Roland's Castle (16 page)

The landscape of mire was sustained
for a few minutes as Roland and his forces continued to close on
the enemy, then suddenly it all changed again. Now they were in
thick impenetrable forest.

“What good is this!” cried
Roland.

“We have come to a stalemate,” the
land surveyor said, gasping with the exertion of it, “This is what
often happens in such a head-to-head between land surveyors , it
ends up when no party can make a move. Just thank goodness it isn’t
an ocean!”

“Can that happen?” Savitri
asked.

“That’s why all land surveyors can
swim – and their assistants.” The land surveyor said, “Swimming
lessons are compulsory at surveying school.”

The surveyor struggled to undo the
forest. With a flash another scene appeared; it was rich pasture
with cows and sheep but few landmarks – perfect attacking
territory.

“We need an advantage,” Roland
said.

The land surveyor worked again and
as a result they were on a small hill looking down on Dagarth and
his forces, but then that was undone and they found themselves in a
quarry with the attackers looking down on them.

Ah ha! "Surrender!" Dagarth
commanded.

But before they could speak the
land surveyor had waved his theod-a-ma-thingy-ma-jig and the armies
were hundreds of yards apart again, with nothing but fields between
them

“That was close,” Roland said. Then
he noticed that the land surveyor was totally exhausted. The man
was almost falling out of his saddle. It was all too much for
him.

“I am sorry,” he said, “I can only
think that they have more than one land surveyor on their side –
possibly an army of them. I cannot stand against it much
longer.”

Yet again he worked his magic to
create a landscape on which the defenders had the advantage,
positioned right above the attackers with a slope down towards
them. Roland took his chance and cried, “Attack!”

The sun warriors fell upon
Dagarth’s forces and there was the clash of steel on steel.
Meanwhile the land surveyor fought to maintain the landscape he had
created, but, finally, it changed again to the attackers favour. At
this point the surveyor gave a cry of despair, the like of which
Roland had never heard before. He fell from his horse and lay on
his back, , his assistants leaning over him and looking bereft.
Roland dismounted and also went to his side.

“I am sorry,” He said to Roland, “I
have let you down.”

“No! I am sorry – very sorry,”
Roland said, “I had no idea this would be so costly for you. You
deserved better than to be caught up in this. You have done
well.”

The surveyor grabbed Roland’s hand
and pressed a new map into it, “Here,” he said, pointing to a mark
on it, “This is the land as it is now. I cannot change it any more,
but I have managed to put a snicket into it to enable you to escape
to the Scary Oak and safety – here, see!”

“Thank you,” said Roland, “Thank
you very much for all you have done,”

The man nodded an acknowledgment,
and with that he died.

The landscape now belonged to the
attackers and their own surveyors. Roland watched as the scuttler
made its way to the castle, forded the moat and began to gnaw
greedily on the stone walls. Meanwhile the sun warriors fought on,
but were no match for the Spirus, who’s dark armour seemed to
deflect every blow like a mirror deflects the rays of the sun. One
after another the warriors of the sun crumbled beneath the blows of
the Spirus, their armour simply folding as their fiery steeds
stumbled and gave way. Now dull and decayed, each of the warriors
fell to the ground and faded into the dust.

At the castle the villagers rained
arrows down on the scuttler, but it was no good. It burst through
the wall and into the courtyard. The attackers had been so
confident they had not even bothered to drain the moat. The Spirus
simply waded it with the water over their heads and followed the
beast into the castle and Dagarth’s men waited for the drawbridge
to be lowered and then marched in triumphantly.

There was no question that the
battle was lost. Even Savitri knew it. She rode towards Roland. “We
must get you to safety,” she said.

“No! I must fight on!” he shouted,
feeling the anger in every bone and muscle, smelling the rage of
ballet in his nostrils. He brandished his sword and reined in his
horse to prepare for another charge at the enemy. Despite the
defeat of his forces he was heady with the fumes of battle and was
determined to seek victory at any cost.

“No!” Savitri yelled, grabbing the
reins of Roland’s horse. “Victory belongs to us tomorrow! For now
we must retreat!”

