by David Debord
“What’s wrong?” he whispered as they pounded down the steps.
“I don’t know how, but someone knew I was there. I heard footsteps coming in my direction. I barely got away.”
“Probably a spell of some sort.” He wondered if such a thing were possible. He could ask Master Zuhayr, but if word got around that someone had broken into the archives, the question might raise suspicion.
“I had to eat your letter, you know,” Lizzie said.
“What?”
“I couldn’t risk getting you into trouble if I got caught, so I destroyed the evidence.”
“How did it taste?”
“Like chicken.” Lizzie giggled. They paused at the bottom of the stairwell. She opened the door, looked up and down the corridor, and finally stepped out. “I’m going to sneak out through the grounds. You should stay away from the archives tonight. Find a different way back to your quarters, just to be safe.”
“When can I see you again?” Oskar blurted before he had time to stop himself.
“Two nights from now. Meet me at the top of the steps at moonrise.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said. “I’d have been in serious trouble if you hadn’t gotten that letter.”
“You are getting deeper in debt to me. Next time, I want a better present than an apple.” Suddenly, she took his face in her hands, rose up on her tiptoes, and kissed him hard on the lips. “Goodnight,” she whispered. And then she was gone.
Oskar stared at the spot where she’d stood a moment before, glad no one could see the foolish grin spreading across his face. For an instant, he considered following her, but knew he’d never find her. She moved like a shadow.
A noise behind him caught his attention, and he whirled about to see a figure disappear around a corner. Who had it been? He hastily stripped off his boots and took off at a run down the hallway. He was surprised to discover he actually could move quietly and quickly when he put his mind to it. Reaching the corner, he paused and peered around. The figure was moving at a fast walk, not looking back. This stretch of hallway was long and straight, and Oskar risked being seen if he followed too closely, but he had to know who it was. Heart in his throat, he took off again, this time at a trot. His gentle footfalls sounded like thunder to his ears, but the figure up ahead continued on, seemingly unaware that Oskar followed.
He was twenty paces away when he froze. Up ahead, a sliver of moonlight shone through a tall, narrow window, and as the figure passed through it, Oskar recognized the fair skin and pale blond hair.
Agen had been spying on him.
Chapter 21
“I’ve never seen so many people in such a small town.” Hierm reined in his horse and sat staring at the masses that filled the forest and open fields around the town of Wilham. Some had built makeshift huts while others slept underneath wagons or stretches of canvas. On the whole, they were a pitiful lot, dirty and despondent. Here and there, a few men cast envious glances at Hierm’s pack horse, whose burden was light, but likely held more food than any of these people had seen in some time. One man, a big fellow with wild, red hair, took two steps out into the road but stopped when a tiny woman took him by the arm and whispered something in his ear.
“Refugees,” Colin said. “Most of them from the north, I’ll wager, since the war’s still going on up there. Some might have fled from the army we faced in Galsbur. That one,” his eyes darted to the red-haired man, “looks like one of the mountain folk.”
“I have a feeling we won’t find Lerryn here,” Hierm said. They’d been on the road for a week and had learned precious little— a few reports of a man fitting the prince’s description passing through the countryside, headed north and east, plus a recent tale of a group of farmers, led by a stranger on a warhorse, driving off bandits that had been waylaying travelers on the road to Wilham.
“So do I, but someone here might have seen him or heard rumors.” Colin’s dark eyes scanned the crowd as if the prince might be found there. “Supplies will likely be expensive and hard to come by, but I suppose I should at least try. Foraging will be difficult as we get closer to the battle lines. The land will likely have been picked clean.”
“We can take care of that if you like,” Hair offered.
Colin shook his head. “I have a bit more experience at this than you do. Plus, I’m less likely to be robbed than the three of you.” It was a measure of the force of Colin’s personality as much as the young men’s regard for his prowess that none of them disagreed.
“We’ll ask after Lerryn,” Hierm said.
