. Behind them, two archers released another pair of arrows at figures on the battlements. There was a further cry of pain.

  “Your men are doing well,” Horace remarked.

  Gilan glanced back at them before replying. “They were the pick of the bunch,” he said. “They’re all expert shots.”

  He was still speaking when he suddenly raised his bow, drew and released. The arrow hissed away, and five seconds later there was another yell of pain from the defenders on the wall.

  Horace grinned at him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “Just keeping them up to the mark,” Gilan said. He fidgeted with his reins for a few seconds, then glanced down the hill to the copse of trees. “Wonder what’s keeping Maddie?” he said. “She should be through the tunnel by now.”

  “Be patient,” Horace told him. “Nothing ever goes to time in a battle.”

  “Be nice if it did, just this once,” Gilan grumbled in reply.

  * * *

  • • •

  In the south tower, Cassandra’s men had opened the door to the stairs and moved down to the eighth level. Seeing none of Dimon’s men present, they replaced the section of stairs that they had removed when they first sought shelter in the tower. Now, fully armed, they stood ready to make their way down to the lower levels.

  On the ninth floor, Cassandra called to Ingrid, who was keeping watch from the terrace. “Any sign, Ingrid?”

  “No, my lady,” the girl replied. “Sir Horace and his men have moved closer to the gate, but there’s no sign of Maddie and her Skandians yet.”

  “Don’t get edgy,” Duncan told Cassandra. “Nothing ever goes to time in a battle.” Unknowingly, he repeated Horace’s phrase to Gilan.

  Cassandra looked at him, noting the long sword in his hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m coming with you,” he said. The tone in his voice brooked no argument, so she decided not to waste any time with it but to accept the inevitable.

  “All right,” she said. “But stay back behind the men. You’re not fully fit yet.”

  Duncan nodded agreement. He wanted to be in at the end of this battle, but he realized he couldn’t play an active part. He was realist enough to know that, if he did, he could well be putting his own men at risk as they protected him. He’d have to be content to observe, and to advise Cassandra if necessary.

  They started down the winding stairs. Cassandra placed three of her troopers in the lead, armed with long spears. Three archers followed them, then Ingrid with four troopers ranged around them. The remainder of her men followed, also in threes, with Duncan in the center, screened by a wall of bodies and armor.

  “Take it slowly,” she cautioned the men in the lead. “We don’t want any unpleasant surprises.” She glanced quickly at Thomas, who was in the lead rank of archers. “We’ll stop at the sixth floor, unless we run into any resistance. I can check the main gate from there.”

  Thomas nodded. They had to tread a fine line. They needed to be ready to join in the fight as soon as the drawbridge was down, leaving the stairway at the fourth level and moving across to the keep. But if they moved too early, they could be isolated by Dimon’s men.

  A few floors later, Thomas called a quiet command to the leading three troopers. They stopped in place, their shields up and their spears ready. There was no sign of any opposition. He turned to Cassandra and jerked his thumb at the door beside them. “We’re at the sixth floor, my lady,” he said.

  Cassandra licked her lips nervously and moved toward the door, turning the iron loop that activated the latch. The door was unbarred and the latch lifted easily. She pushed the door open a meter or so and peered around. There was nobody visible. A corridor led away to left and right, with doors visible on either side. This floor was used for accommodation, she knew. Those doors would lead to bedrooms, and they would have windows overlooking the courtyard and the main gate.

  Quietly, she drew her katana with a muted shring of steel on wood and leather. She opened the door farther and stepped into the corridor.

  “Wait, my lady,” Thomas said. He gestured for a trooper to go with her, and followed her himself. The three of them crossed quietly to the nearest door. Holding her sword ready, Cassandra reached for the door handle and turned it.

  This door was unlocked as well. The well-oiled latch lifted and the door swung into the room. Cassandra stepped quickly through the doorway, sword pointing left and right, ready for danger. There was nobody present, and she moved farther in, making room for her two guards to join her.

  Assuring herself that there was nobody lurking in ambush in the corners or behind the floor-length drapes, she walked quickly to the window and heaved the heavy curtains open.

  From this lower level, Horace and his men were hidden from her sight by the walls, but she could see through the courtyard gateway that the drawbridge was still up and no attack had begun so far. Dimon’s men lined the battlements, all peering outward at the attacking force. But there was no outcry, no sound of weapons clashing against one another.

  She turned to Thomas. “We’ll wait on this floor until the fighting starts,” she said. “Then we’ll go down those stairs and join in. Tell the men that Dimon is mine. Nobody else is to touch him.”

  Thomas regarded her curiously for a several seconds. She was small and slim, although he knew she was well muscled and skilled in the use of the katana. He decided that he wouldn’t like to be in Dimon’s shoes when she caught up with him.

  “I’ll spread the word,” he said.

  32

  Thorn and Stig erupted into the cellar as the door sprang open. The two guards who were stationed there looked up and cried out in alarm. They had no idea where the two Skandians had come from. The door was carefully disguised and blended into the stone walls of the cellar. Now, without warning, a gap had opened and two yelling sea wolves burst into the cellar, their weapons drawn.

  Thorn’s man was closer and he struggled to
draw his sword. But in his haste, he caught the crosspiece in the loose loop of his belt and only managed to have it halfway out of its scabbard before Thorn was upon him.

  The Skandian battlemaster swung his massive club in a backhanded swipe, catching the guard in the left ribs and cracking three of them. The force of the blow hurled the guard backward, and he crashed into the unyielding stone wall behind him. His eyes glazed briefly, then he slid down the wall and lay crumpled on the floor at its foot, unconscious.

  The second man had a little more time to gather his wits. He was armed with a spear and he lunged now at the terrifying one-armed man who had just dispatched his companion. But Thorn had the reflexes of a cat and was carrying his saxe in his left hand. He deftly trapped the spearpoint with the big knife’s blade and twisted it downward so the iron head rang against the stone floor, striking sparks. The result was that the second sentry was effectively disarmed. Stig, reluctant to use his battleax against an unprotected man, changed his tactics and leapt high in the air, right leg bent at the knee and drawn back for a flying kick.

  It caught the guard in the solar plexus, and the air was smashed out of his lungs with an explosive WHOOF! He, too, was catapulted across the room to slam against the stone wall behind him. Any breath he might have had remaining was driven out of his lungs by the impact. Like his companion, he slid unconscious to the cold stone floor of the cellar.

  Thorn regarded the two inert bodies with a satisfied smile. “All clear,” he called to the waiting group in the secret room.

  Hal and Maddie emerged into the cellar, looking around curiously, then seeing the two figures slumped against the far wall. The rest of the crew followed them, fanning out through the cellar. Hal stirred one of the guards with the toe of his boot. There was no reaction.