Chapter 25
For a few minutes, Will still sat with head bowed, listening. The first ship beached, its wooden keel scraping to a stop against the wet sand. Feet splashed into the surf and voices began shouting orders. Another wolf ship ground ashore, and soon, a third.
Will pictured the scene in his mind: men pouring out of the long, low wolf ships onto the strip of dark sand. He knew Scottis liked to wear woven wool kilts, kept their hair long and painted their faces a fierce blue. As their leather and wool boots, wrapped high around their legs, pounded through the water onto the beach, they erupted into an eerie battle cry that echoed and re-echoed off the cliffs below Will. Although their plan as far as they knew was to land on a little-used fishing beach and attack the northern castles from an unexpected direction, they still couldn't resist the urge to shout their defiance as their feet touched the enemy shore.
At the same time, deep within the earth, Will could feel the pounding of hooves as the soldiers' battle horses began galloping northward to intercept the invaders. A warm glow of pleasure filled him as he realized that it was the information he had given which enabled the counterattack that was about to happen.
Now for his part in this.
Will ran his hands lightly along the cliff top next to where he sat, finally locating a couple of fist-sized rocks. He set them in his lap, and pulled the strong, waxed bowstring out of his belt pouch. He wrapped each end of the sinew around a rock several times and tied it securely. He worked quickly, since he knew MacDougal would move soon. He probably would leave his fire and go down to the beach to meet and lead his countrymen through the area he had come to know so well toward the castle that was nearly undefended on the southeast side. This advance force would use the element of surprise to take the northern castles and create a staging point for the bulk of the Scotti army to overtake all of Araluen.
Except they would never get there.
Will stood. He moved as quickly as he could, using his staff to scan the ground in front of his feet. He tried to circle around to the right of the firelight and only stay in the shadows beyond. He wasn't sure exactly where the edge of the light faded into darkness, so he went a little farther around, moving as silently as he could through the tussocks of grass on the opposite side of the trail to the huge fire.
The low rumble of horses' hooves grew louder, and the men on the beach still called to one another.
Will's staff hit a rock that rose out of the ground in front of him. He touched quickly around it and discovered that it was a group of rocks nearly two meters high that rose out of the ground to the west of the road just before it turned to descend the cliff. Because he was on Tug last time he came this way, he hadn't known about these rocks. Now, he would use them.
He hurried to his left toward the road along the north side of the tall rock and then crouched beside it along the edge of the narrow path. The cowl of his cloak hid his face and its length covered him. He set his staff on the ground next to the boulders so his hands would be free. The fist-sized rocks that were tied to each end of his bowstring, he now held in each hand, weighing their heft. He let the one in his right hand slide down until his hand held only the string, and he waited, listening intently.
He did not have to wait long. The limping step came hurrying along the track toward the narrow place where Will waited. Will dangled the rock on its string, letting the weight of the stone and the length of the string compensate for the lack of strength and motion in his injured right arm. With the accuracy born of years of practice in throwing and shooting projectiles, he cast the rock toward the Scotti spy.
The rock struck MacDougal on his right leg, somewhere in the area of his wound. The man cried out in pain and his leg buckled, although with the reflexes of a trained fighter, he didn't fall, but caught himself with his good left leg. Will heard a muttered curse and a hopping step as the man caught his balance against his own forward momentum.
Will pulled the rock back with a sharp jerk on the string and immediately swung it again, fast enough so that his enemy did not have time to retaliate. This time he swung it ahead of the place where he had struck last time. He used a sideways curving motion so the rock flew past the man and the string hit his knees and wrapped itself around his legs.
This finally tripped MacDougal, so he fell forward heavily. As smoothly as a pouncing cat, Will drew his razor-sharp Saxe knife and lept toward the man. With his left hand he lightly traced up the back of his body, felt for the man's hair, grasped it and pulled his head back. Holding his aching right arm close to his side, he leaned over and held the flat of the knife blade to MacDougal's throat, the edge perilously near his chin, but not pressing the blade in, lest he inadvertently slice the skin when he didn't mean to.
With his feet hopelessly entangled in the bowstring and the chill of steel pressing against his throat, MacDougal lay still.
