by Ty Johnston
“Really?” the merchant said as he helped them.
“We are in need of provisions,” Kron said, lifting a basket of apples into the wagon. “You appear to have food. Is it for sale?”
Alfar nodded. “I am only a poor merchant who had hoped to sell his goods to the army,” he said, “but I can spare some of my items for a price.
“My apologies for not allowing the items to go for no charge, especially after you saved me, but I have a family to feed just like anyone else.”
“You mentioned an army?” Kron said.
“Yes, the magistrate in my village told us his holiness was sending troops to secure the borders with the Prisonlands,” Alfar said.
Kron, Adara and Randall exchanged looks.
“Why would his holiness need to secure the borders?” Kron asked.
“You haven’t heard?” Alfar said, glancing around as if he shouldn’t be spreading rumors and someone was watching. “I have not seen this myself, but word is the exiles are breaking out, and they have weapons.”
The three companions shared looks again, this time with concern on their faces.
Kron dropped the matter. They would be in the Prisonlands soon enough and could find out what was happening then.
Within minutes the road was clear of Alfar’s goods and the bandit’s bodies, tossed to the side of the trail and covered with road dust and rocks, and Kron had paid the merchant a gold coin for several sacks of fruits, bread and sliced meats.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to track along with you for a while?” Kron asked as the merchant climbed aboard the wagon.
“No, thank you, my friend,” Alfar said. “We are traveling different directions, and I would not hold you up. But if you are ever in these parts again, please feel free to ask for me.” With that the man led his mules and wagon east along the road.
Chapter Eighteen
The next four days were some of the easiest for travel the three riders had experienced since leaving the city of Bond a month earlier. Their route was straight, north over verdant fields with the occasional stretch of dusty land. The mountains always remained on their left, though a day after leaving the merchant Alfar they could see in the distance the mountains curved east across their path.
“It’s an arm of the Needles reaching all the way to Dartague. We should be there in three or four days,” Kron responded when Adara asked about the mountain range.
They rode on, plenty of food in their bellies, from time to time working their way around a fence or over a creek, avoiding any villages or houses they spotted in the distance. Adara’s training under Kron continued and he approved of her improving skills.
On the fifth day since meeting the merchant, a thick line of fir trees overshadowed their way, the high peaks of the Needles some distance beyond.
“Is there a pass through the mountains?” Randall asked.
Kron nodded. “Not an easy one,” he said. “Normally it’s blocked by wardens, but after what Alfar said, I don’t know who will be guarding the pass. Unless it turns out to be Eastern troops, I should be able to get us through with no problems.”
“We’re nearly out of East Ursia, then?” Adara asked.
“In less than half a day we’ll be in the Prisonlands,” Kron said.
Neither Adara or Randall looked happy about the news, but they did not argue with Kron about his choice of trail for them.
After entering the dark forest, the heavy branches of the firs blocked almost all of the sun’s rays. The forest was a gloomy place that brought down their spirits and made them tired from their travels. A few hours into the place, Kron was proven right about their path. A simple fence of logs crossed their way and a frame of cut wood appeared high in a tree; the stand was held together by strong ropes and had a small triangular flag on a pole above it sticking out of the tree.
As the three neared the tree stand and fence, Kron held up a hand for them to halt. His head turned slightly from side to side, taking in their surroundings.
Adara had seen enough of this reaction before from Kron to know something was not right.
“What is it?” she asked.
“There should be two wardens here,” Kron said, pointing a gloved hand at the stand above them, “one in the tree and one below.”
“Maybe they are taking a break?” Randall queried.
Kron shook his head. “The borders are never left unwatched,” he explained. “Unless an exile is trying to escape and the guards are needed for recovery, there should always be two here. Otherwise, the guards have to wait for the hourly patrols to come through.”
“Does this mean a prisoner has escaped?” Adara asked.
“I didn’t hear the sound of the signal horn,” Kron said, his eyes still moving from tree to tree, shadow to shadow.
“What do we do?” Randall asked. “Wait around for one of the patrols?”
“Stay here,” Kron whispered as he slipped from his saddle and strung his bow. Within seconds he had attached an arrow to his bow string and disappeared into the woods.
“I hate it when he does that,” Adara said.
Randall and the woman drew weapons, and kept their eyes searching. They heard nor saw anything, and eventually they became concerned for Kron. The man had been gone for nearly ten minutes.
Adara finally had had enough and dismounted. Randall gave her a stern look but she ignored him and moved forward slowly with her rapier out in front.
“No need for that,” Kron said, suddenly walking out of a group of thick bushes to their right.
Adara jumped, spinning in Kron’s direction with her weapon pointed at him.
“Put it away,” Darkbow said, motioning for Adara to sheath her sword. “There’s no one around for miles.”
“What did you find?” Randall asked.
“There was a struggle near the guard stand. The guards lost,” Kron said. “They were killed and drug off toward the mountains.”
“What about the patrols?” Adara asked. “Shouldn’t they have noticed?”
“There’s no horse tracks through here in days,” Kron said, stopping next to his horse. “Something bad has happened.”
