by Henry Thomas
“I have an idea, and it’s better than nothing.” He stood up and took Norden’s writ back from Eilyth. “Ryla Dierns gave me an idea.” He fetched the parchment and quill and the ink vial from his scrip bag; all soldiers were given them all rolled up and tucked into a short thin leather tube. They were for reports, for letters home, for wills and testaments. “What’s the closest town north of here? One large enough to have need of a skyharbor?” he asked Bellan.
“You mean north of Torlucksford?”
“Yes. What’s the next larger-sized town that you would come to beyond that?”
Bellan thought for a moment. “Well, to the north it would be Kingsbridge, I reckon.”
“Kingsbridge? I feel that I’ve heard of that before.” Joth had met someone from Kingsbridge in Immerdale when he was garrisoned there. “Is it far?”
“Not too very far, master. A few days, most likely. I ain’t never seen it to be honest with you. My father never let me range much past Torlucksford, even on a post run. I could have stood to make a lot of coin had he not obstructed me.”
“Right. Well, either way, perhaps we can find a way to beat this mage at his own game.”
They gathered closer as Joth explained his plan.
An hour later, as the sun was sinking low in the sky and they had covered the ashes of their fire with damp earth and cleared away the evidence of their having been there, they mounted their horses and set off once again at a long trot toward the northeast and Torlucksford. He was not the best scribe, any fool could see that, but he knew what writs looked like and he had seen his fair share of writs that had been scraped and rewritten with new orders, and his doctored version looked close enough to the genuine article to his eye. He had left the important bits, Mage Norden’s name and seal and his introduction, but he had left the body of the writ wide open and full of vaguery. He had also written a letter to Ryla Dierns and entrusted it to Bellan with explicit instructions to get the missive to her without the mage or any of his cronies knowing about it.
It was a good plan, he thought, and if it worked out smoothly, he and Eilyth would disappear north to Kingsbridge before the mage or his foreign horsemen could catch their trail again. With any luck, Ryla Dierns would lose him as well and they would all meet in Kingsbridge to continue their journey to Twinton. They had agreed that the best course of action would be to ride through the night to Torlucksford. In that manner they would outdistance the Norandian guards and have at least a half-day on them by the time that they realized he and Eilyth had given them the slip.
Bellan assured them that he knew the trails well enough to navigate by moonlight, and although the lad talked too much, Joth trusted his horsemanship and his sense of direction. Joth had always been judgmental of people who spoke too much. He had always thought them full of deceit, but Bellan was not like that. The lad was honest.
The trail rose before them and the trees thinned out as the hill rose up to a towering height and they passed over the top of it and took a look out behind them and around them. Far in the distance ahead a glimmer caught his eye. Bellan caught it too.
“Torlucksford.” He said by way of explanation.
“There!” Eilyth said sharply.
Joth followed her gaze and saw a rider far in the distance behind them atop a hill. It was far, and yet Joth could make out the distinctive helm and dark coat, as well as a spyglass in the horseman’s hand.
“Yes. They’ve made us now.”
“Are you sure? That could have been anybody out for a ride.” Bellan looked a touch worried.
“I have sharp eyes, and that was one of those foreign boys. He’s off now to tell the others.”
“We are many miles ahead of them. We shall ride fast, but even so we shall beat them only by hours.” Eilyth was gauging the distance as she spoke.
“The plan will still work. We shall simply have to speed it up a bit.”
She nodded, and Bellan did as well once he saw Eilyth nodding.
The lad turned his tall buckskin gelding and set off again at a long trot. Eilyth took a last look behind her after the direction of the rider and then followed Bellan on her gray mare, leaving Joth to fall in behind the white packhorse. Urging his mount into a long trot he set off after his two traveling companions along the trail. They would make Torlucksford by midnight, and Joth hoped that he could pass his writ off to the guard once he got there. It had begun to rain again, but it was more of a heavy drizzle that slowly sought its way through their cloaks and coats as they road along through the fading light. The trail was slick, but the horses were used to this sort of footing and showed no signs of distress at the weather. Joth resisted the fool’s temptation of running his horse full out over the trail in order to put a mile or two more between them. He would have to spend his mount more wisely if he were to outpace his pursuers and their sleek coursers. They looked as though they could set a quick pace, but it made no progress to dwell on it, he knew. He had the road before him and Eilyth’s safety to worry about, and now he had the boy to worry over as well. It was risky if the boy went back to Grannock while the mage was still at the inn, now that he had been spotted traveling with them by the Norandian scout. Especially ponying three horses, Joth thought, as he pictured the talkative Bellan shouting out all his business to the world as he strolled past the covered well in the center of the small street.
No, he reflected, the lad had a touch more sense than that and he had a heart and an easy-going way about him, but he also had some mettle to him—enough mettle to stand up and intervene where he sensed a wrong turn about to take place. That took courage and Joth would hold him in esteem for that because he knew that had not been easy for the lad. He would also give the boy some credit for his skills on horseback and his ability to lead them down the trail in these conditions.
