Siege of Macindaw (27 page)

The Skandians were swarming over the rampart now. Will wasn't surprised to see that Nils Ropehander was in the lead. The man had become Horace's shadow.

"Help the general!" Will said, pointing.

Nils nodded and rushed to support Horace, his battleax already whirring in a giant arc.

The soldiers engaged with Horace, already hard pressed, were horrified by the sight of the huge, yelling Skandian charging at them, grotesque in his fur vest and massively horned helmet. They began to back away, trying to force their way through the men behind them.

Nils hit them like a one-man battering ram, scattering them in all directions. Their cautious backpedaling became a panicked rush to get back to the shelter of the northwest tower.

Will was directing traffic, sending a few more men to reinforce Horace and Nils, then setting up a defensive screen to engage the men from the southwest tower whenever they decided to renew their attack.

Satisfied that they had a secure foothold on the west wall, Will now cast around anxiously for Keren or Buttle.

They were the two danger men, and Will knew it was vital to find them quickly and deal with them.

In the southwest tower, Buttle peered through a spyhole set into the oak door. He could see the Skandians on the ramparts and he knew that it was vital that they be driven back now. In a few more minutes, their position would be unassailable.

He had a dozen men with him and he drove them toward the door, threatening, cursing, hitting with the flat of his sword.

"If they get any further, we're all dead men!" he yelled as he drove his reluctant warriors out onto the ramparts ahead of him. They charged the Skandian line with the courage of desperation. The Skandians saw them coming and smiled.

Behind them, Buttle quietly closed the door and ran down the stairs to ground level.

He had recognized the tall warrior fighting the men from the far tower. They had met some weeks before, by Tumbledown Creek, and the freelance knight had been arrogant and dismissive of Buttle's authority. That was a score to be settled, he thought. There was a trapdoor in the walkway just behind Horace's position, with a stairway leading up to it from the courtyard below. Buttle headed for it now.

In the forest to the west, someone else was remembering events from the past few weeks.

Some days prior to the attack, Trobar had been quietly patting Shadow when he felt the ridge of a massive scar under her soft fur. He parted the black hair gently and saw the livid sign of a recently healed wound there. He shuddered at the size of it. It was a miracle the dog had survived such an injury. When he had asked Will about it, the Ranger had related the story of how he found the dog, severely wounded and close to death, by the roadside in Seacliff Fief. Buttle, the dog's original owner, had tried to kill her when she rebelled against his brutal treatment. Will had nursed her back to health.

Trobar knew Buttle. He had watched him from the forest when the dark-bearded murderer had ridden through the countryside, recruiting new troops for the castle.

Now, Trobar thought, Buttle would pay for the injury he had done to Shadow. The huge man was normally a gentle, peaceful soul. But the thought of his friend's agony, and the savagery of the man who had caused it, hardened his heart. As the sounds of battle raged on the castle ramparts, Trobar retrieved a massive club he had fashioned from a tree branch earlier in the day and loped quietly across the open space to the now-empty ladders at the foot of Macindaw's west wall.

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Horace stepped aside as Nils led a group of twelve Skandians in a wild charge at the men who had emerged from the southwest tower. Nils could handle that situation, he thought, as Buttle's men fell back before the Skandians' terrible axes. At the other end of the rampart, Gundar and the rest of his men had the upper hand over the defenders Keren had sent to the northwest tower. The Skandians could manage without him for a few minutes. He'd suffered a dagger slash on the wrist of his sword hand and he took the opportunity to bind it with a clean cloth. He leaned his sword against the battlements as he concentrated on winding the cloth around the wound, stemming the blood that ran down over his sword hand. "Horace!"

He looked up. Will was at the edge of the ramparts, pointing to the courtyard below. Horace moved a few paces from the wall for a better view. He could see nothing to explain Will's interest. He looked up inquiringly.

"It was Keren!" Will explained. "I saw him go into the keep."

With the battle raging on the walls, there was only one possible reason why the renegade would head for the keep – and the tower above it. Instinctively, Will knew what it was.

"He's going after Alyss!"

Horace thought quickly. Will wasn't needed here anymore – the situation was well under control.

"Go after him!" he called back. "I'll take care of things here."

Will nodded and looked around. There was a derrick close by, with a rope dangling from it down to the courtyard. He leaped for the rope, grabbing it and wrapping his legs around it to slow his descent.

Horace gave his attention back to the rough bandage. Holding one end with his teeth, he tied a clumsy knot with his left hand. He inspected the result. It would do for the moment. And besides, the fighting was almost over. Almost.

Horace's fighting instincts were finely tuned. Any foreign, unexplained sound was a potential threat, and he heard one now behind him – a slight grating noise as seldom-used hinges were forced to turn against the light rust that had coated them.

He turned toward the sound in time to see John Buttle emerging from a trapdoor in the walkway.

Will stopped inside the door to the keep and looked warily around him.

The entrance hall and the dining hall beyond it were deserted. The garrison must all be on the ramparts, he realized, and the servants were probably cowering somewhere below, in the cellars and the kitchen.

Keren, he assumed, would have headed for the top of the tower. Will ran to the stairway now, set in the center of the keep hall. The keep at the lower levels was an expansive building, with the dining hall, sleeping quarters and administrative offices taking up the first three floors. Above this, it narrowed to the tower that Will had climbed, set back in line with the north wall and wide enough for only one or two rooms on each floor.

