Late June, 1617
Imbre Castle loomed over the landscape, her walls lined with armed men. Just out of range of arrows and catapults, ready to storm the gate when the time came, a force of rebels waited, eyeing the raised drawbridge with quiet conviction. They had to believe that drawbridge would be lowered soon. If it was not ....no one wanted to consider trying to storm these walls with less than a thousand men.
Deep inside the rock on which the castle was built, their counterparts - a scant twenty or so - felt their way carefully through rough-hewn tunnels slick with water and slime, climbing ever upwards and into the heart of Imbre. It had never fallen to a siege, but this was no ordinary siege. This attack was lead by the man out of time, the Goddess' gift to the rightful king of Coimbra and his troops, with his unique knowledge of the castle's secrets and weaknesses. Miles to the south, King Tralin himself would be taking back Nanairna, the original seat of power, but here and now, all the focus was on stripping Angus Dalgleish of his ill-gotten power.
The twenty or so men who were feeling their way through the castle's innards were led by a reluctant hero - a man who was more scholar than soldier, but who'd accepted his fate in answer to a prayer. He had not had to impress upon any of these men the importance of their mission; they knew this already, so much, in fact, that their very lives depended on its success. He had impressed on them the importance of silence, but that much seemed to have gone without saying. He was the only one of them who was capable of leading the way, the only one who had traveled this passage before, not in the past, but in the future.
At his side was his newly-wedded wife, a woman who would have stayed at his side whether he married her or not. She walked carefully at his back, reassured by the subtle creak of leather armor all around her, the gentle scrape of weapons in sheaths. Her hand touched Malcolm's back as the end of the passage loomed before them.
"How do we open it?"
Malcolm smiled at the question, already knowing the answer, though inwardly, he was terrified of being wrong. What he knew of the castle was what had been written in history books and found upon exploration of the castle and grounds. He had explored this passage countless times, but he had no way of knowing for sure what was on the other side this particular day. He could only go by what he knew of the past and hope the history that had been recorded was accurate.
"Just push," he whispered back. "But slowly and carefully," he urged, as they couldn't know if anyone was on the other side.
"All right." Her hand bunched in his armor, gently pulling him to one side as she gestured for a few of the men to step forward and push gradually against the heavy wood. "Dalgleish is likely in the hall or the chapel," she murmured to her husband softly. "There'll be guards, but you'll have a clean run to him, I'd expect. We'll get the drawbridge down, soon as we can."
"We'll have to split up," he whispered, frowning at the thought of that. He didn't really like the thought of that, but they'd been over this a dozen times already and hadn't come up with a better plan. "Leave Dalgleish to me. Don't go anywhere near him, ye ken?" he asked her, with a look that brooked no argument. It wasn't often he put his foot down, but he didn't want her going anywhere near the man.
"Aye, we will," she agreed quietly, but frowned in the flicker of torchlight at his order. "Fine," she allowed. "But don't you go tryin' to fight him by yourself. He's not as slow as he seems, and he's tricks a-plenty. Poison on his blades, too. I didn't marry you just to become a widow, Malcolm Anderson."
"Don't you worry about me. I have no plans on leaving you," he assured her, in no uncertain terms, sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close for one last kiss before the rest of their plan got underway. It didn't much matter to him that the twenty or so men they were leading were watching. Let them understand how much was at stake. "You be careful. Take no unnecessary risks," he whispered a warning.
Her lips lingered against his for a long moment, leather-clad fingers touching his jaw as she leaned into him. "I'd tell you the same, but you're not listening anyway," she pointed out in a rueful tone. "You die, I'm going to dig you up and pretend you're alive just to humiliate your corpse. Got it?"
He couldn't help but smirk at her warning. If he was dead, he wouldn't much care, but he had no intentions on dying. For the first time in years, he had something to live for. "Aye," he replied, touching his nose to hers. "Now, go give 'em hell, lass."
"Aye, you too." She kissed him once more, a swift brush of lip to lip that burned, pulling away to nod to the men who were waiting for their orders. "Jamie, Gregory, let's go."
"May the Goddess keep you safe," he murmured a quiet prayer for her sake. She had once prayed for a miracle and he'd arrived to save her; now he was praying for a miracle, too. The future and the fate of all Coimbra lay in their hands. "Come, lads. Today, we free Imbre from its oppressor."
As the majority of the rebels slipped from the passage in Rosemary's wake, focused on taking the gatehouse and opening the way for the rest of the force waiting outside, the handful that remained shared wild grins at the prospect of sticking it to Dalgleish and his turncoat ways once and for all.
"We've your back, Anderson."
"Aye, let's go," he told his men as he led the way past the door and into the heart of the castle. Though his insides were tied up in nervous knots, outwardly he appeared like the courageous knight they all hoped he was. There was no turning back now. It was Dalgleish or him, and he was determined for it not to be him.
The garrison within the castle was not large. No one had been expecting an attack by the rebels on a castle known for being impossible to take by siege. As a result, the passageways were virtually deserted, the sounds of fighting by the gatehouse barely discernible as the small group crept toward the heart of the fortress. The hall and chapel were opposite one another, four guards standing between them. Malcolm's men fell on them fast and hard, barely a gasp escaping as life fled.
But where would they find the enemy' Without saying a word, Malcolm gestured for half his men to go one way, while half went the other. If Dalgleish wasn't in the chapel, then the hall was only a few feet away. He wasn't interested in shedding innocent blood; only those who stood in their way.
