A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you are well! This chapter took a little longer than I expected, but I did get it out eventually. X) This one also is a little on the long side so, again, apologies if that's not to your tastes, but I felt that what I have is probably the best place to leave it. Anyway, I hope it proves an enjoyable read. Thanks so much to all my readers! You guys are as awesome as ever!
VanyaNoldo22: Glad to know college is doing well for you! I must say I also am enjoying the ability to sleep in a little longer due to everything being online. I'm glad you liked the Gilan and David bits, that pretty much what I was thinking when I wrote it. Yes, one of our most favorite Skandians should make an appearance fairly soon, as to how that will turn out, well, I will get to it soon enough. Will and the others will be catching on soon to the things that Baron Douglass knows. He's certainly not through causing trouble! I hope this chapter will answer some of those questions. Thanks so much for the review! It really made my day to read.
End3000: Thank you so much for the in-depth review and the compliments! That makes me super happy to hear. I have tried pretty hard to make sure that everything flows and connects so I'm glad you are liking that aspect so far. I thought it was past time that Horace got to impress some Battleschool apprentices. I also didn't want it to seem as if Gilan and Sir David's relationship issues came out of nowhere. I actually wrote a lot of the flashbacks before I started the book in earnest just to make sure they connected and led into the things they needed to. Ah yes, Sir Richard: the world's greatest knight! (Who absolutely should stay away from children). I'm glad you brought him up, I'm happy to know what you thought of him. I found that people (even cruel ones) are often more than one-dimensional cutouts so I try not to make characters like that. There will probably be more of him in later chapters. I love Halt and Crowley too! And yes, I have kept things as close to canon as possible, including the beloved Baron or Highcliff. I hope I can make him a little more interesting than canon by flushing him out a little more than what we got: since he's a bigger player in this verse after all. You're probably very right about the characters getting their full memories back not fixing everything because of all that each of the characters went through. Thanks again for the review: it means a lot!
KiiroDora: Thanks so much! Actually, one of the reasons I started posting on fanfic was to try and learn how to write dialogue well. (It was always my weakest skill—my early works were pretty terrible). So hearing you say that means a lot: I'm glad to know I've been learning. Thanks so much for the review!
Dragonslover98: Thanks so much! Yes, David and Gilan have a lot to work through, but they can work together well when they set their differences aside. I love Halt and Crowley too and am excited to write what they do next (I love their bromance) lol. The youngsters definitely have exciting times ahead of them. There will be more about Baron Douglass and what he is up to this chapter too. Thanks again for the review, it means a lot!
CoffeeAndOakLeaves: Thank you! Their interactions were really fun to write. I figured it was about time to have a person who doesn't use proper grammar speak up a little XD Thank you so very much for pointing that out! I made sure to fix that as soon as you did. I hope you have a wonderful day too! Thanks again for the review and the help!
Ziviah10: Thanks so much for the review! There will be a time when David and Gilan will be able to talk about everything that happened more properly. I love Halt and Crowley too, there is going to be more of them this next chapter. I'm glad you think I got them right. Thanks again! I really appreciate it.
TrustTheCloak: Thank you. I had a great time writing their interactions so I'm glad it proved to be a fairly enjoyable read. Yeah, both of them have their own unique personalities and experiences and have been talking at cross purposes. Things will have to be worked through/changed before Gilan will be able to trust him fully again, so there might be a little more angst in store. I love Halt and Crowley: they are an epic duo. The kids have a few more adventures in store and Douglass is most definitely up to no good XD Thanks so much for the review! It made my day.
potato-ranger: Thanks so much for the review and the kind words! I really appreciate it! I hope I didn't make you stare at the clock for too long lol. You will definitely find out exactly what Baron Douglass has been up to this chapter, and exactly what he plans to do. You just might get to see your wish about him and his allies in this chapter. As for Will and Horace's memories, and Morgarath, I promise I will answer that in a future chapter. *coughs innocently* no, I couldn't possibly be lol. XD Thanks again for the review! You totally made me smile.
Guest: Thank you so very much for the compliment and the review! I really appreciate it!
Jammeke: Thanks! I'm glad you liked the Gilan and David scenes. They were some of my favorite to write. Yes, they still have a way to go, but baby steps are better than no steps or backward ones, right? Horace deserved a little recognition, I think. Halt and Crowley always make me smile too! I love their dynamic. Yes, Baron Douglass might just have to start watching his back now: the kids are on to him! Thanks so much for the review! It means a lot!
Chapter 26: Ploy Part I
~x~X~x~
A Few Years Previous
~x~X~x~
Twelve-year-old Will carefully eased the shutters of the second story window open and pulled himself inside the house. The shutters had been latched, locked with a crude but effective mechanism, but Will was experienced, practiced, enough to get past it quickly. He'd also watched the house for enough nights to know that the room would be empty this time of night. With silent steps, he made his way across the wood floor.
The thought of the ease by which he had gotten in brought him no joy, instead, it settled and pooled in his gut like so many undigested stones. Shame. Regret. The coins in the pouch at his side seemed to weigh as heavily as the dark feeling in his chest. Though he supposed that that was exactly what happened whenever a person did something they couldn't take back—and yet desperately wished that they could.