Roland started to see reason. If
even Savitri was against fighting, then it was time to turn. he
looked down again at the land surveyor, “He was a good man. I wish
we had time to bury him.”

“We will in due course,” Savitri
said, but now, I must take you to safety, my liege!

Soon they were on top of the hill
of the Scary Oak and looking across at the castle. Once more it was
a ruin, with fire and smoke rising up from it. Roland was choked
with frustration at not being able to do anything about it.

“I wish I knew what was going on in
there,” he said.

“Its nothing good,” Savitri said,
“But we will have our revenge for this.”

“Say that again,” Roland said, “It
makes me feel better!”

“
We will have our revenge for
this!
” Savitri repeated, more loudly, as she waved her sword
aggressively.

“You do have a wonderful way with
swords!” Roland said.

Roland and Savitri arrived back in
the Fortressers' Hall to be greeted by Brother goodwill, who was in
a right old two-and-eight, “Oh my goodness! My goodness! How
terrible! All the death and destruction! I wish I could see a
positive side to it! I am sure I can! If only I could….”

“If he can’t see a positive side
then there is a problem,” Savitri said.

“Perhaps it’s just that the most
optimistic are the first to crumble,” Roland suggested,
defiantly.

At that moment Oliver entered and
rushed up to Roland, “thank goodness you are alright – and you
too,” and he nodded to Savitri, who smiled back.

“Where is Firebrace?” Roland asked,
looking around and not seeing him.

Oliver looked downwards, “He would
not retreat into the tower when the scuttler came through the
walls. Everyone else retreated into the tower but – he insisted on
staying and fighting. He was angry – I have never seen anyone so
angry. It was like he was possessed.”

“We must find out if he is alive or
dead,” Roland said, “That must be our first priority.”

“You must rest first,” said Brother
Stalwart. “It has been a long day, a terrible day.”

“I will not rest until I know
Firebrace is safe,” Roland said. “And if he is hurt, I will have
Dagarth’s blood on my sword by sunset – and the rest of them.”

He took a few steps towards the
exit but tiredness bettered him. He staggered and almost fell.

“Perhaps you are right. I can do
nothing like this,” and he cursed in frustration.

Roland dreamt deeply. At first he
dreamt of the battle, reliving it as a nightmare in which he tried
continually to fight his way back to the castle but was unable to
do so due to an army of Spirusses that were in his way. There was a
forest of them, like the forest that the enemy land surveyor had
conjured. They stood firm, too strong to push aside, impervious to
the blows of his sword.

With the impossibility of it his
mind turned to other things. He dreamt of his mother. He could not
remember anything of the time when she had been alive, he had been
too young then, but he always felt that he knew what she had been
like. It was if a part of her somehow remained for him, as if she
was always here somewhere, with him, around him. He could not
explain it. Now he dreamt of her hands reaching down from above, as
if reaching into his cot to sweep him up.

At that moment he was awoken.

Savitri was saying, “If you want to
see Firebrace now is the best time, we think. Dagarth’s soldiers
have been celebrating but it is late, and they are asleep or off
their guard.”

Back in the Fortressers’ Great Hall
Roland and friends considered how he might find Firebrace.

“I can’t just go wandering about
asking for him,” Roland said.

“If I might suggest, a disguise of
some sort…” said Brother Goodwill.

“Been there, done that,” said
Oliver

“They might not expect it again,”
Savitri said.

“Why not?” asked Roland, “A case of
try, try and try again. This time we do it better! We just need to
decide which disguise.”

Brother Goodwill said, “In my
experience someone bound not to stand out, who doesn’t attract
attention or even get noticed.”

“Sounds like me,” Oliver said.

“I always notice you,” Roland
said.

“Yes, but the rest of
your
lot
don’t – the nobs, I mean. No one ever notices a humble
servant.”

“Then I must be humble and serve!”
Roland said.

“Great!” said Savitri.

“You will need to be dirty!”

“I have just been in battle,”
Roland protested.

