Age of Iron (37 page)

Weylin nodded coolly, as if every fibre wasn’t singing with excitement. The gate swung open and he strutted through.

Maidun’s defended entrance didn’t end at the gate. On the other side of the oak doors was an open passage cut into the hilltop, leading through the body of the fort. It was three paces deep at the start, becoming smoothly shallower over a hundred paces and lined with flint nodules along almost all its length. As a final defence, it was pretty unnecessary. Nobody was ever going to get this far, but rulers liked to put captives to work, and some previous king or queen had decreed that this pointless passage be dug.

Weylin walked along happily and emerged at the business end of Maidun Castle’s larger, lower section, near the deep pits and rectangular wooden sheds on stilts for storage of barley, oat, wheat and other crops. They’d been built by earlier less powerful rulers who faced the possibility of a long siege. These days only one in twenty of the sheds was needed to store more than enough food to feed the fort’s occupants through any winter. Weylin had heard people say that they should store more in case the crops failed, but that sounded like lame-arse talk. If you ran out of anything and wanted more, you took it from somewhere else.

Past the storage area and towards the centre of the vast fortress’s plateau interior, he approached the top Warriors’ huts. They were stoutly made, their well tended conical thatch roofs each cased in a grid of supple but strong willow twigs as defence against the gales that could pummel the exposed hilltop. He looked around for friendly faces, but only a few people were about and nobody he knew well. No surprise. It was the middle of the morning, so Warriors would be off training, and apart from them the hillfort was sparsely populated. Neither animals nor children lived up here. The only industries were the forges and smelters of a handful of the best iron and bronze workers, people like Elann Nancarrow. He could hear the regular smash of Elann’s unmistakable heavy hammer now, over the bangs of unseen sword and shield practice.

A couple of fellow Warriors who clearly didn’t know about his odyssey nodded hello as if this were just a normal day. He passed Carden’s hut and thought about popping in to see how his brother’s foot was healing. But that could wait. He would see what Zadar wanted first.
That must be it!
he thought with a jolt. Zadar was going to give him Lowa’s hut! He could see it now, up ahead on the left, surrounded by a garden of hardy plants and a small wooden fence. It was one of the best. He smiled. He’d been sharing a craphole hut half the size of hers with Dionysia, hard against the south wall. It was about time he got recognition and a hut to himself. Yeah, that would bring ’em in. Women liked a man with his own hut.

He strode on. Up ahead was the palisade that separated the Eyrie from the lower camp. The ramp up to it was over to the right. This was going to be his first trip up that ramp, but soon it would be an everyday journey. Maybe one day he’d live up there himself …

“What you smiling about, you wanker! How’s it going? You all right, yeah?” called a cheery voice. It was Nel, loping along the path towards him. He was a recent addition to the elite chariots and Weylin had deigned to talk to him a couple of times. His jaw had been knocked askew in some battle, but he still wore a permanent grin. People mocked him because he spent so much time with his top off, lying on banks and browning his skin in the sun. Weylin didn’t mind that – each to their own, he always thought – and he liked him.

“Can’t stop and chat, Nel. Sorry. I’m heading up to the Eyrie.”

The smile dissolved from Nel’s face. He rocked from foot to foot. “Ah, shit. You just got back, right? Ain’t seen Zadar yet? Shit.”

“What do you mean, ‘shit’?” Weylin’s veneer of cheer cracked a little.

“Well, you was sent after Lowa, right?” Nel looked nervous. “’Ave you got ’er?”

“No, but—”

“And where’s everyone you took with you?”

“They’re dead. But we were ambushed. Nothing I could’ve done.”

“Yeah, that’s what your shout said. And after that, what, you went after Lowa again?”

“No. That would’ve been stupid. I was on my own and she had a whole bloody army. I escaped.”

“Yeah. People’ve been saying you’d better come back with Lowa or not at all.”

“What?” Weylin peered into Nel’s eyes. Was this a joke? “Well, people are twats. I’m the hero here. I may have lost a battle, but that happens. A true leader knows not only when to retreat, but has the courage to do it. Zadar said that.”

“Yeah, well, maybe Zadar’ll see it like that. Better not keep him waiting though.”

Weylin watched Nel stride away.