It had all started a little more than a month ago when he had learned that the elderly herbalist Helen, his friend, did not have the coins that she needed to pay her owed tax to the Baron of Aspienne. Helen had always been a kindly sort: accepting food, or goods, or whatever one of the villagers had to offer in exchange for her healing skills—which had done her little good for making the amount of coin needed for the tax. Failure to pay the proper amount of tax was a crime, and a fairly serious one at that, especially since the payment was already late.
Will, as soon as he'd found out about her plight, had thought to help; he had trapped several rabbits and had been preparing their pelts, hoping to sell them for the missing funds. The problem with this plan had come in the timing. He had known that he wouldn't be able to finish the job and sell them in time for her.
He hadn't really made the conscious decision to steal the money. It had been more of an impulse.
Over the years, there had been many times he'd stolen food just to survive, to ease the sickening pain in his stomach that came from never having enough to eat. It had become more necessity than choice. Regardless, he had snuck into the baker's home for bread, having not had a proper meal in some days. And that was when he had come across the pouch of coins, just sitting there innocently on the mantle. It had contained six coins, just over enough to cover Helen's tax.
Long story short, he had taken them. Not only had it saved Helen from trouble, but there had also been plenty left over—which had given him an idea that had sparked his hopes. Stealing the money had been so easy. He was good at getting into difficult places and good at never being found out or caught. He'd thought then that there was nothing to stop him from doing it again—nothing, that was, save for the niggling feeling that his father, a heroic knight, wouldn't have approved of his actions. But it wasn't as if he hadn't stolen before: and the stealing had saved his life. Though this hadn't been food, he'd tried to justify this the same way.
He'd taken the money for a good reason. And, if he was to keep it up, it would also be for a good cause: getting coin was his only hope of getting out of Bawtree and becoming a knight. His father would have understood that, surely. He'd argued himself into thinking that it could be okay. The wealthier families probably wouldn't miss it much, and he could pay them back once he became a famous knight.
But deep down he had known that was nothing more than a justification. One that couldn't last.
The problem was that the coins' absence hadn't gone unnoticed. Even though the town bakers, the Boswicks, were more well off than Will, it didn't mean that the money had held less value to them. In fact, those six coins he had taken had meant quite a lot because they were the start to Leela Boswick's dowry. It was money that John and Winnie Boswick had been painstakingly saving for their daughter for years. That being the case, they had very much noticed, and very much cared, that the money was gone. Its loss had caused quite the uproar in town.
Although Will hadn't left a trace to his having committed the theft, and so hadn't even been a suspect, the same hadn't been true of young Tom. Tom had a reputation for being a fairly disagreeable and troublesome youth. He had gotten caught, and had been in trouble for, steeling several times before. As soon as the money had gone missing, he had become an instant suspect. More unfortunate for him still, was that he had recently lost just about the amount missing from the Boswick's in a gambling game with his friends—which hadn't looked good.
Will had been working on the farm during the uproar and hadn't heard about all of this until the day after… That was when he had learned that the village Ealdorman had had Tom put in the stocks for a day and had him caned: one strike for every missing coin.
Will had felt sick when he heard it, sick because it had been all his fault. He had been responsible for causing pain to someone else. Tom might have always been a bit of a nuisance who had never quite got on well with Will, but he certainly hadn't deserved that. Will hadn't wanted or meant for that to happen.
That wasn't the only unforgivable thing about the whole situation, though. When Will had first heard the news, his very first thought had been the flash of the memory of the time farmer Dorian had violently lost his temper with him—and all he could feel in that initial fraction of an instant was relief that it hadn't been him, that he hadn't been the one caught… and that shamed him. He was the son of a hero, a knight, he should be better than that.
It was already far too late to confess: the damage having already been done. If he confessed now, after the fact, he knew it wouldn't end well—especially not if Dorian caught wind of it. He'd known then that the best he could do was try to make things right.
He'd worked hard the past few weeks to finish preparing the rabbit pelts and had made back the coins missing from the original six. He'd replaced these in the pouch he had taken—a pouch that he now untied from his belt and hung on the peg by the door of the room.
He hoped that when the Boswicks' found it in the morning they'd realize that a mistake had been made and work with the Ealdormen to make up for what had happened to Tom—they were good people, he knew. And, on the off chance that didn't happen, Will would find a way to slip Tom six coins as well. It was the least he could do.
Having hung up the purse, Will backed away, heading again for the window. As he climbed silently back outside and then down the building to disappear into the night, he swore on his future honor as a knight that he would never steal money again, despite how easy it might be. Stealing food was one thing but this had been entirely something else.
The price was just too high.
He decided then and there that he could still make the coin he needed to leave this place without taking it from someone else. It was going to be harder, but he knew he could do it. He would do it. He closed his eyes, a silent promise in the dark.
~x~X~x~
"So, Baron Arald and Sir Rodney will be leading the majority of our men in a frontal assault from the east," Crowley mused as he looked at the map that Halt had spread before them.
