Chapter 22

As Wolfram crept up the moonlit hill, he recalled how he'd once imagined attackers struggling up this path as stones and arrows rained down on them from the lavender wall. There were no defenders pelting them with projectiles that night, but it was unnerving to approach in full view of the battlements all the same. The Lavender Castle had never been taken in battle. Wolfram wondered whether that was about to change. Was this going to be a battle? He was an attacker infiltrating his lord's manor to supplant an occupying force, but his fantasies of soldiering had never been like this. He'd expected his first battle to take place on a grassy field surrounded by hundreds of knights bearing the colours of every county in the kingdom. That seemed a distant fantasy now.

Dunstan and the other four men weren't familiar with the way up the scaffolds, so Wolfram led the way. Between them they had two swords, four gambeson jackets, and a knife apiece. Not much of an arsenal to intimidate Aldrich and his dozen men. First they would need to sneak into the armoury and equip themselves, then force their way into the keep before anyone barred the doors.

They crept through the undergrowth, avoiding the castle gate until they were well away from the night watchman's window. Then they followed the east wall and retraced Wolfram's path down the hillside. It was harder climbing up the scaffolds than going down. The ladders shook and the boards bounced when subjected to the weight of multiple men, and Wolfram felt sure the rattling would alert someone to their approach. He kept glancing up at the ruined wall. Anyone might walk by on their way to the latrine and see them sneaking up like brigands. He told himself he was being paranoid; no one would brave the frigid wind when they could stay inside and use a night bucket. But perhaps a little paranoia served a soldier well at times like this.

When he reached the top of the scaffold, he crouched in the shadows of the ruined kitchen. Nothing moved in the courtyard's moonlight. To reach the armoury, they would have to cross to the other side of the bailey. The only way to get there without making themselves visible would be to sneak across in the shadow of the keep. That meant going right past the great hall.

"Go and stand by the doors," Dunstan said as he came to crouch beside Wolfram. "If anyone comes out while we're crossing, walk into them and pretend it was an accident. That should buy us a moment."

"Alright," Wolfram whispered. Sticking to the shadows, he crept along the wall of the kitchen passage until he reached the keep, then stopped by the doors. He motioned for Dunstan and the others to follow before realising they couldn't see him. The shadows had swallowed up all the light. He stood there, tense and apprehensive, his mind flashing back to the kiss he'd given Lavender. He hoped she was in the stable house, safely away from the commotion that was about to erupt. If the plan failed, he would be dismissed from the castle at best, put on trial or killed at worst. If that happened, he didn't want anyone to think Lavender had been involved.

A rustle of movement told him the other men were approaching.

"Go on," he whispered, letting them know where he was. He held his breath until they were all past, then followed at the rear. He heard a muffled laugh from inside the keep. Aldrich and the others were still awake.

Following the shadow of the lavender wall, they reached the armoury and tried the door. A warded iron lock and a wooden latch held it shut. When Dunstan pushed the ring handle, the door shifted and rattled, indicating that it was latched, but not locked. He gave a snort of distaste.

"Aldrich never bothers to lock it properly," Wolfram said.

Drawing his sword, Dunstan slipped the narrow blade into the gap between the door and its frame, then pushed upward. The latch lifted, and the door swung open. Had the castle been fully staffed, a guard might have been stationed inside at all hours, but that precaution had fallen by the wayside as Lord Erik's garrison dwindled. The armoury was cold and empty, pitch black in the darkness. Wolfram followed the right wall with his palm, moving carefully so as not to trip over anything. He heard a creak and a rattle behind him as Dunstan opened the chest containing the mail shirts. Wolfram's fingers touched an icy metal pommel as his foot knocked against the frame of the longsword stand. He felt his way carefully along the row of hilts until he found the sword with the rings on the guard. His favourite. He'd carried it with him several times when he was abroad in Elkinshire, but it had never been drawn in battle. He hadn't even sparred with it, for the wickedly keen edge was sharpened to kill. Wolfram lifted the sword out of the rack and held it close to his side. The other men armed themselves one at a time before donning the mail Dunstan passed out. Wolfram was sure anyone walking by would hear them. The noisy mail rattled with every movement as they groped awkwardly in the dark, and there was a thunderous crash when someone dropped a helmet on the floor. Dunstan cursed the man out under his breath, but, after several tense moments of silence, it appeared the noise had gone unnoticed.

