The view is actually quite spectacular. The far side of the keep drops away sharply to a thrashing blue-green ocean, which seems to go on forever. To the north, on the twin peak stands another keep, also on a cliff edge. I can’t seem to draw my eyes away from it. It looks isolated and strangely sinister. The tallest point is a circular tower that stretches so high, rumbling dark clouds threaten to obscure it.
The eerie sight causes goose bumps to break out everywhere on my skin. ‘I wonder who lives there?’
Jarrod’s eyes shift sideways, and he shrugs. ‘Who cares?’
‘It looks dark and spooky. And didn’t that pigman warn us not to go near it? Why is that, do you think?’
Jarrod gives me a bit of a disbelieving look, then inclines his head towards the castle so close now, only a few metres to the smelly stagnant moat. ‘Are you suggesting Thorntyne Keep looks friendly or inviting? Look at those high walls.’
He’s right, both buildings look uninviting. And even though Jarrod still carries the name, these people are strangers. But I want to keep his thoughts light. ‘They’re your relatives,’ I remind him.
His face forms into a sarcastic sneer. ‘Yeah, right. Like eight centuries ago.’
Jokes aside, I can’t shrug off an unnatural feeling emanating from that dark neighbouring castle. It scares me.
As we near the gatehouse of Thorntyne Keep, a deep male voice demands to know our business.
‘We are weary travellers from a far away land, once of Thorntyne,’ Jarrod announces with a calm I know he doesn’t feel inside. But we’ve rehearsed his lines many times on the road, and he’s doing well.
‘Thorntyne! Who are you to claim the Thorntyne name?’
‘My name is Jarrod. I am the Lord of Thorntyne’s eldest brother’s son,’ Jarrod returns. We had to rehearse this line the most.
The man gasps and swears. A lot of murmured discussion from the guards in the gatehouse follows. My skin starts tingling like a thousand ants are chasing each other across it. Finally, the soldiers move away from the battlements to obtain a clearer view of the youth who claims to be the son of the lost Thorntyne brother.
I see the man in charge clearly for a minute. He’s largely built, with broad straight shoulders and a full head of dull red hair going grey. He would have been a striking man in his day, and still is, though I can only guess his age to be around the mid or late forties. He’s wearing leather bands, wrapped around his lower legs, a beige tunic with a full skirt to his knees, and a cloak with a rectangular mantle pinned on his right shoulder. He’s not wearing chain mail, but his companions are, and the sight of them is breathtaking. I wish I wasn’t so nervous.
He’s probably a knight of some high order. He moves back and starts descending the inside stairs, looking formidable. The knight has made a decision.
An order reverberates through the gatehouse and the portcullis starts sliding gratingly upwards, then the drawbridge lowers. The knight is accompanied by a soldier on each side of him, one young, one much older. They make an awesome sight. I can’t help but stare as they cross the bridge and head towards Jarrod, who is standing a little way in front of me. My pulse is racing, my palms sweating, and I’m glad at this moment that I lingered behind a little looking at the castle on the other peak. I hope Jarrod handles this just like we rehearsed. He looks scared. He can’t stop wiping his palms on his tunic and flicking me quick worried glances. He looks like a wild pony that wants to bolt.
The knight stands directly in front of Jarrod and studies him carefully with narrowed eyes. He’s clearly suspicious, taking in every detail, from the rust tints in Jarrod’s hair to the creamy colour of his skin. But it’s Jarrod’s eyes the knight lingers over the most. And then he surprises both of us when his own eyes go all watery, and a huge grin splits his rugged face almost in two. He looks at the two soldiers flanking him for a quick second, grinning and nodding. In one lightning movement the knight turns back, grunts loudly, spreads his arms wide, and smothers Jarrod in an almighty bear hug that lifts him completely off the ground.
After swinging Jarrod around full circle a couple of times the big man reluctantly puts him down, then starts thumping his back with great big guffaws. Jarrod is trying hard to maintain his balance. ‘Welcome, nephew. Welcome,’ the big man announces between powerful thumps. ‘I knew this day would come. I dreamed of it many nights since your father left.’
The word, nephew, sticks in my head. This man isn’t just a knight, or one of the Lord’s soldiers, he is Lord Baron Thorntyne himself. And he has accepted Jarrod’s explanation simply by looking at him. Just as I start wondering how much Jarrod must resemble his ancestors it suddenly dawns on me that if they cast so much heed to looks, then our planned story just disintegrated. Too late to think of anything else now, my heart starts hammering madly in my chest.