The Mountain Queen

Part III, Chapter Two: Storming the Castle

The ride from the High Valley, down the Riverway, and up the Wideway to Castle Dryman was the longest one of my life.  Allastrial was exhausted from her journey with Brody, and she trotted along riderless, barely keeping pace with the burdened horses ahead.  Felvin rode Mudge, the beast he hated more than anything in the world, and Cressock was nobly seated on the queen's black stallion, a sleek and evil-minded creature he had "borrowed" for the occasion.  Diana's horse, too, had been spirited from its stable, and Brody sat astride its chestnut flanks with a proud delight shining on his face.  Hollitch and I shared a sturdy brown farm-horse, who made up in stamina what he lacked in speed. 

Dawn found us still crossing the broad flat expanse that lay at the foot of the High Valley's great stone face.  From there we climbed upward again, joined the river, and began to follow its course downstream.  By midday, all the horses showed signs of fatigue, and Allastrial was pressed into service to relieve the other mounts in turn.  Only Mudge kept his rider the whole way; Felvin would have broken any other.

When the ground was rough and the going slow, Felvin told us what he knew of Collux.  It was not much, and it was hard to separate fact from legend; still, he knew that Lysandra feared her brother greatly, and that knowledge was enough to keep us riding doggedly on, in the face of our horses' exhaustion and our own.

At nightfall we were still threading up the Wideway, a few scattered farms to either side marking the beginning of the castlelands.  Cressock called a halt, and we clustered together beside the road.

"We must know if this thing has happened," said Cressock gravely.

"Let me ride ahead," said Brody.  "I'll find out."

Cressock turned to Hollitch.  "What men have you in this valley?"

"You ask me to betray them?"

Cressock wheeled his horse around and pulled very close to Hollitch's mount.  "Quarros is likely dead," he said quietly.  "If he's not, he soon will be.  His life, and many others, depend on us.  This is no time for your scheming and secrets.  We band together as men, or we die as enemies."

Hollitch considered this—his old head bowed, his eyes restless and troubled.  At last, he nodded.  "Gin Applethorne," he said.

Cressock's eyes widened.  "The Master of the Hunt?"

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Hollitch smiled.  "We Termites burrow deeper than you know."

"After Quarros, nothing ought to surprise me," muttered Cressock.  "Yet this one does."

"He's a good man," said Hollitch.  "If you bring him harm, it's a blood debt between us."

Cressock looked wonderingly at the stooped old man who dared to threaten him.  Then he grinned.  "The Lodge it is, then," he said softly.  "If we must lay siege to our own castle, I can think of no better place."

*          *          *

Dryman Lodge was perched on a narrow shelf of rock just below the fierce peak that reared up at the castle's western side.  It was a sprawling, ponderous building of thick-cut wood, built for kings to escape to when the pressures of court weighed too heavily upon them.  Beyond it, on the western slope of the rise, a thick wild wood stretched on downward, mile after mile.  The wood was for hunting.  The lodge was for sanctuary.  Between them, they had kept kings sane.

We made our way along the western slope of the funneling valley, as Shamus and Brody had done a few days before.  Farm-lights winked below us, and the bleats of sheep rang out clearly in the silence of the night.  We made slow progress, hobbled by the need for secrecy.  It was well past midnight when we stood looking up at the hulking black shape of the Lodge.