‘Something’s different,’ Maquin said as he looked up.
‘They’ve stopped banging on the doors,’ Orgull said.
‘Aye.’
‘Not that it seemed to bother you,’ Tahir added. ‘You’ve managed to sleep through most of their hammering.’
‘I was just resting my eyes,’ Maquin said.
‘Wish you’d have rested my ears – your snoring’s been loud enough to wake the dead.’
‘Watch your cheek,’ Maquin said as he stood, his back protesting. ‘I’m getting old.’
They were settled at the rear of Dun Kellen’s feast-hall, a large portion of the surviving warriors scattered about the room. The stone walls were solid and thick; the only wood that they could attempt to burn was the hall’s great doors, but the flames had achieved little success.
A warrior strode through a doorway at the back of the hall and approached them.
‘The Lady Gerda would speak with you,’ the warrior addressed all three of them.
Gerda was sitting in a wide chair when they were ushered in to see her; a warrior in chainmail and a bearskin cloak was before her. A child, the young boy Maquin had seen with Gerda before, sat in flickering shadows at the back of the room, whittling at a piece of wood with a small knife. Haelan.
Gerda smiled.
‘I am expecting my reinforcements to arrive soon,’ she said. ‘Possibly today. When they reach Dun Kellen we will rally, take the battle to Jael from within. He will not be able to stand an attack on two fronts, and the reinforcements should outnumber him. I think he will flee.’
‘Probably,’ Orgull said. ‘He does not strike me as one for a brave last stand.’
‘No, indeed. He’d rather run and save his scrawny neck, the snot-nosed slimy little piece of dung,’ Gerda said with venom.
The boy looked up, appearing to be holding back laughter.
Gerda took a shuddering breath. ‘But the Jael I know is unpredictable. He is capable of many things. This is Thoris, my battlechief,’ she said with a wave of her hand. The man nodded to them, his warrior braid woven thick in his fair hair. ‘We are discussing eventualities.’
Where is she going with this?
‘If the unlikely happens, and Jael is victorious, then I would ask one last thing of you all. I would ask you to protect Haelan, my son, and take him somewhere safe.’ She looked at them pleadingly. ‘I do not expect this to happen, and I pray to Elyon that it will not, but it is better to be safe than sorry.’
‘That’s what my mam used to say,’ Tahir whispered to Maquin.
‘I have seen your valour, your strength in combat, seen how you value an oath given. That is why I ask this of you. My other warriors are sworn to me, but also to Dun Kellen, and to avenge Varick. They have too many oaths to serve. You three are different. If you gave your word you would see it happen, or die in the trying. You have served me well, served Isiltir well, and if we survive this, your reward will be great.’
A silence filled the room. Maquin was shocked. Throughout the battle and days of siege he had thought of little except his revenge. Jael dead by his hand. He had given his word back in Haldis to help Orgull escape, to bring word of Jael’s treason here to Isiltir. He had done that, fulfilled that promise. And now here was Gerda asking him to take another oath, to place more shackles upon him. He did not want to do it, wanted only to seek out Jael in the coming battle and see his life’s blood spilt.
And he had sworn an oath of protection before, to Kastell and his da. A blood-oath. He looked at his palm and traced the old scar, white and faded. Looking up, he saw the young lad staring at him. Ten years old, fair hair streaked with copper, freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He even looked like Kastell. That should not be a surprise; they shared blood, distantly.
‘Will you do this for me?’ Gerda said.
‘Yes,’ Maquin heard himself say. You old fool, Maquin.
The wind pulled at Maquin’s hair. He was standing on a flat tower roof looking over Dun Kellen, from where he could see Jael’s men – some camped in the keep’s courtyard while others moved among the streets. He has gathered quite a warband. Where did he come by these numbers, when so many of Isiltir’s warriors died in Forn Forest?
A noise drifted on the wind, coming from the north. Horns. He squinted, looking across the plains, then saw them. A dark stain on the horizon, inching its way closer. Gerda’s reinforcements have come. He smiled grimly. Jael’s reckoning was close.
‘Are you ready?’ Orgull asked him.
‘Aye.’
‘And you remember the plan?’
‘We stick together, find Jael; kill him.’ Maquin grinned at Orgull and Tahir, no humour in the expression.