Will then released his hair, carefully tilting the perilous Saxe blade farther away from the man's throat as his head slumped forward.
Next, Will's left hand traced rapidly down the man's arm to his right wrist, grasping it and twisting it swiftly behind the man's back. He knelt on it to hold it in place.
Gasping with pain as his right arm was forced to stretch out in order to hold the Saxe steady under the man's neck, Will reached out to search for the other hand, tangled in the man's cloak. He found it, wrenched it back, and finally let go of his knife in order to slip the leather thumb cuffs onto the man's hands.
As soon as the Scotti was secure, Will slid his knife gingerly out from under the captive's chin and sheathed it. He rolled the man over, pushing at him with his left hand, and let out a grunt at the effort it took to move the much larger man.
As a result of all the movement and reaching, Will's right arm had begun to bleed, and numbness crept down toward his hand. For this reason, he knew he couldn't use it to move the Scotti spy out of the road. He thought for a minute, then he pulled the hem of the man's cloak up under each of his armpits. Will gathered the corners of the cloak in his good left hand and tugged, straining in order to drag the tied body behind the boulders so he was hidden from the road.
As for MacDougal, once the Saxe was no longer against his throat, he began to struggle. The bowstring that was wrapped around his knees loosened; his feet began to flail and kick.
Will dropped the edges of the cloak over the man's face. He felt his way down toward the kicking feet and straddled them to pin the struggling man down. Angrily, he pulled the bowstring loose and then took several new wraps around the man's lower legs and ankles, letting the rocks cross and twist to hold the string tightly.
"Who? What the…?" MacDougal growled, and a string of curses followed.
Will drew the Saxe again, ignoring the blood running down his arm and the numbness in his hand. Pulling the man's cloak back, he sliced a strip from the hem and stuffed it into his mouth.
As a result, the man's eyes were uncovered and he saw Will bending over him in the dim night, his eyes now fully adjusted to the darkness.
Will felt his body jerk with shock as he recognized Will.
Will gave a half-grin. Too bad the man had underestimated him and allowed Will to stroke his ego. That was his mistake.
It had taken Will only a couple of minutes to use his advantage of surprise to capture and tie the Scotti spy. While he was doing so, the Scotti fighters on the beach had started making their way up the twisting road that wound up the cliff face from the beach. Will could hear the sound of a crowd moving toward him rapidly, and he realized that no matter how fast the horses came, there would be Scottis coming up the road and possibly getting to a place where they could hide or escape before the Redmont soldiers arrived.
Will picked up the Saxe knife in his right hand again. With his elbow, he felt his way back around the boulders until he stood squarely in the middle of the road, just at the narrowest place between the tall rocks on either side. He stooped as he went, picking up a rock, about the size of a large egg. As the footsteps ran toward him, he stood firmly in the gap, drew back with his left hand and threw the rock as hard as he could. Before he even heard the cry of pain as it struck one of the lead Scottis, he was feeling with his left hand and his feet for another rock. He found one, slightly larger, and threw it at the oncoming crowd also.
The lead men, unsure about the source of the rocks in the dark, slowed their pace. Shouts of anger erupted as their fellows began to trample them from behind.
The group of Scottis, not very organized to begin with, began to dissolve into chaos, which intensified immensely as just in the nick of time, the Redmont soldiers rode up and attacked the flanks of the Scotti fighters. This caused the forward men to turn back from the narrow gap that Will held, and lunge toward the melee of horses, swords and torches behind them.
Will listened for another minute to the fight, feet spread wide and heart pounding. Energy to fight still poured through his body, and he held another rock in his left hand. He didn't throw it, since the Scottis were well distracted by the horsemen and he didn't want to draw their attention back to himself. His work was done.
He let the stone drop to the ground, and stumbled toward the boulders to the spot where his prisoner lay tied and gagged.
Will flopped onto the grass against the north side of the tall rock, pushed back the cowl of his Ranger cloak, and wiped his forehead with the corner of its hem. He took a long drink from his leather canteen. As his adrenaline began to ebb, the dizziness returned. He lay there for quite a while, just taking long, slow breaths.