The morning light filtered through the trees of their camp to light up the parchment. Crowley had pitched his tent next to Halt's the night before and now the two of them sat near the embers of the fire that they had lit to brew the coffee that now steamed warmly in their hands. It reminded Halt of the time, another lifetime ago now, the two of them had traveled the country side by side to save Araluen. To be here with him again like this was…bittersweet, he supposed. He took a sip from his cup and then set it down to focus back on his friend as he continued.
"And you know of a path through the woods where you can lead a cavalry charge against the Wargals right flank once they are engaged with the main force. You will also be able to cut off the Wargal army's ability to flee back south to Morgarath's lands."
Halt nodded. "And, with any luck, it might cause them to break formation and scatter. When I was in Morgarath's lands before, I learned that the Wargals have no great love of horses."
"Interesting," Crowley mused. "A sustained cavalry charge might just be the thing then. And, after that, there will be only three places to go: into the fens where they will be trapped, into the arms of the main army to the east, or up to the wood line in the north. I saw Arald and Rodney fortifying the hill a little further east: it will make a fair stronghold if they need to retreat and hold back the Wargal forces. But what about the north? If they flee into the woods there? It's true they'll be cut off from their main force and Morgarath's lands, but they'll be free in the countryside, near our villages."
"That's where you come in," Halt told his friend. "I was hoping you and I might be able to do something about that…" He paused for a moment before asking, "Did Pritchard ever try to pull that stupid Rabbit Trap Snare on you as an apprentice?"
"He pulled that on you too?" Crowley asked surprised, eyes lighting up at the memory. "I'm glad to hear I wasn't the only one to fall for it!"
Crowley chuckled, likely as much at the memory as the thought of his friend caught in an oversized rabbit snare after having been fooled by a blind and a well-designed hide, Halt thought bitterly. He scowled.
"I never said I fell for it," he said flatly, crossing his arms.
"You never said you didn't either," Crowley smiled. "Don't you dare try to take away the peace of mind and happiness I get from knowing I am not the only one who had to suffer through that."
Halt glared at his supposed friend. "I'm so glad my suffering is such a comfort to you," he said sarcastically.
"What can I say?" Crowley said, entirely unrepentant, "Misery loves company."
"If you're quite finished enjoying your warm feeling of solidarity, there was another reason I brought it up," Halt said then, trying to shove down the bitter longing that had crept around the edges of his enjoyment of this. He'd forgotten how much he'd missed this, missed Crowley—or maybe it was just that he'd been trying for his own sanity not to dwell on the fact that he did remember. It was going to take time to rebuild, he reminded himself: a mantra that was already growing worn with its incessant use. But the end result would be more than worth it.
Crowley, oblivious to Halt's thoughts, continued on, rejoinder already ready. "You're just trying to cut the enjoyment short as usual. Would it kill you to be more joyful?" At Halt's unimpressed look he cleared his throat. "I assume," he said, getting back to the matter at hand, "that you were thinking along the lines of creating similar traps to Pritchard's Rabbit Snares in the woods to the north."
"That as well as hiding a force of archers there among the trees. They can provide support from the north, perhaps coordinate and arrow storm simultaneously with the cavalry change, and then pick off any Wargals that make it past the traps."
"We'll have their force entirely outmaneuvered," Crowley said with a grim smile
"I was hoping that you might lead the force of archers to the north. You could assess the men and pick those you want with you."
Crowley nodded thoughtfully before smiling at Halt. "Just so long as you're not planning to leave the designing and constructing of the Pritchard's Rabbit Traps to me only."
"I was thinking we could handle it together," Halt said.
The weather had warmed some since that early cold snap. The snow was gone and Halt could tell the ground was no longer frozen—a good thing since they had a lot of digging in mind.
"Good," Crowley replied, slinging a companionable arm around Halt's shoulder. "Just make sure you don't stumble into any of mine by accident."
"Funny, I'dve thought it'd be more likely that you'd blunder into mine."
"I'll have you know that I did see Pritchard's Rabbit Trap," Crowley said as the two of them gathered their supplies and began making their way to the woods in the north.
"Did you?" Halt's eyebrows rose, impressed.
"I did," Crowley nodded. "Unfortunately for me, it was right after I'd put my foot in it."
"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," Halt said dryly, feeling neither the need nor desire to admit that it had been the same for him as well.
It was late that evening by the time Halt and Crowley were nearing completion of their hides and traps in the north woods. Things had gone quickly enough after they had organized a force of archers to assist. Halt was in the middle of adding a few final touches to the last of his when one of Arald's messengers approached to deliver summons from the Baron.
Crowley left one of the foresters in charge of things as he and Halt made their way back to camp. They were quickly ushered into the command tent by an anxious-looking soldier.
"Has something happened?" Crowley asked, concerned.
"It's more a matter of what didn't happen," Arald explained, gesturing them in. "There were no new Wargal troops to breach the border today—which seems to indicate that they finally have amassed their full force. We can, therefore, assume the attack will be soon. I'm betting on tomorrow as they have not yet packed their tents and the moon is only a crescent tonight—which doesn't seem to indicate a night attack being likely."
Halt and Crowley nodded their agreement.
"I will go and prepare the cavalry force, and we will make our way to the route. It should take only about an hour, so we will leave before first light," Halt said.
"Sir Rodney and I will prepare the main force here," Arald turned to Crowley.
