The Final Battle Read online

  About the Book

  Can one boy’s actions change the course of a war?

  Andalon is at war, and Caspan and his friends find themselves in the thick of the battle to save their land from the invading Roon. As they fly into the skies above enemy warships – Caspan on his drake, Roland on his manticore and Sara on her pegasus – they have no idea whether they will survive this dangerous mission.

  A chance encounter with a fleeing soldier could change everything, provided Caspan acts fast. Could Caspan’s new friend help to bring peace to Andalon?

  All will be revealed in the final battle.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 Haven’s Watch

  Chapter 2 The Quiet Before the Storm

  Chapter 3 Frostbite’s New Talent

  Chapter 4 Aerial Attack

  Chapter 5 Rocs

  Chapter 6 The Mangy Dog

  Chapter 7 Dragon Ships And Squalls

  Chapter 8 The Final Battle for the High Coast

  Chapter 9 The Victory Feast

  Chapter 10 Grave News

  Chapter 11 Lachlan

  Chapter 12 The Quest for Lip Smacker

  Chapter 13 In The Company of Friends

  Chapter 14 Rivergate

  Chapter 15 A Stranger in the Night

  Chapter 16 The Enemy of My Enemy

  Chapter 17 Caspan Volunteers

  Chapter 18 Roy Stewart

  Chapter 19 The Duke’s Camp

  Chapter 20 The Meeting at the Stone Circle

  Chapter 21 The March West

  Chapter 22 Shades of Grey

  Chapter 23 The Final Battle Begins

  Chapter 24 In The Thick of Battle

  Chapter 25 Highland Allies

  Chapter 26 Peace at Last

  Book One: The Scourge of Jericho

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright Notice

  Loved the book?

  To Ronan, my little buddy

  CHAPTER 1

  HAVEN’S WATCH

  The riders galloped along the snow-covered track.

  They were perhaps two dozen in number, hastily equipped, the steel-grey half-light of dawn glistening off their piecemeal armour. Some wore padded gambesons or leather jerkins beneath their thick winter cloaks. Only a few had time to don iron chestplates or chainmail hauberks. Even less were equipped with the conical helmets favoured by soldiers this far to the west. One man up front carried a lance, its shaft held high, bearing a banner of House Clayborne, its embroidered sea-eagle flapping in the wind.

  Normally they would be decked out in the full panoply of war, but they had been woken early this morning by the plaintive moan of a signal horn. Stirred from the downy-warmth of his bed, Caspan had hurried to the window of the room he shared with Roland and Shanty above the stables in Castle Crag. His sleep-filled eyes had flashed with alarm when he saw the glow of the distant fire over to the west, at Haven’s Watch.

  He rode now in the middle of the company, a heavy sword strapped by his thigh and an iron-bossed buckler jostling by the side of his mount. He alternated his hold on the reins to blow warmth into his hands. He wasn’t sure if he shivered due to the cold or the nervous anticipation of what awaited them at the headland.

  War was coming.

  Caspan could smell it in the waft of oiled mail that drifted in the breeze. He could taste it in the dry pit of his mouth. He could hear it heralded in the galloping hooves, the creaking of leather harnesses and bridles, the clanking of armour and weapons – swords that would soon enough be drawn and swung in defence of the west coast of Dannenland.

  Caspan glanced at the young Baron of the High Coast, Saxon Clayborne. He rode bareback at the head of the band, his sable-lined cloak flapping in his wake. Sheathed by his side was a broadsword, its leather grip stained with sweat, and he wore a buckskin jerkin reinforced with patches of scale mail. In his haste to lead his troops he had failed to find his boots. His pale feet were a stark contrast to the dark flanks of his warhorse.

