by Robert Evert
“What if we had really good weapons?” Toby glanced meaningfully at Edmund. “I mean, really good swords, for example.”
Edmund knew exactly what Toby was suggesting, but he shook his head.
“It’s not the quality of our weapons. We could have the best swords in the world, and those knights would still fill us with arrows before we could even swing them.”
“Oh,” Bain said, correcting him, “they aren’t knights.”
Everybody lifted their heads.
“Not those guarding the supplies,” he remarked.
“Out of the thousand or so who are coming north,” Hendrick explained, “probably only two hundred of them are knights. The rest of the army will consist of ordinary men-at-arms.”
“And others,” Bain said. “Cooks, squires, and so on. Maybe a few carpenters or wainwrights in case a wagon wheel breaks or a river needs to be bridged. Good-for-nothing lords. But all told, their fighting force is probably no more than seven hundred.”
“Doesn’t that help us?” Pond asked, avoiding Abby’s glare. “I mean, there has to be a silver lining somewhere; maybe this is it!”
“Mostly men-at-arms …” Edmund whispered.
“Have an idea?” Abby asked.
Edmund watched the steam rise up from his stein, then shook his head with a sigh.
“No,” he admitted, “but I think Pond is right. Somehow fighting men-at-arms gives me some hope.”
“Not to squelch your optimism, sir,” Bain said, “but these men aren’t chambermaids. They’re experienced, battle-hardened warriors. They can fight on horseback as well as on their feet, and they’re heavily armed, skilled with blade and bow, and looking for battle so they can win fame and fortune.”
They all stared into their mugs again. For a while, nobody spoke.
Then, at the end of the table, feet propped up on a chair, Vin chuckled with a mischievous grin.
“I could get them all drunk,” he said.
Everyone laughed bitterly, thinking Vin was joking, but Edmund suspected what Vin was getting at.
“Could you do that? I mean … do you have anything strong enough to get that many men inebriated?”
“I have a few barrels in the cellar that could certainly do the trick. I’d just need a couple days to prepare it.”
Pond looked from Edmund to the brewer, trying to decipher their exchange of knowing glances. “What?”
“How long would it take?” Edmund asked. “To get them drunk, I mean. How many drinks?”
“Not many. Hell, we could even poison the drinks! Send the bastards into a sleep they’ll never wake up from.”
Edmund sat back and gazed out the window again.
A few fluffy flakes blew in the wind, but no other snow was on the way.
Vin could poison the men guarding the supplies, and judging from what Vin said earlier, Edmund figured he could do it without a hitch. But killing a hundred men-at-arms would barely weaken the King’s forces, and the thought of killing all of those unsuspecting people made him cringe inside.
“No.” He exhaled heavily. “I want as little bloodshed as possible. If we killed a hundred of their men, that would only give the rest something to fight for.”
Under the table, Becky cracked open a bone.
“But I think you’re right,” he went on, “we need to incapacitate as many of them as we can, then we’ll have to attack the supplies. We’ll try to burn them, at the very least, or burn enough of them so they’ll be forced to retreat south. That’d give us more time to figure out how we’re going to survive the winter.”
“If burning them is all we’re trying to do,” Hendrick said, “we could cause a diversion, then loose flaming arrows into the wagons. There’ll be less risk to our men.”
Edmund got to his feet, thinking out loud as he paced.
“We could have you ride past,” he said, meaning Vin, “pretend that you’re coming north to sell your wonderful beer in Rood—”
Abby swore. “Just don’t use a stupid name like ‘Mr. Horgenswagle.’”
“It was the first thing that came to mind!” Pond cried. “I panicked! I’m sorry! How many times do I have to say it?”
“Do you think they’d be willing to buy what Vin has to sell?” Edmund asked Hendrick and Bain. “Or will they be suspicious?”
The two captains laughed.
“After having been on the road for a couple months,” Hendrick said, “they’ll pay a fortune for it!”
