Another voice, deep and gravelly followed his. “Get us some meat. And keep an eye out, there’s still one more about. Dean, you go and search the town, watch for that fucking Indian.”
Wolf Tongue’s heart lurched as a man ducked through the doorway. The Susquehannock bolted forward as quickly as he could, closer to the house. From where he was, he could hear the men shuffling inside, the clack of arms being adjusted. Just around the corner of the house, he saw the back of one man wandering off toward Brown’s.
Wolf Tongue slipped around to the back of the house. Now he could hear another man go walking out toward the center of town.
“Where do you keep your whiskey?” came the coarse voice from inside.
Wolf Tongue grimaced. Now there were still three men inside the house, including the surgeon, and two armed men looking for him. And one would certainly learn from Brown that Wolf Tongue was nearby. He had no chance. His enemies were too spread out to take by surprise, and more, they knew he was nearby and were searching for him.
He could only wait and hope for a chance at surprise again. And pray that Pyke lived that long.
With a long, slow breath, Wolf Tongue scanned the open area of the tiny town. He could see neither of the men now. Less than a dozen strides separated the back of the doctor’s house from the forest, but even that offered no secure protection. The trees were leafless, and the remnants of snow would make movement easy to spot.
Still, he had to move. He needed shelter and warmth, and he couldn’t hide beside the house all night. The tricks of dusk light would help him somewhat, and that, at least, was something.
He looked for his enemies again, and when he saw no one, he slipped into the forest as quickly and quietly as he could. It seemed that seasons passed as he crept only a hundred strides from the town. He could still hear the gurgle of the stream not far away, and he searched the area around him. The creek wound to the west along a wider, trampled road that turned south out of the town.
Unless he missed his guess, the men would take Pyke back west, possibly north to Storm-of-Villages, and not south. If they were really capturing Pyke, there was still some chance Wolf Tongue could rescue him.
With another sigh, Wolf Tongue settled in and ate some bread and emptied his water skin. He could feel the tiredness in his body, as if his muscles were made of wet clay, though he could still feel the excitement of his flight keeping his eyes open as he sat, and ate, and waited.
Well enough convinced that no one trailed him through the dark, he rose. Following the sounds of the creek, he picked his way through the night. He walked slowly, carefully, trying to step from stone to stone where he could to hide his passage. Within perhaps a half an hour, after crossing the stream and refilling his water skin, Wolf Tongue stopped. A ribbon of watery light appeared ahead. He blinked before he recognized the cleared path of the road that allowed more moon and sunlight to filter to the ground.
He turned away and walked at an angle from the road until he found a higher area where he could only barely see the cleared path, but also the rooftops in the town. There, he stripped the branches from a few spruce trees and layered them on the ground and then up against a fallen log. He hoped the shelter would shield him from some of the cold as well as any passing eyes.
Finally, Wolf Tongue slipped beneath his meager roof with a deer hide beneath him and one across his shoulders. He ate another bite of bread and pork and rested on his elbows, eyes searching, ears straining.
He heard nothing but the faint hiss of water and creaking of trees. Then, he frowned, hoping that he would hear all he would need to once he fell asleep. He checked his musket again and set it beside his head. Already he was beginning to feel comfortable as the heaviness of sleep crept through him, the warmth of his shelter building.
He reached for his bag and rummaged blindly through it. His fingers brushed the chain of the silver necklace and paused for a moment. He pulled it out and held it so it dangled in the air, the moonlight glistening on it like the movement of ghosts. He tied it around his neck and reached back into his bag.
He withdrew the tiny stack of tobacco and sniffed it. It felt crumbly and fragile, but it still smelled fresh and hearty. His heart felt sick for a moment as he wished for a fire. It would warm him more than his hides. And it would warm his soul to send his prayers with the smoke to Hahgwehdiyu, to ask for strength and to show his gratitude for his life and glory he’d earned. He would send an offering to the jogah of this place, to ask for their protection and help.