“Could it be the exiles Alfar mentioned?” Randall asked.
Kron hesitated, but finally nodded. “It’s a possibility,” he said. “If one of the inmates were powerful and persuasive, someone like Belgad, it could be they’ve gathered their strength and rallied.”
“Has this ever happened?” Adara asked.
“It happens every few years,” Kron said. “The uprisings usually don’t last long, and the wardens have always been able to put them down before they get out of hand. It’s not something the wardens like to talk about.”
“Well, we’ve got to talk about it,” Adara said. “It looks like it has happened.”
“I’m afraid so,” Kron said, then added, “and for it to happen in this section of the Prisonlands concerns me even more.”
“Why?” from Randall.
“I picked this route because it does not have many exiles along it,” Kron revealed. “There’s one exile, however, and his family, who roam just north of here. Usually the others avoid his territory. Either he has been removed ...”
Kron broke off, looking unnerved.
“What?” Adara asked. “You have to tell us.”
“If he’s gotten bold enough and strong enough to try and escape, we could be facing severe danger,” Kron said.
“Who?” from Randall.
“His name is Sawney Gean,” Kron said. “He’s been here as long as I know, him and his wife. They managed to raise children, in their own perverted way, within the Lands. The last I heard, they had nearly twenty in their clan.”
“What did this Gean do to be put in the Prisonlands?” Randall asked.
Kron was quiet again.
“Kron?” Adara said.
“He’s a cannibal,” Kron said. “All his family are cannibals.”
***
It took fu
rther persuasion on Kron’s part to talk Adara and Randall into continuing along their original course. The woman and healer were for heading northwest around Sawney Gean’s territory, but Kron pointed out they would be adding weeks to their trip because they would have to wade through more mountains than the path he had laid out for them. They would still have to travel through the Needles, but Kron’s way meant they would only spend a day in the mountains, though on the other side of those mountains was Sawney Gean.
“It’s rare for an exile to try to go through the mountains because they aren’t allowed to have steeds,” Kron explained, “but someone on foot could make it through in a couple of days. We might even catch up with the cannibals before they are home.”
“Home?” Randall asked.
“I never had to deal with him, but from what I remember, Gean had a cave near a river,” Kron said.
They also discussed trying to find the next nearest guard post, but Kron was against it. Since a warden patrol hadn’t been through the region in several days, he was convinced something on a larger scale was afoot. He thought there might be a larger rebellion and Gean had used the opportunity to stock up while doing away with two wardens.
“Why is Gean allowed to live?” Adara asked at one point.
“Killing him would go against the treaty that created the Lands,” Kron said. “Wardens aren’t allowed to interfere with exiles as long as they remain within the Lands. They can kill each other, but we couldn’t touch them unless they tried to escape.”
They rode on.
Eventually Adara and Randall found themselves at their familiar riding places behind Kron, the man leading them through heavy woods. All kept weapons at hand and their eyes on their environs.
By nightfall they reached the arm of Needles that turned across their path. The campers were edgy that night, with little sleep. Despite the other terrors they had faced on the road, the idea of cannibals disturbed the three more than even Verkain’s war demons.
In the morning they shared a quick breakfast. They were back on their original trail in short order and heading into the mountains, where they were soon grateful their warmer clothes had still been in their saddle bags.
All through the chilly morning they rose higher on a rocky trail, reaching the summit of their trek in the late afternoon. Kron had been correct that their way was not easy, but they could manage on horseback with only the occasional detour around a heavy batch of brush or fallen stones.
By the next nightfall they were in the hills on the northern side of the range, woods and grasslands spread out below them.
“By mid morning we will be in Gean’s territory,” Kron said. “I’m not going to go out of my way to find the man, but if we stumble upon him, I won’t hesitate to slay him. I also suggest you two be prepared to kill. Don’t try to disarm them or drive them away. The Geans aren’t like that. If they attack, it will be in numbers, and they don’t mind death. They’ll even feed on their own from what I’ve heard.”
The warning was enough to make Randall and Adara sleep lightly again that night.
Kron took first watch and climbed into a tree to keep an eye over their camp site.
Kron realized he would have to warn someone, and soon, about what he had found upon reaching the Lands. Something was amiss, something big. Originally Kron had hoped for an escort through the lands, but he had seen no tracks of recent patrols since they had left East Ursia, and that bothered him more than the two missing wardens at the tree stand. But to alter their direction to seek out other wardens would mean more mountain travel. It also would mean Kron might be asked to return to the wardens to help deal with whatever was going on, and the man wasn’t sure he could turn down such a request, even with his ties to Randall. Kron liked Randall, though he found the younger man naive, but Kron had been a warden for most of his life. It was not a matter of indebtedness or nostalgia to Kron, but a matter of justice. The exiles couldn’t be allowed to go free; they were people who had been deemed too dangerous to exist within normal society. Kron’s revenge against Belgad for the death of his parents and Verkain for the death of the twelve-year-old Wyck would have to wait, as would Randall’s confrontation with his father.