Next, he knew he needed to stop the bleeding from his arm. He opened his jerkin and linen shirt to expose the bandage around the deep knife cut in the upper flesh of his right arm, which had seeped fresh blood. A lot of fresh blood. He felt the stickiness that ran down his arm and grimaced. Awkwardly, with his left hand, he gently unwound the old bandage which was soaked through. With the medical kit from his belt pouch, he applied more of the Warmweed salve to the cut, the smell nearly making him gag after the dream he'd had that afternoon. Then, using the roll of fresh bandage he carried, he bound his wound as tightly as he dared and tied it off. He used the rest of the long strip of linen to bind his arm to his chest and side as Granny Cooper had done. Once this was finished, he clamped his left hand over the bleeding to hold it even tighter and lay back against the rock, his open eyes staring at what could have been a night sky full of stars or one covered by clouds.
He decided to imagine the stars.
As he lay resting, he listened to the sounds of fighting beyond the rock that concealed him. The Araluen soldiers far outmatched the Scotti invaders, armed as they were with swords and horses. Still the Scotti were fierce fighters and Will could tell they were not going to go down easily.
Metal rang on metal. Men cried out as they were struck, either with a sharp sword or with a Scotti war club. Leather and wooden shields echoed hollowly like drum heads as they absorbed blow after blow from the heavy clubs. Horses neighed, also taking hits, and their harnesses jingled as they reared to lash out with sharp front hooves at the enemy. For the Redmont Battle-School trained not only knights but fighting battle horses as well.
At last the cacophony of noise began to die down. The few Scotti who surrendered were taken prisoner and placed under guard. Men began to search the fallen for wounded comrades and tend to them.
Will heard a single set of hoofbeats approach and pass the narrow gap between boulders where he now sat. He took a guess and called out, "Horace!"
The hoofbeats checked themselves and wheeled toward Will. In a smooth motion, the big youth dismounted, and Horace cried in dismay, "Will, are you hurt?"
"It's nothing," Will told him. "The wound from before started bleeding; that's all."
"I'm so sorry I didn't make it back to help you," Horace said contritely, the worry that had built up for hours spilling out in his tone.
"No, it's fine," Will said.
"But MacDougal," Horace protested. "You wanted to capture him alive for trial."
"And I did," Will announced with pride. "He is just there." He gestured with a nod of his head.
"Where? It's so dark," Horace said.
Will let out a bark of laughter. "Oh, I forgot! He's behind these rocks."
"Well done," praised Horace. "I'll want to hear all about it. First though, I'm supposed to check in with Sir Robin and then I'll go get Tug for you. I'm guessing you want him back." He said the last part with a teasing tone that Will instantly answered.
"He'll be glad to be done carrying a giant barrel of lard like you."
Horace merely laughed and mounted Kicker, turning him back toward the south again. Will let his head sink dizzily back against the rock, observing idly that it felt as though it rocked under him.
Horace returned in short order leading Tug. He dismounted and released the horses who gratefully began to graze beside the road. When Will stood shakily and took another drink of water, he felt somewhat better. The bleeding in his arm seemed to be stopped or at least slowed. Will scanned the ground with his toe, looking for his staff. Horace picked it up instead and tried to hand it to Will.
"Hold it for me," Will requested and turned to check Tug's saddle before mounting him. He was less awkward this time, using his left hand to hold the reins and pommel and mounting in a smooth motion while Tug stood still as he was trained. Then he took the longbow/staff from Horace and settled it from his knee to his shoulder in a temporary hold. Typically when he rode, he slung his longbow across his back, but his right arm was too sore to attempt this at the moment.
"Would you bring MacDougal?" he asked Horace, grateful that he wouldn't have to try and lift the bulky man onto a horse by himself. He waited while Horace lifted the man to flop like a sack across Kicker's withers, face-down. The man had obviously given him trouble because Will heard a smack and Horace growled, "settle down, there."
Since Horace had already obtained permission to go with Will, the two set off northward. The soldiers with their prisoners would come later, to meet the northern soldiers from Norgate Castle who would arrive the next day. The Scotti invaders would be imprisoned within the very castle they had planned to invade.
Horace swung into the lead, and Will didn't protest. He was too tired. Tug, sensing his mood, went along smoothly and soon they were riding into the cobbled streets of the village.
