Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1)

by Jonathan Renshaw

  Emroy remained where he was. Aedan knew that waiting here would destroy any chance of sending for help. There was no time for argument.

  “Stay if you want,” he said, “but I’m leaving.” With that he ran out along the track that led down, away from the manor house and towards the homesteads. It wasn’t long before he heard Emroy’s heavy clumping behind him. The ground was hard-packed here and took little impression. It was the perfect place to depart from the track.

  As soon as the houses came into view, Aedan stopped and turned to the deep strip of plane trees that edged this side of the farm. Keeping his feet together he sprang as far as he could into the grass, then repeated the procedure in a zigzag, haphazard fashion until he reached the dry forest floor.

  “What are you playing at?” Emroy said. “This is no time for games.”

  “Something my father taught me. These marks don’t look like people walking. If they follow us, they will ignore this and think we went down to the houses. Do you think you can land where I did without touching anything in between?”

  Emroy snorted but did as Aedan suggested, surprise showing in his face at how much ground the smaller boy had covered with each bound. He looked more than a little pleased with himself when he was able to match the effort.

  “Keep off the soft ground,” Aedan said, picking a path that threaded over as much rock as he could find. By the time they had walked a few hundred feet, the track they had left was hidden by a screen of undergrowth and tree trunks. Aedan changed his direction and headed towards the farm gate, picking up the pace to a brisk jog, but he had to slow down again because of Emroy’s blundering tread. The boy crashed his way over the ground like a blindfolded colt on jittery legs. In his defence though, plane trees made for a noisy floor with big flakes of bark and dry twigs aplenty. Moving in silence required quick eyes and quicker feet.

  After a few hundred yards, Aedan heard shouts in the direction of the track they had left. He stopped and waited for their pursuers to move out of earshot – it was not worth giving Emroy the opportunity to plant one of his hooves on a nice thick branch and announce his presence. Overhead, a starling raised a raucous alarm. Aedan hoped these men were not attuned to such clues. The shouts dwindled away towards the homesteads and the two boys moved on, picking up the pace.

  They jogged now as the trees began to thin and the gate came into view. Dropping down, they crawled over the road – a double groove carved by a thousand cart journeys – and slipped into the forest on the other side. The cover here was far thicker. Dark oak leaves still held night’s shadows under heavy boughs.

  Emroy was peering into the dimness with undisguised fear.

  “Wait here,” Aedan said. “I’m going to get a better look. I need to see where they are being taken.” Emroy did not object and showed no desire to move an inch further into the forest. This was Nymliss. His big eyes made it clear that he believed all the stories.

  Aedan thought of saying something to reassure him, but then remembered how Emroy had treated him earlier and decided against it. He slipped into the shadows, quickly found a deer track and padded away. He knew this particular track. It branched ahead. The left branch ran close to the forest edge and at one point gave a view of the manor house. When he reached the spot, he crawled forward until he could see between the leaves of a dense bush. Earlier, the details had been hidden by distance. Now he saw the blood, the torn and soiled clothes, the looks of disbelief, pain, and horror, the way in which people had been turned to animals. By animals.

  Many were crying. Tulia began to wail and a heavyset man walked over to her, made her look at him and placed his fingers on his lips. When she wailed again he whipped her like Aedan had never seen any beast whipped. She screamed and the man repeated the gesture. This time she was silent.

  Aedan felt his composure crumbling. He drew his attention away from her and passed his eyes over the bodies strewn across the grass. They were all there. From Dresbourn in his fine coat to little Dara, they lay on the ground, roped hand and foot. Some like Tulia were even being gagged.

  William, Dorothy, Thomas … he counted them off as he recognised their forms. His breath caught and his vision blurred as he found the tangle of straw-like hair. “Kalry,” he whispered.

  One of the foreigners ran up to Quin who was clearly in charge, and gave a brief report. Quin hit him hard and yelled in a way that made his feelings clear though the language was foreign. He walked through the litter of writhing bodies, kicking and stamping until he reached Dresbourn.