Once he had his armour on, Wolfram's racing heart steadied a little. Mail covered his chest, arms, and thighs over a sturdy gambeson. He wore a pair of thick gloves with metal rings sewn into the backs of the hands and fingers. His breath steamed against his face behind the visor of a pot-shaped greathelm. A man clad like this could take a dozen strikes from a sword and suffer no more than a few nicks and bruises. He almost wanted a fight now. He'd been waiting years for his chance to face Aldrich. Equipped as he was, he didn't see how he could lose.

No sooner had the thought occurred to him than he chastised himself for it. He shouldn't be so eager to throw himself into harm's way. Armour did not make a man invincible, especially not when he was outnumbered. He would need all his wits about him if it came to a fight. He would need his soldier's paranoia.

A sudden rattle at the door made everyone start. Wolfram didn't have time to step back into the shadows before the door swung open and the light of a lantern shone on him. Illuminated by the flame, he saw Ben huddled in his winter cloak. Wolfram exhaled a tense breath. Ben hated Aldrich as much as anyone. He wouldn't side against them.

Too late, Wolfram realised his relief had been premature. Ben's eyes widened and his mouth opened in a cry of alarm as he saw a group of men in helmets arming themselves in the dead of night.

"Ben!" Wolfram hissed. "It's me! Shh! I'm here with Dunstan."

Ben hesitated at the sound of Wolfram's voice. He raised the lantern higher. "Wolf? What in god's name are you doing?"

They didn't have time to explain. Behind Ben, one of the keep doors cast a shaft of light into the courtyard as it swung open. Two men stepped out. Wolfram tried to move out of the lantern light, but he wasn't fast enough.

"Who's yelling?" one of the figures called. He grabbed his companion's arm when he saw Wolfram standing in the doorway. Ben, utterly bewildered, looked between them in confusion.

They had to act now. Wolfram heard the other men moving behind him like hounds poised to strike. They needed to get inside the keep before Aldrich's men barred the doors. Clutching the sheathed blade of his longsword in one hand, he dashed past Ben. Dunstan and the others followed. The man nearest the keep yelled in fear and tried to yank his companion inside. Wolfram's boots slammed into the earth, the heavy mail dragging at his thighs as he sprinted. The first man managed to get inside, but the other drunkenly stumbled and fell to his knees.

He only had a second to reach them. The fallen man picked himself up and the door began to close. Wolfram wouldn't make it. The door was halfway shut already. With one last burst of energy, he threw himself forward, shoving his boot into the crack and seizing the handle. The weight of the door hurt his foot, but it seemed to confuse the men on the other side. It took them a moment to realise what was happening, and that gave Wolfram the second he needed to wedge his body deeper into the crack. His muscles strained as he pushed back against the heavy oak, feeling its metal studs pinch his knee painfully. One of Aldrich's men yelled and hit him in the arm, but Wolfram barely felt it through his mail and jacket. The door shuddered as Dunstan threw his body against it. Hands reached in to shove at Wolfram's back, the other men adding their weight to his as they forced their way in like a human battering ram. Shouting erupted within the great hall. The element of surprise was still with them, but Wolfram knew this delay would cost them dearly. Instead of catching Aldrich completely unawares, he would have time to arm himself.

With a great heave, the resistance suddenly gave, and Wolfram stumbled through the doorway into the hall. The two men who'd been pushing back scrambled toward the high table where Aldrich stood with his sword in hand. Four other men had armed themselves, but everyone else still seemed confused by what was happening. Wolfram immediately turned toward the squires' corner. It gave him a glimmer of satisfaction to see that most of his brothers-in-arms were already on their feet and ready to defend themselves. They'd been trained well. He held up his free hand and lifted his visor.

