Thank you to everyone that commented on Chapter 1. It's always so encouraging to hear when people enjoy what I've written. Thanks again for WellspringCD for rounding up my commas!
Fearghal stiffened as he heard a soft noise out in the passage, then grinned in anticipation. He swung his legs off the bed, listening. He frowned as Bane growled softly; Bane wouldn't growl at Gilmore's approach.
Fearghal crossed the room swiftly and quietly and pressed his ear to the door. A high-pitched scream made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He rushed to his chest and threw up the lid, grabbing his sword and shield. Bane was still growling and now scraping at the bottom of the door. Fearghal opened the door a crack and peered out. One archer and a soldier with a sword and shield lurked in the passage, looking nervously around them.
"Bane, get the archer, boy," whispered Fearghal, then he threw the door open wide and Bane flew out of the door with a snarl and hurled himself at the archer before the man could bring his bow up fully. Both soldiers were taken by surprise and Fearghal charged out of his room with a yell, slamming his shield into the second soldier who was standing, just gaping at the dog. Stunned, the man reeled and Fearghal drove his sword through his chest. The archer was already dead, his throat torn out. Bane barked happily and wagged his tail as Fearghal patted his head approvingly.
Fearghal spun at the sound of a door opening behind him. Expecting to see Oriana, he was horrified to see a soldier, his armour splattered in blood, emerging from his sister-in-laws's room. The man was adjusting his cod-piece as he emerged and his eyes widened in terror at Fearghal's furious yell of rage. Before the man could draw his sword, Fearghal and Bane were on him and he was dead before he hit the floor. Leaving his hound worrying the corpse, Fearghal ran into Oriana's room, skidding to a halt at the sight that greeted him.
His nephew, Oren, lay on the floor, gutted. Oriana lay near him, her clothes in tatters, her throat cut. Fearghal ran to the bed and grabbed a blanket. The least I can do is cover her. As he laid the blanket over her, he couldn't fail to notice the bruises and bite marks that covered her breasts and upper body. His eyes swept round the room. A strange man lay dead, a small dagger buried in his neck, congealed blood pooling beneath him. Fearghal shook his head, trying to clear the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. Who are these men? He went rigid as another though struck him. Mother!
Fearghal ran across the passage and hammered at the door to his parents' room.
"Mother!" He tried the handle, it was locked. He called more loudly, torn between the desire to get his mother to safety but not wanting to draw attention from any soldiers who might be outside the family's private quarters. He heard the key turn in the lock and his mother's anxious face appeared.
"Fearghal! What's happening? I heard awful screaming and shouting."
"I don't know what's happening," he told her slipping into the room and locking the door behind him. "We seem to be under attack. Oriana and Oren..." he stopped, gulping, unable to say the words.
His mother was busy pulling armour and a bow out of a chest. "We must get to your Father," she told him urgently, pulling the old leather armour on. She beckoned to him. "Help me with these straps." Fearghal nodded and helped her fasten the straps, the leather aged and stiff.
Eleanor Cousland pulled a face. "It's past its best, but it will do." She shouldered her quiver, and readied her bow. At her nod, Fearghal opened the door cautiously and looked round. Seeing that there were no soldiers in the immediate area, he opened the door wide and went out. He crept cautiously to the door that led out onto the main corridor. He heard a soft cry behind him and looked back.
Eleanor stood in the doorway to Fergus's room, her eyes wide with shock. He crossed to her side and tried to gently draw her away.
"Who could do this? Why would they do this? Oriana and little Oren." Her voice broke.
Fearghal didn't know what to say or how to try and comfort her. He shrugged helplessly, tugging on her arm. "Come, Mother. We need to find Father."
Eleanor resisted for a moment as she gazed sadly at her dead grandson, then her face hardened. "Whoever is responsible for this will pay dearly," she hissed angrily. Fearghal nodded and went back to his room and hurriedly donned his armour, then went back to the door. He snapped his fingers and Bane was at his side, tense and alert. Fearghal looked at his mother. "You and Bane take down any archers, I'll deal with the rest."
Eleanor nodded grimly and Fearghal opened the door.
It seemed to take forever to fight their way outside. Small pockets of soldiers were all over the guest quarters. Lady Landra, her son and her maid were dead. The invaders had obviously taken their sport with the women before killing them; their bodies bore similar marks to Oriana's. The women's mouths were stuffed with rags. They couldn't even scream for help. Fearghal felt a white hot rage building up inside him. The Warden-Commander's room was empty, as was Arl Howe's. Fearghal hoped that they were with his Father, helping to defend the castle from the invaders.
As they made their way out of the private quarters Fearghal spied a terrified servant and grabbed him.
"What's going on? Where's the Teyrn?" he demanded.
The man was almost beside himself in terror, his eyes rolled wildly in his head. "Howe's men! We are betrayed!" He wrenched himself free and fled.
"Howe?" Eleanor's voice was full of rage. "That treacherous bastard!"
