Roland's Castle (2 page)

His eyes were tired, just like the
rest of him. Maybe that was why he thought he saw the roof beams
moving, very slightly, as if the centre of the ceiling was swelling
and reaching down towards him. The walls also appeared to be
moving. It seemed as if the whole tower was breathing. He thought
he heard a voice, soft and faint, calling his name. Then he was
aware that someone came into the room. He raised his head slightly
to see Firebrace standing a short distance from the end of his bed.
The old man’s face wore a fierce scowl. Roland’s first thought was;
what have I done now? His second thought didn’t have time to enter
his head as Firebrace started shouting: “You are broken and
humiliated but you must not let your enemies conquer your pride or
your will! This is the time you must be on your guard the most!”
and with that he drew a sword and threw it point first at the
pillow beside Roland’s head. Roland quickly rolled off the bed onto
the floor in time to avoid it. He looked up to see the sword buried
in the pillow. But he didn’t have long to look at it as the old man
was rounding the bed, still rattling on about how Roland was broken
and humiliated but that this was the time he needed to fight.

“The strength is inside you and
must be brought out.” Firebrace yelled, and grabbed the sword from
the pillow and started waving it about in a most alarming manner.
He thrust it at Roland who was forced to get out of the way - and
to keep on getting out of the way as Firebrace followed up with
further lunges. Roland leapt up on the bed and off it again on the
other side, but the old man simply leapt right over the – very wide
– bed in one go and landed rock steady on his feet, within an arm
and a sword’s length of Roland. He had the most amazing strength
and balance for a man of his age. With a swift sweep of his arm
Firebrace tucked the point of the sword right beneath the tip of
Roland’s nose. Roland went cross-eyed as he looked down at it.

Jeepers!

As if Roland hadn’t been through
enough today already! Now his father’s oldest and most faithful
servant had gone berserk and was trying to kill him! He dodged and
ducked as Firebrace again thrust the sword at him and then put his
hands up trying to plead for an end to it. “Health and safety!
Health and safety! We must remember -
Health and safety!”
–
he finished the sentence as he dived under a clothes chest to avoid
a particularly close swing that nearly cut his forelock off. Health
and safety was plainly not Firebrace's thing – it just wasn’t his
bag at all. He was an excellent fighter and Roland had the
suspicion that if he really was trying to kill him he would already
be dead. It was still terrifying though. Dog-poo and Dag-pee were
quite pitiful compared to Firebrace. They hadn’t been able to hurt
him much even when he was tied up like dinner on the spit. The old
man had him dodging and ducking in fear for his life.

Roland stuck his head out from
under the chest in the vain hope that the coast was clear. It
wasn’t. Firebrace was still there, swinging his sword about,
waiting for him to come out. The old man quickly lost his patience
and shoved the chest away with a mighty kick leaving Roland
exposed. Roland thought his time was up but instead the old man
took hold of him, not roughly but gently, in a kindly way, and
stood him up.

“It is time for you to learn. Your
father and I put this off too long so that you might enjoy
something of being a child. You must now learn to be a knight! You
will make a fine knight!”

He guided Roland to the wall of the
chamber where he pulled a tapestry aside and put his hand on a
stone in the wall. The stone, and others around it, slid aside to
leave a doorway. Roland gasped and looked inside.

“Is this the treasure room?” He
asked.

“No,” Firebrace replied firmly, and
strode inside. He turned and gestured for Roland to follow.

Roland entered with trepidation. He
was now sure that the old man didn’t really want to kill him and
hadn’t really been trying. It was just his way to shake him up a
bit and put him on alert. It made sense, in a barmy kind of
military way, Roland concluded. His heart was still pounding,
though, and he was wary that more frightening surprises might lie
ahead.

The room was enormous - and
preposterous. Preposterous because Roland knew that the wall they
had just passed through was an outside wall – they should be
walking in air beside the tower now. Instead they were inside a
huge chamber. If it was there – if it was always there – shouldn’t
it be visible from outside? Roland knew it wasn’t. There was no
such room visible from outside. There never had been, not today,
not yesterday, not ever. There was no such room at all.