Late in the night, Adara woke and relieved Kron of watch duty. She did not hear any unnatural noises, but kept herself awake by staying on her feet and roaming circles around their camp. By the time Randall took watch for her, she was too worked up to sleep and prepared an early breakfast of fried apples and rolls.
To the relief of Adara and Randall, Kron rose early. They were soon on horseback, making their way down the trail out of the hills and into another gloomy forest as dense as the one they had left behind a day earlier.
They had not been riding more than an hour when Kron held up a hand for them to stop their horses. As had happened the day before, Kron’s head turned slightly while his eyes worked at surveying their surroundings. Eventually his eyes came to rest on the way in front of them, between a series of tall evergreens.
After Kron did not speak or move for some time, Adara trotted her horse to his left side. “What now?” she asked.
“Someone is in the trees ahead of us, about fifty yards,” Kron whispered without moving. “Several someones.”
Adara looked back at Randall with concern so the healer would know their situation. “Do we turn around?” she asked Kron in a hushed voice.
“You and Randall should go back, as far as the hills,” Kron said as he slid out of his saddle and retrieved his bow. “Take my horse with you.”
“What are you doing?” Adara said.
Kron shot her a glance as he handed her the reins of his steed. “I’m going to investigate,” he said.
Adara refused Kron’s horse and dropped from her own saddle. “You’re not doing this to us again,” she said. “I’m tired of you constantly running off to save the day by yourself. Randall and I aren’t helpless. You saw what we could do when we helped that merchant.”
“If it’s the Gean family ahead, they’ll be much worse than bandits,” Kron said. “We can’t risk Randall and I need you to watch over him.”
“No,” Adara stated. “No, no, no. Not this time.”
Kron gave her an infuriated look, but said nothing as he put an arrow to his bow and turned away as if ignoring her.
Adara hated Kron Darkbow at that moment, as she had detested many men in her life. They always thought they knew what was best. They were always trying to shield Adara from harm, when she was as dangerous if not more deadly than many a man living.
“I work better alone in these situations,” Kron said with his back to her.
“Maybe you would work better alone all the time,” Adara said.
Kron turned so one eye could glare at the woman as she stormed over to Randall, but she said nothing to the healer, only standing next to his horse and staring at the ground.
“I’ll do whatever you want, Adara,” the healer said, placing a hand beneath the woman’s chin and lifting it to stare into her eyes.
Those dark eyes flashed at Kron as if to say the decision had been made.
Kron spun on the two, walking near to them so he would not have to speak loudly. “I’m only scouting the situation to see what we are up against.”
Adara opened her mouth to say something, but before words came out a dark arrow came sailing at them.
Kron heard the missile slicing the air and dropped low, grabbing Adara and pulling her down with him. Randall spoke some magic words to throw a shielding spell in front of himself. The arrow punched into a tree behind the three.
“Get out of here!” Kron yelled, then rolled behind a group of fir trees.
Adara jumped up, grabbed the reins of Kron’s and her horses, and pulled the animals in front of her as a shield.
The next missile was not alone, four arrows altogether hailing in from high in the trees ahead. Two arrows missed their marks, while one slammed into Randall’s shield and bounced harmlessly to the ground. The fi
nal arrow smacked into the rump of Adara’s horse, sending the animal into a screaming fit.
The horse fought Adara’s pull as it jumped into the air on its hind legs. The woman fought the animal, nearly being pulled off the ground, then let the beast canter away into the woods.
“Kron!” Adara yelled.
There was no response.
“Adara, we have to get out of here,” Randall said, spinning his horse in the direction they had come.
The woman huffed, obviously frustrated, then pulled herself onto Kron’s horse. “I’m not letting him do this to us again,” she said. “Whenever we split up, there’s trouble.”
“Seems like there’s plenty of trouble with us together,” the healer quipped.
“Oh, there’s definitely trouble,” a rough voice spoke.
Randall and Adara saw a man in a tattered deerskin tunic approaching them on foot. His hair was long and ragged with dirty stubble growing from his chin. In his hands was a long, rough spear made of a stout tree limb with a flint tip strapped to the pointing end by thin rope.
Adara unfurled her whip. “Randall, get back to the hills.”
“I’m not leaving you,” the healer remarked while drawing his sword.
“Then I’ll be having two for lunch,” the rough man said as he continued to march forward.
Adara’s eyes drifted to the tree tops and saw no more arrows coming, at least not immediately. She screamed and spurred Kron’s horse, charging forward with her whip snapping overhead.
The fellow with the spear jumped to the side at the last moment, dodging the horse and Adara’s blow from the whip. Before she could turn around, another arrow shot out, missing her face by inches and forcing her to jerk back in the saddle. The man with the spear saw an opportunity and swung his weapon like a staff, smacking the woman across the chest and sending her rolling from the horse.
Randall was there suddenly, charging in with his horse and diving from the saddle onto the man. They went tumbling together into the dirt, Randall trying to stab with his sword but the other man gripping Randall by his sword wrist and holding the weapon at bay.