There were more hills to crest and more places where the trail was hemmed in and narrowed by a close growing wood and a small ravine that had to be leapt over to be passed and yet more woods and meandering game trails and switchbacks before they finally crested a last low hill and saw the silvery ribbon of the Peake river flowing down through the valley on the far side of the next hill to the east. A tumbling, wooden-walled palisade and a squat stone tower announced the town of Torlucksford atop the hill and looked down over its position on the river Peake, a bridge now spanning the town’s namesake ford where the river channel was at its narrowest.
They could see the lights of the town glowing on the hilltop, the whole place silhouetted in moonlight. It was near midnight and they would be arriving at the gates within the hour. They rode on in matched pace, but here they paced out and rode abreast of each other and allowed their horses to have room after such a frantic ride through the trails and byways of the hilly country between Grannock and Torlucksford. Their horses were tired and well lathered by the time they had made it to the last stand of trees before the road led in to the palisade. It was there that Eilyth and Joth dismounted and handed their reins off to Bellan.
“Remember,” he said looking up to the boy as he gave him the dish-faced bay, “be certain no one sees you in town ponying these horses.”
“Master, you can rest assured. Never you fear.”
“Get that letter to Captain Dierns as quick as you can.”
“Master, as I said, never you fear.” He patted his breast to show that the letter was safe and sound and tucked away inside his fine blue coat.
Eilyth reached up and put her hand to the boy’s cheek. “Go with a care, Bellan. Those men will treat you poorly if you are discovered.”
“Yes, lady. As it please you.” He dipped his head awkwardly.
Eilyth favored him with a smile. “You’d better fly now. Every minute counts.”
Joth shook the boy’s hand. “Take care of yourself, Bellan. And thank you.”
The youth smiled and nodded. “This has been a real adventure. I’ll watch
to see that you make it to the gates.”
They all agreed, then Joth and Eilyth started out on foot up the slope toward the postern gate of the town. It was a short brisk walk and they were there. He and Eilyth looked back and caught sight of Bellan trotting back over the rise with their horses in tow. As he watched him leave, Joth realized that he and Eilyth were alone now, and should his plan fail they would be horse-less. To be horseless would be the least of their discomfitures if he was accused of forging papers, assuming the authority of an officer, falsifying orders, and who knows what else. If that were not enough, perhaps he could find Mage Alchemist Norden to come shout out about him being a deserter and he could help knot the cord he was to be garrotted with.
The wooden walls of the palisade stretched a good twenty ells or higher, and the gatehouse was made of stone and timber, bound and cross-braced with riveted iron bands to reinforce and bring the timbers in to help bear up its stone bulk. Arrow slits and murder holes looking down on them, Joth and Eilyth approached the sally port set within the main ironbound wooden gate, and Joth raised his hand and knocked upon the door soundly. It was a long moment later when some shuffling could be heard and a lantern light showed behind the seams of a speaking window set within the sally port.
“Who goes? State your business?” a voice asked routinely as light flooded them and the speaking window was thrown open with a metallic clang.
“Commander Watron Kine, First Army of the Magistry.” The man blinked a couple of times then shut the speaking window and threw open the sally port, holding out his lantern and ushering them in. The man was in his middling years and clad in a town guard livery watchcoat, a sword dangling at his hip. He wore a mail collar but a soft hat to guard against the chill in place of a helm. He brought them in to a small space between the walls, past the gate yet still behind the portcullis.
“I’ll need to speak to your captain right away,” Joth told the man urgently.
“Yes, Commander.” The man bowed and turned smartly for a door on the other side of the gatehouse wall.
He was left to stand nervously with Eilyth. A few moments later, the man who had ushered them in returned leading a young foppish-looking man in a long formal robe who had obviously only recently been roused from his sleep. He blinked a few times and yawned before speaking. “Yes, I’m Captain Vell of the Townsguard of Torlucksford,” he stated lazily. “How may I be of assistance to you, Commander Kine?”
It took him a second to remember that Wat’s name was his own for the moment. “Oh, yes, Captain, I thank you and apologize for disturbing your sleep, but you must understand I need to transport this prisoner immediately and under the utmost secrecy to—” He cut his eyes dramatically toward the middling guard and then back to the foppish Captain Vell.
The captain raised his eyebrows for a moment before he nodded. “Andry, you may step back to your post.”
“Yes, Captain,” Andry said before bowing and turning smartly again and heading back to his post near the sally port.
“Commander? Please continue.” Captain Vell eyed Eilyth up and down.
“It’s all here in this writ.” Joth forced himself to calmly say it as he pulled the letter from his scrip bag and presented it to the captain. He examined the unbroken seal perfunctorily and cracked it open crisply, much to Joth’s satisfaction. He opened the letter, moving closer to the torchlight to see it better. Joth thanked the stars for arriving in Torlucksford at night.
“Hmm. That’s interesting,” the man muttered. “Tell me, how many scribes has this Norden got?”
What? thought Joth. What should I say? “He has two, my lord Captain. He has replaced his scribe of late.”
“A pity that. His last letter was in a much neater hand.”