  Saxon was seventeen; only two years older than Caspan, but the grim resolve in his eyes belied an experience well beyond his years. Only last month he had laid his father, the late Baron Cole Clayborne, to rest in the ancestral tomb beneath Castle Crag. Saxon had little time to bereave his loss and console his mother before a message arrived by raven, which bore the wolf seal of King Rhys MacDain. Saxon was to succeed his father and don the mantle of ruler of Castle Crag, the principal stronghold on the High Coast. It was a heavy burden assuming such a role at only seventeen, making him responsible for guarding merchant vessels from pirates along the western coast of Dannenland. Baron Cole had protected the territory for over two decades, ensuring trade and supplies reached their destinations. But the situation was very different now. Saxon didn’t face raids from the pirates of the Black Isles – but a Roon invasion force.

  Caspan thought back to when he had spied through the window of the central keep atop Tor O’Shawn, deep in Caledon, and overheard the meeting between the traitorous General Brett and Roy Stewart, the Laird of the Stewart Clan and leader of the combined highland army. They had discussed military tactics and revealed the location of their forces. The Caledonish army was to marshal in Sharn O’Kare Glen before heading south to conquer Lochinbar, the easternmost of Andalon’s three duchies. Meanwhile, two Roon armies would advance deep into Dannenland: a force of seven thousand giants located in the Pass of Westernese; and a fleet of a hundred dragon-headed raiding ships hiding in the Black Isles. It was a deadly three-pronged attack, designed to stretch King Rhys’s already exhausted and limited forces and lay siege to Briston. Once the royal capital was taken, the rest of the kingdom would crumble beneath their onslaught.

  That was why Caspan had been sent to assist with the defence of the High Coast. Duke Connal had summoned several members of the Brotherhood to return from the deserts of Salahara. They had all gathered at Briston before being divided into three groups: the first, under Master Morgan’s command, joined the army preparing to battle the Roon in the Pass of Westernese; Master Scott was sent with Duke Bran MacDain and Prince Dale to face Roy Stewart’s highland army; and Shanty commanded the final band of treasure hunters, sent to assist Saxon in the defence of the High Coast.

  Caspan and his friends had feared that they would be separated, assigned to different parts of the kingdom, but Duke Connal decided to keep them together. They worked well as a team and were familiar with Shanty’s leadership after their mission to Caledon. But Lachlan had been asked to stay behind in Briston, and Caspan felt their team wasn’t complete without him. Lachlan had stood by his side at the siege of Darrowmere, saved him at the skirmish at Mance O’Shea’s Break, and ventured alongside him and Roland into the trap-riddled burial mound deep in the Caledonish highlands. Lachlan had insisted that he was fine and fully recovered from the effects of the Dray armband. It had covered him in an exoskeleton of black metal and had almost killed him. But Arthur, the physician who had saved his life, insisted the boy remain under his care for a few more weeks.

  Caspan was drawn from his thoughts as the riders reached the headland at Haven’s Watch and reined in near the signal fire. One of the three sentries who had spent the night in cold, silent vigil rushed over, saluted Saxon and pointed out to sea.

  ‘It’s the Roon, my lord,’ he reported. ‘They’re coming!’

  Caspan sat up in his stirrups, shielded his eyes against the falling sleet and looked to the west. There, barely visible against the distant Black Isles, were dozens of white sails. They didn’t look threatening from this distance, more like children’s toys. But in his mind’s eye, Caspan pictured the
dragon heads carved into the prows of the galleys, the battle-scarred shields slung over the sides, and the fierce, pale-skinned, tattoo-covered giants staring at the coastline, blades of black steel gripped in their hands. He swallowed and turned to Shanty, the slender, well-dressed dwarf, who’d pulled up beside him.

  ‘It’s a large force,’ Caspan commented.

  Shanty nodded grimly. ‘Well, I’m glad, lad. We came here for a fight. I didn’t think the Roon were going to disappoint.’ The dwarf looked around the group, caught Kilt, Sara and Roland’s attention, and motioned with a subtle jerk of his chin for them to join him and Caspan away from the others. They gathered near a copse of trees at the edge of the headland.

  Roland rubbed the sleep from his eyes and yawned. ‘Maybe staying up late to play cards with the guards wasn’t the smartest thing to do.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ Sara remarked. ‘You knew the Roon were coming.’

