Chapter 38
We waited in silence by an innocuous stretch of forest, just another dark fringe of trees on the edge of the fields surrounding the Weeping Town.
The full moon hung bright overhead, silvering the branches and turning every pale stone into something faintly luminous. Behind us, the shallow gully we had been following the whole way from camp looked like an upside down roadbump cutting zigzags through the earth.
An old, dried out stream bed, one I knew would eventually lead to the sea. It had to, given what it was once used for.
After first finding the place, I had us double back to tie the horses some five minutes away in a clearing where the trees thinned and the ground rose slightly. Better they stayed hidden and quiet.
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
Unfortunately, waiting was the last thing I wanted to do. It gave me time to think.
I had stopped shaking on the ride over, which was good. With a clear purpose and goal in mind, I could ignore the insidious thoughts. Ignore the memory of punching and slicing at a tied down man. Ignore his wet gurgles as he died, blood bubbling out of his mouth.
I swallowed. Yeah, waiting did not suit me now.
Shaking myself, I looked around at the men gathered with me instead.
With Jace, Hugh, and two of Father's men staying behind to see to Arianne's safety, I had twelve men with me now. Thirteen if I counted myself.
They did not look like my men anymore. They wore surcoats bearing the pale skull of Whitehead, their heads covered by conical helms with long nose guards. The same gear worn by the guards we had killed in the quarry. It hung on them differently, some looser, some tighter, but in darkness, in confusion, in haste, it would pass well enough.
Now that we had stopped, the night felt thick around us. The air cool and still. Somewhere far off, an owl cried once and then again, the sound hollow in the dark.
A few minutes later, Jack returned, his figure outlined on the hill line above us.
"And?" I asked.
Jack grimaced. "Aye, m'lord. Town's closed off tighter than a septa's thighs. Gates shut. Men on the walls. Won't be able to get in as loggers anymore."
Arianne had been right, then. And that was another thing I tried to put away for now. I did not know whether I wanted to shake her or hold her or forbid her from ever doing it again.
But I could not deny the advantage it gave us. If she could use it without risk, without bleeding and shaking like someone had poisoned her, it would be a game changer.
Even if she hadn't disobeyed me and used the candle again, this was not unexpected. The men who survived the ambush might not know it was Galladon Tarth coming for them, but they knew something had slaughtered nearly an entire twenty-man party in the woods.
They would not leave their gates open after that. They would be waiting now. Watching the tree line. Listening for movement. For us.
"Lord Galladon," Codin spoke up.
I turned to him, an eyebrow raised. He wasn't much of a talker, usually.
Unlike the rest of the men, Codin was not wearing Whitehead gear. Neither him nor Jack or myself. The three of us wore Tarth colors. Blue and rose with the quartered moon and sun, scuffed but still clear on the tabards.
They weren't ours, mind you. We had brought nothing to tie us to House Tarth openly, nothing that could be pointed and named without a doubt. Instead, we had taken the clothes from my mother's fallen retinue back at the quarry. A grim task, that, but necessary all the same.
"Won't they expect something like this?" he went on. "Couple guards escape an ambush and a few hours later a bunch of men come knocking saying they captured the bandits that done it. Not saying they're the brightest of fellas, but it'd seem suspicious to me."
"Aye, m'lord," Jack said. "Have to agree with long legs here. Too on the nose, and they'd be fools not to think House Tarth's involved, given the circumstances. They might even open the gates, but the fiction'll fall through soon as they don't recognize any of their men. Town's not big enough for the guards not to know each other's faces. We'll have to fight our way to the castle then, and they're certainly not gonna open up even if we knock politely."
I nodded along. They were not wrong.
"You're right," I said. "Half-right, though. We will, in fact, be knocking politely at the castle. And hopefully they'll open up for us. They know we were at the quarry, so they'll be expecting it at the town gates." I paused, letting them follow the thought. "Will they expect us already inside the town, though? No, I don't think so. Not with how I plan on knocking."
I pointed toward the one odd man among us.
Arrec. Hooded, arms bound behind him, mouth gagged. Despite my promises to let him live should he cooperate, he trembled even now, though the night was not cold enough to justify it.
