by John Migacz
CHAPTER 7
“Give me a hand,” said Adrianna. Balthus grabbed her hand and she crawled up next to him on the ledge, careful not to loosen any rocks. She thought their position was higher than needed to observe the encampment, but Balthus wanted any sound they made to go unheard.
Duke Lothogorn’s castle was situated at the foot of the Freal Mountains on the Gosley Plains. The darkened plain was so flat it appeared to be a lake, and the castle an island extension of the mountains. Tonight, that “lake” sparkled with the campfires of thousands of men.
“Gods! Looks like Lotho wasn’t exaggerating about the three thousand men,” whispered Adrianna with a sinking feeling. She had hoped Lotho had embellished the numbers as he did everything else.
Balthus gazed down at the camp, then nodded. “Well, this doesn’t change the plan and I’d better have at it.” He gave Adrianna’s arm a squeeze and faded into the night.
Adrianna lay on the ledge and studied the encampment. Balthus had convinced her that infiltration was a one-man job and he looked more the dirty mercenary than she did. If he ran into trouble, he would make for the path below her and they could ambush any pursuit. Not a great plan, but from her observations, nothing more should be necessary. One glance at the camp showed there were few sentries and certainly no discipline. The mercenaries sat around their campfires laughing and drinking as if on holiday. The only alert troopers were the ones guarding several wagons located near the road to Freetown. The wagons had canvas-covered hoops over the cargo areas to either protect or conceal their contents.
She was wondering how Balthus fared when she spied him approaching one of the guarded wagons with a roast fowl in each hand – make that a roast hen in one hand and half a hen in the other. The balance of that fowl was hanging out of his mouth. He gestured toward the wagons while the guards blocked his access and pushed him away. Balthus gave an exaggerated shrug and sauntered away.
She watched him go from campfire to campfire chatting with the mercenaries, slapping backs, laughing loudly and telling stories. He looked like he was campaigning for Council Elder of Freetown. Shaking her head, she wished for once he could curtail his sense of humor but knew that wouldn’t be possible. In fact, it was one of the traits that drew her to him. “Possibly the only trait,” she murmured as she watched him grab his crotch and hurry toward the slit trenches. He had entered the camp from that area knowing that no one paid attention to someone near the latrines, and he would leave the same way. He disappeared from sight and she climbed back down to the path to wait for him.
Whistling loudly, Balthus strolled up the path carrying a bundle. “Pssst,” Adrianna whispered, as he passed a row of bushes. “Over here.”
Balthus pushed his way through the brush to a small clearing under the rock overhang.
“What are you doing whistling?” she asked. “I thought we were supposed to be spies.”
“It’s a great cover. Who would expect someone whistling to be an enemy?”
“Someone who finds your whistling to be as annoying as I do.”
“Hey, is that any way to talk to your handsome provider?” He held out the bundle that had been someone’s cloak, and flourished it with a bow. “I bring gifts for M’lady.”
He placed the cloak on the ground and spread it open, proudly unveiling two still-warm roasted hens, some cheese, and a bottle of wine.
“Not the best vintage, I’m sure, but I hope M’lady won’t mind. And for dessert–” He pulled back a folded corner of the cloak to reveal several cherise tarts. “It’s not aplin as I’d hoped, but we’ll have to make do.” He laughed and shook his head. “Those boys down there are a sorry lot.” His smile faded and his brow furrowed. “There is something very wrong here, Adrianna. It’s almost as if no one realizes they are on a siege. More like a picnic,” he said, gesturing to the tarts. “They are being well paid, well fed, and really don’t expect much trouble.”
They settled down and began eating. “Ahhh! This is a welcome change,” Balthus said around a mouthful of cheese.
“What’s in the wagons?” asked Adrianna, munching on a hen’s leg.
“You noticed that too, huh? In a camp as lax as that one, anything guarded is suspect. I claimed I heard they were filled with brandy and demanded a drink as was my due as Captain of the Guard.”
“Quick promotion, wasn’t it?”
“Well, I once carried that rank, but that’s another story. They figured I’d lie to get a drink. I just let them see what they expected to see.”
Adrianna nodded. “What’s really in the wagons?”
Balthus frowned. “Naphtha. You could smell it – lots of it. It arrived today from the south, guarded by the only disciplined soldiers in this camp. They are building catapults and plan to fire the castle.”
A touch of fear flashed over Adrianna’s face before she controlled it. “How easy will it be to get into the castle?”
“Well,” he tugged at his beard with his large hand, “that could be a problem. The only sentries on duty are those near the castle walls. It might be tough to get past them, but with a diversion it could be done – and I think we both know the perfect diversion.” He grinned.