Joth smiled uncomfortably and shrugged his shoulders. “You must understand I am not here by choice, Captain. I am merely following orders myself.”
The man looked up from the writ and raised his eyebrows again. “Of course, Commander, my apologies. It’s just that yesterday we were all on the alert after Mage Norden warned us of this red-haired fugitive and here you are now with a new writ and the fugitive in your custody. It’s all just a bit overwhelming for us, Commander. We don’t usually encounter this much activity.”
So Norden had set yet another trap for them. The man was efficient. Joth would credit him with that, at least. “I understand, Captain. Of course, I’ll have to insist that you help us now and send us on our way.” Joth tried to say it with as much authority as he could muster. He stole a quick glance at Eilyth, whom he had been purposely ignoring as he stood there with her father’s staff in his hand. She was looking appropriately browbeaten and demoralized. She looked like a prisoner, or at least like someone who was defeated. He had to force himself to look away before Captain Vell noticed.
“Yes, Commander, I am not aiming to impede you at all. Of course not. I apologize. I made arrangements for a prisoner’s transport to be standing by when I had received word from Mage Norden of a possible fugitive. The driver and groom are staying at a nearby inn, and I’ll have them roused and ready within the hour.”
“See that you do, and see that your men fetch food for myself and the prisoner as I have lost my mount and all my provisions in taking her.”
The man bobbed and backed away with a flourish. “I am making it my personal mission to see to it that you have the choicest delectable provisions, Commander. I cannot stand campaigning without proper nourishment. I take it upon myself to see to it by means of an apology to the mage for not being able to further aid in the capture of this dangerous creature.” He once again ran his eyes up and down Eilyth’s forlorn figure.
Joth felt his patience with the man wearing thin, but he held back and drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am weary from my travels. Is there a place I can relax and have a flagon while the team is hitched?”
“Of course. Why don’t you come with me to the inn? I shall rouse the driver and groom myself and see to it that you have a hot meal and a flagon.”
That was more like it, Joth thought. “That’s very kind of you indeed. Lead on, Captain.” He took Eilyth by the elbow and followed Captain Vell through a door and out the other side of the gatehouse, past the portcullis and up a narrow, cobbled lane until they came to a small square with a fountain at its center and several stone and half-timbered buildings jumbled along its borders.
There were few people awake at this hour, and the weather was still damp and drizzling. Joth and Eilyth followed the captain to a building on the corner of the square with a large sign showing a boar beneath an oak tree, the name painted in golden letters across the top and bottom of the sign illuminated by torchlight and reading “The Duke of Acorns.” Inside, the inn was quaint and quiet. An older woman worked at collecting earthenware mugs and bowls from the now empty tables as a fire burned in a central hearth and a barman swept at the floor behind the bar.
The captain sorted them out with two bowls of stew and a warm round loaf encrusted with seeds and nuts and fresh butter. The old woman brought a jug of ale and two cups, and Joth poured ale for himself and Eilyth as the captain took to the stairs and announced that he was off to wake the driver and the groom. He was so famished that he could not tell if the stew was as good as it tasted to him due to excellent preparation or his own hunger, but he ate it greedily and slathered his warm bread with the rich butter and ate his fill. Looking at Eilyth, he could tell that she too had been hungry, for she was closing her eyes as she chewed the bread as though it was the finest thing she had ever tasted.
As they were eating, the captain came back down the stairs followed by a sandy haired youth and a solid older man who was belting on a long knife and coiling up a coach whip as he yawned and nodded to the captain. “As it please you, Captain. Simma, run hitch up the team.” The young man started off immediately, attempting to smooth his hair when he caught sight of Eilyth.
“Thank you, Captain. I shall indeed.”
“Good, good. May your journey be pleasant.” The foppish captain bid them good evening with a sweeping bow.
The old woman put a basket on the table and nodded to Joth. Inside were a few loaves of bread and some other foods. A dried sausage, its casing white with mold, a wheel of cheese, a small clay jar of pickled onions, a large cask of ale—provisions to last he and Eilyth two, maybe three, days.
Durn, the driver, was staring at Eilyth’s hair ornaments. “Bloody Dawn Tribe,” he muttered astoundedly.
Joth stepped to immediately. “That isn’t your concern, driver. This prisoner is my concern.”
The man looked at Eilyth warily but nodded. “Yes, Commander, as it please you.” Joth stood and pushed the basket of provisions at the driver. “Make sure there are blankets in the coach, and let’s be off as quickly as we can be.”
“Yes, Commander. Just one thing, I was wondering where we are off to? The captain, see, he never said where we was going.”
Joth took a look around and saw no one to overhear him except for the old woman cleaning the tables, but she was halfway across the room. “You’re to take us to Kingsbridge,” Joth said lowly. “And we are not to make any stops along the way until we get there.”
Durn came to get them a few minutes later and Joth led Eilyth outside, where a tall ironbound box sat perched atop a carriage. The sandy-haired youth Simma stood to one side of the open cell door holding a tatty-looking crossbow. A team of six horses plumed steam and stamped in the chill wee hours. Joth pushed Eilyth inside the cell and then climbed in behind her.