"I will organize our archers in the north. Halt and I were able to finish preparations there."
"Good. Let's hope that our efforts will be enough," Arald said grimly. "I don't like the look of our numbers compared to theirs."
Halt couldn't say that he liked them much either.
~x~X~x~
Will peered around the shadowed corner, watching the back of the sentry on duty as he disappeared around the curve of the tower and into the night. Checking once more to make certain that the courtyard was empty, he signaled the all-clear to Horace who moved carefully, slowly, through the shadows until he stopped quietly by Will's side. Gone were the days of Horace attempting mad dashes from cover to cover or proceeding with exaggerated tiptoes. And, though he might never manage to match Will in stealth or silence, Will knew he was good enough not to be noticed by a tired sentry or a casual eye.
Carefully, they made their way around the sturdy walls of the central keep tower. Will closed his eyes briefly, listening to the running count of time in his head to predict just how far along the guard was on his circuit of the tower before proceeding to the point he had mentally marked earlier in the day. He took a few more careful steps until he stopped, glanced up, and nodded to himself before gesturing Horace to follow. The two of them crouched in the building's shadow as Will stared critically at the tower, trying to make out the path that he had scouted for himself. He could see the start of it now: a jagged crack in the mortar just about a meter above the head height of a normal man. Will pointed to the spot and then made another gesture to Horace who nodded his understanding.
He placed his back to the wall and laced his fingers before him, nodding to signal that he was ready. Once again, Will stopped to listen carefully for any hint of danger before moving forward in a rapid but silent run. He leaped, booted foot landing in Horace's laced fingers. He leaped upwards again as Horace lifted, the force of his leap and Horace's boost sending him up the slick wall, high enough to catch hold of the fissure he had marked. For a moment he dangled by his hands before reaching out with his left to grip a small nub of jutting out stone half a meter higher. He twisted a little sideways so he could place the toe of his right boot where his right hand was. Then, having found three points of solid contact he began to scale the tower. The outer walls were smoothed over for the very purpose of keeping them from being climbed, but Will was no armature; climbing was in his blood and heights had never held any terror for him.
A quick look down showed him a glimpse of Horace facing outwards, still in the tower's shadow, keeping watch. That quick glance was all Will spared as he continued upwards, using the sill of a second-story window as a hold to get him up to the third.
He crouched on the sill of that third story window—a window that was much larger than the slit that had been placed on the second story. The shutters of this window were closed and Will pressed a gentle hand on them and then a firmer one when he felt resistance.
Locked.
But that was no problem for Will; he'd gotten into far more difficult places after all. Will drew his throwing knife, slipping it into the gap between the shutters until he found the latch. All it took was a practiced few twists and lifts of the blade to unhook it. He sheathed his knife then, pressing the shutters open carefully. There was no light to banish the shadows in the empty room and Will breathed out a sigh of relief. He and Horace had waited until the early hours of the morning, past midnight, to make their move, hoping that the Baron would have long since retired to his room. It seemed that their patience had paid off. Will unslung the coil of rope he'd wound around his shoulder and, using the light from the crescent moon outside, tied it around the legs of the Baron's heavy oak table and then took it back to the window.
He lowered the rope carefully for his friend and watched as it grew taught when Horace put his weight on it to begin his upward climb. Will mentally urged Horace to grater speeds, but needn't have bothered. Horace swarmed up the rope quickly and silently, going hand over hand until he reached the sill. Will helped pull him inside and the rope quickly after him. They had no sooner eased the window shutters closed again when they heard the measured tread of the soldier on patrol as he completed his circuit of the tower, passing just below the Baron's study.
Both let out silent breaths of relief—their timing had been right. They crouched down near the window for a moment, hardly daring to breathe as they listened for any sound that might alert them to their presence having been discovered.
Nothing.
The guard's footsteps just continued steadily on.
Will made another of their prearranged hand signals, and Horace whispered his understanding. They both knew to keep their voices down. There was a hall guard not more than five meters from the door to Baron Douglass's office—which was why they had chosen the window route. It would be nearly impossible to slip past that guard in the fairly narrow hallways without being seen.
Quietly, the two rose to go about their prearranged tasks. Will found himself glad that Horace hadn't prodded to find out how he was so experienced at this. It wasn't exactly something he was very proud of, despite the skills being useful.
Horace, instead, headed straight to the door of Baron Douglass's study, bringing his cloak with him to press it against the small gap between the heavy oak door and the stones of the floor. That way the light from Will's lantern wouldn't be seen from outside the room. Will struck flint to tinder and got a spark grounded to light the lamp they had brought; it was a necessary risk. They needed to rifle through the Baron's documents and paperwork. There wouldn't be enough light to ascertain the contents on a night like tonight when the moon was a small crescent of light.
Besides that, speed and efficiency were paramount. They had no idea how long they would get to search or how many of the Baron's papers they would have to go through to find any potentially useful information—if there was indeed any.
The two boys got to work settling into a plan they'd come up with mere hours prior. One would search through the papers—stacked on the desk and in various chests around the room—while the other stood with an ear to the door, listening for any sound of passersby as a precaution.