She gestured to herself with a hen’s leg. “I suppose I create the diversion.”
“Well, I brought the tarts. It’s only fair.”
Adrianna smiled. “Can you make me a fuse?”
“Of course.” He pointed to the bottle at her feet. “Just don’t drink all of that wine.”
“Is it for the fuse or for you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
Face and hands blackened with soot, Adrianna crawled on her belly toward the wagons. She glanced up at the dark clouds drifting high in the night sky. Flantra had already set and Monla was only a sliver. Adrianna waited until the crescent was fully cloaked, then crawled closer through the knee-high scrub brush.
She watched the guards. They were too used to patrolling around castle walls and she spotted at least three blind spots in their measured pace. She counted the seconds, then inched forward to a closer position. On the next pass the guard walked within six feet and didn’t notice her as she hugged the ground. She continued her silent count. One, two, go, hold here for one, two, three, go. She crept to the inside of the middle wagon’s rear wheel.
Now the hard part began. There were too many unknowns in this piece of the plan. Balthus’ failure to get a close look at the inside of the wagons worried her but she thought she could still get the job done. She was tense but not nervous, more like the hunter than the prey. With senses heightened, she felt as though she could even hear the guards’ heartbeats. This kind of work always made her feel extraordinarily alive with each breath offering another incredible moment in time.
Adrianna waited, a shapeless, silent, black lump in the darkness until it was time to move. From below, she pulled down slowly on the rear of the wagon to test for noise. It gave a minor creak but not enough to draw alarm. She glided up the tailgate like a snake, then crawled inside.
The acrid odor of the naphtha assailed her nostrils and she had to breathe through her mouth. She squeezed her way between the casks and crouched low.
Balthus had made her a fuse from grass, wax, hen grease and wine. He swore it was almost smokeless and would smolder for twenty minutes before igniting with a flash at the end. Despite his assurances, Adrianna started to sweat. Eluding sentries was one thing, but fire – she hated fire. Balthus joked that it was just an excuse for her not cooking, but he was well aware of the burn scars on her back.
Taking several deep breaths, she tried to slow her racing heart. She recalled discussions shared with Balthus about how most people’s reactions were based on their childhood experiences. The trick, he said, was to deal with each situation without bringing in the fears of the past. She grit her teeth, forced aside bad memories, and concentrated on her breathing.
Calmer now, she studied the contents of the wagon. Campfire light filtering in through the yellow canvas produced an eerie glow and drifting laughter made her actions surreal. She focused on her task. Each cask was about four feet tall and three feet wide. Luckily, they were stored bunghole up.
Using her dagger, she pried open a wax-sealed cork from the middle barrel then leaned to the side of the wagon. Making a small hole in the canvas with her blade, she peered out and re-synced the sentries’ steps with her count. Squatting, she pulled the fuse from her pouch and laid it on the wagon floor. Taking flint and striking it on her blade, she matched her blows to the sentries’ pace until a spark caught on the fuse and a flame sputtered to life. She carefully placed the flare end of the fuse by the open bunghole with trembling hands. Her rising fear and instinct told her to run far and fast, but she controlled them.
Easing out of the wagon, she checked the guards’ locations and crawled back into the darkness. She had moved about twenty feet past the sentries’ line of march when a guard yelled, “What was that? Did anyone hear that?”
Three other guards joined him. “What direction?”
“Over on the left. I’m sure I heard something.”
Adrianna swore silently.
The Sergeant of the Guard barked, “All right, let’s inspect the area. Fan out, swords drawn, skirmish intervals, straight line into the brush.”
As they moved out, Adrianna almost bolted. She wondered if she should try the old “toss a rock” trick. She must not alarm anyone or a search of the wagons might ensue. She decided to sit tight.
The guards strode through the brush in a straight line. She crawled to be between them as they passed.
Suddenly, the guard on the left surprised an alarat that was night nesting. Trying to wait them out as was Adrianna, the bird lost its nerve and flew. The startled guard yelled, “There! Intruder!”
“Hold! Everyone, hold,” said the Sergeant. “Donnli, you idiot, that was a just an alarat.”
One of the older recruits called over, “Yeah, Sarge, but Donnli was sure it carried a crossbow.” The guards broke into laughter.
“All right. Glad to see you’re all awake. Now back to your posts,” ordered the Sergeant.
As the guards resumed their duties, Adrianna gave silent thanks to the god of alarats and the god of luck. Some of Balthus’ luck must be rubbing off, she thought, but where Balthus was concerned, it had to be the god of dumb luck.