Imbre Castle loomed over the landscape, her walls lined with armed men. Just out of range of arrows and catapults, ready to storm the gate when the time came, a force of rebels waited, eyeing the raised drawbridge with quiet conviction. They had to believe that drawbridge would be lowered soon. If it was not ....no one wanted to consider trying to storm these walls with less than a thousand men.
Deep inside the rock on which the castle was built, their counterparts - a scant twenty or so - felt their way carefully through rough-hewn tunnels slick with water and slime, climbing ever upwards and into the heart of Imbre. It had never fallen to a siege, but this was no ordinary siege. This attack was lead by the man out of time, the Goddess' gift to the rightful king of Coimbra and his troops, with his unique knowledge of the castle's secrets and weaknesses. Miles to the south, King Tralin himself would be taking back Nanairna, the original seat of power, but here and now, all the focus was on stripping Angus Dalgleish of his ill-gotten power.
The twenty or so men who were feeling their way through the castle's innards were led by a reluctant hero - a man who was more scholar than soldier, but who'd accepted his fate in answer to a prayer. He had not had to impress upon any of these men the importance of their mission; they knew this already, so much, in fact, that their very lives depended on its success. He had impressed on them the importance of silence, but that much seemed to have gone without saying. He was the only one of them who was capable of leading the way, the only one who had traveled this passage before, not in the past, but in the future.
At his side was his newly-wedded wife, a woman who would have stayed at his side whether he married her or not. She walked carefully at his back, reassured by the subtle creak of leather armor all around her, the gentle scrape of weapons in sheaths. Her hand touched Malcolm's back as the end of the passage loomed before them.
"How do we open it?"
Malcolm smiled at the question, already knowing the answer, though inwardly, he was terrified of being wrong. What he knew of the castle was what had been written in history books and found upon exploration of the castle and grounds. He had explored this passage countless times, but he had no way of knowing for sure what was on the other side this particular day. He could only go by what he knew of the past and hope the history that had been recorded was accurate.
"Just push," he whispered back. "But slowly and carefully," he urged, as they couldn't know if anyone was on the other side.
"All right." Her hand bunched in his armor, gently pulling him to one side as she gestured for a few of the men to step forward and push gradually against the heavy wood. "Dalgleish is likely in the hall or the chapel," she murmured to her husband softly. "There'll be guards, but you'll have a clean run to him, I'd expect. We'll get the drawbridge down, soon as we can."
"We'll have to split up," he whispered, frowning at the thought of that. He didn't really like the thought of that, but they'd been over this a dozen times already and hadn't come up with a better plan. "Leave Dalgleish to me. Don't go anywhere near him, ye ken?" he asked her, with a look that brooked no argument. It wasn't often he put his foot down, but he didn't want her going anywhere near the man.
"Aye, we will," she agreed quietly, but frowned in the flicker of torchlight at his order. "Fine," she allowed. "But don't you go tryin' to fight him by yourself. He's not as slow as he seems, and he's tricks a-plenty. Poison on his blades, too. I didn't marry you just to become a widow, Malcolm Anderson."
"Don't you worry about me. I have no plans on leaving you," he assured her, in no uncertain terms, sliding an arm around her waist to pull her close for one last kiss before the rest of their plan got underway. It didn't much matter to him that the twenty or so men they were leading were watching. Let them understand how much was at stake. "You be careful. Take no unnecessary risks," he whispered a warning.
Her lips lingered against his for a long moment, leather-clad fingers touching his jaw as she leaned into him. "I'd tell you the same, but you're not listening anyway," she pointed out in a rueful tone. "You die, I'm going to dig you up and pretend you're alive just to humiliate your corpse. Got it?"
He couldn't help but smirk at her warning. If he was dead, he wouldn't much care, but he had no intentions on dying. For the first time in years, he had something to live for. "Aye," he replied, touching his nose to hers. "Now, go give 'em hell, lass."
"Aye, you too." She kissed him once more, a swift brush of lip to lip that burned, pulling away to nod to the men who were waiting for their orders. "Jamie, Gregory, let's go."
"May the Goddess keep you safe," he murmured a quiet prayer for her sake. She had once prayed for a miracle and he'd arrived to save her; now he was praying for a miracle, too. The future and the fate of all Coimbra lay in their hands. "Come, lads. Today, we free Imbre from its oppressor."
As the majority of the rebels slipped from the passage in Rosemary's wake, focused on taking the gatehouse and opening the way for the rest of the force waiting outside, the handful that remained shared wild grins at the prospect of sticking it to Dalgleish and his turncoat ways once and for all.
"We've your back, Anderson."
"Aye, let's go," he told his men as he led the way past the door and into the heart of the castle. Though his insides were tied up in nervous knots, outwardly he appeared like the courageous knight they all hoped he was. There was no turning back now. It was Dalgleish or him, and he was determined for it not to be him.
The garrison within the castle was not large. No one had been expecting an attack by the rebels on a castle known for being impossible to take by siege. As a result, the passageways were virtually deserted, the sounds of fighting by the gatehouse barely discernible as the small group crept toward the heart of the fortress. The hall and chapel were opposite one another, four guards standing between them. Malcolm's men fell on them fast and hard, barely a gasp escaping as life fled.
But where would they find the enemy' Without saying a word, Malcolm gestured for half his men to go one way, while half went the other. If Dalgleish wasn't in the chapel, then the hall was only a few feet away. He wasn't interested in shedding innocent blood; only those who stood in their way.