  ‘Yeah, but not so early in the morning. I was hoping for a bit of a sleep-in.’

  Kilt rolled her green eyes. ‘How dare they.’

  ‘You’re telling me. Still, there was no way I was going to call it an early night.’ Roland jiggled his coin pouch. ‘I was on a roll.’ He stifled another yawn and pulled his cloak high around his neck. ‘I just hope I wake up soon.’

  Sara pointed at the waterskin hanging from his belt. ‘Why don’t you have some of your Slap Across the Face? That always seems to help.’

  Caspan grinned, thinking back to Roland’s impersonation of a squirrel the first time he drank the sickly sweet cider.

  ‘I finished it off last night,’ Roland moped and glanced at Shanty. ‘You don’t have any of your ginger cider left?’ The dwarf shook his head, and Roland clicked his tongue disappointedly. ‘I thought I’d be pushing my luck. Still, when cellars fail, nature provides.’ He tilted back his head and caught some sleet on his tongue.

  ‘It’s just as well we’re resting our Wardens,’ Kilt said. ‘They’ll have a big day ahead of them.’

  ‘We all will,’ Shanty replied. One of Saxon’s soldiers rode around the group to inspect the beach nestled in the cove beneath the headland. Shanty waited for him to move off before beckoning his companions to come closer. ‘Just stick to the roles we’ve been assigned and hopefully we’ll get through the day in one piece. I won’t lie to you: the fighting’s going to be fierce. Keep your heads down and your Wardens by your sides.’

  Caspan nodded doggedly. They had to prevent the Roon navy from landing and gaining a foothold on the coast at all costs. They were part of a disparate band of defenders who had answered Saxon’s call from all sections of the High Coast. There were units of militia raised from local fishing villages, the household guard of Castle Crag, and the veteran warriors of the First Legion, who had made the journey north from the southern city ports. Even a force of over a hundred pirates had rallied to Saxon’s side, driven by the Roon from their haven of the Black Isles. The army was ostensibly under Saxon’s control, being the new ruler of Castle Crag. But Caspan had attended several war councils since arriving in the stronghold last week, and whilst Saxon knew the terrain along the coast and had plenty of experience in skirmishes with pirate vessels, never before had he faced an invasion force of thousands and he wisely deferred to the advice of the experienced legion commanders.

  Caspan looked across at the opposite headland, where a large group of riders gathered around a second burning signal pyre. A banner flapping at the head of a raised spear identified them as soldiers of the First Legion. They were camped in the leeward side of the headland, behind a sheltering stretch of trees on a field that bordered the road leading to Castle Crag. Caspan was learning more about battlefield tactics every day and believed it was a good location. It was within easy reach of the cove and allowed supply wagons to be brought up to the tents. Once the command was given, the legion could rally on the beach within a few minutes.

  The plan was to stop the Roon from landing on the beach, but defences had been built regardless. Caspan nudged his mount closer to the edge of the cliff and leaned forward to peer down into the cove. It was low tide, revealing the massive wooden stakes driven deep into the pebble beach and pointing out to sea. Once the tide rose, the wooden stakes would be concealed beneath the waves and hopefully crack and disable the hulls of the Roon vessels. This would force the giants to leap overboard and wade ashore in a disorganised mess. They would then have the archers to deal with, who were positioned atop both headlands and the grassy hillock at the rear of the beach, the seaward side of which bristled with stakes. A deep trench dug immediately in front of this was filled with oil-filled pig bladders, which would erupt in flames once pierced with incendiary arrows. Trapped between the cliffs, the sea and the flaming trench, the Roon would perish beneath the feathered storm of death.

  Caspan shifted his gaze to the opposite headland and studied the mounted figure at the head of the soldiers. General Liam White, the leader of the First Legion, sat straight in his saddle, staring out to sea, his gloved hands rested on the pommel of the great broadsword strapped by his side. If not for the slight stirring of his cloak he might have been mistaken for a statue, erected atop the cliff as a warning to all invaders of the proud warriors who defended these lands.