Balthus forced himself to stop pacing the small clearing. Adrianna wasn’t overdue, but he worried nonetheless. He had realized early in their relationship that he must let her find her own path and be her own person, no matter how much he longed to protect her. She deserved that much respect and more. When she returned he would make a blustery show about it being an easy job and she would see right through him. She always could.
Smiling, he remembered how they met some twelve years ago. Passing through a small village, he had stopped for dinner at a crowded, noisy inn. Adrianna was barely eighteen and working as the cook’s helper. She caught his eye as soon as he walked in. He wondered why. She was not his type, but there was a strength and a self-reliance about her that made him choose a seat near her.
As she turned a spitted boar over an open fire pit in the common room, he watched her graceful moves and tried to sort out his feelings. Balthus always listened to his feelings, believing they gave him the best information, even if his mind told him otherwise.
One of the local hooligans kept annoying her with crude remarks. This soon progressed to pinches, which she slapped away while giving him withering looks that would have caused any sober man to back off. Finally, encouraged by drink and his cronies, he tried to reach up under her dress. Adrianna pushed him back onto his chair, emptied a mug of ale onto his crotch and walked to the far side of the fire pit.
“Ahh,” said Balthus quietly, “this woman I like!”
It should have ended there, but the laughter of the crowd enraged the thug and he stood and drew his dagger. “I’ll kill you, bitch!” he yelled and dove toward her.
Before Balthus could rise, Adrianna picked up a skewer from the fire pit and with a lunge, drove it into her attacker’s chest. With a groan, he slumped to the ground, stone dead.
Surprised at how fast she moved, Balthus looked into her eyes and saw that she wasn’t in shock. She knew the consequences of her act and was deciding what to do next. She didn’t dwell on the killing. It was done. Move on. Balthus liked that also.
The inn had fallen silent. Unfortunately, Adrianna had killed the son of a wealthy local magistrate. The dead man’s shocked friends were suddenly on their feet.
“Murderer!” they yelled.
“Hang her!”
“Kill the bitch!”
That sentiment spread like a grease fire through the rest of the crowd and Balthus found himself acting without thought. Standing, he brought his ham-sized fist down on the head of the closest of the dead man’s friends, dropping him like a rag doll. He upended the table and pushed the occupants behind it to the floor. He reached a hand out to Adrianna and said, “There’s nothing left now but to run for it, lass!”
She looked into his eyes for a moment, then grabbed his hand and they ran for the exit. The tavern door opened outward and Balthus slammed it with a bang. He quickly propped a bench against it to wedge it shut.
“Find a luse, girl! Can you ride?” he called, as he untied his mount at the post.
“Of course I can ride!” she said. She stopped long enough to tear a long slit in the side of her skirt before leaping aboard the only stallion in the row.
A good judge of luses, too, he thought. “Let’s ride, girl! It won’t be but a moment until those fools find the back door!” Adrianna was already kicking her luse into a gallop and Balthus was hard put to keep up.
They galloped down the road for several miles until Balthus yelled, “Whoa, slow down, girl! We can’t just keep running. The luses need a breather.” When she slowed to a trot, Balthus came abreast. “Here’s where we lose any pursuit.” He took the lead and reined his luse into a stream, Adrianna following. Looking left and right, he rode until he found a rocky place to leave the water. They followed the rocks until they came to a dry open field and crossed it into the forest on the other side. Balthus dismounted. “Now we lose them forever,” he said. Cutting down a branch, he walked back to where the luses left the rocks and brushed out their tracks. When he returned, he hid the branch and remounted. Balthus felt her eyes on him the whole time.
“Why did you do that for me?” she asked.
Balthus shrugged. “You looked like you needed a friend.”
Adrianna considered this for a moment. “My name is Adrianna,” she said.
“Balthus,” he said, pointing his thumb to himself.
“Friends?” she asked.
“Friends,” he said. Balthus spit into his hand and extended it.
Adrianna smiled, spit into her own hand and clasped his.
They had both laughed.
The sound of someone approaching broke his reverie.
“Balthus, where are you?” whispered Adrianna.
“Here!” He rushed to her from the clearing. “What took you so long? Any problems?”
“No, I just stopped to get the cook’s recipe for those cherise tarts.” She grinned.
Balthus grabbed her and hugged her hard. He pushed her to arms’ length, looked her up and down to make sure she was unharmed, then pulled her close again. He kissed her hard as the night sky suddenly blossomed red, followed by the ground-shaking rumble of an enormous explosion. “Wow!” he gasped, “the earth moved for me on that one.” They glanced back at the camp. A bright orange fireball mushroomed skyward, leaving a large blackened area where the wagons had been.