“This is your practice room,”
Firebrace said.

The room was lit by torches as
there were no windows. It was mostly empty with stone walls hung
with tapestries. Yet even if there had been a carnival in progress
Roland might well not have noticed. His attention was totally taken
by just one thing. Before him, in the middle of the room, was the
nastiest, most sinister looking suit of armour he had ever seen in
his life. It was dark – very dark indeed. The only light coming
from it was the reflection of the torches from the sheen of its
metal. The workmanship was beautiful, but despite that it just
looked plain nasty – evil, in fact.

As Roland looked at it he realised
it was swaying gently, as if it were in a breeze. But there was no
breeze. They were inside. The torches did not flicker. Then Roland
realised – it was alive! He gasped, “Who is it?”

“Not who,
what
.” Firebrace
replied. “It has no voice. It has no will of its own. It is your
practice companion. It will follow your instructions as you
practise combat with it. It will match you – test you. Every time
you succeed against it, it will judge your performance and move up
to a new level.”

“Why does it have to look so
awful?” Roland asked.

“It is made in the form of one of
our greatest enemies. Our enemies take many forms. Some of them
seem foolish, but beware; they are not. Some expose their true
colours in their clothing, their weapons, their armour. The worst
of our enemies have no need for subterfuge…”

Firebrace clapped his hands and
behind the Companion’s visor two eyes, up until now invisible,
glowed and glowered. They were a grim, malevolent red. It advanced
towards them and stopped just a few paces away. Roland felt a tinge
of fear but Firebrace put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The
Companion’s arms were by its side and out of its right arm a sword
emerged, as if it just flowed out like oozing treacle. The sword
hardened and dropped into the metal gauntlet below.

There was a rack of swords to their
right. Firebrace took one and handed it to Roland. Roland took it
cautiously. The Companion watched intently.

“It awaits your next move,”
Firebrace said.

“I have to…?” Roland asked.

“Strike! Attack it!” Firebrace
encouraged.

Roland did so. After all, fighting
this opponent could be no worse than ducking and diving Firebrace’s
sword. As he attempted to strike at it the Companion successfully
avoided his attempts to land blows.

“Keep still!” Roland commanded. The
Companion obeyed and Roland landed a blow on its chest which caused
a dull, hollow clank.

Firebrace laughed. “That is
cheating!” He commanded the Companion, “On guard!” and it
immediately struck a defensive pose. He lunged towards it, striking
out with a ferocious rain of blows. The Companion responded in
equal measure and both were quickly involved in the fastest and
most furious swordfight Roland could ever have imagined. It lasted
a few minutes until Firebrace finally had the better of the
Companion. He said to Roland, “Your turn.”

Roland braced himself and then
copied what Firebrace had done, lunging at the Companion with a
rain of blows. For him the Companion became an easier opponent, as
Firebrace had said it would be, but it was still a proper test of
skill. Firebrace encouraged him onwards and he fought until his
arms finally grew tired. He was amazed at his own strength. He had
felt exhausted after the session with Dogwood and Dagwood, but now
he was fresh and strong again. Firebrace was right; he had great
strength within him. It was only because he was feeling beaten that
he had felt tired. Now he felt like he could fight – and win!

Firebrace eventually called an end
to the session and congratulated him on his progress. You have
already done better than your father in his first session – and he
was one of the best! One day you will even be able to defeat
me!”

Roland somehow doubted it, but was
cheered by the encouragement. But one thing troubled him, of
course. He asked. “Will I ever have to fight for real?”

“You are the rightful master of
this castle. When the time comes you must take charge of its
defence, in the name of your father and his father, and his father
before him.”

Roland thought for a moment.

I don’t want to always be giving
orders and shouting and upsetting people, like Uncle Dog
Breath.”