To be fair with the young man, I had not gone easy on him.
Before we left, I had swallowed down my own distaste for it and showed him the old guard's body back in camp. Showed him what defiance earned a man and promised to do worse if he tried anything.
I saw that he believed me. He looked me in the eyes and knew I wasn't lying. Both that I'd let him live if he cooperated and that I'd follow through with my threat if he didn't.
He was right too. I wasn't lying. It would curdle my stomach and damn me to whatever hell this world had, but I'd keep torturing guard after guard if it saw my mother freed.
"Arrec here will see us inside the castle," I said. "The town, though… that's on us."
Jack raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I only hoped none of them were claustrophobic.
I waved the men forward and started toward the shallow gully. One of them hauled Arrec along by the arm as they all followed me.
The dried oud stream bed curved and twisted through the trees. Nothing moved there now. No sound of current. Just a dry scar in the land where water had once flowed, forgotten and ignored.
After a few minutes, we reached a chest-high pile of forest debris beside the gully. It looked like it could be just a big pile of junk accumulated by one reason or another, dead leaves and twigs and fallen branches layered across its surface in a way that might have seemed natural if one did not look too closely.
Arianne's directions had not been precise. She had not known exactly where this lay, only that it did. Only that I would find it if I followed the gully where it bent north and then west, running parallel to the Weeping Town.
She had been right.
I knelt and began pulling debris aside, hands coming away with crumbling old leaves and a smearing mixture of damp earth and moss. Beneath the rot and debris, though, my hand struck something solid. Stone.
The others quickly joined me without being asked. Branches were tossed aside. Packed soil scraped loose. More and more stone emerged, fitted together in old, careful lines.
We pried away the fallen rocks one by one. Some shifted easily. Others took two men, then three. Accumulated dirt cascaded down in small showers. The smell of damp stone and stale air began to seep outward from whatever lay beyond.
At last, after we heaved away the thick, rotting trunk of a fallen tree, the opening revealed itself fully. A tunnel stretched inward, its entry previously collapsed, the stone-lined floor sloping gently upward before vanishing into darkness.
It was narrow and old and neglected, but it looked well-built, tall enough for a man to crouch and move through without having to crawl.
"An old drainage tunnel," I told them. "Probably built before the Targaryens ever set foot in Dragonstone. Before King's Landing was ever a thought in people's minds."
We were some twenty minutes out from town on foot, and Arianne had said we could pass through the tunnel without issue, even though parts of it had fallen in.
How expensive must it have been to build and maintain this?
I thought it through in my mind. Before King's Landing was founded and the Stormlands became the land of the Baratehons, the Weeping Town was the only reliable port the Durrandos had easy access to.
From my studies, I knew that Duskendaled had fallen under Stormlander rule a few times in history, but mostly they ruled themselves under petty Darklyn kings or came to be under the sway of the Kings of the Trident.
It must've cost the Durrandons a small fortune to build the tunnel, but it would mean the biggest port in the Stormlands would not have foul-smelling docks to receive foreign merchants. Beyond here, this stream would curve south again, away from the town, and it would carry its runoff far beyond its waters. Must've been a huge blow to the Whiteheads when it dried out.
I looked into the darkness inside, wrinkling my nose.
I did not trust a torch inside. Not in stale air trapped for centuries. I didn't feel like blowing myself up before gunpowder was even a thing.
That meant we would have to go by touch alone.
"So," I said, straightening slowly, "who's going in first?"
Grimaces answered me. Men shifted their weight. Some looked into the tunnel, some looked anywhere but.
Then the heads turned toward Jack.
He snorted. "Aye, aye. When the going turns tough, who do men turn to?" He grinned under the moonlight. "I'm afraid of empty wineskins and barren brothels, lads. Not some old tunnel."
Crouching down so he'd fit, he gave me a final salute before he stepped inside without hesitation.
The darkness swallowed him quickly, and one by one we followed after him, crab-walking through the narrow entryway.
