Duel at Araluen Read online

“Good of you to warn me,” she said dryly.

  “It’s not a warning. It’s a promise. And I want you to live in fear of that day, never knowing when I might be back.”

  This bitterness, this vitriol, was more like what she expected of Dimon. She shook her head, wondering. Could he really mean what he was saying? Was it really all over? Her aversion to Dimon was so strong that she doubted the truth of his words. But then, she thought, she’d find out tomorrow. If he was genuine, she’d see him and his men leave.

  “And that can’t come soon enough,” she said to herself. He obviously heard her voice but couldn’t make out the words.

  “What did you say, Cassandra?” he called.

  “I said ‘good riddance,’” she replied.

  19

  Maddie crouched below the wall of the hill fort, craning her head back to peer up at the palisade. Close in to the wall as she was, she couldn’t see any sign of sentries moving on the walkway above her. But she could hear the regular tramp of their feet as they patrolled back and forth.

  She had circled out to the west, taking a wide detour around the Foxes’ encampment before angling back in to climb the hill. She could have taken a more direct route, and gone through the camp itself, trusting to her training and skill to remain unobserved by the sentries who patrolled the camp. It would have been quicker, but there was also risk involved. One careless movement, one piece of bad luck—or one person treading on her hand—and she might have been discovered. And she had learned now that bad luck was a factor that had to be considered in a situation like this. If there was a risk-free way, or at least a way with less risk, then that was the path she would take.

  As she got closer to the fort, she had to take extra care not to be sighted by the sentries on duty. They would be more alert and more efficient than the men patrolling the camp at the base of the hill. They were professionals and they were highly disciplined. And she knew the archers were all good shots.

  In addition, they were commanded by her father and Gilan—and neither man would tolerate any slackness or inattention to duty. So she had moved with extra care up the last two terraces to the base of the fort. In her note, she had told her father to expect her, but she had given herself plenty of time and she sensed she was a little early.

  She sat down, leaning her back against the palisade wall, and considered her position. If she made any kind of noise, the men on the walls might overreact before they knew who she was. Finally, an idea occurred to her. She cupped her hands around her mouth and imitated the call of a curlew, making the sound three times. The pacing feet patrolling the wall above her stopped immediately. She heard voices whispering urgently. Wrapping the cloak around her, she leaned into the wall, keeping herself as inconspicuous as possible. After a few moments, she heard soft footsteps above—approaching from the corner where the west and south walls met and where, she assumed, the stairs that led up from the compound would be situated. More whispered voices, and this time she made out the word curlew. Then Gilan’s voice called softly from almost directly above the spot where she was huddled.

  “Maddie? Is that you?”

  “It’s me, Gilan. I’m early, I think.”

  She stood and moved out from the wall, where she would be more visible from above. Craning her head back, she could make out three heads silhouetted against the starlight, leaning over the palisade—Gilan and the two sentries. She saw Gilan turn to one of the other men.

  “Tell Sir Horace that his daughter is here,” he said. The man nodded and moved away rapidly. Then Gilan leaned over the palisade once more.

  “Rope coming down,” he called softly. A few seconds later, a rope hit the long grass beside her with a swishing sound. She seized hold of it and began to climb the palisade wall, leaning her weight back against the rope and walking herself up the logs until she reached the top. Gilan and the remaining sentry reached out to meet her, lifting her over the top of the palisade and setting her down on the planks of the walkway.

  The Ranger Commandant embraced her warmly. “If you’d waited a second, we would have hauled you up,” he said. “How do you like our lovely home?”

  She disengaged herself from his embrace and looked around. “I’ve seen better,” she said, grinning at him, happy to see him well and obviously unhurt. “Can’t say I care for your neighbors.”

  “I’m not fond of them myself,” he told her, then added, “You know, we’re quite a way from the sea here.”

  She inclined her head, a little puzzled at the comment. “You are?”

  “Yes. Quite a way. Not a lot of curlews around here, as a matter of fact. They’re marsh birds, you know. And they aren’t nocturnal.”

  “I did know that,” she said.

  “In which case, I’m wondering why you chose to imitate a curlew’s call by way of announcing yourself.”

  “Oh, that. Well, my bird calls are so good, I thought if I did a bird like an owl or another night flyer, you might think it was a real bird and not realize it was me. I suppose I should have organized a signal to let you know I was here.”

  “As it was, a very bad imitation of a curlew seemed to do the trick,” he told her.

  She bridled a little. “It was an excellent imitation. I heard one of the sentries say the word curlew.”

  “What he said to me was, ‘There’s someone outside the wall doing a very bad imitation of a curlew.’ Having heard your bird calls, I immediately knew it must be you.”

  Any further discussion of Maddie’s avian imitations was precluded by the sound of running feet. She looked up to see a tall figure running toward her along the walkway and allowed herself to be swept up in her father’s embrace.

  “Maddie! Maddie!” he cried. “How are you? Are you all right? What are you doing here?”

  “I’m fine, Dad, fine.” She laughed, managing to wriggle free and looking up at his face. “We heard you were trapped here and I brought the Skandians to help break you out.”