They passed the inn and headed for the stable yard to leave the horses. Horace also tied MacDougal to one of the posts in the stable until Halt could decide what to do with him.
Halt! Will's heart seemed to be in his throat at the thought of his mentor. The image of Leander lying dead in the street always seemed to hang in the air before him.
As soon as the horses were cared for, he and Horace hurried toward the front of the inn; Horace pulled on the side of Will's cloak to guide him, since Will didn't have two hands free and he wanted his staff.
Horace pushed the inn door open and Will stepped up beside him. For a moment, Will was struck with the normalcy of the sounds and smells within. The quiet hum of late-night voices, the smell of food, ale and wood smoke all spoke of a completely normal evening. Will almost couldn't breathe.
"Is he…?" Will couldn't manage the rest of the sentence.
"I don't see…" Horace began, but cut himself off. "Oh, there he is. His hand dropped Will's cloak and raised in a greeting to the far side of the room. He started toward a table, but Will hesitated to follow, unsure of the labyrinth of chairs, tables and posts that dotted the room. Horace noticed that his friend had stayed behind and went back, taking Will's left shoulder in his beefy hand and steering him toward the table near the fire.
"Will?" Halt said simply and through Will's mind flashed the picture of his mentor's face with one eyebrow raised. The tone seemed to imply the additional question, "where in the blazes were you?"
Will felt for a chair and sat before looking toward Halt. He couldn't help smiling. "I got him."
"This is MacDougal you're referencing by your lack of antecedent?" Halt asked. Will didn't know what an antecedent was but he nodded happily.
"Yes. MacDougal. And you're all right!"
"Why wouldn't I be?" asked Halt grumpily.
"I don't know; I just thought… Nevermind," Will still couldn't contain his joy, even in the face of his mentor's dourness. "What about…?" He suddenly realized that if Halt had been in the middle of a plan to capture Penner, he and Horace could have crashed it. Still, Halt didn't seem too busy, stirring a spoonful of honey into a fresh cup of coffee.
"I've finished with Penner, if that's what is bothering you," Halt said with distaste.
"How did you capture him?" Will asked eagerly.
"I hit him on the head," Halt answered, and Horace exploded with a snorting laugh.
"Thought you Rangers didn't do it that way," he said, still sniggering.
"When that's the way that works best," Halt responded with a shrug in his tone.
He wanted to hear all about Will taking MacDougal and even sounded impressed after Will described the events of the night.
"Clever, making a bolo with your bowstring," he commented with what amounted to high praise for him.
"What's a bolo?" Will asked, taking a bite of the scrambled eggs that Innkeeper Muffins set in front of him.
"Iberian weapon," Halt explained. "Two round stones joined by a heavy cord. They use them to bring down cattle mostly."
"I guess you could call that guy a bull," Horace laughed.
"How about Moira, the wife?" Will asked after finishing a bite of eggs and taking a slurp of the hot coffee laced with honey.
"She was a bit more hassle," Halt explained. "Had to enlist old Muffins there for help with her." Halt's chair squeaked slightly as he nodded his head toward the innkeeper, who was clearing trenchers and wiping tables in preparation for closing.
"Where are they now?" Horace asked, also tucking into a plate of food. Horace never said no to food, no matter the hour of day or night.
Halt waited a long moment before replying. Will didn't know if he was gazing steadily at them in the way he had, or just taking a drink of coffee. Finally he replied, "Meralon, the Ranger that Crowley just assigned to this fief, came from Norgate Castle and I gave them to him."
"He'll take them back to stand trial?" Will asked around a mouthful of egg.
"Presumably," Halt answered sourly, and Will remembered his mentor's dislike for anyone talking with food in his mouth. He gulped.
"We left MacDougal in the barn," Horace added helpfully.
"Good place for him," Halt commented dryly. "He will have to be sent to Castle Araluen. His crimes are much more severe. Impersonating a King's Ranger is an offense to the King."
Will felt suddenly chilled. He had acted without Halt's permission. He was blind. Was he, Will, impersonating a Ranger? After all, there were no blind Rangers. There couldn't be. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to wrestle down his fear.
He took another long drink of coffee.