“Shame, though,” Bain said wistfully, “to give them our beer and all. The townsfolk won’t be too happy about that.”
“Never mind about the beer,” Edmund told them in growing excitement. “We just have to get to those supplies and keep the King’s army away from Rood. Then we’ll address other issues.”
“How are we going to do that?” Toby asked. “Keep the King’s army away, I mean. Won’t they just come back this way once they don’t find Rood to the east?”
“Not if we play our cards right.” Edmund slapped the table, causing Becky to leap to her feet. “Okay! First, we need to make some signs!”
“Signs?”
“Yes! Our brilliant Ms. Abby has given me an idea. She told the scouts signs pointed the way to Rood.”
The others began to understand.
“We could have signs pointing every which way!” Bain cried, laughing.
“No,” Edmund told him, “that’d just m-make them think something was wrong. We need to make them believe they’re on the right trail. They can’t even consider returning this way for at least three weeks. By then, the weather is likely to change, and we’ll have destroyed their supplies.”
“Okay,” Abby said. “What do you need me to do? I’m not going to sit around while all of you men have the fun.”
“I need you and a few others to take some horses and ride up and down the River Celerin,” Edmund said. “Make it look like there’ve been a lot of people going here and there. But don’t leave any tracks leading back to Rood.”
This might work!
Don’t be too sure. Sooner or later, you’ll have to fight, and you’re outnumbered ten to one.
Abby crossed her arms. “Am I going to be in charge?”
“Absolutely,” Edmund said, surprising everyone around the table, including Abby herself. “Select a handful of men who can ride well, and set out tomorrow. I’ll show you on the map where I want you to go. Put up signs pointing north along the river. Nail them to trees and so forth; any place they’d be visible. Remember, we want them to think they’re headed toward a major trading town.”
“Okay,” Abby said. “I can do that!”
We’ll need more than horse tracks in the snow!
“Bain,” Edmund said, “I want you to take a couple of men and start some fires.”
“Fires?”
“Yes. Way off in the distance, upriver from where Abby will be leaving tracks. Make it look like smoke from a town. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so.”
“Light a handful of campfires in close proximity, and make them really smoke so they can be seen for miles away.”
“What do you want me to do?” Pond asked. “I can do something useful.”
“You’ll be with me, Hendrick, and his men,” Edmund said. “After Vin delivers his barrels, we’ll attack the supplies.”
“What can I do?” Toby asked.
“Help Cavin make skis and snowshoes. Once it starts snowing, we’re going to need them.”
Toby looked none too pleased. “You aren’t going to let me fight, are you?”
“I don’t want anybody to have to fight, but if the King’s men learn where Rood is, we’ll all have more fighting than we can handle. Do you think you can help me?”
“Just tell me what snowshoes are and I’ll help make them.”
“Good!” Edmund said. “Let’s get to work.”
Chapter Eleven
“She’s been like that ever since we set out from Rood,” Po
nd said, lying in the thin blanket of snow next to Edmund. “I don’t know what I did. She was fine before we left.”
He, Edmund, Hendrick, and every man who could swing a sword or shoot a bow hid atop a range of hills overlooking a broad white valley, where dozens of large wagons sat bivouacked. Peering between the rocks, they could see many of the King’s men below, tending to horses. Smoke from their campfires rose high. Edmund smelled meat cooking.
“She was going on and on about how much fun we were going to have journeying together and so forth,” Pond continued. “She was happy!”
Edmund counted the men in the valley for a third time. There weren’t a hundred; at least, he couldn’t see a hundred. But he also couldn’t see into the tents clustered around the campfires. More might have been in them. Even with those he could see, there were twice as many men in the camp below than in his own company, maybe more. Shadows fell across the valley as evening approached. Soon, seeing anything would become difficult.
“I don’t know.” Pond flicked away snow from inside his sleeve. “Maybe I just annoy people. You know, like Turd and Vomit always said. Nobody wants to hear about being positive all the time. I probably just bother her.”