"It's me and Dunstan!" he shouted over the ruckus. "We're getting rid of Aldrich and putting Lord Erik back in charge. You don't have to help us, but don't get in our way."

The squires looked even more confused. Only Gavin, who was holding a jug like he was ready to hurl it at someone, gave Wolfram a hesitant nod.

Father Everwin's voice rose over the commotion: "Everyone, lower your arms! There is no need for violence! Wolfram fetched Dunstan from the village at my insistence!"

Wolfram wondered how the chaplain knew where he'd gone, then his heart sank when he saw Meg and Lavender standing next to him. He should've known she'd try to help rather than keeping her head down. There was nothing to be done about it now, so he advanced with Dunstan and the others, keeping a wary eye on the squires in case the dynamic shifted. They were in a tense standoff, the squires in one corner, Aldrich and his men at the high table, and everyone else in between. The servants retreated to the walls as Dunstan stepped forward.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Ingrid shouted from her chair. "Put down your weapons and take those helmets off immediately!"

"I will," Dunstan replied evenly, "If your father commands me."

"I am the lady of this castle and I order you to lay down your arms!"

"We serve your father, not you." Dunstan's voice rose to address the hall. "And I think everyone here knows damned well that his authority isn't being respected. If he orders us to leave, then we'll leave, but I want to hear it from his own lips."

To Wolfram's relief, he heard murmurs of agreement from the onlookers. The tide was in their favour.

"Aldrich," Ingrid said, her voice quavering hysterically. "Arrest these men."

"My lady, stop this madness," Father Everwin said.

"Shut up!"

Aldrich advanced on Dunstan with his sword held ready. "Come on, old man. Put it down. We've got you outnumbered."

Dunstan didn't move. Aldrich licked his lips nervously. His men didn't have mail on, but they always wore gambesons and carried swords to remind everyone of their status. Those who hadn't been ready when the intruders burst in quickly armed themselves, though a few hesitated in their drunkenness. One man staggered foolishly as he tried to step forward. Another pair exchanged nervous grins as though they thought this was all a big joke. The rest seemed to have their wits about them, however. All told, they were six against twelve. Poor odds, but surmountable. The armour, training, and the clear heads of Dunstan and his men gave them an edge. Wolfram felt fear as he drew his longsword from its sheath, but it was controlled, wound tight like a spindle by the focus of his training.

Dunstan spoke up in one last attempt to avoid a fight: "Do you want to get yourselves killed?!"

Aldrich answered him with a forward step and an aggressive lunge. He wasn't close enough to hit, but the move made his intentions clear. He was too proud to back down. Dunstan retreated and raised his weapon. The four other men-at-arms, equipped with shields and arming swords, stepped forward to block the way. The sudden wall of wood and metal made Aldrich hesitate.

"Come on!" he called to his men. "There's only six of them!"

Wolfram spared one last glance at the squires. None of them had moved from the corner. He'd been hoping a few might fight by their side, but they were staying out of the way. He circled around as Aldrich's men crept forward to menace Dunstan's with their swords. Most of them were ignoring him, focusing on the small phalanx of shields instead. Only Willulf caught his eye and turned to meet him. Realising that he could distract the others and give Dunstan an opening to take the offensive, Wolfram yelled: "Yield!" and struck at Willulf with his longsword.

Then the fighting began.

Willulf yelped in surprise as the tip of Wolfram's blade swiped past him. The feint hadn't been intended to connect, but it provoked a wild counterattack from the plump-faced man that forced Wolfram to raise his blade in a high guard. He stepped back, knowing the reach of his weapon was his greatest advantage. Steel thumped on wood as Aldrich and his men laid into Dunstan's shields. There was a clash of metal and a cry of pain, then half a dozen screams as the servants fled the great hall. Wolfram could spare no attention on any of it–he needed his mind on his opponent–but as Willulf advanced again, he caught sight of Lavender running across the hall. His guard was slow, and Willulf's cut skated down his blade to catch on one of the steel rings at the hilt. Wolfram backed up again as the rush mats threatened to slip beneath his boots. Wary of his footing, he realised without thinking that he would stumble into one of the tables if he backed up again.

