Don found his voice, at last. “You have been quite clear,”
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”
“In the cold light of day, it does seem stupid,” answered Don. “We should have let you know our suspicions. However, we also believed that the fewer who knew about Bobby being a spy, the better.”
“Who’s this ‘we’ that you mention” asked Gray John.
“Samuel and I decided not to arrest him immediately. Deborah knew he was a spy, of course, and had misgivings. Colin, one of my bodyguards, knew and kept an eye on him. We did not tell anyone else except Eric, another bodyguard, though we had other troopers stay watchful.”
“Didn’t you consider that it would be very difficult to follow him if he did slip away at night? Nearly impossible, I would say.”
“Deborah seemed to have little trouble doing so. I believed that several well-trained men should be able to follow him.”
“And two horse troops proved unable to do so. Those are the facts.”
“It is also a fact that the search was several hours delayed. By then, on a good horse, which he had, and on a good road, which he also had, he could easily have been twenty miles away.”
Don paused to take a sip of water and collect his thoughts. He had mentally rehearsed what he wanted to say to Gray John. Countless times he had imagined this moment, and he wanted to set exactly the right tone. “I share your harsh assessment about my failure to do my duty, Gray John,” he said in measured tones. “That view is correct, and I ask no one to excuse me or try to gloss it over with platitudes. We spoke of facts, and it is a fact that this tragedy you mentioned was the first time I ever led a patrol. A wily Raider chieftain obviously tricked me and my entire command. It should not have happened, and I bear the shame still. I always will.
“As to the matter of the spy, Bobby, it is clear that we gambled—we thought we could trick him—and we lost the gamble. Again, my judgment was badly in error. If you wish me to step down from leadership, I will do so. I never sought command, and it is a burden that I have no wish to carry any longer. But let us settle this, one way or another, right now.”
Lord Cal broke the long silence that followed. “But with Samuel near death, the command of the Ariel forces rests with you,” he said. “Stonegate has nothing to say about that. I do say that Gray John would have done better if he had held his tongue about the old tragedy, however much we all regret it. Yet you raise a good point. Allow us to meet privately to decide if we wish to allow you to share our confidences in view of the fact that you chose not to confide in us.”
†
Don and Slim left the meeting and stood awkwardly in the foyer next to the closed door leading to the meeting chamber. Slim would not meet his eye, and Don felt like a schoolboy awaiting punishment by a headmaster. He went over in his mind what he had said and was sure that he could have spoken better. The truth was, he did not know who could lead the Ariel forces if he did step down. The pull of duty tugged him one way, and a fear that his judgment was, indeed, inferior held him back. Perhaps he simply did not have what it takes to lead men in this desperate struggle. Once again, he was sorely tempted to walk out the door, mount Snap, and ride off in search of Rachel.
“Oh, God,” groaned Don. “Why didn’t I have him arrested? How could I have been so stupid!”
“Don’t beat on yourself, sir,” said Slim. “You were following Samuel’s orders.”
Don knew Slim had a point, though it gave him no comfort. He had felt a clear prompting in his soul to arrest the man and he had ignored it.
It was a long half-hour before the door opened to re-admit them. They took their places, and Don anxiously searched every face. The expressions were somber, but everyone met his eye. There was a long silence, as if everyone was waiting for someone to speak.
“Allow me, Donald, to ask Slim a question,” began Lord Cal. It was phrased as an order, although the tone was a request. Don nodded. Cal turned and looked at Slim squarely. “I understand that you are the commander of the Ariel horse troop. Is this correct?”
“True enough, lord,” answered Slim. “The horse troops are under a joint Haven command, actually. Haven is what we call the free people of the House of Healing, Ariel, Bethuel, and the surrounding area. Samuel is the Lord Marshall of Haven, and I command the Blades, one of the Haven horse troops.”
“I see. Tell me frankly. In the absence of Samuel, and were Donald to step down, who would be best qualified to take the overall leadership of the Haven troops you brought with you? Would that be you?”
“I suppose so,” answered Slim. “But I pray to God he does not step down. Despite what you have said, I have seen Lord Donald in battle. He is a gifted commander that we could ill-afford to lose. We are up against a clever enemy, and not all our plans will succeed. I can speak for our troopers and say that he has not lost our confidence.”
“Fairly spoken, Slim,” responded Lord Cal, looking around the room. “We had decided much the same thing. Truly, we owe a debt to Lords Donald and Samuel. Stonegate was unable to restore the Old Alliance, and none of the other towns and cities could have done so. It required someone from outside, aligned with none of our local factions, to achieve this. You of Haven have succeeded.
“I don’t mean to say you succeeded where we failed. I mean you succeeded where we had given up in despair. Now we have hope.” Cal paused. “It is easy to find fault by looking back into the past. Your plan to trap the spy failed though it was well-intentioned. But your failure to share vital information with us is difficult to excuse and must not be repeated. Do you understand?”
