Shadow Weaver (Back on Wattpad 2020!)

Chapter 20

After miles of vast flat forests, hamlets and villages the Lyndonian fort emerges on the horizon. It stands in the center of a frozen lake, six towers reaching to the leaden sky. During the heart of winter the lake ice would be thick enough to walk across, but now its surface shimmers with cracks in the dawn half-light. And even if you could cross it, the smooth, damp walls would be almost impossible to climb. Besides, the guards in the towers have already spotted our arrival. Apparently, Lyndonia is not a place one enters or exits without being accounted for. I could never have made it inside without the Prince. My stomach twists. When I find Kel, how will I get him out of here?

We gallop around the shoreline towards a wooden bridge, the fort's only access. Four guards on horseback appear and head us off. Helmets shield their faces. Armour covers their breasts, and longswords hang by their thighs. As they circle us, Tug slips his hand beneath his saddle where he keeps his extra knife. Jakut's shoulders straighten. His expression at once arrogant and aloof.

"We must ask you to move on," a guard shouts. "There is sickness in Lyndonia. It is forbidden to enter or leave the fort at this time."

"Whose orders do you follow?" the Prince asks.

"His Royal Highness Prince Roarhil, Duke of Rathesyde."

"Perhaps you could tell my uncle his nephew is here."

The guard reins his horse to a halt. He drops from his stallion and takes off his helmet. Jakut dismounts and closes the gap between them.

"Commander Fror?" he says, "is that you?"

The commander's wide face shifts with recognition and confusion. "Your Royal Highness," he says bowing. "Prince Jakut, please accept my apologies. It has been a long time." The other guards follow his lead, dismounting and bowing.

I watch Jakut with a growing sense of disquiet. The risk he's just taken is dangerous and unnecessary. He has hazarded a guess based on Deadran's description of a man with a hoarse voice, reputed for his giant moustache being the head of the Duke's army.

"Deadran has not changed so much these ten years," the Prince says. "You must recognize him."

Deadran nods in their general direction.

"Of course," Fror answers. Confusion flutters behind his gaze again. I can almost feel the questions pouring through his mind. Not least of all, why the missing heir to the throne has arrived at his uncle's castle with his old, blind tutor, two thugs and a girl.

"Well," the Prince says. "I am sure we have taken you by surprise. And what is this sickness you speak of?"

"The pox, Your Royal Highness," the commander says.

"A strange time for such a virus to spread, is it not? Usually, we are safe from such things until mid-summer. Nevertheless, I have had the pox. You must not concern yourself on my account."

Jakut returns to his horse and mounts with graceful ease. Fror hesitates. The Prince searches about expectantly.

"Something wrong, Commander? It has been a long ride. I am hungry and I wish to speak with my uncle."

"Your Royal Highness." Fror bows his head in compliance, but uncertainty shadows his movements as he returns to his horse.

The commander rides at the head of our group, a guard on each side of us and one at the rear. As our horses clatter across the pier stretching into the lake, there comes a shout from the bell tower. A drawbridge lowers connecting the pier with the fort's archway. Ahead of me, Tug tilts his head to the spiked portcullis, the armed soldiers on the walls and in the towers, and I wonder if he's thinking what I'm thinking: The Duke looks like he's anticipating an imminent attack.