But he couldn’t risk a fire, and he needed sleep more than he needed to scour in the dark for kindling and firewood. Instead, he dug a small hole in the earth by his head with his fingertips. He slipped a leaf of tobacco into it and scraped the earth back over top with a prayer.
“Hahgwehdiyu, I hear you in the winds,” he said. “I can feel the jogah of this place in my heart. Take my offering and hear my prayer. I am one of your children. Please, let me sleep, lend me strength, and let no quhanstrono find me with my eyes closed.”
With that, he folded his arms beneath his head and slipped into the world of dreams.
Sixteen – The Cruelty of Men
In the morning, the giant named Farkas woke Pyke by prodding his shoulder with the butt of his musket.
“Get up you bastard.” The man was so tall he had to hunch over and turn his head sideways in the surgeon’s house.
Pyke shoved the butt of the musket away and cursed the man. Farkas sneered a smile and pointed at him. “You’re lucky my orders are to capture you. I don’t like chasing silly little Englishmen through the woods. I hate running. I hate people that make me run even more.”
“Piss off, you bloody ogre,” Pyke said.
Farkas shoved the butt of the musket into Pyke’s shoulder again, sending a fresh shiver of pain through his body. He groaned and fell back to the floor. If only he had his sword, he would have gutted this insolent man.
“Dear God, what are you doing?” Blackstone shoved his way past Farkas. “This man is under my care. He is not to be treated this way.”
At the sight of Blackstone, Pyke’s rage blossomed again. The surgeon was a villainous traitor of the worst kind. Not only was he an English gentleman, he was an officer in the Royal Army to boot! And yet, he’d chosen to follow Azariah. Blackstone’s questions last night had not been asked out of idle curiosity or friendly interest. The entire time, he’d been probing Pyke for information in an attempt to catch him out. Though the surgeon never admitted to it, Pyke pieced together from the snippets of conversation between Azariah’s men later that Blackstone had been aware of the two road agents waiting for him and Wolf Tongue outside the town.
It also dawned on him why Farkas and Artemis had stayed with the river rather than follow them to the town, when that was their obvious destination. They had known the town was covered by two road agents and Blackstone.
“Blackstone, this man’s our prisoner. And you’ll help us take him to Azariah.” Farkas shouldered past the surgeon.
Blackstone kept his disapproving eyes on Farkas. “We’ll see what Azariah says about this. The man does not take my opinion lightly.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Farkas said. His face retained that ugly sneer when he grabbed Pyke by the collar and muscled him out of the surgeon’s house.
The chill of early morning sent shivers down his spine, but the sun burned bright along the rim of the horizon, promising a warmer day than yesterday. Pyke moved in a hunch, unable to take a full breath against the bandages wound tightly around his chest and crossing the bad shoulder.
“Over here,” Farkas said, shoving him rather than showing him. The giant led him away from the surgeon’s house to a lonely, crooked rail on the town’s outskirts that had four horses tied to it. The other members of the hunting party were already there. Pyke recognized the small man with the sharp features, Artemis, and the other two, who must have been brothers they bore so strong a resemblance.
Farkas shoved him forward
again.
“Take your bloody hands off me!” Pyke blurted. “I am a British officer!”
Farkas regarded him with a neutral expression for a moment. Then he broke into raucous laughter. The short man joined in as well, a mocking guffaw. The brothers snickered too, but they did so guardedly, as if they didn’t understand the joke.
In another world, that phrase would have meant something. I am a British officer. But not out here, in this time and place and circumstance. Pyke realized how utterly ridiculous the statement was. And Farkas seized on the opportunity as well.
“You ain’t no British officer out here. You ain’t no gentleman. You ain’t even a Brit. You could be the King himself and I could get you to kiss my hairy, stinking arse. You’re nobody. I could kill you right now.” Farkas drew a small pistol and put the barrel against Pyke’s forehead. “I could, you know. Bury you. Make up a story to tell Azariah. These men would back me. Wouldn’t you boys?”
“We would,” the small man said.
“Put the bloody pistol away,” Pyke said, his anger rising. “We all know you’re not going to shoot me. Let’s get on with it.”