  “Where are they?” he yelled at him.

  Dresbourn’s white eyes were as blank with fear as confusion.

  “Aedan and that snobby brat who left early. Where are they? How could they disappear? You must know where they would go.”

  “I – I don’t know.” Dresbourn stammered.

  Quin walked over to Kalry grabbed her by the hair and lifted her off the ground. She shrieked with pain, and Aedan almost charged out of his hiding. Quin stood her in front of her father and drew a knife.

  “No, please!” Dresbourn cried. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “I’m listening.” Quin pressed the tip of the knife against her neck.

  Aedan’s fists were clenched so hard that some of the nails drew blood. It was only by the greatest force of will that he managed to stay where he was. Showing himself now would aid nobody. He had to wait.

  “Aedan lives three miles to the west, but if he saw he would probably head for the town. It is possible to cut straight down the slope. Emroy will be hiding somewhere. Eventually he will go home. His father owns the mansion near the south-west boundary.”

  Quin considered this. “Yes, Dresbourn,” he said at length. “That sounds like an honest answer. I would not have expected you to show any loyalty to the boys. Your assessment sounds correct, but even if the meddlesome one does run off to town as you say, I don’t think anyone will listen to him a second time. The other boy has the look of a coward and he will sit tight until it is too late to do anything that might aid you.”

  Kalry cried as Quin lifted her off her feet again. With a swift stroke, he sliced through the mass of hair beneath his fist. She dropped to the ground and he flung the thick handful onto her. “How am I going to sell you with hair like this? It belongs on a deck-mop! I’ll have to have your head shaved.” He smiled as he walked away.

  Aedan was breathing heavily. The tears that ran down his cheeks were liquid fire. His now-bloody fingers itched for Quin’s neck. The man’s mask was finally gone and the slaver was revealed. It was not a face of obvious cruelty – twisted and sneering – but rather one of utter indifference to the anguish of others, an airy comfort with his work, his destruction of lives.

  Kalry was not far from Aedan. If he ran and cut her bonds, the two of them could probably make it into the forest. Quin was looking away and only one of his men was with him. Aedan pushed the branch aside and measured the distance. But then he realised that he was not thinking far ahead. If he risked freeing her now, there was good chance he would fail and be caught, and then there would be no hope. Emroy would sit tight just as Quin had foreseen and no warning would reach the sheriff in time.

  The logic tore him. It was cold and heartless, yet what it demanded was the better choice. He looked at Kalry. She trembled with sobs, her shorn locks scattered over her like refuse. All his morning’s agonies were forgotten as his heart broke for her.

  He would not fail. He could not fail.

  Quin’s men returned in groups. They were given terse orders and began to get the captives to their feet, roping them by the necks and untying the bonds on their ankles. Quin kept barking orders, clearly eager to be gone with his catch. When they were ready, he spoke,

  “You will march. We move at speed and in silence. Anyone who attempts to slow us or makes any kind of noise, even a question, will be executed immediately – man, woman or child.”

  He gave a string of orders and three men moved to the fron
t of the line of captives. One of them took the rope and tugged. Dresbourn’s head jerked and he staggered forward, pulling the line behind him. Aedan began to count. Forty-seven captives, twenty-seven slavers. He sat tight. Another three arrived. The line disappeared into the forest and Quin’s men set to work covering the trail that had been left. They were thorough. Aedan was glad that he was watching – even his father might have missed such a carefully hidden trail. If they continued to show this kind of caution he would need to keep them in sight, but if he followed now he would be alone. And what could he do alone?

  He looked around the farmyard and an idea struck him. It was an outrageous plan. No sane person would consider something like this, but it was perfect.

  He crept back onto the hidden deer track and sprinted to where he had left Emroy. The older boy was still there, sweat-soaked and pasty. Aedan explained what he had seen as quickly as he was able. Every word was putting him another yard behind the slavers. When he had finished with his observations, he explained his plan and Emroy’s jaw dropped.