“It looks like you can bake more than tarts,” he said. “Come on. Let
’s get into the castle while those fools are busy blaming each other.” He squeezed her once more and they ran to melt into the chaos of the camp.
Balthus and Adrianna knew Lotho’s castle well. It was typical of older citadels: a square with twenty-foot high, crenellated walls; four turrets, one in each corner; and a tower extending from the central keep. Their biggest worry was the twenty-foot-wide moat surrounding the outer castle walls. The only way to enter the castle without lowering the drawbridge was over the wall.
Heading toward the rear corner of the castle, they saw sentries lining the front wall watching the fire.
At the back corner, Adrianna walked to the edge of the moat and scanned the battlements. “It appears that all the sentries are watching the fire. Good. It wouldn’t do to be skewered by a friend.”
“They wouldn’t skewer a handsome couple like us,” said Balthus as he coiled the grappling hook rope.
Balthus swung the grapple round and round his head until it flashed in a ten-foot circle. He released and the grapple went sailing over the wall.
“Now if it just catches, we’ll be set.” He pulled gently on the rope until the grapple caught. He tugged hard but it didn’t budge.
“I’d hoped to get across without getting wet,” said Adrianna, eyeing the moat.
“Ah, I have thought of that!” said Balthus. “I hold the rope at an angle, like so.” He braced the rope across his shoulders. “You climb up until you are past the water level, then I lower you to the wall and you can walk right up. I’ll swing over after.”
She quickly hid a grin, seeing the error in his plan. “All right, I’m off.”
Adrianna leaped and wrapped her hands and legs around the rope. She inched along until she was high enough to stay out of the water. Balthus gently lowered the rope until she touched the castle wall. Using her feet, Adrianna made short work of climbing to the top. She dropped soundlessly down onto the parapet and checked the area. Finding no guards, she made sure the grapple was secure and signaled to Balthus.
This should be interesting, she thought, a grin blossoming on her face.
Balthus pulled back the slack on the rope then stopped. Adrianna watched as Balthus looked from the water to the rope and back. She guessed he had just realized his error. As soon as his feet left the ground he would swing into the moat.
He shook his head and she could hear him quietly cursing. She knew he was chagrinned not only by his lack of foresight but by the knowledge that she had known of his problem from the start. Finally, Balthus jumped high on the rope and climbed rapidly, lifting his legs to keep clear of the water.
It almost worked. Balthus was frantically climbing hand over hand, legs up, when his backside skimmed through the water like waterfowl coming in for a landing. He hit the castle wall with a splash. Cursing and dripping, he climbed up and heaved himself over the side.
“Damn!” he said.
“What happened?” Adrianna asked innocently.
“I wet my pants,” said Balthus.
“Oh?” said Adrianna. “I didn’t know you were afraid of heights.”
“Nice. Let’s find Lotho, wine and–”
“Some dry pants?” she asked, grinning.
Balthus just sighed.
With a rough wool cloak thrown hastily over his nightshirt, Duke Lothogorn gathered his counselors around the main dining table. The circle of faces, still puffy from sleep, expressed doubt, worry and fear. The explosion had jolted awake the entire castle. Candles were lit to hold back the darkness and ease the uncertainty, but tension filled the air as much as the candle smoke.
The Duke slammed an empty jeweled goblet on the table. “Well?” He stared at his advisors. “Do we have any idea what that was?” The counselors avoided the Duke’s glare. He scowled. “Have you anything to say or have you all gone mute?”
Caltius, the Duke’s Diplomatic Counselor, found his tongue. “If… if this is some new weapon he is demonstrating, perhaps we should revisit his surrender terms.” He ran a hand over his bald pate and hunched his shoulders.
“What terms, Caltius? His terms were leave or die,” answered Faltast, the Duke’s Steward.
Lothogorn frowned, then eyed his Master of Guards. “Sir Estagon, how are the men taking this new exigency?”
Estagon stopped stroking his black mustache long enough to wave a hand in dismissal. “As well as can be expected, Your Lordship.” He raised his chin and his voice. “But have no fear. My men are ready for any encounter.”
The double doors of the throne room flew open and banged into the wall. Two leather-armored warriors entered the hall, a heavily muscled man and a dangerous looking woman. The counselors leaped to their feet and Estagon half drew his sword.
Lotho’s mouth dropped open in recognition and he grabbed Estagon’s sword arm. “Balthus!” cried the Duke.