Edmund nudged his pitmate. “Don’t say that. People can kill themselves with their own dark thoughts.”
He smiled, but Pond wasn’t amused by having his own words thrown back at him.
“Look, Pond”—Edmund retreated from the ridge—“did Abby spend a lot of time with any of the other m-men who went to Rocklode with you?”
Pond threw his hands up. “Boy, did she! Laughing at all of their stupid jokes and listening, all fascinated, to their made-up stories. She spoke to them more than she did to me!”
“Then maybe she’s trying to tell you something.” Edmund laid his hand on Pond’s shoulder. “Don’t let Abby become your Molly, okay?”
Pond’s eyes widened with a jolt. “Wow. I … I never thought about it like that.” He sat back. “It’s just that, it’s just that … I, I really like her, you know?”
“I know.”
Pond considered Edmund sitting in the snow next to him. “You like her, too, don’t you?”
Edmund thought about lying, but his former pitmate would see right through him.
“Yes, I like her. B-b-but, but I like you better. So don’t worry about me, okay?”
They hugged.
“Thanks, Ed. I can always count on you!”
“Just like in the pits.”
Pond might have been crying; Edmund couldn’t tell. Patting him on the back, Edmund pulled away. “It’s good to have you home. I missed you.”
Pond muttered, wiping his nose with his hand.
“Come on,” Edmund said cheerfully, “no more talk about women. Let’s focus on the task at hand. If we don’t destroy those supplies, none of us will be alive much longer.”
Sniffling, Pond nodded.
They crept to the hill’s crest again and peered between the rocks. Vin’s wagon had just entered the valley from the west. Armed men from the King’s camp hollered for him to halt.
“Do you really think this’ll work?” Pond’s voice cracked. “I mean, honestly?”
“If they don’t get too suspicious, it will.”
Edmund watched intently as riders approached Vin’s wagon, weapons drawn.
“You know there’s no way those men are going to get drunk, don’t you?” Pond said. “I mean, they aren’t children; they’re seasoned warriors. It’ll take more than a couple of drinks each to even faze them.”
The riders spoke to Vin.
“Figure a hundred men down there,” Pond went on, smoky campfires below appearing like red pinpricks in the deepening darkness. “Three drinks each. That’s three hundred drinks. He can’t have much more than that in those two barrels.”
The riders waved Vin forward.
Vin’s wagon rumbled into the middle of their camp.
Yes! This might work!
“Figure five drinks, minimum, before they begin to feel anything. But I suppose it’s worth a try,” Pond said. “Maybe their leaders will keep the beer for themselves and drink it all at once. Then we can run down there, loose flaming arrows into their wagons, and run away.”
The men in the valley gathered around Vin’s wagon.
Edmund motioned for Pond to get lower. “It’s not beer. It’s black brandy. It’s very potent stuff. Trust me. It’s a special recipe Vin has.”
But Pond didn’t seem convinced.
Hendrick crept up to them. “It looks like they’re buying it!” he whispered to Edmund.
Edmund nodded eagerly. “Keep your men hidden. Wait for Vin’s signal, all right? Nobody moves until then.”
“Right!” Hendrick saluted and scurried back behind a clump of trees where some of his men hid.
Pond studied Edmund.
“Ed, this isn’t like you. What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Edmund watched as well-armed men lined up at Vin’s wagon, cups and mugs in hand.
“Well, you aren’t one for chances. You weigh the risks very carefully and go with what’s most likely to work.” Pond paused. “This isn’t going to work—it can’t. At best, this brewer will quench their thirst before they try to kill us.”
Edmund backed away from the ridge.
“You’ve got to trust me, okay? If we don’t get to those supplies, then you, me, and everybody in Rood will be strung up by our necks.”
Pond didn’t say anything.
“We openly declared treason, remember?”
Cheers and shouts rose up from the valley.
“Look,” Edmund sighed, “we can’t fight these men. Sooner or later, the King’s army is going to return; sooner or later, they’ll find Rood. When they do, we’ll fight and we’ll lose. And we’ll die. Abby will die. Everybody will die.”