Farkas sneered. “Oh, make no mistake, English. I’ll shoot you as soon as Azariah is done with you. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Put the pistol away, you oaf,” Blackstone said as he drew even. “Azariah is a gentleman, and he will treat Lieutenant Pyke in kind.”
Farkas scowled at the surgeon. “I ain’t in the mood for you, old man.”
Pyke expected the surgeon to wither under the giant’s stare, but he didn’t. Instead, Blackstone smirked. “I will have words with Azariah about you, sir.”
Farkas hesitated a moment before giving the surgeon his back. “Your word has less value than this shitty town here.”
Blackstone’s voice boomed. “Listen to me, you bloody barbarian. Azariah may not cherish the Crown, but still he wants to civilize this land.”
Farkas whirled to face Blackstone. “Stick to your whiskey and mending soldiers, and keep your thoughts to yourself.”
Blackstone kept his military-like bearing and managed to preserve his dignity. “I will if you promise not to act like a dumb savage.”
While the men were seemingly distracted, Pyke took two short steps backward to test their concentration.
Farkas’s arm swung in a quick arc and suddenly his pistol was aimed at Pyke’s chest. “Not another step, dog.”
Pyke put his palms out to show he wasn’t plotting anything.
Artemis said, “Who rides ahead, then? Bennett needs to know one of his would-be murderers is still on the loose.”
“You go, Artemis.” Farkas said, keeping the pistol on Pyke. “Go and tell him how you mucked up catching the Indian yesterday.”
“Me? Your memory’s as bad as yer breath,” Artemis said. “If you weren’t so dan slow, we’d have caught up to the canoe and had the men ourselves.”
“If we had crossed the river like I said, we’d have had them even sooner,” Farkas said, then spit out a big gob of yellow. He motioned with his head at the brothers, who stepped up beside Pyke. Farkas put his pistol away and mounted a horse. “I’ll ride ahead. You fellas piss yourselves at the sight of Azariah, but I ain’t afraid of him. Or any man for that matter. Besides, the sooner I get off the road, the better.”
“Pity we won’t get to spend more time with you,” Artemis said. Pyke got the sense that the two, despite their harsh words, were fast friends.
Farkas nudged the reluctant horse forward. The animal hesitated before breaking into a trot. Over his massive shoulder, Farkas yelled back, “And make sure you tie that man’s hands.”
“I have a better idea for the dog.” Artemis looked at Blackstone. “Doctor, you’ll be using this horse. Roger, Dean, you’re sharing that animal.”
Blackstone took the reins of one of the free horses. It took him three attempts to get himself situated atop the animal.
Artemis went to the other horse and hopped up as if he were lighter than air. Roger and Dean, who’d not said one word yet, kept their suspicious eyes on Pyke. Without so much as a word, Dean hopped up on the remaining horse, leaving Roger to walk.
In that briefest of moments, Pyke considered running for it back to the town.
But before he could do so, Artemis lassoed a rope over his head, and with a flick of the wrist, the rope twirled through the air and encircled Pyke’s neck. Then with a burning snap, the man tightened the rope snug against Pyke’s skin.
“You’re a soldier, dog?” Artemis asked.
“Of course I am you little bastard.”
“Then you should know how to march.” The man yanked on the rope, throwing Pyke off balance. He landed in the mud of the town’s lonely road.
***
They marched him.
Artemis was in his own ways just as brutal as his friend Farkas. Once, out of sheer spite, Artemis tugged on the line just enough so Pyke lost his footing and was dragged for several feet.
Pyke’s legs were sore and screamed in protest with every step, while Artemis’s cruelty flowed through the rope. Pyke didn’t want his neck broken so he was forced to focus on each step he took and measure Artemis’s attitude throughout the entire march.
They stopped at midday in a clearing. They had long since abandoned the lazy, curving trail of the river, so it became clear that Artemis was not taking him back to the cliffs. Pyke sat down heavily, his legs aching, and his neck burning from the rope.
Artemis let go of the rope and gave Pyke a look. “Don’t even try to run, dog. Or I’ll shoot you.”