  “You want me to do what?” he gasped. “If anyone finds out it will be all over for me!”

  “If you don’t do this it will be over for everyone at Badgerfields. Emroy, I can’t be in two places at once. I need your help. If you do this it will be like a thousand bridge jumps. Everyone will think of you as a hero.”

  Emroy considered. He reached for his chin hairs with shaking fingers. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it. But remember that it’s your idea. And just so you know, I think it’s terrible.”

  Aedan had a sudden urge to kick Emroy, but he pushed it aside. “Wait until you can no longer see or hear the slavers. If they are too close they will come back. But don’t wait long or it will be too late.”

  Emroy blinked and nodded.

  Aedan led him back to his vantage point and left him with the crossbow and a whispered reminder of the plan. Then he slipped under a leafy branch and was gone.

  Emroy’s mumbled words drifted after him, “Idiotic plan. Utterly idiotic!”

  Nulty scratched his head as he cast one final look out towards the distant farm.

  “Well, Pebble, if we wait any longer we’ll be marked as spies. It’s time we –”

  That was as far as he got. His little blue eyes grew as round as his gaping mouth. “Oh, oh, oh my whiskers … Lanor! Lanor!”

  He sprang into the saddle as if the ground were on fire and set off at a gallop that pulled the whiskers flat against his cheeks.

  The party had been walking for some time, but Nulty caught them after a few miles.

  “Lanor!” he yelled as he came careening round the bend at perilous speed. The men drew to a stop and Nulty burst into their midst.

  “The farm – it’s on fire!” he gasped.

  “On fire?” Lanor said.

  “There’s a huge tower of smoke growing thicker and darker by the moment. The only time I’ve seen fire like that is when houses burn down.”

  The sheriff levelled his eyes at him. “If this turns out to be another wind chase then you are spending a day in the stocks.”

  “I accept. And if it’s not, will you spend a day’s wages in my store?”

  Lanor grunted something, then raised his voice and gave the order to head back to the farm. There was more than one complaint, and two or three of the men ignored him. They were not soldiers and did not need to obey. The rest of the party cantered back to the bend and there they saw what Nulty had described, only now it was twice the size – a swirling pillar of grey and black that flung shards of fire from its turbulent innards. Nothing could have sent a bolder message of tragedy.

  Without a word, Lanor kicked his horse and galloped forward. There was no hesitation this time as the rest followed.

  The first impression they had on entering the farmyard was bewildering. They rode into a snowfall of stringy ash and blinding smoke. Even so, the glare and roar of the flames cut through the haze. At a good two hundred feet, the men at the front cried out and held their hands before their faces as the wind backed and the heat struck them.

  It was not the house but the hay shed that was burning, and not a soul was to be seen looking on or dousing the flames, though by this stage nobody could have carried or even thrown a bucket anywhere near the inferno.

  A pallid red-headed boy emerged from behind a bush and shouted over the din to Lanor. They drew back until they could speak.

  “Emroy?” Lanor asked. “Son of Mennox?” Everyone knew the district’s titled men and their kin.

  The boy nodded. He looked sick with worry. “They have all been carried into the forest,” he said, pointing with rattling fingers. “They covered their tracks, but Aedan is following and will leave marks on the trees.”

  Lanor looked as if he were about to strike someone.

  Emroy backed away a step.

  “Who were they?” Lanor asked.

  “That pompous lieutenant’s men, whatever his name is. Big, ugly-looking brutes, all well-armed. They spoke some filthy-sounding language I couldn’t understand.”

  “How many were they?”

  “Thirty.”

  Lanor glanced at his men, at the collapsing barn, then back at Emroy. The boy looked as if he were about to justify himself.

  “You’ve done well,” Lanor said, pre-empting Emroy. “No soldier could have done better with only two men. This was all your idea?”

  Emroy hesitated, but only for an instant. “Yes,” he said.

  Lanor gripped the boy’s shoulder and turned to address those who had not heard.