Horace, being the quicker reader on account of his having more practice at it and being more familiar with castle and military terms, went first. Minutes dragged by as he leafed through, and read, page ager page, scroll after scroll. After nearly two hours of finding nothing the least bit suspicious or incriminating, and eyes starting to hurt from reading by the faint light, Horace traded places with Will, to let his friend take a turn.
Will made his way to the chest that Horace had started going through—as he'd already made it through the paperwork on the desk. He had no sooner selected a scroll, sliding its holding ribbon off to open it, when he caught sight of a movement out of the corner of his eye. Horace was waving his left hand warningly to signal that he had heard someone approaching. Even as he did so, Will's sharp ears also picked up on the muffled strains of conversation that grew louder as people approached.
"I trust this is something of importance to justify being roused so late at night…"
"I assure you, my lord, this information is vital. The King bade me deliver it to you as soon as possible."
"I see," the first voice, who was clearly none other than the Baron himself, replied. "I will speak with you in my study. Phillip" he addressed the man who Will knew to be the seneschal, "as a precaution, in the event this proves to be an emergency, rouse the garrison and wait for me in the throne room for further instructions."
"Yes, my lord," Phillip replied.
Will and Horace, both bitterly cursing their ill-luck, glanced desperately at each other in something like panic. They wouldn't have time to make it out the window and to the ground and remove the rope before the Baron entered the room. They had only seconds to act.
~x~X~x~
Tennyson made his stately way back to his home in the village…well, at least, that was what he had taken to calling the house since it had been given to him by his predecessor. The former priest of this seaside village had done his work well, managing to endear himself well enough have been gifted it by the grateful villagers.
Regardless, now that Tennyson had taken the old priest's place it was, for all intents and purposes, his now. At least, it would be until the Skandians came tomorrow. After that, this quaint little settlement would have no more need of a religious leader—no more need of homes for that matter either.
Perhaps, he thought with an internal sneer, these villagers would still pray to Alseiass even after they'd been taken back to Skandia as slaves, spoils of war.
Truthfully, it mattered little to him if they would. All that mattered was that his plans were still intact and underway despite the small hiccup of his having lost the 'tithes' that he had needed to convince the head of his order to readily accept Morgarath's alliance.
He frowned as he reached for the doorknob. As things stood now, the best he had been afforded was probationary permission. The head of his order would accept the alliance only if the planned Skandian invasion was successful. If not, then Tennyson knew he'd be on his own. The Outsiders would hardly stand by him and his choices if the Kingdom won and came looking for vengeance. Although, he didn't expect much chance of that outcome coming to pass, things weren't as stable and guaranteed as they could have been—as he'd wanted them to be.
He found himself cursing that thieving mercenary for the millionth time. The man had very nearly ruined everything for Tennyson. Needless to say, in the weeks following, he'd made a concerted effort to track him down. He'd asked around his circles only to find that the sellsword was a fairly well-known figure amongst the mercenaries and criminals. But, despite being known of, not much was truly known about him.
The hooded mercenary mostly took official contracts from the Kingdom, but not always. He seemed to have no allegiances to anyone, never stayed in any one place long, and had no known allies or connections Tennyson could easily exploit—other than the two boys who traveled with him, he suspected. No one knew his surname, where he came from, or if he had family. In short, he was a very difficult person to track down. The best Tennyson had been able to do was put a price out on him and hope another contract killer, mercenary, or perhaps an overachieving criminal would pick up the offer—if for nothing else than the peace of mind revenge would afford him and his bruised ego.
Stepping inside his house and then closing the door behind him with a sigh, he pushed the matter from his mind. With the Skandians' impending arrival, he had much more urgent things to attend to. The day was growing near after all.
On that vein of thought, he was certain his two bodyguards should be back from the errand he had sent them on earlier in the day. So thinking, he called their names. Upon receiving no answer, he pushed his way into the room that he had made into his study to look for them.
As soon as the door swung open into the more dimly lit interior, he instantly got the feeling that something was off, wrong. Fully alert, he swept the room quickly and froze, stiffening as he saw an out of place and unfamiliar shape. Ice seemed to trickle down his spine as he recognized what it was—or, more correctly, whom, he thought grimly.
An uncomfortably familiar hooded figure regarded him from where he leaned casually against Tennyson's table. Waiting for him, Tennyson's mind supplied. It was a thought that seemed to prove itself true as he watched the mercenary's mouth twist up in that same unsettling smile he seen once before.
It seemed that despite all Tennyson's searching, it was the mercenary who had found him first. Tennyson stood there in the doorway, mind, and heart racing.
"Tennyson, I've been looking for you," the mercenary said conversationally, almost pleasantly. He stood fully so that they faced each other, his voice softening, darkening, ever so slightly as he continued, "After all, it would be rude to not repay you for your hospitality."
As he said it, Tennyson's eyes were drawn to the sword held casually in the man's grasp. It seemed Tennyson hadn't been the only one contemplating revenge. Tennyson's eyes narrowed, mouth curling. He used his contempt and anger to mask the uncertainty and unease that had gripped him. He hadn't been prepared for this.
"I'd prefer you repay the money you stole," he snarled.
"But I didn't steal anything," the mercenary replied easily. "The job you hired me for turned out to be far more hazardous to my health than you let on; I simply renegotiated the price for my services a little." He took a step forward.