At the top of the ramp to the Eyrie the gates swung open and he walked in. He stopped and looked around. To his right, south, was the awesome drop over three palisaded walls down to the Winter River. This was the highest part of the hillfort. He could see the long dormitory-style double shed of the whorepits, surrounded by its own ditch and fence, then farmland dotted with farmers’ huts, stretching to the sea. He’d been expecting a good view from here.

Looking around, however, the rest of the Eyrie was not what he’d been expecting. Not at all.

“W
hat do you think of Lowa?”

Ragnall and Spring were crouched with slings on the marsh among the cotton grass and heather, stalking partridge. Ragnall had a brace of birds lashed to his belt. Both had been brought down by Spring. She was an odd one: more accurate than any adult with a sling and a faultless stalker, yet full of childish questions.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Why don’t you want to answer?” Her eyes flashed.

“What do
you
think of Lowa?”

“I asked first.”

“We’re meant to be hunting partridge. We need more than these two.”

“There aren’t any around at the moment. There’ll be more along. Best thing we can do is stay right here. Meanwhile let’s fill the time by … oh I don’t know…” Spring put her finger on her lips. “I’ve got it! Why don’t you tell me what you think of Lowa?”

Ragnall sighed. “She seems very sure of herself. But with good reason. I haven’t seen her use that strange bow she was carrying when you arrived, but I bet she’s good with it. She gives off an air of never having got anything wrong, and not expecting that she ever will. And she’s funny, in a clever way. Witty. But I still haven’t seen her laugh, not properly. She smiles, but it’s like she’s smiling despite her sadness.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

Ragnall laughed. “I wouldn’t say pretty.”

“What would you say?”

“She’s … she’s…”
She’s beautiful
, he thought. He cocked an ear and put a finger to his lips. “What’s that over there? Sounds like partridge to me!” He sneaked off around a marshy hummock in a crouch.

D
rustan and Dug sat on a bench, leaning against a hut under the shade of its protruding thatch roof. Lowa sat on an upturned wooden bucket in the sun, seemingly unworried by the unbearable glare. Dug was sweating like a fat and normally sedentary man who’d just run up a hill.

It was odd, thought Dug, that Lowa spent a great deal of time in the sun, yet, at most, her pale skin might blossom into a pinkish glow towards the end of the day, while everyone else in summer was as brown as beaver fur. It supported his new, when-drunk theory that she was at least part goddess. Although that theory had been somewhat undermined that morning, when she’d waited until Spring had left to go hunting, pulled back his covers, pumped at his cock like a milkmaid in a hurry for the two heartbeats it took for it to be ready, then leaped on him and satisfied herself while he was still half asleep.

“Do pay attention, Dug.”

He shook his head. “Sorry! Mind wandered.”

Lowa was explaining her plan to kill Zadar to the two older men. Nearby some children were splashing in the water. Most of the Mearholders were away working: clearing channels, hunting, tending to the farmland and so on. Lowa had been out hunting all night, so she had excused herself, and the two men were still deemed to be recovering and incapable of labour. They’d been asked to keep an eye on the children, but the children seemed able to keep eyes on themselves.

The day before, Maggot had declared Dug free of infection and mucked out the last batch of maggots from his chest. Dug had celebrated his grub-free state with more of Maggot’s fine cider. Too much more. Now his hangover smothered him like a stinking, wet blanket.

“You’re right – it is a crap plan,” he said when Lowa had finished.

“Thanks. Helpful.”

“Well yes,” said Drustan. “It is not totally crap, but, as I know that you know from your hesitancy in outlining it, it is only the beginning of a plan – a model, one might say, to work from.”

“Aye,” chipped in Dug. “I can’t see how you get from just being in Maidun Castle to killing Zadar. And you missed the little bit on how I avoid being tortured to death when they realise straight away that I’m no bounty hunter.”

“I know it’s not there yet,” said Lowa. “But that’s why I’m talking to you. No matter how hard I try, I can’t come up with a better plan. So I thought that maybe you two, with your vast experience and years of wisdom … but if you’re not up to it then I have other things I could be getting on with.”

“No, child.” Drustan smiled. “Let us start from the beginning. Zadar is no coward, but he is cautious when it comes to his own safety and he knows what you can do with your bow, so he’s unlikely to leave the hillfort while you’re free and possibly nearby. So you have to get in. We can discount force since you have no army. So that leaves trickery or stealth. No doubt you know the story of the Trojan horse?”

