Brexan heard stones tumble from the battlements, and her attention was drawn to the ancient wall across the courtyard. A well-dressed young man was scurrying over the crumbling defences, dislodging a diminutive avalanche of stones in his wake. Brexan immediately recognised the merchant who had passed her the papers outlining their orders for this morning’s assault.
It had all been a set-up. The merchant had sent Bronfio in from the north so he could find an opportunity to murder him – but why? No answers emerged as Brexan looked back into the dark cloud of smoke filling the dining hall. Without thinking, she sheathed her sword and started out after the fleeing murderer.
Garec choked on the thick smoke billowing around him, but he cheered up when he noticed most of the foul-smelling cloud was moving in one direction. Their Malakasian attackers had made a mistake when they threw the second barrel of burning pitch into the far end of the grand halclass="underline" breaking the second window had allowed strong winds to create a cross-draught through the castle. He and Versen had taken up positions approximately halfway up the first level of the grand staircase. From this vantage point, they could spot any Malakasian attempting to enter through the windows.
Garec thanked the gods of the Northern Forest he and Sallax had taken time to lower the hall’s portcullis and secure its ropes when they brought their prisoners in the previous night. The young Ronan still had no idea how Gilmour had managed to enter the building undetected, but there was no time to worry about that now. He knew it would be only a matter of moments before the Malakasians burned through the portcullis ropes and then used horses to haul the huge wood and iron gate up far enough to enter through the courtyard. With limited visibility, there would be no stopping them from taking the hall.
He and his friends would have no choice but to retreat to the upper levels of the palace. What they would do once they were trapped there was another matter.
Mika, Namont and Jerond were not bowmen. Armed with swords or battle-axes, each guarded a window along the walls of the dining hall. They all looked at each other, hoping to garner a collective strength for the coming fight. They were frightened. Above them, Versen and Garec were preparing to rain deadly fire down on the soldiers coming through the stained-glass window. Already many of the lower panes of the enormous glass aperture had been broken out, and two attackers had died with Garec’s arrows buried in their chests.
As the moments ticked by, the burning pitch continued to emit thick clouds of choking black smoke and despite the crosswind, the hall was soon filled to the ceiling. ‘Versen,’ Garec called, ‘run up to the first landing and break out the windows. We need to create more breeze in here.’ The big woodsman did as Garec ordered, but it did little to mitigate the dense, caustic smoke.
Garec’s eyes watered as he strained to see through the darkness into the dining hall below. He thought he spied a Malakasian soldier crawling through the stained-glass window and fired into the smoke. A cry of shock and pain confirmed that, even blind, Garec was one of the best bowmen in Rona. Time seemed to move in slow motion as he stared into the billowing cloud, hoping to see anything that would give him an update on their situation. He could no longer make out Versen, who had been standing just a few paces away.
‘They must be through the portcullis by now,’ he whispered into the smoke, hoping the woodsman could hear him.
‘You’re right,’ Versen replied softly. ‘We ought to think about getting to higher ground. This smoke is doing exactly what they need it to.’ As if confirming his fears, a strangled cry came from the far end of the hall.
‘Get up here, get up here!’ Garec screamed. ‘They’re in the hall! Fall back, fall back!’ Mika burst into view only a few paces in front of him and Garec nearly loosed an arrow into his friend. Mika was followed closely by Jerond, but they heard nothing from Namont.
‘Namont,’ Garec called, slowly backing up the stairs towards the first landing, ‘Namont, get up here.’
‘Namont,’ an unfamiliar voice sang up from the floor below, ‘Namont, get up here… Namont can’t join you right now, but don’t worry, you’ll see him later today.’ The stranger laughed cynically.
Though blind, Garec fired into the cloud.
‘Rutting dogs,’ the suddenly anguished voice cried out in surprise, ‘I’ll kill every last one of you!’
Versen joined him on the landing, ‘It sounds like you hit him.’
‘I hope so,’ Garec answered. ‘I guess they got Namont.’
‘We can’t worry about it now, Garec. We have to get out of here,’ he said, hustling up the stairs to the third level.
The windows Versen had broken pulled some of the smoke outside and the stairway above the first landing was fairly clear. The four men coughed out the vestiges of burning pitch from their lungs as they climbed.
Suddenly, Garec stopped and turned back towards the dining hall. ‘Where’s Gilmour?’
Mika turned as well. ‘I haven’t seen him since the first barrel came through the window.’
‘I’m going back down.’
‘And you’ll be dead before you reach the bottom of the steps,’ Versen scolded. ‘Gilmour can take care of himself. Let’s keep moving.’
Garec was unconvinced, but he recognised there was little he could do right then. He followed Versen and as they reached the uppermost landing, they could see, down the long hallway, Sallax hammering away at one of the wooden doors with a battle-axe.
‘Sallax,’ yelled Garec, ‘you’d better get down here. They’re in the building – and on their way up after us.’
Sallax stopped hacking at the door and stalked angrily back to his compatriots, rage clearly evident on his face.
‘They aren’t going to hurt her, Sallax,’ Garec assured him. ‘They need her to get out of here. Come on, let’s go.’
Versen led the small group down a short hall adjoining the upper end of the staircase. ‘The spiral stairs will be easiest to defend. We can hold there for some time.’
The narrow spiralling staircase separating the third level of the palace from the royal apartments above was short, but the narrowness of the stone stairwell made it the most defensible position inside the building. Only one soldier at a time would be able to come at the freedom fighters there.
Garec reached the fourth-level landing and ran along the hallway, past a number of closed wooden doors. He stopped at a window facing out onto the palace grounds. He could help most by dispatching as many Malakasians as possible; from here he could pick them off as they approached the palace. He was not a skilled hand-to-hand warrior, so he gladly left defence of the staircase to Sallax and the others.
Looking out over the battlements, he thought he caught a glimpse of the well-dressed merchant he had met at Greentree Tavern. ‘What is he doing here?’ Garec asked himself, but was distracted by the sight of Gilmour far in the distance. The elderly man stood near a clearing cut back into the trees on the south side of the palace. A large number of Malakasian horses were tethered together. Garec watched as Gilmour cupped his hands to his mouth and called into the trees. Garec couldn’t hear the words, but he was surprised when Gilmour turned, looked up at the castle and waved to him – as though he knew Garec was watching.
Then, apparently without a care, Gilmour turned and walked back towards the palace: an older man out for a morning stroll. Back along the corridor, Garec heard a shout of surprise.
‘Get back here!’ Sallax called urgently. Garec hurried to the spiral steps. A Malakasian arrow was deeply embedded in a wooden doorframe across the hall from the stairwell. Without speaking, Sallax pointed to it and gestured down the narrow stairs. Garec immediately understood. A Malakasian bowman had tried – and nearly succeeded – in banking a miracle shot off the curved stone wall, up and around the corner into the small band of Riverend’s defenders.