“I understand very well,” said Don. “And I am tired of you asking me that question. I understand that we must have no secrets from each other if we are to defeat our common foe. Do you of Stonegate understand this, as well?”
“I take your point, Donald. Of course, we all agree to keep no secrets from you, either. Allow me to say that we beg you not to resign your command. It is the consensus of this group that your duty lies in leadership. At the least, your duty is in leading the forces that you brought over the mountains. More than that, we need you to be the visible image of our joint cavalry force.”
“Visible image? Whatever do you mean?”
“Samuel told how he and your former commander created the mythic figure—the ‘Lore-man on the Red Horse.’ We heard the tale even here, and a terrible legend it is. We need to make use of it.”
Lore-master Duncan broke in. “Donald, it was a stroke of brilliance. It fits in well with an old prophecy. Some call it the legend of Carl the Elder. Such things have power in men’s minds. We need you bring that legend to life.”
“But there is little basis in fact—I am no superman,” said Don. “That—myth, or whatever you call it, is embarrassing. Surely, no one takes it seriously.”
“Not so, Lord Donald, with respect,” said Slim. “I was there. You did lead the charge on a red horse that broke the back of a thousand-man enemy force. So don’t say there is nothing behind the songs that are being sung. My men and I know better.”
Don did not know what more to say, so Lord Cal began to explain.
†
After a short lunch, the meeting re-convened. All at the table were insistent on making use of Don’s mythic persona. It became clear that his old mentor, Lore-master Duncan, had been given charge of strategic planning, and he was the one given the mission of building on Donald’s legend. Then the meeting turned its focus on the overall strategic situation. They first discussed the plight of Steamboat, and all realized there was nothing they could do. The entire southern army of General Logan was now in North Park, blocking Stonegate’s access to the Steamboat area. The town was caught between two armies and seemed doomed.
“Abel, of the House of Healing, met with me two days ago,” said Lord Cal. �
��He brought word from the chief surgeon, Kerik, and a request that we do everything possible to help defend Steamboat. I had to explain that it was impossible.”
“Abel is a good man,” said Don. “Not only is he a skilled healer, he is a deep thinker.”
Duncan nodded, as if grateful for that bit of information, then continued with his overview. He noted that the situation in the East looked brighter. Hightower was sending its entire levy north, an infantry force of nearly 10,000 men. The other cities and towns, such as Longmont, Loveland, and a number of smaller villages and hamlets were adding their share. The total could possibly reach as high as 15,000 when the forces were combined. But the march would take at least another week before all had gathered at Stonegate. The supply situation was chaotic, at best, but a number of farmers were heading north with wagonloads of wheat, potatoes, and other staples.
Gray John then asked for the floor. “All this being true, the infantry will allow us to have a combined force of 25,000 men to defend Stonegate. That is a respectable defense force, indeed. Far more than we hoped, and that will present the Prophet with a serious challenge. The problem is cavalry. We desperately need more scouts and heavy cavalry. Stonegate has about one hundred scouts and six highly trained horse troops of fifty men each.
“Haven has sent another experienced troop, the one that Slim, here, commands, together with the field artillery, crossbowmen, and grenadiers. We are grateful for Haven’s help. It is a small, mobile force that packs a heavy punch. But the Raiders are slipping over the mountains. Several packs have been sighted, and they will threaten our supplies. It is about seventy miles from here to Hightower, and there are side roads as well. That totals a long distance, and they could attack anywhere. They will draw off many of our troopers in keeping these roads open. We need more cavalry. Samuel told us that Ramos of Sonora would move some forces north, and I pray that is the case. Does anyone else have something to say?”
“I received a message that the Diné would be sending scouts, riding north with Señor Ramos and his heavy lancers,” said Don. “But I don’t know how many or whether they will be here in time.”
No one else had any comments. Duncan raised a wad of papers, messages recently delivered. “We have a war room set up in the lore-house and are coordinating our defense from there. These are just from today, many carried by pigeons. The watchtowers have pigeons, and we have sent some to Hightower, also. We have a heliograph station set up, and in a few days we will be able to contact such places as Hightower and our watchtowers on the Western Wall by heliograph. Pigeons have already been delivered from Hightower to Haven’s heliograph station…Hmm…On what some call First Pass. So that station can now send messages directly back to Hightower. And a couple of pigeon cages are on the way to Ariel.”
“So, within a few days we should be in direct contact with Haven, as well. Oh, here are a couple of messages for you, Don. One is from Haven by way of Hightower. From your man, Colin, I believe. And this sealed packet was hand-delivered a few minutes ago.”
The two notes changed the entire tone of the meeting. The first, from Colin, said that Owl Canyon was deserted, the cabin was burned, and there was blood on the ground. He was now in Ariel. It was necessarily brief, being carried by pigeon. Don explained about the weapons cache there and the thousands of rounds of functional ammunition. It took a few moments for that information to be absorbed, and then there was stunned silence. They all realized that if this armament had found its way into enemy hands, it would be a disaster.