“No,” said Oliver, “
Really
dirty
– like you have done a proper days work. Smuts and dirt
streaks on your face, a torn jerkin and some holey hose, a whiff of
the kitchen about you. You will make a great kitchen boy!” He went
to the fire and brought back some soot, “Here, try some of this l
on your face,” He rubbed it on. “Fantastic! You are beginning to
look the part of a downtrodden serf – just like Dagarth’s people
look!”

“Ever so humble to serve you,”
Roland said, in a serflike voice, and tugged his forelock.

“Great!” Said Oliver, “Just
remember not to look the guards in the eye – they won’t expect you
to and they might recognise you if you do. The more cowed and
subservient you are, the better your disguise will work.”

“I still don’t know how I am going
to find Firebrace. They could be holding him anywhere.”

“There is no alternative to
searching, I suppose,” Oliver said: “If you are asked what you are
doing, just say you are lost, you arrived with the attackers and
don’t know your way around yet. Lots of people will be in the same
position so no one will think it odd.”

“Here’s an even better idea,”
Savitri said “– say you are taking some food to the prisoner – the
old prisoner – and ask for directions.”

“I will need some food to take,”
said Roland.

“One meal fit only for a detested
enemy prisoner coming up!” said Brother Goodwill, “I shall even
spit in it myself!” and he bustled off to cook it.

“Just don’t ask anyone who might
recognise you – or even go near them!” Oliver warned.

“I think I got that,” Roland
said.

The meal was cooked – and spat in.
Meanwhile Roland had been garbed as an ever-so-humble kitchen boy.
With his face blackened and his clothes torn and dirtied, he made
his way to the bottom of the unfinished tower. He took care that no
one noticed him coming out of the tower and even circled around a
bit to make it look like he had come from the kitchens.

In the courtyard the ghastly
scuttler was now at rest in the centre. Groups of soldiers were
standing around, shouting and joking and being boisterous. Roland
took a deep breath and approached the nearest group, but before he
could reach them they saw him, “Hey! You lad! You brought our
supper?” one called out.

Roland averted his eyes as advised,
“No sir, this is for the prisoner – the old prisoner – fire
something or other….”

“Old Firebricks!” laughed another
of the soldiers.

“Looks like he eats better than we
do,” said another of them, peering into the plate and then spitting
into it, “There lad – give it ‘im with my compliments!” and he
bowed mockingly. They all roared with laughter.

I’ll get him for that later, Roland
thought, but meanwhile he had to find out where Firebrace was. “Can
you tell me where he is?” he asked, trying to disguise his voice
and sound serflike.

“Oh sure lad, why, he’s up there
perched on top of the unfinished tower!” said one soldier,
pointing. They all clearly thought that this was hilarious as they
laughed as before. “You climb up there lad – we’ll give you a
hand!”

Hilarious, Roland thought
sarcastically.

“No he ain't, said another, “He’s
on top of the battlements telling the whole countryside what to do
like the lord and master that he is! He’s still defending the
castle like he owns the place!”

“Now then! What's all this?” came a
shout, and the form of Serjeant Jankers emerged from the darkness.
Roland looked down at the ground. For all his bellowing Serjeant
Jankers actually had a brain and he knew Roland by sight. If anyone
was likely to recognise him, it would be the Serjeant…

“What you up to lad? The Serjeant
barked sharply, coming right up close to Roland.

“food for the old prisoner, sir,”
said Roland, looking at the ground as hard as he could.

Jankers shouted, in staccato
sergeant-major fashion, “Left hand side of the gatehouse! Turn
right. Ask the guard to open the cell door,
for
you
!

Roland didn’t need telling once to
hurry away. In the background he could hear Jankers shouting, “And
you lot are a disgrace! You are
a
sight! What are you! Now
get yourselves tided up before you all end up on
a
FIZZER
!”

Roland did as he was bid and made
his way to the gatehouse double quick smart. He went too fast,
though, because he rushed into the entrance of the gatehouse to
find himself faced with Dagarth, Bril-a-Brag and Gloatenglorp
having a lively argument.

Bril-a-Brag said, “We need to set
the boy a deadline – he gives himself up in two hours or the old
fool dies…”