Firebrace very nearly laughed at
the nickname Roland had given his uncle. The old man did have a
sense of humour, it seemed. Roland was pleased to see it. The old
man said. “All that is really quite unnecessary for a person of
true stature
. You already have grace and
magnanimity.
People will do as you say because they respect you and not because
they fear you. Those are different things, but some people get them
confused!”

Then Roland asked a question he had
long thought to ask. “Why didn’t Uncle Dagarth inherit this castle
if he is older than my father? Why was he sent away?”

“Let us just say there was
something wrong with the boy – something that still shows. You see
the way he behaves. A madman cannot be allowed to command this
castle. It is more than a castle – more than a kingdom! You will
understand. For now you must rest, so you can practise fighting
again!

Lying in bed Roland was glad that
his sinister new friend with the scary eyes – with the scary
everything – was on the other side of a wall. He just hoped it
didn’t know how to use the door. For a moment he imagined it coming
into the room and standing at the end of his bed.

Aaaaarrrrrrrrgh!

He pulled the covers up and over
his face to hide, then, after a few moments, pulled them away
again. It wasn’t there. He had fought it bravely earlier on but it
was still a bit frightening to think of. Why did they have to make
a practice opponent so scary? Roland knew the answer – to make it
as realistic as possible.

He rolled over onto his side and
began to relax. Soon he was lightly asleep. As he dozed he thought
he heard a woman sobbing – softly, but distinctly… Was he dreaming,
or was it real? He woke and sat up in bed, listening intently. He
looked up at the ceiling and again it seemed to bow and bulge.
Then, to his horror, it changed completely, as if it broke open and
the beams became a pair of arms, with hands, reaching down as if to
grab him. He rolled out of bed, just like he had done earlier to
avoid Firebrace’s sword. As he did so he thought he heard a woman’s
voice – no! His mother’s voice! – call out his name in hushed
tones. “
Roland
!”

Landing on the floor woke him up
completely. Just a dream – it must have been, surely…

It really was time he relaxed a bit
more - got out a bit. They always say that being in the same room
too long makes you strange. Perhaps he had tower fever? It was time
for another adventure, with a real person. Tomorrow night, he
promised himself, and rolled over and fell asleep again.

Uncle Dagarth had been disappointed
– probably ever since childhood – that there was no torture chamber
in the castle. “Call this a castle!” he had raged. “There should be
wall to wall screaming, night and day, seven days a week, no time
off on Sundays, birthdays, Christmas or
Bank Holidays
!”

He had set about putting this right
by ordering new torture equipment from
Horrids of
Knightsford
. It included a gleaming new de-luxe rack with all
the optional extras - including automatic and fine control and a
height (stretch) measurer in both metric and imperial. There was
also a shedload of the very best quality iron maidens - all sizes
and shapes to ensure that everyone got a nice snug fit. There were
also absolutely tons of manacles, lots of chains, lots of horrible
long pointy things and also a long screw thing which nobody
understood how to use or dared to ask.

By the time it had all been
delivered the castle had been torn apart so there was nowhere
suitable for a full-size torture chamber. Instead it had all been
dumped out in the courtyard. Uncle Dagarth actually rather liked
this al fresco approach to torturing. “Leave it all on open display
to
terrify
everyone,” he had chortled, walking about,
admiring it all, relishing every nasty, craftsman designed feature,
revelling in the pure
wickedness
of every item. The awful
assortment had been placed at the base of the Unfinished Tower so
that it was the first thing Roland saw whenever he came out of it.
He knew it was on purpose.

As he sneaked out of the tower the
next night the iron maidens looked like eerie spectators to his
night-time escapade. They had never
really
worried him
before but after being chased around by Firebrace and battling with
his new found friend he really wasn’t bothered by them at all.

He was not supposed to leave the
castle on pain of very nasty things being done to him and to anyone
who let him, but as the men-at arms were hardly the brightest it
wasn’t a problem. Roland usually had little trouble getting past
them.