Reaching out, I kept my hand on Jack's back, and the man behind me did the same. There was no light at all inside the tunnel, but at least there was no getting lost. The passage allowed only one direction. Forward.
I thought it was rather symbolic.
With sight stripped away, everything else sharpened, though I wish it didn't.
The air got worse the further we went. It was thin and foul, thick with the sour rot of long-trapped damp. I would wager it smelled worse now than it did when runoff still ran through here. Water gathered in shallow, stagnant puddles along the bottom, and every step stirred the fetid smell of it.
Every sound seemed to echo in the ears. The faint skitter of small creatures fleeing ahead of us, the soft coughing of the men, their boots dragging across the stone. Further behind me, someone muttered a prayer under his breath before catching himself.
We must have been moving for almost half an hour when Jack stopped. I almost bumped into him despite my outstretched hand.
He did not turn to look at me. Since we had agreed on silence once inside the town, he simply reached behind him and squeezed my wrist three times.
I could not see a thing, but I trusted him.
Ahead, I half-felt, half-heard him shifting upward, climbing out of the tunnel through some unseen opening. No light followed him. Only the faint scrape of movement, then nothing.
A moment passed. Then a hand reached down.
The tunnel stretched on somewhere ahead into darkness, but this was our turning point. I took his wrist, and he hauled me up.
Climbing out, I blinked hard. The thinnest slivers of moonlight slipped through gaps in warped wooden walls, pale lines cutting across dust-thick air. It was still dark, just not the crushing black of the tunnel.
My eyes strained, shapes slowly forming from shadow. A storehouse of some sort. Or what had once been one.
The place was choked with ruin: broken casks collapsed in on themselves, splintered pallet frames, rotting crate boards, coils of mildewed rope, and other heaps of useless leavings that had long ago surrendered to damp and neglect.
I took a deep breath and grimaced. Better than the tunnel, but rotting medieval waste was not the pleasant gulp of fresh air I envisioned.
Quickly stepping aside, I let the others climb up up behind me, one after another, boots scraping wood, helmets and swords held under one arm to avoid dinking against the tunnel walls.
When we were all inside, we adjusted cloaks, retied sword belts, and set ourselves in order again. I gave Grey and Beren a simple nod of goodbye as they silently left the warehouse, heading deeper into the town to complete their own task.
Then I dragged Arrec to the side and pulled the hood from his head.
He blinked rapidly, eyes wide and darting like a rabbit caught in a snare.
"I'll make this clear to you," I told him quietly. "I know of many things, Arrec. Like I knew of this old tunnel that leads into your town. I know the house with the green door and the old willow hanging low over your bedroom window. I know of your young sister. I know your father still lives despite his bad knee."
I leaned closer.
"I will tell you exactly what I'll do to them if I must. But I believe you understand my meaning, don't you?"
His eyes widened further when I spoke of them. His home. His blood. Jace had followed him through the town for days before we ever drank with him at the Drunken Dornishman. I would wager my spymaster knew more of the Arrec's life than the man himself.
"You will take me to the castle," I continued. "I care not which gate, Arrec. Only that it opens before me. Choose one where an old friend keeps watch. Somewhere manned by careless fellows." I glanced toward Jack. "You saw the twins at camp, aye? That's Jack there. Not the one you met before. Care to guess where Jace is… and what he'll do the moment he learns you've betrayed me?"
Arrec swallowed hard and nodded again and again.
"I'm going to take off your gag now," I said. "If you scream, you will die. Your sister dies. Your father dies. Do you understand?"
Tears shone in his eyes. He nodded.
I pulled the gag free. Coughing, he worked his jaw with a pained groan, breath shuddering. Then he looked up at me, teeth nearly chattering.
"I'll do it. I… I won't betray you," he said pitifully. "Just please… please, m'lord."
Breaking men brought me no enjoyment, yet it seemed I was making a habit out of it.
I pushed down any doubts over what I was doing and gave a single nod. "Untie him," I ordered. "He cannot do his part if he looks a captive."
Once the ropes were cut away, I met his gaze once more.