“No,” said Lowa.

“It should really be called the Greek horse.” Drustan leaned forward onto his knees.

“I know a story about Greek whores?” Dug offered.

“No, horse
.
Although your story may be similar, if it involves Greeks fucking someone.” Lowa and Dug looked shocked at the teacher’s profanity. He winked at them. “A few hundred years ago the Greeks besieged the city of Troy for ten years. Troy had high, stone walls, which the Greeks could not breach. Finally, a bright fellow named Odysseus came up with a plan, and the Greeks built a huge, hollow horse out of wood. Some troops hid in it and the rest boarded their boats and sailed over the horizon. The Trojans woke up to see that the Greeks had gone and someone had left a huge wooden horse outside their gates.”

“So they shot the horse with fire arrows and watched it burn?” asked Lowa.

“No. They opened the gates and pulled it into their city. Did I mention that it had wheels? It did.”

“Then they set it on fire.”

“No. They left it. That night—”

“What? These Trojans—”

“You must remember, Lowa, this was a simpler time, when—”

“People were stupid?”

“Simpler.”

“A city full of people and nobody thought,
Hang on a minute
?”

“Let him tell the story, Lowa.”

“Hmmm.”

“Thank you Dug. The Trojans, so the story goes, assumed it was a gift from the gods. You are right though. That does seem incredibly naïve, but this is the history that has been passed to us and we would be foolish to fully believe any history. So. The concealed Greeks waited until nightfall, crept out of the horse and opened Troy’s gates to let their army in.”

“Zadar’s not going to fall for that.
Weylin
wouldn’t fall for that.”

“It’s not the worst idea,” said Dug. “But you change it a bit. So you hide yourself in a hay cart or a food barrel. Something a bit more everyday than a giant fuck-off wooden horse.”

“And hope that they wheel it up to the Eyrie and leave it outside Zadar’s hut? Rather than unload it immediately and find me in there?”

“The Eyrie?” Dug asked.

“Upper bit of Maidun Castle, where Zadar lives.”

“You see.” Drustan smiled. “The Trojan horse plan is the same scheme as your false captive idea, and so it falls down at the same point. You may be able to gain access to Maidun Castle, but how can you be sure of reaching Zadar unmolested?”

“Exactly.”

“So trickery will not work. It must be stealth. You must sneak in!” Drustan clapped his hands and stood up. The old druid was getting excited by the talk of derring-do.

Lowa didn’t look impressed. “Did I mention the three huge walls, palisades, hundreds of guards, spiked ditches…”

“Yes, yes. And you told us about the convoluted gate. Is there just the one way in?”

“There’s an eastern gate, but it’s blocked off and no easier to cross than the wall.”

“So the eastern gate is inaccessible, and the western gateway is protected by a heavily guarded maze.” Drustan sat down again.

“Yes.”

“Then where is the lowest part of the wall?”

“There is no low part.” Lowa looked frustrated.

“There is though a least high part?”

“The walls are lowest, compared to the surrounding land, on the north side of the western gate,” Lowa admitted. “But they’re still high. And impossible to climb without being seen by the guards.”

“Forget the guards are there,” said Drustan, craning forward. “Could you climb them?”

“I could. Yes, with climbing spikes.”

“What colour are the walls?” asked Drustan.

“White – they’re bare chalk rock.”

“At night somebody dressed all in white would be difficult to spot, pressed against the white cliff of the wall?”

“Yes…”

“So you would need a white outfit. Now, what do they make here?”

Lowa’s lips pursed. “That might work.”

Dug looked at them both. If they were suggesting what he thought they were, it was an insane plan, but they both seemed to be serious. He shook his aching head.

O
ne of the guards caught him by the elbow. “Over there. To your left. Follow the fence along.”

Weylin nodded and walked off along the palisade. To his right, in the centre of the Eyrie, was a circle of huts. A woman was weaving on a loom, another was playing a clay flute. Children were darting about, and he could hear the squeals of what sounded like a multitude of them at play. There weren’t any men. It had to be Zadar’s harem. Weylin had pictured the harem as beautiful women in giant luxurious huts, eating grapes and lounging naked on furs near waterfalls, ready for shagging at a moment’s notice, not this child-heavy commune. He stood and stared at the working women and gambolling children. Nobody paid him any heed.