“There’s an inn up ahead. I’ll meet you in the common room.” Colin took the pack horse and rode off down the lane.
Hierm led the way to the inn, where they dismounted and tied their horses to the hitch by the front steps. A blocky man armed with a cudgel stood at the bottom of the steps. He looked them up and down for a moment, and then stepped aside.
“I’ll keep an eye on your horses,” he said.
“Thank you. Can I pay you for your trouble?” Hierm reached for his belt pouch.
“I’m a peacekeeper, not a servant.” The man spat on the ground. “Just don’t stir up any trouble and we’ll be square.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Hair said smoothly and swept up the steps, the others following along behind.
The common room was almost empty. Two weedy men in travel-stained cloaks hunched over mugs of ale, speaking in low tones. Nearby, a burly man sat turning a cup in his hands and gazing out the dirty window. Something about the man looked familiar to Hierm, but before he could consider the matter further, a chubby serving girl interrupted his thoughts.
“Can I get something for M’Lord? Anything at all?” She flashed a gap-toothed smile and scooted in close so that her ample breasts brushed against his shoulder.
“Ale,” he said, feeling his cheeks burn. “For all of us.”
“Any food for you?” she asked. “We’ve got some vegetable stew and day-old bread.”
“That will be fine.”
“There won’t be nothing else?” She gave him a wink. When he shook his head, she thrust out her lip. “Too bad. If you change your mind later tonight, I sleep upstairs— the little room at the end of the hall.”
Hierm didn’t know what to say to that, so he sat quietly and endured his friends’ good-natured ribbing.
“Since she seems to have taken a liking to you, you can be the one to ask her if she’s seen the prince.” Hair ran a hand absently over his head and frowned. His formerly long hair for which he had earned his nickname was still far from short; it nearly touched his shoulders but was a far cry from its former length. “I can’t wait until I graduate the academy and can grow my hair again.”
“I don’t know how you stood wearing it so long,” Edrin said. “I couldn’t bear my neck getting so hot.”
“They wear it even longer on the other side of the Sun Sands,” Hair said.
“And you crossed the Sun Sands when, exactly?” Hierm asked.
Hair made a rude hand gesture.
“Now then, you shouldn’t treat M’Lord so.” The serving girl had returned, bearing four mugs of ale.
“Who is the fourth mug for?” Hierm asked.
“An extra for you, M’Lord. Unless you want to invite me to sit down.” She pursed her lips and fixed him with what he supposed was intended to be a smoldering look, but came off as more of a confused frown.
Hierm cursed his fair complexion as he felt himself blush again. He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “That’s a grand idea,” he said, remembering he needed to extract information from her. “Sit down and take your ease.”
“Oh.” Now it was her turn to blush. “I’m sorry, M’Lord. I was only teasing. The master would have my head if I consorted with patrons while I was on the job.” She emphasized the last three words.
“That is regrettable,” Hierm agreed.
“I’m willing to make it up to you later.” She rested her elbows
on the table, pushing up her cleavage until Hierm feared it would break free from the fabric that struggled to hold it back.
“You can begin making it up to me right now,” he said. “What is your name?”
“Sandra, M’Lord.”
“Well, Sandra, first of all, you can stop calling me ‘Lord.’ That’s my father, not me.” He faltered for an instant, the still-fresh grief from the news of Lord Hiram’s death washed over him.
Sandra nodded uncertainly.
“We are traveling north and east, and we are concerned about our safety. What have you heard about the towns and villages in that direction?”
“Well, there’s bandits, of course. Mostly soldiers who abandoned their posts for easier pickings in the countryside. Some manner of fighting going on, too, or so I hear.”
“So we stand a good chance of running into the Kyrinian or Galdoran armies should we travel much farther?” Hair took a sip of his ale and eyed her over his mug.
“Just the deserters causing trouble.”
“So who’s doing the fighting?” Hierm asked.