Tennyson had to consciously make an effort not to take a step back, refusing to show any measure of weakness despite his tenuous situation. Where were his bodyguards?
"This little game is getting tiresome," Tennyson said then, angrily.
"Game?"
Tennyson ignored the scathing question. Knowing he could well afford to; the thought of his bodyguards made him certain that he still could get the upper hand.
"It's far past time I ended it," he said darkly. Keeping an eye on the mercenary, he called for his men. After all, he and his bodyguards had bested the sellsword once before; they could do it again. And he could deal with his men's tardiness later.
But the mercenary seemed unfazed, and there was no answering shout or sound of footfalls in response to his summons. Tennyson felt his confidence wane a little as he saw that, his unease building steadily to a crescendo when the mercenary spoke.
"They won't be coming," he said quietly, that faint smile still on his face. "I found them before I found you."
Tennyson felt almost as if he'd been struck. "You killed them?"
"I gave them the option to surrender," he said with a shrug. "But judging by how they laughed at the suggestion, I think they thought it was a joke." He frowned, head tilting a little to the side as if in thought. "I don't think it ended up being very funny for them." He regarded Tennyson for a moment before adding, "When I make the same offer to you, let it be known I mean it seriously."
Tennyson eyed the mercenary warily, his earlier confidence waning. He knew that if he didn't do something now, he could well be facing up to an untimely end. He took stock of his situation quickly.
The mercenary was standing several paces away with his sword held casually in his left hand. He had not drawn his bow. Tennyson could see it slung over his shoulder—a mistake. And that gave him a chance. As he thought it, his racing mind settled on what he knew to be the only way out of this.
"Alright, I know when I'm beaten," he placated, folding his hands innocently into the folds of his robe in a religious pose of supplication. The loose fabric perfectly hid the movement of his hands as he drew the dagger he had strapped to the inside of his arm.
"Then put your hands out where I can see them," the mercenary said, taking yet another step forward.
Tennyson sneered internally, getting a ready grip on the hilt of the weapon. Externally, he maintained his defeated expression.
"As you wish," he started to say, but before he had even finished speaking, he whipped his hand free of the robe, sending his dagger hurtling towards the mercenary in a deadly, perfect, arc.
Several things happened very quickly.
The mercenary's sword swept up and across his body in a flash, knocking aside Tennyson's spinning blade so it clattered harmlessly to the floor. Almost simultaneously, the mercenary's right arm flicked up, the man's own throwing knife flying from his grasp. Tennyson, distracted by the man's sword hand, didn't see the danger until it was already too late to dodge. His eyes widened as he felt the wide sleeve of his throwing arm being viciously snatched at.
He found himself pinned to the wall by the mercenary's blade. Desperately, he tried to pull the weapon free so he could run, but it held fast. The cool, warning, tickle of a saxe against his throat stilled any further efforts. He looked up to see that the mercenary had already crossed the distance between them. He could see the man's eyes from beneath the shadow of his cowl now—and he didn't like what he saw there.
Tennyson snarled at him. "Now what, mercenary? Are you going to take your revenge? Are you going to kill me?" he challenged darkly.
"Now, you're going to come with me," the mercenary said, that same unsettling smile touching his face again. "Just killing you now hardly seems sporting. I have something better in mind."
~x~X~x~
Mind whirling and heart racing, Will's eye fell on the chest that he crouched near. He pointed at it and Horace nodded. Will untied the rope and snuffed out the lantern as Horace retrieved his cloak. The two of them headed towards the large chest and climbed inside one after the other. The chest hadn't been full to the brim, but it still made it a tight squeeze. The scrolls and papers crunched and crinkled underneath their weight and Will only just managed to pull the lid down after them. But it didn't close fully: there was a hairsbreadth gap left.
Will, when he crouched low, fit in the chest easily enough, but Horace was bigger. Even crouched down, his back pressed up against the chest lid as it rose a bit higher than the lip of the chest—and they hadn't the time to shift the papers in a way that would help him fit better. Will just hoped that the tiny gap would remain unnoticed as the door crashed open and light flooded the room. There came the sound of the door closing and then the sound of footfalls moving to and stopping by where Will estimated the Baron's desk was.
There was a moment of silence before the Baron broke it.
"You can drop the pretense," he said quietly. "We'll not be overheard."
"Here I come all this way and you don't seem pleased to see me," the messenger complained coldly—taking on a drastically different tone to the one he had used earlier. He no longer sounded like a dutiful servant, desperate to deliver the urgent message he'd been bidden to by the King. He sounded cold, uncaring, commanding even.
"Should I be?" Douglass asked back. "You took a grave risk coming here in person."
The other man scoffed. "Not hardly. It's not as if I'd be recognized, and I doubt the King's messenger I killed is going to be going around reporting the theft of his uniform and credentials, is he?"
"It's still a risk," Douglass protested.
"Not any more grave of one than you took sending word on such short notice," the messenger sneered.
"The normal channels would have been too slow as well you know," Douglass argued back heated. "We've planned and set pieces into motion for years to get to this moment: we can't afford any surprises or accidents!"