At the mention of Abby’s name, Pond’s eyes moistened.
Edmund’s expression softened. “Do you have any other ideas? Because if you do, I’m willing to listen.”
Pond shook his head and turned away.
“I’m sorry.” Edmund nudged him again. “I d-d-didn’t, I didn’t mean to bring up Abby. No more women, okay? From now on, it’s just you and me, just like back in the mines.”
Down in the valley, men sang. Stars twinkled in the indigo sky.
Pond picked at the hilt of his bejeweled rapier. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with this brewer.”
“His name’s Vin.”
“What do you know about him? I mean, can you trust him?”
Jealousy?
He’s just feeling lonely and left out.
“Not as much as I can trust you.”
“Thanks,” Pond whispered.
“Come on.” Edmund drew his short sword. “Vin said it wouldn’t take long. Get ready. We need to overpower them if this is going to work.”
They crept back to the ridge and peered down.
Through the evening’s gloom, they saw Vin standing on top of the wagon, leading a crowd of almost a hundred men in a drinking song. The rest of the camp appeared empty.
Edmund shook his head in amazement.
“Only Vin!” he laughed.
Pond frowned.
Within minutes, the singing had begun to taper off, though through the growing darkness, Edmund couldn’t see why.
Then Vin changed the song.
“That’s the signal,” Edmund said.
He hooted like an owl.
Other hoots answered along the ridge.
“Come on,” Edmund said to Pond. “As quietly as we can.”
He and Becky began to stalk down the steep hillside. Pond followed slowly behind, his rapier still sheathed.
When Edmund and Hendrick’s guards reached the valley, they found Vin sitting on top of his wagon, waving his hat at them. Eighty of the King’s men lay asleep in the snow, big smiles upon their dreamy faces.
Edmund ran up to Vin and shook his hand.
&n
bsp; “I can’t believe it!” he whispered. “You did it! How long will they be like this?”
Vin laughed. “Until morning at least!”
“Morning!” Hendrick and Edmund exclaimed together.
“Captain!” One of Hendrick’s guards and several of Rood’s men had raced to the wagons, ready to set them ablaze. But now they hesitated. “Look at all this stuff!”
Swords still drawn, everyone made for the line of wagons full of blankets, heavy clothes, extra weapons, and enough food for an army.
“We aren’t going to just burn it all, are we?”
Edmund surveyed the wagons. Many were empty, their stores apparently depleted on the way to the Highlands. But the remaining supplies could feed Rood for months. Scores of horses stood in a makeshift corral near the banks of the lake. Several whinnied and snorted as Becky approached. “No, we aren’t going to burn any of it.”
He turned to Vin. “Are you absolutely sure these men will stay asleep until morning?”
Vin grinned. “I guarantee it.” He slapped one of the sleeping men hard across the face. The man didn’t stir. “They’ll wake up feeling refreshed and happy and won’t remember a thing from this evening!”
“What did you do to them?” a guard asked. “Poison them?”
“Something like that,” Vin said, winking.
“Boy, remind me never to get you upset!”
Several guards laughed.
“So what are we going to do?” Hendrick asked.
“Get some of your guards to hitch horses to the wagons,” Edmund replied.
“All of the wagons? Even the empty ones?”
“Yes.” Edmund examined the sleeping men, many of whom appeared to be craftsmen, as Bain had guessed. But most were clearly men-at-arms—muscled, well-armed, and young.
“What about them?” Hendrick pointed his sword at those lying in the snow. “We don’t have enough rope to bind them all. And to be honest, sir, we don’t have the facilities in Rood to hold them. My men can’t guard all of them. I hate to say it, but maybe we should—”
“We’re not going to kill them,” Edmund said.
“If you don’t mind my saying, sir … we’ll have to fight them eventually, and then we’ll either kill them or they’ll kill us. Killing them in their sleep would be—”