Around them, small fires flared up, licking at timbers and walls, as they made their flickering progress across heavy curtains and tapestries. Fearghal grabbed Eleanor and together they and Bane fought their way to Bryce Cousland's study. It was empty. Slowly, they fought on towards the Great Hall. As they neared the doors, Eleanor broke away and headed down a side passage to the armoury. Swearing, Fearghal followed her. He could only shake his head as his mother produced the key and unlocked the huge, armoured door, slipping inside and pulling him after her. The room appeared eerie, the barred window illuminating the room with flickering light from the fires burning outside.
Eleanor opened a large chest against the far wall and drew out a sword and shield. She thrust them at Fearghal. "Here, they are better than what you have."
He gaped stupidly at them. "But these are the family heirlooms."
"It's about time they were put to good use, it's been far too long," Eleanor told him, pushing them at him. "Take them!" she commanded.
Fearghal obeyed, more out of habit than anything else. Eleanor turned back to the chest and drew out a heavy purse and tucked it into his breastplate. He frowned at her.
"Just in case," she told him.
Fearghal blinked at her. Just in case... of what?
Before he could ask any questions, Eleanor pushed him out of the door and back to the Great Hall. The doors were only feet away but they had to fight for every inch. Howe's men seemed to be everywhere. They finally reached the doors.
Fearghal hammered at them, while Eleanor yelled, "It's the Teyrna. Let us in!"
The doors opened a crack and a suspicious face looked out, then the doors opened wide enough to admit them. They were shocked to find Howe's forces had already managed to enter the Hall before the doors had been barred. With a yell, Fearghal charged a group of men that had surrounded Rory Gilmore. Bodies staggered as his shield smashed into the nearest and the rest fell like dominoes. The arrival of Eleanor and Fearghal gave new heart to the weary Highever men and they fought with renewed vigour until the last of Howe's soldiers were dead.
Rory and Fearghal stared at each other, both momentarily speechless with relief.
"You're safe," gasped Rory. "The others...?"
Fearghal shook his head. "Only Mother and I got out of the family quarters."
Eleanor joined them. "Ser Gilmore, have you seen my husband?"
"He left, with the Grey Warden. They were going to try and find you."
Eleanor Cousland swore under her breath. "They must have gone round the other way."
"My Lady, your husband said that you should make your way to the Pantry. He thought you might all make your escape by the servant's entrance there. He didn't think Howe's men would know of it."
Eleanor nodded. "We'll make our way there. Hold the Gate for as long as you can."
Rory nodded, smiling.
Eleanor started across the Hall, calling for Fearghal to follow.
Fearghal hesitated, then clasped Rory Gilmore to him in a fierce hug. "Don't be a hero, Rory," he whispered, trying to keep the pleading note out of his voice.
Rory hugged him back, just as fiercely. "Fearghal, I... " The regret in his voice was plain.
Throwing caution to the winds, not caring who saw, or what they thought, Fearghal caught Rory's face between his hands and kissed him passionately. Fearghal broke away. "Follow...if... when you can," he commanded, his voice cracking.
Rory nodded. "May the Maker watch over you, Fearghal," he whispered, pushing Fearghal away from him.
"May he watch over us all," answered Fearghal, stumbling towards the door.
~o~O~o~
Fearghal awoke to the sound of a loud groan. His eyes felt leaden and his head throbbed dully. He struggled to open his eyes and gasped with pain as the dim light pierced the darkness. He groaned as he tried to raise his head, setting off hammers on the inside of his skull. He almost sniggered at the thought that he had woken himself up groaning, then stopped realising that if he did so, his head felt like it might actually shatter.
He sensed movement and a firm hand pressed against his shoulder, pushing him back.
"Don't try to move just yet." That voice, Fearghal recognised it but couldn't place it. Not someone he knew well. He winced as a firm hand cupped the back of his head and lifted it slightly.
"Drink this," the voice instructed and Fearghal felt a vial at his lips, a cool liquid pouring into his mouth.
It was difficult to swallow, the angle odd, but Fearghal managed to do so. He recognised the slightly bitter taste of a healing potion and sighed with relief at the warmth that spread through him, the pounding in his head easing somewhat.
Duncan gently laid the young man's head down and watched as his face relaxed and he fell into a deep, but natural, sleep. A small frown of worry creased Duncan's forehead; he had his recruit but seeing how resistant Fearghal had been he was unsure, in hindsight, whether recruiting him had been wise. He shook his head. It's too late now... what's done is done.
Duncan looked up at Castle Cousland, bright with flame. They were still too close, they needed to move as soon as possible. The young man had been heavy and Duncan hadn't been able to carry him far, plus the snoring had worried him; it wasn't a good sign in someone with a head injury. Fearghal's hound had followed him, eying him balefully all the way. Duncan felt a pang of regret; he hadn't wanted to get his recruit like this. By any means necessary... this is a Blight.