He took the offensive, throwing an aggressive cut at Willulf's torso. His opponent jumped back. Wolfram could have followed up, but he hesitated, favouring his defensive style over reckless aggression. Willulf attacked once more. Wolfram parried, countered, and again failed to connect. Despite his size, Willulf was surprisingly agile.

One of Dunstan's men let out a bellowing cry. Wolfram couldn't tell whether it was a shout of pain or triumph, but it reminded him that time was not on their side. They were outnumbered and needed to even the odds fast. He had armour; now was not the time to be cautious. The next time Willulf attacked, Wolfram threw a parry, turned his sword, and struck again. His heart leapt into his throat as he felt Willulf's sword slam into his arm, but his blood was up and if the blade met skin, he didn't feel it. Swinging straight through the cut, he brought his blade down on Willulf's shoulder and drew it backwards, splitting open his opponent's gambeson and the flesh beneath. Willulf screamed and fell, his sword rattling to the floor beside him. He was out of the fight. Wolfram stepped over him and advanced on the men attacking Dunstan.

Two more of their opponents had fallen, and some were still hanging back. Aldrich pressed on fearlessly, dodging a stab from Dunstan's longsword and kicking him hard in the knee. Dunstan's leg collapsed beneath him and he fell to the ground with a gasp of pain. Aldrich raised his sword for a killing blow, but before he could bring it down, he saw Wolfram coming from the side. He pivoted away, skipping backwards at the last second as Wolfram's sword flickered through the air inches from his face. Wolfram had put himself in a dangerous spot between the two groups of combatants, but he'd bought Dunstan a moment. He could either back off or press on. Dunstan still hadn't recovered himself, so Wolfram took the offensive. He turned to his left, swinging his sword in a wide arc as two of Aldrich's men advanced on him. The left-handed swing took them off guard. One backed away, but the other had his arm clipped and gasped in pain.

Trusting that they would leave him alone for a second, Wolfram raised a guard in front of himself and took a step forward. He hadn't even seen the attack coming from Aldrich, but he knew he'd left himself open. The instincts Dunstan had drilled into him served him well. A stab that would have driven the point of Aldrich's sword straight through his chest caught on the angle of his blade instead, deflecting it to the side where it ripped into the mail over his right bicep.

Aldrich retreated toward the parlour door. Wolfram knew he would leave his back exposed if he gave chase, but he trusted Dunstan and the others to protect him. He swung at Aldrich, driving him back with the deadly reach of his blade. Unlike their first fight, Wolfram was the one with better equipment and another two years of training behind him, but Aldrich had been training, too. He adapted quickly to Wolfram's left-handed attacks, minding the reach of the longsword as he backed away. The wine he'd been drinking didn't seem to have affected his ability to fight. He swirled his blade in the air, searching for a way past Wolfram's guard, and when he struck, it was with lightning speed. Wolfram had to take a step back as he parried, countered, was parried himself, and dodged out of the way of the riposte. The one-two clatter of steel on steel was nerve-wracking. One mistake, and it would all be over. Wolfram put his faith in his armour again, even though his arm was hurting where Aldrich ripped the mail. Advancing forward, he tried to push his opponent into the wall, but Aldrich was wary of his positioning and made for the parlour door before he could be backed into a corner. Wolfram felt a lurch of dismay when he thought of the people hiding inside. He pressed on, angling his sword for a thrust as Aldrich moved through the narrow doorway, but his opponent turned and ran before he could advance.