"Lead me to my mother, Arrec. Once I see my family safe… you will see yours."
xxx
I walked toward the postern gate with my head hanging down in defeat, wrists bound behind my back with loose ropes. Arrec pulled me along roughly, jerking my arm hard enough that I stumbled. He played his part well. Or maybe he just wanted to rough me up after all the threats I'd made. Hard to say.
Two of my men dressed as Whitehead guards gripped my shoulders, one on each side. Alongside us, Jack and Codin were dragged along by three disguised guards each, their heads low, their steps shuffling.
As my head bobbed with each forced step, I shot glances upward at the castle looming before us. The Weeping Tower. Terribly unimaginative name, in my mind, but a good keep regardless. Its walls were thick and tall, the stone dark against the night sky.
It could have done with a moat, though. When it was first built, the castle had stood some distance from the port town that gave it its name, but over the years the settlement had stretched inland, creeping closer and closer until now it pressed up against the very walls.
Torches lined the battlements, their flames guttering in the wind. Dark shapes moved up there, guards on watch, no doubt. Our approach did not go unnoticed, but we stepped into the torchlight as a group of guards in proper Whitehead livery with prisoners in tow, so no alarm was raised.
Still, a voice called out from above before we made it to the narrow door.
"Halt!" The bark was sharp. "Who goes there?"
Arrec froze beside me. The moment stretched longer than it should. My heart hammered inside my chest, each beat loud in my ears. I almost pulled my fake bonds free right then, almost turned on Arrec before the man finally opened his mouth.
"Raymont, that you?"
A heartbeat passed. Then the voice again, closer now.
"Bloody hell. Arrec?" Surprise edged the guard's words.
"Aye, it's me an' some lads from the northside barracks," Arrec said. None of the previous fear showed in his voice. "We caught these fuckers roaming down by Steely square. Tarth men hiding away, Ray. Almost got the jump on us, they did."
Silence again. I kept my breathing steady, forced my shoulders to stay loose. One of my men shifted his weight beside me. The ropes bit into my wrists.
"Someone said you'd gone an' got yourself dead in the quarry today," Raymont called back. His tone had turned wary. "You sure that's you down there?"
"Do I seem like a ghost to you, you old fool?" Arrec shot back. "I'll go down to your home an' tell Jocelyn exactly where you been gettin' that floppy cock of yours wet these days if you don't go an' open this up for me right now!"
Someone else snorted on the walls. "Aye, that's Arrec, that is."
"Aye, aye. Let them in!"
The sound of locks rattling echoed down. Bolts slid free with metallic scrapes. Then the door swung inward on heavy hinges. A man looked out at us, torch held in one hand. He squinted into the shadows beyond the firelight.
"It really do be you, Arrec?" The guard was short and squat, with a thick beard and braided hair. His voice was rougher than Raymont's had been.
Arrec pulled me toward the door quickly. "Aye, an' I think the lady will be wantin' to speak with these men."
Before the guard could say another word, we were shouldering past him and into the castle. The postern door led into a small, narrow passage. Another door waited at the far end. To one side, a room stood open, firelight spilling out across the stone floor.
Two guards sat inside around a short stool they were using as a table, throwing dice. Their swords leaned against the benches beside them, within reach but not in hand.
Three guards here. According to Arianne and Arrec both, after the ambush at the quarry, there should be some hundred guards between the town walls and the castle. Hopefully more outside than in.
"Seven hells," the man behind us said as we all piled inside. "How did they get into town?"
"Must'a been hidin' away this whole time, I figure," Arrec answered.
I nudged Arrec with my shoulder. He and the two men gripping me turned into the room. The seated guards looked up at us, gave us a quick glance, then went back to their game.
"Your turn," one said. The other grunted, gathering the dice in his hands. A small pile of copper coins sat to one side of the stool.
"Wait, stop." The man behind us spoke again. "Arrec, who the bloody hell are these fellas?"
I didn't wait any longer.
Shouldering Arrec out of the way, I pulled on my hands. The rope came undone as easily as if it had been tied by a child, and a dagger flashed up from where I'd had it strapped to the back of my pants.