“According to the rumors, somebody’s trained up a whole mess of common folk and they’ve been going about fighting the bandits and deserters. Got their own little army, they do.”
“Are you sure?” Edrin asked.
Sandra shrugged. “Some of the locals have gone off to join up— those too young or too old to fight in the regular army. One of them came back to buy supplies. He was in here this morning, him and a few others. They told me all about it.”
“Who leads them?” Hierm’s heart raced. This had to be Lerryn.
“A soldier. At least, he used to be. No one knows his name, but they say he’s handsome as a god and fierce as a demon. His band has gotten so big he finally had to set up a headquarters. He’s got them organized and trained, and he sends men all over trying to keep the countryside safe.”
“Where is this headquarters?” Hierm demanded, sharper than he intended.
Before Sandra could reply, a voice cried out.
“They’s trying to take your horses!”
The innkeeper, a carving knife in one hand, pointed out the window. “Quick! Markus is trying to hold them off.”
Hierm sprang and ran for the door. Hair and Edrin followed.
Outside, Markus, the guard, stood beside the horses, swinging his cudgel in a wide arc, to keep the crowd at bay.
“These lords got plenty.” The big red-haired man they’d seen earlier thrust an accusing finger at Markus’ chest. “If they won’t do for those of us that’s in need, we’ll take it for ourselves.”
“We don’t steal from one another in these parts. The constable’s on his way,” Markus said. “You’d best disperse before he and his men get here.”
“Let him come!” another man shouted. “Him and two deputies ain’t enough to stop all of us.”
“They won’t be alone!” Hierm said. He descended the steps and moved to stand next to Markus with Edrin and Hair flanking them.
The red-haired man’s eyes took them all in. “You think there’s enough of you to stop us?”
Hierm assessed the situation. They were badly outnumbered. No one would blame him if he drew his sword. Or would they?”
A stone flew through the air and grazed his temple, cutting his contemplation short. He reached for his sword, but the red-haired man was on him in a flash, knocking him backward. Hierm brought his knees to his chest and kicked out, knocking the man to the side. He rolled to his feet, ducked a wild punch, and drove his fist into his assailant’s gut. The man was solidly built, and the punch had little effect.
Hierm tried to dodge a second punch, but the tightly packed crowd made movement difficult. The man’s fist caught him a glancing blow above the ear, and he stumbled backward, struggling to keep his balance.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Markus flailed about with his cudgel. Hair sidestepped a man’s charge and, with a deft move, threw his hip into the man and flipped him over his back, sending him flying through the air. Edrin had fought through a forest of grasping hands and retrieved his bow, which he’d left tied to his saddle. Unable to string it, he now held it like a staff, laying about with it as the crowd closed in on him.
Hierm grabbed his attacker by the hair, yanked the man’s head down, and drove his knee into the man’s nose. The attacker cried out in pain but kept fighting. He wrapped his arms around Hierm’s waist and drove him to the ground. Hierm’s breath left him in a rush, and he struggled to raise his arms to defend himself against the blows that now rained down on him. The situation was hopeless. They were going to die here at the hands of this desperate mob.
And then, someone flew through the air and knocked Hierm’s assailant to the ground. Hierm froze for an instant, and then recognized the man they’d seen in the common room— the one who’d looked familiar. The man didn’t offer to help Hierm to his feet but looked around for someone to fight. He lashed out with tight, compact punches and elbow strikes that broke teeth, crushed noses, and set knees to wobbling. He was like a boulder rolling downhill. No one could stand in his way.
Hierm regained his feet, sucking in deep breaths, and looked around. Though a few men still struggled, most of the mob was drawing back. Over the ringing in his ears he heard a deep voice shouting out.
“Stand down or we’ll thump your skulls for you!” A hollow thud and a cry of pain underscored this proclamation.
The few remaining fighters broke free of one another and stepped back. Three men clad all in purple waded through the crowd. Each carried a cudgel and wore a length of rope and a long knife at his waist. The man in the lead, a short, blocky man with shoulders like a blacksmith, wore a gold starburst pinned to his tunic. The constable had arrived.