A hesitant thought tickled in the back of Wolfram's mind, telling him to turn back, that the fight in the hall was what mattered, but the anger he felt toward the man who'd killed his friend snuffed out the distraction. The parlour was packed with people stumbling to get out of the way as the two swordsmen came crashing through. Meg screamed as Aldrich grabbed her and shoved her in Wolfram's direction. He held the tip of his sword up toward the ceiling so he wouldn't cut anyone. Meg stumbled past him, and Aldrich used the opportunity to swing at Wolfram's chest. With no room to parry, he was forced to step back. The cut missed, but it gave Aldrich the space he needed to retreat again. He ran down the passageway to the kitchen. Wolfram chased after him. It would be difficult to fight in the dark stone corridor. Aldrich could see him more easily with the light from the parlour framing his silhouette, while Wolfram had to stare into blackness.

He was only a few paces into the passageway before Aldrich's sword came at him again. He moved to block, but the tip of his blade caught against the wall, making for an awkward guard that just barely intercepted the cut before it connected with his helmet. Wolfram could feel himself sweating. Aldrich knew what he was doing. He'd manoeuvred himself into a tight space where the length of Wolfram's sword was a hindrance, and the darkness made the limited visibility of his visor even worse. He had to guess as much as see where Aldrich's sword was coming from. Wolfram's fear coiled tight as he guarded again. Aldrich was in a good position now, attacking more aggressively, anticipating the thrusts of Wolfram's longsword because he knew there was no room for any wider attacks.

Wolfram tried to back up, but Aldrich didn't take the bait. Instead he retreated further into the darkness, taunting Wolfram to follow him.

"Come on." Aldrich's breathless words echoed in the confined space. "I'll get your mute little sweetheart when I'm done with you. Whip the skin off her back and set a couple of hunting hounds on her."

The tickle in the back of Wolfram's mind returned, urging him not to press on in this unnecessary fight, but again his anger at Aldrich overwhelmed it. He couldn't let him get away.

Wolfram stepped forward and lunged with the full length of his sword, but Aldrich was ready. He knocked the thrust aside and cut in at the same time, striking Wolfram's arm again where he'd torn the mail. Pain shot through Wolfram's bicep. His sword grip faltered, and when he brought his blade back up, the muscles in his arm burned. He couldn't fight like this. He was wounded, tired from the climb up the hill, and his strength was flagging. Aldrich retreated again, becoming almost invisible in the deepening shadows. The freedom of movement his shorter sword afforded him was making this easy. Wolfram tried to search for an opening, but every movement worsened the stinging burn in his arm.

Before his confidence deserted him, Wolfram let out a yell and threw himself forward. He didn't attempt to attack. The diagonal sweep of his blade was purely defensive, intended to knock Aldrich's sword aside so that it didn't impale him. There was a clatter of steel in the dark as their weapons collided. They twisted awkwardly, and once again Wolfram felt the end of his sword catching against the wall. He let go and allowed it to fall, continuing his reckless charge. Aldrich's sword arm was out of the way, and that was all he needed.

His opponent couldn't retreat fast enough to avoid the mad rush. Their bodies struck together with a rattle of mail. Wolfram drove his good shoulder into Aldrich's chest, then swung his head blindly. There was a thump as his helmet struck Aldrich's skull. The two of them fell to the ground, their swords ringing on the stone floor behind them. Wolfram couldn't see anything, but he could feel Aldrich's body beneath him. He punched and headbutted at the other man in a frenzy. Aldrich drove his knee up into Wolfram's groin. The sudden burst of pain threatened to wind him. Aldrich made a sudden movement, and the sharp point of a knife dug into Wolfram's side. He groped frantically for the other man's wrist, knowing that his mail might not save him from another stab. He felt Aldrich's hot breath gasping at him through his visor. His face was clammy, his palms sweaty, and his arm burned like fire. They writhed on the passage floor, kicking at clawing at each other like animals. Wolfram had Aldrich's wrist pinned, but he struggled to fight back with his injured arm. Aldrich managed to twist out from under him, turning the momentum in his favour.

Another body fell on them in the darkness. Wolfram saw a flail of long hair silhouetted in the parlour's light. Lavender's voice–the barely audible hiss of breath that only came out when she laughed or screamed–touched Wolfram's ears. Aldrich screamed in pain. Lavender's arm went up, pulling out the kitchen knife she'd driven into his back. She stabbed him again, then a third time, and his cry cut off in a wet gurgle as blood welled up in his throat. He writhed desperately, but Wolfram clutched his wrist as tight as he could, keeping the knife pinned so he couldn't attack Lavender.