  “Your note said there were thirty of them. Where did you find so many Skandians?”

  “The Heron brotherband visited Araluen, and they got word that the duty ship had been damaged and was on the shore. I recruited both crews to help.”

  Horace shook his head, perplexed. “But how did you know? And how’s your mother? Is everything all right at Castle Araluen?”

  And at that point, she realized that her father had no idea what had happened at the castle, no idea of Dimon’s treachery. She took both his hands and looked steadily into his eyes. “Take a deep breath, Dad,” she said, and the serious tone of her voice told him that she had bad news.

  “Is Cassandra—” he began, but she hushed him.

  “She’s fine. Now, no questions for a few minutes while I bring you up to date.”

  She spoke quickly and concisely, telling them of Dimon’s betrayal of Cassandra and his leadership of the Red Fox Clan. As she described his duplicitous entry into the castle, Horace’s eyes glittered with rage and he began to exclaim angrily. But she squeezed his hands firmly and shook her head, stopping him.

  She described how she had moved in and out of the castle, using the secret tunnels built so long ago.

  As she mentioned this, Gilan nodded. “I might have known you’d find them.”

  She glanced at him. “Just as well I did. I was able to infiltrate a Red Fox Clan meeting and discover that Dimon was their leader; that you were trapped here by a much larger force than you’d anticipated; and that he planned to occupy the castle and kill Mum and anyone loyal to her.” She didn’t elaborate on the hair-raising pursuit through the forest when she had escaped the vengeful Red Fox members. She sensed that, if she did, her father would interrupt her, seeking reassurance that she had come to no harm.

  “But Mum was too quick for him. She gathered a small force of troops and archers and retreated to the south tower.”

  Horac
e raised his eyebrows. “Of course. The last refuge.”

  “She’s perfectly safe there. When Dimon tried to force his way up the stairs, she and her men sent him packing. They’ve removed the last section of the staircase so he can’t get to them. It’s a secure position, with plenty of food and water. But of course, they can’t go anywhere.”

  “Rather like us,” Gilan said heavily.

  “Except she doesn’t have thirty wild Skandians ready to help her break out of the trap she’s in,” she said.

  Horace rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Exactly where are these Skandians?”

  Maddie pointed vaguely down the hill to the south. “They’re camped a few kilometers away, in the forest, close to the river.” She looked at Gilan. “Hal sends his regards, by the way, as do Thorn and Stig.”

  The Ranger smiled. “Nice to know they’re close by,” he said. “You did very well to convince them to help us.”

  She shook her head. “They didn’t need convincing. Once they heard that Mum was in trouble, they were keen as mustard to help. And the crew of the other ship were just as happy to throw in with them.” Again, she didn’t mention the minor detail of having to prove herself to the crew of Wolfbiter. That wasn’t important now.

  It occurred to Horace that they had been standing on the walkway for some minutes now while Maddie provided all this information. He gestured to the compound below, and the fire burning outside his and Gilan’s tents.

  “Let’s move somewhere more comfortable and continue this. I imagine you’d like a cup of coffee to warm you up, Maddie?”

  He saw her teeth flash in the dim light as she grinned at him. “I’d kill for one.”

  Gilan patted her shoulder affectionately. “Spoken like a true Ranger,” he said.

  They walked down the stairs to the compound, Maddie arm in arm with her father, who kept throwing bemused glances her way. He was trying to come to terms with the fact that his daughter had turned into a seasoned, skilled Ranger and warrior. The realization didn’t come easily as, like all doting fathers, he still thought of his daughter as twelve years old. There was a camp table and two canvas chairs set up outside Horace’s and Gilan’s tents. Gilan quickly fetched another and they all sat. He beckoned to an archer, standing guard.

  “Make us a big pot of coffee, please,” he said. As the man nodded and turned away, Gilan thought of something. “No need to skimp,” he said. “Use full measures. We’ll be getting out of here soon.” Over the past week, Horace’s rationing edict had applied to coffee as well as the food available.

  The man grinned. “Yes, sir!” he said eagerly.

  Then Gilan turned back to the others. “So, what’s our plan?”

  In reply, Maddie reached inside her jerkin and produced the map she had drawn of the immediate area. She spread it out on the table, and they all leaned forward to study it.

  “Your mapmaking has improved,” Gilan said. “This is a lot better than you used to do.”

  Maddie smiled at the praise. “Thanks,” she said. “I have been working on it.” She decided not to mention that this was her fourth attempt. Knowing that her Commandant would be seeing it, she had discarded the previous three versions as not being good enough.

  Horace sighed. “Can we stop treating this as an apprentice assignment and get on with it?” he asked, and they both looked suitably chastened.

  Gilan made a courteous gesture. “Please go ahead,” he said. Horace was the overall commander, and their tactics and deployment would be his to decide.

  Horace looked at his daughter. “Where will you be during the battle?”

  “Hal has asked me to stay back behind the fighting,” she said, and Horace nodded approval. Maddie hadn’t argued with Hal’s suggestion. With her slight build, she knew that a pitched hand-to-hand battle would be no place for her, and as Hal had pointed out, there was a more valuable role she could fulfill.