I lunged. Caught the nearest guard under the chin. The blade drove up through the soft skin below his jaw, through the roof of his mouth, and into his brain. I didn't want the smallest chance he might scream. His eyes barely had time to widen before he died.
I went down on top of him. The stool clattered, coins scattered across the floor. By the time I hit the ground, I only heard the brief scuffle behind me. The man out by the postern gate managed a gargled "Agh—" before he was silenced.
When I pushed myself up, I saw one of the men who'd been fake-holding me had the other guard in the room locked in a chokehold. The guard's eyes bulged, his face turning purple, hands clawing uselessly at his killer's forearm until his movements grew limp.
"Fuck," Arrec said. He looked around the room, his face pale. "You killed 'em. I thought… I knew these men since I was a boy. Ate with them. And you…"
I walked up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders, already pushing him out of the room.
"Stop thinking about it, Arrec. Think only of your family. Only them." I shoved him out into the passage, cramped now with my men and the dead guard who'd opened the postern door for us. "Put him in the room and close the door. We need to keep going. Now."
Not a minute later we were walking out the other door into the yard beyond in the same manner we'd come in. Just guards having arrested some infiltrators. Nothing more.
The yard was larger than I'd expected. Torchlight painted the stone in flickering orange and shadow. The keep squatted to our left, broad and functional. A sept had been built against the wall to our right, its peaked roof dark against the stars. Past that, the stables. I could hear horses shifting in their stalls, the low voices of grooms still working despite the hour.
And rising above it all, the drum tower. Tall and round, its walls smooth stone broken only by narrow windows. Torches burned at its base and along the battlements above.
I had never been inside the Weeping Tower, but Arianne had told me where our mother was. Hidden high in a room inside that drum tower. The Storm Tower, they called it.
"The tower," I told Arrec.
"Arrec?" Raymont's voice called from the battlements.
"Keep going, don't stop," I whispered.
Arrec gave me a shallow nod. "I'm takin' them to the lady," he yelled back.
Raymont might have said something, but it was lost in the wind as we picked up the pace. We went past the sept, then past the stables where grooms worked by lamplight. One looked up as we passed. I kept my head down.
We were almost at the foot of the tower when the bells outside began to ring.
The sound crashed over the castle and for a second all of us froze. Then reality settled back and we broke into a run, our boots pounding against the dirt.
The castle came alive as the bells tolled. Voices shouted from the walls. Doors slammed open. It seemed too early for Father to have made his move already. He would've needed to have seen Grey's signal before anything.
Then… had they found the dead guards already? I shook my head. No. The bells had started from the town, then the castle had rung its own.
It didn't matter. We were committed now.
The door to the Storm Tower stood open and strangely unguarded. I didn't have time to think about it. We piled through without slowing, Arrec stumbling at my side of me, my men crowding in behind. The entrance hall was small, lit by a single torch in a wall bracket. A corridor stretched deeper into the tower, curving with the drum's shape.
"Go," I hissed, waving them through. "Straight ahead, then left at the turn."
Arianne's instructions ran through my head as we moved. Down the main hall, turn left where it branches, then right again at the next junction. The stairs will be there, spiraling up the center of the drum.
Our boots echoed off stone as we ran. The corridor was wider here than I'd expected, wide enough for a wagon or two to pass. Torches burned in brackets every few paces, casting long shadows that danced as we passed.
We rounded the first turn. The hall stretched on, curving gently. Another turn ahead.
Then we rounded that corner and torchlight blazed in our faces.
Armored men filled the hallway. Five of them, spread across its width, swords already drawn. Plate armor gleamed dull in the firelight, the steel scratched and worn but solid. Each man stood with his feet planted, shields raised.
And at the center, an older man. Broad-shouldered despite his years, his face lined and hard. White hair peaked under the helmet. His armor was finer than the rest, the steel polished, a pale skull emblazoned on the breastplate.
Lord Elmar Whitehead.
Behind them, I could just make out the entrance to the stairwell. So close.
"Now," Elmar said.
They came forward like a hammer, and my men at the front barely had time to react.
