Blood Sword Legacy 02 - Master of Torment Read Online Free Page B

a sizable bailey, then a small courtyard farther up. And there they would need the rams once more. No doubt they would be pressed upon with more pitch, for the interior fortresswalls were tall—they could be seen from the village road, towering high like the wings of a great dragon.
    “Prepare to enter the bailey,” Wulfson called to his men, then motioned for them to draw close. When they were all in a tight semicircle around him, he gave his instructions. Once they understood, he called over to Gareth. “Have your archers cover my men as we go through. I want a barrage of arrows to preceed us. Continue with the assault until I give word to cease!”
    And so it played out. Wulfson and his men took up the huge battering rams, and astride their great black warhorses they slammed through the oak portals into the bailey, where they were indeed met with a deluge of arrows. But they were prepared. With shields raised and in the manner of the old Roman tactic of the turtle, they moved as one unit toward the door leading directly into the fortress. A hail of arrows flew past them toward the inner ramparts, and the curses of men as they were struck made Wulfson smile. As they neared the wide doors, Gareth and his men brought up the rear with the two rams, and once again the drums took up the cadence as the action was repeated. There was no pitch this time, and no other form of attack came. Indeed, the inhabitants of the bailey worked fervently to save their dwellings from the fires. But it appeared all had gone quiet in the fortress. Had they used up their meager stores of ammunition?
    In no time at all, the thick doors were breached. But instead of bursting through, Wulfson held up his hand for his men and those of Gareth to halt.
    During the long moments that hung heavy before the final breach on the edifice proper, the haze of the late morningsun, coupled with the weighty silence, hung around them like a sodden woolen mantle. The ominous quiet disturbed Wulfson more than a full-out attack. Rangor, no doubt, had something up his sleeve for their entry into the fortress hall.
    Still astride, with shield raised, Wulfson moved off at an angle, so that he could not be seen from inside except by someone close by. “I give you a last chance, Rangor,” he called into the great hall. “Surrender yourself and the Lady Tarian or I will be forced to destroy you.”
    “She is dead!” The voice rang shrill…and near. Just inside the great doorway.
    “She may be, but I have no proof. Allow me entry so that we may parle . William wishes no quarrel with you, sir. He values your allegiance, as well as that of your allies to the west. I have only come to speak to the lady. Once I have, I shall return to my lord and master in Normandy.”
    “Give me your oath you will not harm me.”
    “I give you my oath I will not harm you, unless I or one of my men should be provoked.”
    Long minutes sweated by. Wulfson was becoming increasingly irritated.
    “I give you my oath you and your men will not be harassed.”
    “Then come forward and present yourself.”
    A slight sound not too far off from the great hall caught Wulfson’s attention. From astride Turold, he watched a man, mayhap a few years older than William but not nearly so fit, emerge from the darkened abyss. He wore rich clothing, and his aristocratic lines were well defined. But what set him off more than his garments and bearing was his flaming red hair and his pale blue eyes. He reminded Wulfson of a wily Icelandic fox. And at that moment he knew that under no circumstance was this man to be trusted.
    The noble’s eyes darted to Wulfson, his men, then behind to Gareth, who had come to stand almost even with Wulfson. “I am Rangor, Lord of Dunloc. How may I be of service to my king?”
    “You are not lord here!” Gareth said, stepping past Wulfson, whose left arm, sword in hand, shot out to prevent the Dane from moving forward. Under his breath, Wulfson cautioned the guard.