  “It seems we have a young general in our midst,” he announced, then explained what had been done and what lay before them. Many of the men nodded their approval at Emroy who accepted it with a tired grace.

  “We all know the stories about Nymliss. Now we have no choice but to forget them. Any man who turns away, knowing what has befallen our friends, will be denounced as a coward to the town. If these criminals who abduct even women and children can enter Nymliss, then by the giants’ wrath so can we!”

  There was a loud cheer, though several faces had turned very white.

  Horses would not be able to pass through the tangled undergrowth so they were left in Emroy’s care, despite the noticeable squirming in his manner. He seemed eager to be off at speed, his back to the scene.

  Men readied their weapons, and after Emroy showed them where the slavers had entered the forest, they soon found the first of Aedan’s cuts on a branch where the bark had been sliced and peeled back, leaving a pale scar.

  After he had taken a few steps, Lanor stopped and shouted to Emroy, “How good a lead do they have?”

  Emroy considered. “It was still grey when they left.”

  The sheriff looked at the sun that was now clearing the smaller trees. He cursed, then turned and plunged into the riot of dense undergrowth.

  Aedan held his breath and tried to squeeze deeper into the soil under the fallen log, hoping his deerskin jacket would help him melt away. It was a poor hiding place, but it had been a desperate scramble to elude an unexpected glance. One of the three trail-sweepers had grown suspicious as Aedan had grown bold and followed too closely.

  The man was creeping past him now in a half crouch, dagger raised. Not much concealed Aedan – only a few branches and the log under which he had wormed himself. The log was in that crumbling stage of rot, and Aedan had a tough time keeping still as he felt things drop onto his back and neck and begin to crawl around. A sharp pain on his arm showed him what he should have expected. Ants. The little red ones with tempers to match their colour. His arm had dug right through their nest and a sizable army was swarming over the offending limb. If he so much as flinched, he would be discovered and caught, or worse. He grimaced as the bites multiplied.

  The crouching man paused. He listened and swept his gaze slowly around. Aedan shut his eyes as the man’s search passed over him. In games, he’d found that eyes often gave someone away – they were frequently to blam
e for that treacherous reflection or flicker of movement. Finally the man straightened up and returned to the others. They spoke loudly and disappeared around a bend.

  Aedan wasn’t fooled. He’d also used this trick. He rubbed the ants off his arm, edged a little ways forward to where he could see over the roots, and waited. When they should have covered a half mile, he heard the faintest crack. It was enough. He remained where he was. A little while later he saw a branch shudder. The three men slid out from their ambush, peering round the corner and back up the empty track before moving off. This time their withdrawal appeared genuine, but there was no telling if they would wait again further along. He considered his options.

  If he stayed where he was, he could join up with Lanor and his men. Together they could track and fall on the slavers at their camp, wherever that would be. Many would die, perhaps even some of the captives from Badgerfields. The idea sickened him.

  He remembered something and checked his pocket – the vial was still there. He had taken it on impulse, not really knowing what to do with it, but suddenly he had an idea.

  Another ten miles ahead was a cave that opened into a clearing beside a spring. It would be irresistible. Surely that was where the slavers were headed. Apart from two or three splits that circled through the bush and got lost in hog burrows, the faint track they were using would take them directly there. Hopefully Lanor and his crew would be able follow the trail from here onward.

  Aedan would have to take another route and reach the cave ahead of Quin. He placed a few branches on the ground, making an arrow, then crept into a vine-strewn thicket and pressed deeper into the forest. Once he was far enough in, he began to move in a way that showed he was no stranger here.

  Since his fifth birthday, his father had encouraged him to explore, to grow familiar with the language of the forest, and learn to move through it quickly and silently.

  To say he ran would be misleading. He flowed, leaping over gullies, skimming under branches and bending around tree trunks at a speed that never dipped. What was most remarkable was the sound – apart from the brushing of trousers he was nearly silent. This was his secret place where he had found adventures beyond counting and mostly beyond telling, for it was unwise to talk of entering Nymliss.