Will's breath caught as he heard that. Beside him, he felt his best friend tense as he understood the implication of what they had just heard. Will's heart, which had already been racing with nerves, seemed to increase in pace as he realized just how tenuous their situation had become. It already would have been terrible and potentially dangerous for them to have been discovered back when they'd known the Baron of Highcliff only as a fairly honorable man. But now that they had as good as overheard an admission of treachery it had turned all but fatal. Will didn't want to think what could happen if they were to be discovered. He took a silent steady breath to calm himself, trying to quell the irrational thought that his heartbeat could be audible through the wood of the chest. He heard the messenger answer back.
"As I told you and your seneschal, my information is urgent and as worth the risk as yours was. I know you like to play it safe, Douglass, but allow me to assure you that, if all goes to plan, you won't have to worry anymore about subterfuge and maintaining your cover."
"So the mercenary that brought warning of the attack… Gilan, Sir David's son, is working for you and Lord Morgarath? Discovering the small breach I orchestrated and the planned attack was a ploy to lead Sir David and his men into a trap?" Douglass asked before he mused further, "I suppose it isn't too hard to fathom; Lord Morgarath doesn't have qualms working with criminals and murderers to see the job done—seeing as you're here and all."
For a moment Will's mind stuttered to a halt over the words criminal, traitor, and murderer spoken in relation to his friend's name; it simply didn't make any sense. But he pushed past it for a moment, dismissing it in favor of the more important aspects of the conversation. Likewise, he pushed aside the other revelation: that apparently Sir David, the knight that Will had admired and Gilan didn't seem to like or trust, was Gilan's actual father. He tucked both tidbits away for the moment to listen to the conversation at hand because the two men were far from finished.
Before the messenger could even reply to the jibe inherent in those last words the Baron continued on, hardly pausing for breath. "And Lord Morgarath is well known for his complex strategies. Still, I would have appreciated a little forewarning of this plan and Morgarath's attention beforehand—"
"Actually, no," the messenger interrupted sharply before the Baron couldn't ponder on any further. "Having his plans discovered by the mercenary was an unexpected development. The man is not one of our agents and his actions posed a significant risk to our plan."
"Then, forgive me, but I fail to see how this helps our current situation," Douglass said angrily.
"It doesn't, but your getting word out to Morgarath did. He's already devised a plan to counteract this little accident. Sir David, Baron Arald, and their men are going to have a… nasty surprise waiting for them."
The sound of footsteps drew nearer along with the messenger's voice as he moved towards their hiding spot while he talked. Through the small crack, Will could just see the back of the man's legs as he stood directly in front of them, facing outward. Will closed his eyes briefly, silently willing the man not to sit down on the chest.
"Don't patronize me, Foldar," Douglass said, still angry. "I assume you came to inform me of the new plan, so I'd appreciate it if you just got to it. Clearly, we are at the point where things will be moving quickly. I don't have time to bandy words and neither do you."
"You forget yourself," the messenger, Foldar, snarled back. "I don't answer to you any more than Morgarath answers to me."
Will relaxed his tensed muscles the barest fraction as the man moved away to stand once again near the Baron's desk. The messenger took a few breaths and when he spoke again his voice was more controlled, but no less cold—a cold that did nothing to enhance the smugness, the cruel air of triumph.
"Morgarath plans to send the Kalkara to support the troop."
Will's blood turned to ice.
~x~X~x~
Gilan held Tennyson before him, saxe knife pressed against his throat as they stepped out from the false priest's house and down the main street. He moved openly, not trying to hide or disguise his presence. Sure enough, they were soon spotted by one of the village men. As soon as the man took in the sight of Tennyson's predicament, he let out a surprised cry and then ran to sound the alarm.
Gilan paid it no mind other than to allow himself a faint nod that things were going to plan. He took the few paces needed to make it to the main square of the town, right near where the Outsiders traditional golden idol sat atop its pedestal.
Gilan then set his back against the windowless wall of one of the nearby houses where it would be hard for anyone to get behind him or approach without ample warning. He had a good view of the village and its main square and, equally important, he had a good line of sight to where his father, his father's knights, and a group of archers lay in waiting at the edge of the town on the rise, ready to lend support if things went awry.
He and his father had talked over this plan at length the night before, after the scouts had reported no signs of Skandians near the coast yet. They both knew that the only or, rather, the best way to enact their plan of removing the Outsiders and taking their place would be if they were to get the people of Cramelford on their side. And the only way to do that would be to break the faith these people had in the Outsider cult and their false god.
What Gilan had in mind now wasn't going to be easy and didn't exactly offer a guaranteed outcome of success. There was, he admitted to himself then with a wry inward smile, a very good chance for this to end badly. But, despite that, it was quite probably their best chance of finding success without causing harm to the villagers or encoring their noncooperation or their wrath… Well, without encoring any more of their wrath than was strictly necessary, Gilan thought then, the internal smile growing grim as he saw a mass of angry and concerned villagers growing in number before him in response to the earlier cry of alarm. They spread out before him in a crescent shape, several brandishing makeshift weapons.
"Well, mercenary," Tennyson said, his earlier anger and fear replaced by a certain smugness. "It looks like you just might have outmaneuvered yourself."
"Maybe," Gilan replied non-committal.