“Your men will desert their posts to look at pretty lights!” asserted Balthus as they neared the dais.
Lotho hurried to greet his old friend.
“Yes, Lotho. It’s us. Did you think we wouldn’t come to your party?”
Balthus and Lotho hugged and pounded each other’s shoulders, grinning like fools.
While the two old friends exchanged greetings, Adrianna noted the deep worry lines engraved on Lotho’s face. She hoped their arrival would help allay some of his fears.
“Balthus! Damn, you look good! You haven’t changed a bit!”
“You have, by at least thirty stone I’d say,” replied Balthus, patting the Duke’s stomach. “Gods, it’s good to see you!”
“Adrianna,” said Lotho. He turned and gave her a hug. “How are you? So good of you to come.” He released her, placed a hand on Balthus’ shoulder and gave it a shake. “Thank you, my dear woman, for dragging him out of whatever wine cellar he was hibernating in.”
“How are you, Lotho?” asked Adrianna, smiling warmly.
“Well, I’ve seen better times but I’m glad you’re here! Come, let me introduce you to my counselors,” he said, taking her arm and turning toward his advisors.
“Caltius, Faltast, Sir Estagon, these are Sir Balthus and his consort Adrianna, my oldest and most trustworthy friends.”
“Welcome to Lothogorn Castle,” said Faltast, bowing.
“Welcome indeed, although you have chosen a fell time for a visit, my Lady,” said Caltius as he bowed to Adrianna.
“Just what did you mean saying my men will desert their posts?” growled Sir Estagon. His dark eyes blazed with controlled anger.
“Just what I said, Estagon,” Balthus retorted. “Adrianna and I came in over the east wall and no one was there to greet us. Rather rude of them, I’d say. They were all at the front wall watching the fire show.”
Adrianna studied Sir Estagon. When Balthus didn’t use a man’s title, it usually indicated that he saw him as an adversary. She took people at face value and tried not to pre-judge them. Balthus on the other hand, always judged first – but his instincts were usually correct.
Sir Estagon’s face grew bright red and he turned to his aide. “Gaster!” he yelled. “Find the fools who were guarding the east wall tonight. I want them flogged!”
The aide turned to leave but Balthus halted him. “Hold on, Estagon. I wouldn’t go disabling men just yet. I think we will need every able-bodied man we can get, very soon.” Balthus looked over to Lotho.
“Yes, yes, hold your floggings, Estagon, until this crisis is over,” said the Duke.
Masterful, thought Adrianna. Two sentences and Balthus has overthrown Estagon’s authority. Of course, it didn’t hurt to have the Duke as an old war mate.
“Besides,” continued Balthus, “I would be disappointed if they weren’t diverted by our little fire display. After all, that’s why we created it.”
Duke Lothogorn grinned. “I might have known. How you love to make an entrance! I remember that time when we were i
n Holstus Valley and you stripped off your clothes, then…” He glanced at Adrianna. “Ah, well, perhaps that’s a story for another time.” He motioned to the table. “Come, tell us what’s going on outside.”
Everyone settled around the table and servants scurried to fill wine cups. Balthus related what he had gleaned on his reconnoiter and described Adrianna’s firing of the naphtha. At their introduction she could tell Sir Estagon’s opinion of warrior women was low, but he was impressed enough to stop glowering at Balthus and bow his head to her. One point for Estagon, thought Adrianna.
Balthus didn’t miss Estagon’s gesture, either. “Sir Estagon, if I may ask, what is the current disposition of your troops?” he asked.
Estagon glanced at the Duke, who nodded. “We have two hundred luse, three hundred archers and infantry and two hundred peasant conscripts. More than enough to hold this castle, I believe.”
“Until they receive more naphtha,” muttered Faltast.
“I have written the King asking for the King’s Arm,” said the Duke. “I am sure he will respond.”
Balthus grunted. “If you sent the message the same time you sent mine the King won’t receive it for a few more days. Humm, let’s see… Two weeks to gather the Arm, supplies, travel…” Balthus shook his head. “I don’t think you can expect the Arm for another month at the earliest. And that’s assuming the King receives your request and some minister doesn’t delay its arrival.” He turned to Adrianna. “Any ideas, Love?”
She thought for a moment before responding. “Well, they are pretty lax out there. We could use the Duke’s knights to smash through their ring of archers and use the foot to assault the siege engines when the time comes.”
Balthus put down his wine cup and stroked his beard. “Yes, but a wise person once told me, ‘Why cleave a man from collarbone to groin when two inches of steel up under the breastbone will do the job?’” He grinned at Adrianna.