The other message was a second body-blow. It appeared to be from Señor Ramos and was brief. It said: “Received word that you want our forces to divert to the Junction area to attack supply lines. I agree, but be advised that there is an enemy force to our west. Will be delayed until we deal with them. Will keep you informed. Regards, Ramos.”
“What is this?” growled Gray John, looking at Don. “Why in the name of all that’s holy would you tell him to do that?
“I sent no such order,” insisted Don. “I don’t understand.”
A quick discussion followed. They all realized that Ramos must have received a false message. Their usual practice was to verify the genuineness of messages by the fact that they came by known hands. They had set up no means of authentication with Ramos. For that matter, they had no way of ensuring that this information was actually from Ramos. The guard commander quickly ordered that the man who delivered the message should be apprehended, and a runner was sent to the captain of the guard.
†
The meeting ended shortly after in confusion. They did assign the lore-master the duty of getting a message to Ramos, saying that he was not to go to Junction but to proceed north with all possible speed. Gray John was visibly angry that the vital ammunition had been left in such a vulnerable place as Owl Hollow and that no one had set up authentication procedures. He somehow believed that, once again, Don was responsible. The rest were downcast and left without speaking to each other. Don was not sure if they were despondent, angry, or sullen; none were in any mood for further communication.
Don trudged back to the Sword and Quill with Slim and found Eric waiting there. He checked on his horses, then sent Eric to find out if the messenger from Ramos had been located. How I miss Samuel! He would know what to do.
Reminded of Samuel, he went to check on his condition, which proved to be unchanged, except that he had managed to swallow some more water. Don and Thad were able to finally convince Deborah to catch a few hours of sleep. Don returned to the inn and ate a bowl of soup, avoiding conversation. He kept turning the recent events over in his mind. If the worst was true, then his friends at Owl Hollow were dead, and the enemy had gained a huge advantage.
Once back in his room, he sat on his bed, glad to be alone at last. He realized that Philip was probably dead, along with the others. Over the last several days, he had been discouraged by his frustrating inability to help Steamboat, but that seemed to be only a foretaste of the gloom he felt now. The debacle with Bobby, the loss of Samuel, the death of his friends, the likely capture of the precious ammunition, and now this! He did not realize how much he was counting on help from Señor Ramos and Danny Yazzi. They desperately needed the heavy cavalry and scouts, and most likely they would not be available in time. The hundred and fifty or so horsemen that they had recruited, like those from Castle Rock, would all be needed to intercept Raider bands and secure the supply lines. The small force that he had brought seemed almost pitiful. Stonegate’s horse troops, famous though they were, would not be enough, either.
He never had much hope that they could defeat this deadly enemy with his overwhelming forces and clever strategies. But Don’s little store of optimism that had arisen from Haven’s small victories was gone. He realized that they were staring defeat in the face, and he had no ideas, no vision, and no hope That was the worst of it. He saw with clarity that he had blundered and had failed his friends. They had trusted him, and he was not worthy of their trust.
Oh, God, to have come so far and to lose now because of my failure!
†
Don entered the common room to take breakfast. He had arisen early, and most tables were free. He took one with his back to the wall where he could keep his eye on the door and ordered the special of the day. As he drank from a scalding cup of coffee, a familiar figure came through the door. Obviously a Grey Pilgrim, he was wearing an eponymous gray tunic with a red cross over his heart and a shapeless black, broad-brimmed hat on his head. Doffing his headgear, he revealed a sandy thatch of hair, and Don realized that it was Abel, of the House of Healing.
Don stood and waved, and Abel joined him. They greeted each other warmly. Seeing his friend and comrade-in-arms was as refreshing as a glimpse of sun after a week of rain. This was someone in whom he could confide, and Don realized that he was longing for exactly that.
“I am glad to see you,”
said Don. “You don’t know how much. Did you hear about Samuel?”
“Indeed,” replied Abel. “I mean, I am equally glad to see you again, Don. And not only have I heard about Samuel, I looked in upon him already this morning. He is resting comfortably, Deborah said, and has regained consciousness.”
“I must go see him!” said Don, rising as if to leave. Abel put his hand on his arm.
“That can wait. Samuel is still weak and confused. Best to let him be for a while.”
“I see,” said Don. Resuming his seat. He smiled and realized that he had smiled little of late. He looked Abel over. He seemed fit and as vigorous as ever. “I heard that you brought a message from Kerik.”
“That I did. He wanted me to urge the leaders here to come to the relief of Steamboat. I knew it was a futile request. Makes no military sense. There is an entire army blocking the way. Regardless, I want to be where the action is. Events have passed Haven by. Our fate will be decided here.”
“I grieve for Steamboat and have racked my brain for some way to help them. I finally sent Philip with a message to tell them that we would not be able to help. It seemed best that they knew they were on their own but were not forgotten. We even encouraged them to evacuate. It seems feeble, I know.”
“You sent Philip?” asked Abel, with alarm. “By all that’s holy, Donald! He’s just a boy.”
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 17