  Liam was a tall, broad-shouldered man with narrow, dark eyes that revealed little warmth. His features were set permanently in a brooding scowl, hardened by a lifetime of soldiery. But he was nothing as terrifying as the Warden that waited dutifully by his side.

  Liam had been awarded one of the magical guardians the Brotherhood had supplied to King Rhys. But unlike the treasure hunters’ Wardens, which they befriended and treated with great respect, the General’s giant bear was trained to kill. He had a starved, demented look in his eyes and growled whenever anybody other than Liam approached. His black fur was covered in countless scars, his left ear was missing, and one of his lower incisors jutted forward, over his jowl. The Warden was a hulking mass of muscle, larger than a draught horse, toughened by years of war to become the perfect killing machine. The General never dismissed him, instead keeping him as his constant guardian. He was called Maul.

  Shanty had cautioned the friends that they should consider Maul as a sombre warning of what happens to a Warden when it was unable to return to the astral plane. The magical beast would be trapped forever in the Four Kingdoms. It would never be able to magically heal itself. Worst of all, it would become mortal.

  Caspan fingered the metal figurine hanging around his neck and vowed that he would never misplace Frostbite’s soul key. Nor would he do anything that would turn Frostbite into a cold-blooded killer. Today they would participate in the battle, but they were assigned a role that would hopefully keep them well away from the enemies’ blades.

  Roland touched heels to his mount’s flanks and moved closer to Caspan. ‘They’re an impressive sight,’ he commented, staring across at the General and his Warden. ‘I pity the Roon that face them.’

  Caspan nodded, thankful he wouldn’t be anywhere near the beachhead, which was under the General’s control.

  ‘So you’re sure these pig bladder thingies are going to work?’ Roland asked.

  Caspan drew his gaze from the General to regard Roland. He looked comical in the blue Strathboogie bonnet he had kept from their mission into Caledon and now wore everywhere. Caspan smiled in spite of his anxiety.

  ‘The tactic worked fine during the siege of Darrowmere,’ Caspan replied. He thought back to the night raid when he, Lachlan and Master Morgan took to the sky atop Talon, Lachlan’s guardian griffin, and dropped ignited oil bladders onto the unsuspecting Roon army, causing chaos in their ranks. ‘Only this time we’re going to drop them on Roon ships. With any luck, we’ll be able to stop them long before they get anywhere near the beach.’

  Roland rubbed his hands excitedly and shifted restlessly in his saddle. ‘This is going to be epic!’

  Roland had a remarkable capacity for making lighthearted humour out of eve
n the most serious of situations. In this instance, though, Caspan thought it was naive and dangerous.

  ‘I’m not sure epic is the word I’d use to describe a battle,’ Caspan cautioned.

  Roland mulled his comment over for a moment before shrugging. ‘Okay, how about “classic” then?’

  Caspan drew a patient breath and gazed back at the Roon armada. He wondered if he, Roland and Sara would be able to stop so many ships. Even with their Wardens helping them, they’d only be six against what he could only guess must be over a hundred sleek and fast raiding vessels. Back in Tor O’Shawn, General Brett had revealed that three thousand Roon were aboard the ships. Caspan doubted they’d be able to take all of them out, but they had to try.

  ‘We’re the first line of defence against the Roon invasion force,’ he said sombrely, mentally rehearsing the plan Saxon and the officers of the First Legion had finalised earlier this week. ‘Should any ships get past us, they’ll be intercepted by Saxon’s fleet.’

  ‘And don’t forget the pirates who rallied to his side,’ Roland added. ‘I know we need to do the aerial attack and all, but wouldn’t it have been great to have been posted with the pirates? Imagine standing beside Captain Panter Grinn on the deck of his ship, the Mangy Dog. Ah, it makes the blood stir just thinking about it.’

  Caspan gave his friend a concerned look. ‘He’s a pirate, Roland. He makes a living out of plundering innocent merchant vessels. Saxon only accepted Grinn’s offer of help because he’s in desperate need of ships. Otherwise, he would have clapped him and his crew in irons and locked them up in the dungeon.’