Pyke laughed. “With that sorry excuse for a musket?”
A slow smirk worked its way across the man’s face. “A demonstration, then.”
Before Pyke responded, Artemis had drawn his musket and motioned at one of the two brothers. “Dean, your canteen.”
Dean stood and held it out. He waited for Artemis to prime his musket. Pyke watched the man’s nimble fingers load the gun quickly.
Very quickly.
“As high as you can. And away from yourself,” Artemis said, instructing the man so the shot would be from a great distance and a difficult angle.
Dean crouched and lowered the canteen, then hurled it into the air with all his might. Pyke watched as it climbed into the sky and then looked over at Artemis, who in one fluid motion brought the musket to bear and fired.
The canteen changed course during its fall and thudded to the ground. Dean and the other brother, Roger, cheered in encouragement. Blackstone said nothing.
“Care to examine it, dog?” Artemis asked.
“My mother could make that shot,” Pyke said, trying to hide how impressed he was.
Artemis sneered but didn’t say anything else, while Dean retrieved his now useless container. In a few moments, the group lapsed into silence.
Blackstone took this opportunity to fuss over his wound. Pyke still had the wrath of God in him with respect to the traitorous doctor, wanting to pummel him for his treachery. But he let the man tend to the wound. He’d need his strength for whatever lay ahead.
But he wouldn’t let the surgeon go without a word. “You ought to be hanged for treason.”
Blackstone kept his rheumy eyes on Pyke’s shoulder and said, “The Crown has done nothing for any of us out here.”
“The Crown gave you this land and opportunity.”
“The Crown gave me nothing. I earned everything I’ve ever had. And don’t lecture me, son. I’ve seen hundreds of men younger than you die in pointless battle. This land has soaked in the blood of the innocent ever since we reached these shores. And for what? We get no protection from the French or from the hostile natives.” Finished his examination, Blackstone pulled the dressing tight again. Pyke gasped against the pain. “I see no infection.”
“You’re fattening me for the slaughter, you know,” Pyke said.
Blackstone finally met his eyes. “Despite all that you have heard, Azariah is a good man. He has had visi
ons of how the world will be. A safe, bloodless place where all prosper. And this is where it can start. Removed from the Crown, we can—”
“Quit being a chatterbox,” Artemis said to Blackstone. “Come away from the dog.”
Blackstone ignored the man and said, “Removed from the Crown, we can do a great many things. We can ensure that no child goes hungry, that no more unnecessary blood is spilled, that all men are properly represented in a government of our own choosing. It probably will not happen in my lifetime, I grant you that, but it will happen.”
“It will definitely not happen in your lifetime if I have anything to say in the matter,” Pyke said.
Blackstone ignored him. “Someday the Love of God will shine down upon this land and we will recreate the life as it was before man fell to sin. If I never see another soldier die in battle, it will be too soon.”
Artemis laughed mockingly at the surgeon’s foolish notions.
Pyke said, “And you think Azariah Bennett is the man to show everyone the way.”
“He is flawed, it is true, but so are all men,” Blackstone said.
“That’s enough, doctor,” Artemis said, this time with an edge to his voice. Blackstone gave Artemis an offended eye but left and went to sit by himself. Before he even sat, he’d pulled out a canteen and sipped his whiskey.
Roger offered Pyke a slice of salted pork. Artemis watched with disapproving eyes but said nothing. Pyke suspected some joke lay at the heart of the offering, but he took the food anyway because he was starving and needed the energy to go on. He took a bite and it tasted fine and no one mocked him.
Artemis stood to rub down his horse. “The Colonel sent you, didn’t he?”
Pyke didn’t look at the man. He chewed on the little scrap of pork and swallowed it, wishing he’d been given more.
“No point in being silent as a graveyard. We’ll find out everything now we’ve got you,” Artemis said. The man slinked his way over and stooped next to Pyke.
“It was the Colonel, wasn’t it?” Artemis asked.
Pyke still didn’t look at the man. He was busy plotting his escape. Had been since they’d stopped.
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