Read Online The Bark of the Bog Owl by Jonathan Rogers - Free Book Online
Authors: Jonathan Rogers
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river bulged eastward to wind around the sandstone promontory. So the castle had deep river on three sides. Along the fourth side, which bordered the city of Tambluff, the king had dug a wide moat, making an island of Tambluff Castle and providing a habitat for his alligators.
The city of Tambluff, Corenwald’s capital city, sat at the foot of the castle on the west bank of the southward-flowing Tam. The city walls formed a nearly exact square mile. Three walls were perfectly straight, twenty feet high, one mile long, and built at right angles to one another. The east wall followed the river. It served as a levee to protect the city from flooding. It also protected the city from enemies who would attack from the water. Each of the walls—except the east wall, which had a moat and drawbridge—had a gatehouse in its exact center.
It was nearly noon when the Errolsons reached Tambluff’s south gate. Southporter, the old keeper of the gate, recognized them from a distance and came down thegatehouse steps to meet them. “Errol, old boy,” he shouted, genuinely glad to see him. “I’ve been watching for you. What’s took you so long?” Southporter was a peasant, but he spoke to the nobleman with the easy familiarity that had long been the custom among Corenwalders of any rank.
“What’s kept us, you say?” laughed Errol. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”
Walking around to see what was in the oxcart, Southporter whistled with surprise and awe. “That’s quite a beast. For Darrow’s moat?”
“Yes sir,” answered Errol. “Aidan, my youngest son, captured him where the Tam runs along the edge of our lands.”
Southporter looked at Aidan with undisguised admiration and patted him on the shoulder. “You must be some kind of hunter!”
Aidan reddened. “Father gives me more credit than I deserve. I slipped a rope around his snout, so in a way you could say I caught him. But in the end, I did no more than my brothers.”
“Well, anyhow,” answered Southporter, “he’s a good one. King Darrow will be glad to have him.”
The old gatekeeper gripped two bars of the cage and leaned over toward the unmoving alligator. He spoke to the great monster the way one speaks to a puppy in a box. “Got a name, big fellow?”
For an answer, Samson sprang to life and lunged at the gatekeeper with a terrifying roar. The clapping of his massive jaws sounded like two great planks being struck together. He seemed intent on dismembering the cheeky gatekeeper.
Southporter lurched backward and fell on the cobblestone pavement. His hat toppled from his head and rolled away. The gatekeeper quickly counted his fingers, then felt around on his face to make sure his nose was still there.
“His name’s Samson,” Aidan offered as he helped Southporter to his feet.
“Samson, you say? Well, Samson’s manners is none too refined.”
Percy chuckled. “Don’t judge the poor fellow too harshly. He’s had a hard day, and it’s not even noon yet.” Southporter looked dubiously in the alligator’s direction.
“So, old friend,” Errol broke in, “have the Four and Twenty all arrived?”
“I reckon so,” Southporter answered, “though I can only speak to the ones what come through the south gate. Of the six of you whose estates lie south by the River Road, you’re the last one to come through the gate.”
“And our guests,” asked Errol, “I assume they have arrived?”
The old gatekeeper’s face darkened. “The Pyrthens got here three days ago. And ever since, they’ve been strutting around Tambluff like a passel of roosters—just like they own the place. I don’t like it one bit, Errol, and I don’t care who knows it.”
No one quite knew what to say to this. Southporter pressed his point. “I’m just a gatekeeper, Errol. You’re a great nobleman. So maybe you can help me understand. How are we all of a sudden friends with these folks?”
Errol tried to formulate an answer, but before he got a
The city of Tambluff, Corenwald’s capital city, sat at the foot of the castle on the west bank of the southward-flowing Tam. The city walls formed a nearly exact square mile. Three walls were perfectly straight, twenty feet high, one mile long, and built at right angles to one another. The east wall followed the river. It served as a levee to protect the city from flooding. It also protected the city from enemies who would attack from the water. Each of the walls—except the east wall, which had a moat and drawbridge—had a gatehouse in its exact center.
It was nearly noon when the Errolsons reached Tambluff’s south gate. Southporter, the old keeper of the gate, recognized them from a distance and came down thegatehouse steps to meet them. “Errol, old boy,” he shouted, genuinely glad to see him. “I’ve been watching for you. What’s took you so long?” Southporter was a peasant, but he spoke to the nobleman with the easy familiarity that had long been the custom among Corenwalders of any rank.
“What’s kept us, you say?” laughed Errol. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”
Walking around to see what was in the oxcart, Southporter whistled with surprise and awe. “That’s quite a beast. For Darrow’s moat?”
“Yes sir,” answered Errol. “Aidan, my youngest son, captured him where the Tam runs along the edge of our lands.”
Southporter looked at Aidan with undisguised admiration and patted him on the shoulder. “You must be some kind of hunter!”
Aidan reddened. “Father gives me more credit than I deserve. I slipped a rope around his snout, so in a way you could say I caught him. But in the end, I did no more than my brothers.”
“Well, anyhow,” answered Southporter, “he’s a good one. King Darrow will be glad to have him.”
The old gatekeeper gripped two bars of the cage and leaned over toward the unmoving alligator. He spoke to the great monster the way one speaks to a puppy in a box. “Got a name, big fellow?”
For an answer, Samson sprang to life and lunged at the gatekeeper with a terrifying roar. The clapping of his massive jaws sounded like two great planks being struck together. He seemed intent on dismembering the cheeky gatekeeper.
Southporter lurched backward and fell on the cobblestone pavement. His hat toppled from his head and rolled away. The gatekeeper quickly counted his fingers, then felt around on his face to make sure his nose was still there.
“His name’s Samson,” Aidan offered as he helped Southporter to his feet.
“Samson, you say? Well, Samson’s manners is none too refined.”
Percy chuckled. “Don’t judge the poor fellow too harshly. He’s had a hard day, and it’s not even noon yet.” Southporter looked dubiously in the alligator’s direction.
“So, old friend,” Errol broke in, “have the Four and Twenty all arrived?”
“I reckon so,” Southporter answered, “though I can only speak to the ones what come through the south gate. Of the six of you whose estates lie south by the River Road, you’re the last one to come through the gate.”
“And our guests,” asked Errol, “I assume they have arrived?”
The old gatekeeper’s face darkened. “The Pyrthens got here three days ago. And ever since, they’ve been strutting around Tambluff like a passel of roosters—just like they own the place. I don’t like it one bit, Errol, and I don’t care who knows it.”
No one quite knew what to say to this. Southporter pressed his point. “I’m just a gatekeeper, Errol. You’re a great nobleman. So maybe you can help me understand. How are we all of a sudden friends with these folks?”
Errol tried to formulate an answer, but before he got a
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