The knights crashed into us with brutal efficiency. A sword thrust took the first of my men in the chest, punching through his mail like it was cloth. Dark arterial blood sprayed across the stone as he pulled the blade out, and the man crumpled face down against the wall.
It was all so fast I didn't even get to identify who it was.
The second managed to get his guard up, but an armored fist smashed into his face and he toppled backward into the man behind him.
We fought back. Had to. The hallway erupted into chaos, swords flying out of scabbards in a mad rush, steel rasping against steel, men shouting and cursing in the cramped space. I shoved forward, dagger still in hand, but there was no room to move, no room to breathe.
One of Elmar's men drove his sword through the belly of another of mine. The man screamed once, high and keening like a child's, then fell. I stabbed at the armored bastard, but he turned just in time. My dagger skittered off his pauldron and he backhanded me across the face.
I staggered. Tasted blood. Someone pulled me up by my collar. Jack maybe.
We fell back in disarray, pressing against the corridor walls. We had the numbers yet not the space to use them. Before I could mount any kind of reaction, Elmar Whitehead, who had not moved with his men, raised his voice.
"Stop."
And to their credit, his knights were quick in their obedience. They halted in the middle of the hall, swords bared and bloodied.
I frowned at that, even as I let out a breath. They should've taken their opportunity to slaughter us unprepared. Still, two of my Companions lay dead on the floor, their blood running down the corridor in dark rivulets.
Elmar stepped forward. His eyes found Arrec, half-hidden behind me.
"Lord Elmar," Arrec choked out, frozen on the steps.
Elmar looked at me. "Ser Galladon of Tarth," he said. His voice was calm. Almost gentle. "Let the boy go. Your mother is safe for now. Let him come to me before we settle this."
Just the mention of my mother made me want to bring this entire castle down around him. I steeled myself instead and looked at Arrec. His face was white, his eyes wide. He was shaking.
I thought of the threats I'd made. His family. His sister. His father. I thought of the old guard I'd tortured in the camp, the wet sounds he'd made as he died.
Putting away my dagger, I reached across to his belt, pulled the sword out of its scabbard, and stepped aside.
"Do not take up arms again tonight," I told him. "Now go."
Arrec stared at me for a second, then he moved, slipped past me and walked down the corridor on unsteady legs. The line of armored men parted easily for him and he stopped before Lord Elmar.
"My lord, I—"
Elmar's sword took him across the throat.
It was fast. Clean, almost. Arrec's words cut off mid-breath. His hands flew to his neck, but there was nothing to be done. Blood fountained between his fingers. He sank to his knees, then toppled forward onto his face.
I stared. My chest suddenly felt tight.
"Why?" I found myself asking. Was it curiosity? Pity for the young man I shared a drink with? My eyes found Elmar. "He only helped me after I threatened his family. He had no choice."
Elmar looked down at the body, then back at me. "We all have choices," he said. "The lad made his own."
Anger flared hot in my gut. "As you had a choice to do all this? Kidnap my mother? Try to marry my sister to your son? To cripple my house?"
Something shifted in Elmar's face. The hardness cracked, just for a moment, and I didn't know what to make of it. He nodded slowly, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet.
"Aye," he said. "I will pay for my choices just as the boy did."
I looked at him. At the armor encasing him from neck to boot. At the knights flanking him, just as well-protected. My men wore mail hauberks, leather, and cloth. They could cut through half-armored guards easily enough, but this…
This was different.
I counted quickly. Elmar had four men with him. I had eight left, including myself. Better numbers. Worse equipment.
And they blocked the only path to the stairs. To my mother.
I leaned close to Jack, my voice barely a whisper. "I'll break their line. You and Codin get through. Get to the stairs. Find her."
Jack's jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to the armored wall ahead of us. "M'lord..."
"Do it," I said.
He looked at me for a long moment. Then he nodded once. "Aye."
I raised Arrec's sword, the castle-forged steel gleaming dully in the firelight. Elmar raised his own sword, settling into a guard. His knights shifted, readying themselves.
I took a breath, letting it out slowly. Then, roaring like a mad man, I charged. Straight for Elmar Whitehead.