The attackers who remained on their feet all broke and ran, but neither the constable nor his deputies tried to stop them. The constable stopped in front of Markus, tucked his thumbs in his belt, and looked the man up and down.
“What have we here?” The constable’s voice betrayed no emotion.
“The crowd tried to steal these horses,” Markus said. “At least, they wanted the men’s supplies. We tried to keep them back; didn’t use no blades or nothing.”
The constable surveyed the scene. Three men lay unconscious. Two others were awake but too injured to rise. Hierm and his friends were battered and, in Edrin’s case, bleeding, but appeared reasonably hale.
“No blades,” the constable repeated. “That’s good. Otherwise, I’d be forced to...”
“Constable!” one of the deputies barked. “We’ve got a dead man here. Somebody crushed his skull.”
Hierm looked at the man who lay at the deputy’s feet— a man whom he had assumed was unconscious. Sure enough, the side of his skull had been caved in. Trickles of blood flowed from his ear and nose.
“Perhaps one of your men did that with his cudgel?” The man from the common room, the one who had intervened on their side, offered.
“A cudgel didn’t do this,” the deputy said. “It was a stone. A big, round one. See how his head’s dented in a circle?”
“None of us used a rock,” Markus said. “But some of the mob was throwing them.”
“It’s us, now, is it?” The constable rocked back on his heels. “You know these men?”
“They’re paying customers. They caused no trouble until the mob stirred things up.” The innkeeper said from his position at the top of the steps. His pristine apron indicated he’d watched the fight from the safety of his inn.
“Be that as it may, can either of you say for certain who did or did not pick up a rock and club somebody?” The constable looked from the innkeeper to Markus. Both paused for a moment before shaking their heads.
“All right, then. I’m going to ask you all to come with me. I would take it as a kindness if you didn’t try to flee, otherwise, my deputy on the roof,” he inclined his head toward the inn, “will have to waste a crossbow bolt on one of you and the three
of us will be obliged to fight the rest.”
“What about them?” Hierm made a sweeping gesture that took in all the men on the ground, plus the ones who had run away.
“We’ll take them in as well,” the constable said. “Drag them, rather. When they wake up, we’ll question everyone and try to get to the bottom of things. Markus can stay. He couldn’t very well have picked up a rock when he’s got two hands on the cudgel. But I would appreciate some help getting the injured men to the jail.”
Markus nodded.
“Now,” the constable said to Hierm, “are you coming peaceful like, or are we going to fight?”
Hierm looked at Edrin and Hair, who shrugged. There was no point in fighting. Whether they went for their weapons or their horses, the deputies would be on them in an instant, and then there was the crossbowman on the roof to consider. “We’ll come with you.”
The constable smiled and gave a curt nod before turning a wary eye on the other man. “And you?”
The man looked up at the deputy on the roof, who appeared to have correctly identified him as the most dangerous of the four who were being arrested, and held his crossbow steady, trained on the man’s chest.
“All right,” he finally said, “I’ll come. But I warn you— I’m a member of the prince’s guard, and I won’t abide injustice. Not for me nor any of these men.”
Now Hierm recognized him. It was Tabars, Lerryn’s second in command. Was he searching for Lerryn too?
“You have my word,” the constable said. “Now, if you’ll all drop to your knees and place your hands behind your backs?”
They did as they were told. One deputy hastily bound their wrists while the other used a single length of rope to string them together, securing it around each man’s ankles, leaving only enough room for them to waddle along.
“We’ll tend to your horses and keep your possessions safe until this matter is disposed of,” the constable said.
“How long will that be?” Tabars’ quiet words dripped with malice.
“That all depends. If we get a confession, everyone else is free to go immediately. If we go to trial, we’ll have to wait until the local lord makes his visit here. Shouldn’t be more than three moons.”