At the lower levels, centrally located, was a broad stone stairway that would be difficult to defend. Once he reached the tower itself, however, that stairway would be a narrow spiral, set to the left-hand side and twisting to the right as it ascended. In that way, a right-handed swordsman climbing the stairs would be at a disadvantage to a right-handed defender. An attacker would have to expose all of his body in order to use his sword, while the defender could strike with only his right side exposed. It was standard design for a castle tower.

He pounded up the first four floors, then swung left toward the spiral stairs, slowing down as he went. He couldn't see what lay in wait around the curved stone walls and it was only prudent to assume that Keren could have left men to delay any pursuers. One man could hold the stairway indefinitely, as attackers could only approach one at a time.

Will considered the bow in his hand and decided it was not the right weapon to use in this restricted space. He slung it over his shoulder and drew his saxe knife instead. Heavy enough to deflect a sword stroke, it was also short enough to swing easily in the confined space.

He paused at the entrance to the stairwell, letting his breathing settle. Silent movement would be his main advantage in this situation and it was hard to remain silent when your breath was coming in ragged gasps. He started up the stairs, moving carefully, his soft boots making no sound on the stones. He was grateful that it was a stone staircase. In some castles, the designers used wooden stairs, loosely fastened so that they squeaked in protest underfoot.

Carefully, he stole his way upward. The stairway was lit at intervals by torches in brackets. They created another problem for him. As he passed the first, his shadow loomed onto the wall above and in front of him, giving ample warning that he was approaching. If he were defending these stairs, he thought, he would wait beyond one of the torches, looking for the approaching shadow of an attacker moving upward so that he could...

A sword blade glittered bloodred in the torchlight as it flashed down at him from above!

He leapt back, managing somehow to retain his feet, as the blade struck sparks off the wall and steps. His heart raced. Apparently, the unseen defender agreed with him on the best place to wait for an attacker. He paused, waiting to see if the swordsman on the stairs above would show himself. But there was nothing. He heard a faint chink of metal on stone – possibly the man's mail shirt brushing against the wall as he changed position.

Seconds passed. Will frowned as he contemplated the situation. All the advantages lay with the man above. He could remain unseen. The shadows thrown by the torchl ight would warn him of Will's approach...

The torchlight! That was the answer.

He retreated a few paces down the stairs until he reached the torch in its wall bracket. Tugging it free, he started up the stairs once more, saxe knife in his right hand, torch in his left, held out as far as he could reach.

Stopping just short of the spot where the sudden attack had come out of the darkness, he tossed the torch underhand, up the staircase. It hit the outer wall and rebounded into the center of the stairs, its flickering, uncertain light now behind where the defender waited.

A giant shadow loomed in the stairway as the man above moved to retrieve the torch and throw it back down again. Will darted up the stairs, taking advantage of the momentary distraction. He had time to hope there wasn't more than one man waiting above him. There was a dark shape on the stairs, bent over to reach for the torch, blocking its light. The man saw him too late and swung an awkward, off-balance overhead cut with his sword.

Will deflected it easily, the sword blade shrieking off the stones, then he continued his upward movement and lunged, feeling the saxe knife bite into flesh. The man cried out in pain and stumbled forward. He crashed into Will, and the Ranger grabbed him with his left hand, just in time. There was a second man waiting, and he leapt forward now, cutting at Will with his sword. But the stroke was blocked by the body of his own comrade, slumped against Will. The first defender screamed again as the sword took him across the back, shearing through his mail shirt. Desperately, Will shoved him away and bounded back down the stairs, leaving the body between him and the second defender.

The wounded man lay moaning and Will saw another shadow moving, heard hard-shod feet on the stairs as the second defender retreated upward, placing the light between himself and Will once more.

The light on the stairs was dark and uncertain, with the torch lying on the steps, rather than placed high on the wall in its bracket. Will moved carefully upward once more, using the tip of his saxe to flick the fallen man's sword back down the stairs. It rang loudly on the stones as it bounced. He started forward again, moving infinitely slowly to avoid the slightest noise, his own ears searching the silence for the sound of any movement.

Then he heard it. Breathing. It was barely perceptible but it was there – the in and out breathing of a man whose adrenaline is running at full charge through his veins. He couldn't be more than a few meters away. Will paused, seething with impatience. Somewhere above him, Keren had Alyss and was doing god knows what with her while Will wasted his time playing tag on the stairs. He searched for an idea but none came.

Suddenly, he darted forward four paces, then quickly reversed direction and sprang back as another sword, wielded by an unseen defender, rang off the stones. The man was there. He was ready and waiting. He was alert. He was just around the next bend in the stairs.

An idea started to form.

Will estimated the man's position, his eyes measuring the curvature of the outer wall of the stairway. The defender would be just beyond that bend in the wall... so if Will moved backward a little, he could find a point midway between him and the unseen d efender.

Silently, he descended three steps. Then a fourth.

He sheathed the saxe knife and unslung the longbow from his shoulder. Carefully nocking an arrow, he studied the wall, picking a point that would be halfway between his position and that of the man who waited for him. He raised the bow and drew, aiming at the stone wall above him, pausing to estimate the right position.

Then he released.

And, in the rapid succession that only a Ranger could achieve, within a few heartbeats, he sent another three arrows after the first, all aimed at the curved wall, allowing a slight variation with each. The arrows struck and ricocheted violently from the stone, striking sparks as they went, flying around the curve in the wall in a sudden volley.