  “One of their brotherband is called Ingvar,” she said. “He’s huge and evidently an amazing warrior. But he has limited peripheral vision, and Hal suggested I should stay in the rear and cover his back, in case some of the enemy get behind him. They have a girl named Lydia who usually fills that role, but she didn’t come on this voyage. Apparently she’s a dead shot with an atlatl.”

  Gilan raised his eyebrows. “That’s putting it mildly. I’ve seen her throw.”

  “All right,” Horace said, bringing them back to the main subject. “I plan for us to exit the fort through the north wall.

  “We’ll make our way down the hill. The first time the enemy see us, we’ll be two terraces lower than they expect—almost halfway down. That should give them a surprise. I’m assuming they’ll form a shield wall. That will be their logical step. I’m going to lead ten troopers off to their right wing, ready for a flank attack. The right wing of the shield wall will angle round to face us. Gilan will be in the center, with the rest of the cavalry and all the archers. The archers will start to lay down an arrow storm, forcing the Foxes to get into cover behind their shields. Then they’ll move downhill. That’s about the time we’ll want your Skandians to get involved, coming over this ridge behind the enemy camp.” He touched the tip of his dagger to the point on the ridge from where she and Hal had observed the camp.

  Maddie studied the map and the relative positions Horace had sketched out. “With any luck, they won’t see us until it’s too late,” she said.

  Horace nodded. “The enemy will have their eyes on us. That’s part of the reason I’ll move out to their right—to distract their attention. Have the Skandians walk down the hill until they’re spotted, then turn ’em loose. We’ll hit them from three sides at once. That should put the wind up them,” he said.

  It was a simple plan, but Maddie had learned that simple plans were the best. There was less to go wrong—and something always went wrong.

  “Looks good to me,” she said.

  Gilan concurred. “Me too.”

  Horace looked from one to the other, making sure neither of them had any reservations. Then he nodded. “Right. Let’s talk about timing,” he said.

  20

  Castle Araluen had been quiet for the past day. There had been no attacks on the stairwell, no new machines to threaten the defenders. There had been no sign of Dimon, no further word from him since his admittance to Cassandra that he had given up and would be leaving for Sonderland.

  Nevertheless, Cassandra refused to let herself be lulled into a sense of false security. Recent events had taught her to distrust Dimon implicitly. She sensed he was up to something and that his capitulation was a sham.

  As a result, she insisted that her men maintain the high level of vigilance they had assumed from the start of the siege. She had Merlon and several other senior soldiers checking constantly on sentries, ensuring they weren’t slacking off and allowing the apparent lack of activity from the enemy to make them careless. And she kept a watch over Merlon and the others herself, ensuring that they remained at the highest possible level of attentiveness as well. She discussed the situation with her father, grateful for any advice he might offer.

  “Stay patient,” he told her. “This is the hardest part of a siege. It’s easy to remain alert when you’re under attack. But it’s different when nothing happens hour after hour. Your senses become dulled and your attention can wander.”

  As a result, she set and maintained a regular schedule of patrolling for herself, striding around the terrace that surrounded the south tower, checking the castle yard below, inspecting the keep for any sign of activity through its windows, and studying the other three towers and the battlements on the curtain walls that joined them. Then she would descend to the eighth floor and check the sentries at the stairwell, studying the wooden barrier that barred the way to the lower stairs for any sign that the Foxes had attempted to damage it or degrade it.

  She would break that schedule at
irregular intervals—as the mood took her—and begin extra impromptu inspections. It was all too easy, she realized, to become complacent with a fixed schedule. Changing that at random was necessary to maintain focus on her surroundings and the movements of her enemies. It also kept her own men on their toes. If they had no idea when or where she might appear to check on them, they had little choice but to stay alert at all times, not just those times when they knew she was scheduled to inspect them.

  It was mid-morning and she was on one of her surprise inspections, starting at the balcony around the ninth floor, when she saw it.

  From the lofty observation point, she had an excellent overview of the main gate and drawbridge. They were set in the southeast wall of the castle, down to her right, enabling her to keep track of the comings and goings below.

  It was the noise that first drew her attention. There was a low rumbling sound from the gate. She realized that the massive drawbridge was being lowered. The upper part of the wall hid the actual bridge from her sight, but the noise was unmistakable.

  “Listen to that,” she said to Ingrid. The girl had taken to accompanying Cassandra on her rounds, ready to take notes of any slackness in the defenders or any actions that might need to be taken. There was usually very little note-taking to be done.

  “They’re opening the gates,” Ingrid said. Then she pointed down into the courtyard. “Look there, my lady.”

  The stables were set on the northeast wall, where their view was slightly blocked by the keep tower. As Ingrid pointed, a double file of horsemen began to trot out into the courtyard, their horses’ hooves clattering on the flagstones. The men were dressed in the same uniforms they had worn when they first infiltrated the castle, with helmets, chain-mail overshirts and red surcoats. Their round shields, painted red with a yellow X, were slung on their backs. They all carried their long lances stepped into the holding sockets on their right stirrups, so that the shafts were held vertically.