The Lady and the Falconer by Laurel O'Donnell

from the moat, well out of range of the castle’s archers. They continued construction on a trebuchet that when completed would hurl deadly projectiles over the castle wall.
    Earlier that day, messengers from Barclay brought terms of unconditional surrender to lady Alissa. She would have been a fool to surrender on such terms. He was sure that Farindale would hunt her down and kill her if she did. Many a lord would lose his life before losing his castle. Logan knew this from experience. He had been in more sieges than he had cared to think about. Still, the pay had been good, and more important, the loyalties and favors he had gained were invaluable.
    The Baron had amassed a good-sized army. The line of soldiers and tents stretched as far back as Sullivan’s Hill. Sullivan’s Hill...
    His mind drifted back to another army, another time...
     
    Castle Fulton rose up into the sky around him, its gray turrets reaching for the crimson-painted clouds like thick fingers grasping for the safety of the heavens above. On the walkways of the castle wall, soldiers scouted the land for the coming army, their hard, callused fingers nervously tracing the hilts of their sheathed swords. Archers checked their bows, plucking at the strings, and inspected their freshly cut arrows. Around them, at the top of the castle walls, hoarding scaffolds were being built in preparation to drop hot, bubbling oil on any attackers.
    He watched as a piercing cry drew the attention of one of the soldiers. The armored man swiveled his head to watch a boy chase after a sheep that had strayed from the flock being herded into the castle. Five other men were having great difficulty keeping the skittish animals in line. Logan looked away from the men to the large carts of food, hay and other supplies that filled the road leading into the castle. Villagers moved with quick desperation into the protection that the large stone walls of Castle Fulton offered.
    Nearby, another guard directed the incoming carts, his pointing finger darting in one direction, then another, shouting at the top of his lungs to be heard above the din. A small calico cat leapt off of one of these carts and raced through the outer ward, darting between the legs of Logan’s horse. The gray-speckled horse whinnied and reared slightly, but he steadied him with a firm hand. He was a young boy of thirteen. His black hair lifted in a breeze that swirled in over the walls and slowly resettled onto his broad shoulders. He turned his gray eyes from the cat who disappeared into the inner ward to his brother who stood beside his mount.
    “Don’t do it, Logan,” Peter begged, placing a trembling hand upon the horse’s neck.
    A smile came easily to Logan’s lips; his gray eyes sparkled like the edge of a freshly drawn blade in the setting sun.
    “It’s too big a risk,” his brother insisted, his brown eyes filled with worry. “You‘re being foolish.”
    “Afraid, Pete?” Logan mocked with a cynical twist to his charming smile.
    Peter straightened his shoulders, but refused to give in to the goading. “You know what Father will say if he finds out.”
    Logan shrugged, his black hair waving defiantly in the breeze as he cast his gaze toward the open gate and the steady stream of villagers entering. “Then he won’t find out.” He turned back to his brother. “Will he?” Peter turned away from Logan’s hard stare. “Don’t worry, Pete. I just want a look. I’ll be back before the sun sets.” He turned his steed and headed out through the outer ward gates and down the road into town.
    “Be careful!” Peter called after him.
    But Logan barely heard. His mind was already on the sight that would greet him. An army! In full plate mail! Riding huge war horses! He had never seen an army. How many knights were there? he wondered. How many foot soldiers? He had accompanied his father to many tournaments, but that was nothing compared to an army! He had to see them, just a peek over