"You don't stand a chance anymore, mercenary; the people love me."
Gilan pressed the saxe more firmly against Tennyson's throat to silence him. The razor-sharp blade drew the faintest trickle of blood and the man stilled again at the implied threat.
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Gilan said in response to the false priest's statement, "For now, anyway."
~x~X~x~
"That plan won't work," Baron Douglass said emphatically.
Will's mind, which had been filled with the ugly image of the monsters he had mentally built up when Jenny had described them earlier, switched quickly back to the Baron as he spoke again.
"In case you weren't aware, we've tried that before and it failed. You weren't there, but I was. It was several years ago now. Lord Morgarath had been down my neck for a while to try and find a way to get rid of or weaken Sir David. But there was no way to actively cause accidents to get him out of the picture. The man was too canny and well respected by his knights, other Barons, and even the Rangers. If there was even the slightest inkling that his death had been suspicious then it was too great a risk.
"The only reason I have survived so long, in a position of power and undetected despite being in league with Morgarath is because I am and always have been so careful not to do anything that could garner suspicion. Lord Morgarath knew and valued that because he knew that having a Baron of a border fief in his pocket would be better for him in the long term than a hasty attack and the complete loss of that foothold would be. So Morgarath waited until I found a natural, actual occurring opportunity to take advantage of: an incident with Sir David's son and accusations of arson and manslaughter from several eyewitnesses."
"The point being," Foldar said, his bored tone holding a sharp edge of impatience.
"The point being that with all the evidence provided on the case I could have dealt with the issue quickly, but I did not. I dragged it out, prevaricated with my senior staff because it distracted and weakened David: compromised him enough to allow large meddling with guard postings and rotations to go unnoticed by the man—enough to let the Kalkara slip through the border the first time. But even then, that battle was a draw more than anything. David lost a few knights, yes, and was badly injured. But he and Baron Arald managed to drive the creature back. They drove it off a cliff and into the sea."
"Which would make the point…" Foldar edged on, leaving the sentence hanging sarcastically.
"Which would make the point that this time won't be like last time! Last time David was hardly thinking straight with grief, was in no fit state to command anything, both he and Arald were caught completely unawares, and yet the plan failed. We don't even have half those conditions now. This time they're fully prepared for war and have an even greater force! What makes you think it would succeed this time?"
"Because this time there will be three Kalkara."
"But there are only two—" Douglass started but stopped himself abruptly.
"What if I told you that the one Arald and David drove off the cliff survived? It made its way back to the mountain, wounded, barely alive. But Morgarath saved it. And now Morgarath is committing all three to the attack. He's given them instructions to slaughter any and all kingdom troops they come across and has already marked David, Arald, or any of those meddlesome Rangers as the most important targets. The King's men are prepared for battle, yes—but I highly doubt they're prepared to deal with three Kalkara set on taking out their command and anyone else who gets in their way.
"So even if their army gets the upper hand initially, it won't before long. And then, our remaining troops can rendezvous with the Skandian force and the reserve force. And then everything else can go on as planned. You will let Morgarath's force take this castle, this fief will become the foothold for our invasion of the King's lands, the kingdom will fall, and Morgarath will claim his rightful place as ruler. You will still get your promised reward and high position in Morgarath's new kingdom, and the full ownership of Highcliff Fief and Greenfield Fief. Though why you want a Fief as small and useless as Greenfield is beyond me."
"Greenfield has been part of my family's territory, part of Highcliff for centuries. Duncan's grandfather had no right to take it from my grandfather during that uprising. It brought peace, sure, but at what cost? Practically half of my family's ancestral holdings being handed to my grandfather's illegitimate brother—that was the cost! That's all Duncan and his family seem able to do: slight and take power away from the nobility to strengthen their own! Leave the governance of the country in the hands of lesser men who don't have the pure, divine ordained, bloodline to rule it right!" Douglass took a breath after his tirade, his voice softening. "Regardless, what do you intend?"
"I'll take a few hours rest and leave before first light. And you?" Foldar asked, tone indicating that he didn't much care.
"I will tell my steward and men to stand down: that the message was only about reinforcements being delayed."
"Well, if that's all," Foldar said. There came a faint scraping sound as he rose to his feet. "It seems you have things well enough in hand. Be ready to grant passage to Morgarath's troops when the full force arrives here. You remember the signal."
"Of course," Douglass replied.
Will and Horace waited in absolute silence as Foldar left. Douglass remained in the room silently for several more minutes before the light disappeared as he blew it out. There came the sound of the door once again opening, closing, and then nothing.
Both boys let out pent up breaths. Will felt Horace grip his arm tightly, and Will gripped back just as fiercely, mind still staggered by the enormity of what they had just heard. Worse still, Will had no idea what to do stop what had just been put in motion.
A/N: *Kronk voice* Oh, yeah. It's all coming together. XD Thanks for reading! As usual, feedback is very appreciated if you have the time or inclination to leave any. Constructive criticism is also always welcome: I'm here to learn and improve after all. The next chapter will be pretty battle focused/action-driven as each group has a situation to face, so I hope no one minds.
I hope you all have an epic rest of the week and that you and yours are staying healthy and safe in these trying times. Best wishes!