It took a long time before Aldrich's body went lax and the gurgling stopped. His struggles grew weaker until he flopped to the floor beside Wolfram and the knife rattled out of his grasp. He was dead.

Wolfram picked himself up and unbuckled the strap of his helmet. He let it hit the floor as Lavender put an arm around him and helped him back to the parlour. Her free hand patted all over his body, searching for wounds she couldn't see.

"I think I'm alright," he panted. "He just got me in the arm."

Wolfram stooped to retrieve his sword as they went, though he no longer knew how well he would be able to use it. His arm hurt badly and his groin ached. To his surprise, it brought him no pleasure to know that Aldrich was dead, only relief. There was one less evil man in the world today.

As they approached the parlour, Wolfram's pace quickened. The sounds of fighting had stopped. One way or another, the violence seemed to be over. Lavender clung to him tightly as they looked out through the parlour door. Four of Aldrich's men, Willulf included, lay bleeding on the rush mats, either dead or too badly wounded to stand. Dunstan sat on a bench nursing his knee. The other men-at-arms had corralled their opponents into a corner where they'd thrown down their weapons and surrendered. The fight must have gone out of them after Aldrich fled.

Dunstan looked up when Wolfram came in. "Where's Aldrich?"

"Dead."

"Good. Bastard cracked my knee."

Wolfram looked around the hall. "What about Ingrid?"

"I don't know. She ran off somewhere when the fight started."

Wolfram's arm tensed around Lavender. "She might be with Lord Erik." He and Dunstan exchanged a grim look. Everything they'd done that night could only be justified as the actions of soldiers defending their lord. If Erik died, Ingrid's account of events would be all that mattered. She could appeal to the sheriff of Tannersfield and have them all hanged. She'd already poisoned her mother-in-law. Patricide didn't seem beyond her.

Wolfram let go of Lavender and ran for the stairs. She and Father Everwin followed close behind. They sprinted up the steps and found the solar door ajar. Wolfram's heart pounded against his ribs as he hurried to the far end of the hall and threw open the door to Lord Erik's sickroom. The baron lay on the floor beside his bed, the sheets tangled around his body.

"My lord," Father Everwin groaned, pushing past Wolfram as he hurried to Erik's side.

The baron stirred.

"Everwin," Erik mumbled. "Fell out of... my damned bed. I heard yelling."

Wolfram slumped against the door and grasped Lavender's hand, overwhelmed with relief. They hadn't been too late.

Everwin helped Erik up and sat him down on the edge of the mattress. He looked pale and sickly, his hair clinging to his face with sweat. Little wonder, if Ingrid had been keeping him drugged with sleeping remedies for days on end.

"What's going on?" he slurred, blinking hard and knuckling at his eyes.

"We have grim news for you, my lord," Father Everwin said. "But rest a moment. Cat, would you fetch us a basin of water and some hot tea?"

Lavender nodded and turned to go. Wolfram clung to her hand a moment longer.

"Be careful. We don't know where Ingrid went. Bring someone else with you when you come back."

She gave him a pained look and gestured at his arm. He tugged the damaged mail so he could see through it. There was a lot of blood on the skin underneath. The cut didn't look like it was too bad, but he'd probably made it worse by continuing to fight.

"Would you fetch Ellen for me? I think I'm going to need stitching. And see if you can get Dunstan to find Petra." He glanced back into Lord Erik's room. "We'll need her."

Lavender nodded and kissed his cheek before turning to go. Wolfram touched the spot where the warmth of her lips lingered. He felt the sudden urge to go with her. He didn't want to leave her side again. But the ache of his arm and the sense of duty he felt to Lord Erik kept him where he was. The night wasn't over yet. There was still every chance he would wake up a criminal tomorrow morning.

It would all depend on how the baron reacted to what they were about to tell him.