“Here, men, load your weapons! You women-folk, go upstairs to the keep and stay on the lookout. Watch for strangers coming at us from the rear!”
The men took up their arms. They looked black, oiled, and deadly. Philip was handed a rifle which Stanley had already loaded. Kelly showed him how to operate it, while Crispin loaded a magazine into a twin weapon. From the kitchen window, the men had a perfect view.
“Fire only when I say so,” whispered Stanley. “They know where Owl Hollow is now. We can’t let them go back.”
On the count of three, all fired. The gunshots were deafening within the enclosed space. Philip gasped as the two Raiders fell off their shaggy ponies and dropped down to the trampled grass in front of the house. A tide of red pooled out around their still and lifeless bodies.
“What if there are more Raiders out there?” asked Kelly. “What if there are hundreds?”
“Then we fight…We fight and we pray…And we pray as we fight!” answered Stanley, visibly shaken. “Wait for five minutes. If no one comes up that hill after hearing those gun blasts, then there are no others…”
Before he could finish what he was saying, they could hear the distant sound of horses ascending the hill.
“That stirred up a hornet’s nest,” shouted Stanley, as he heard the Raiders coming nearer. “We must protect Owl Hollow! This is going to cost them!”
At least fifty Raiders were moving up the hill. But the worst thing was that they were brandishing fire arrows. Philip’s mind raced like a windmill in a tornado.
“Quick! Up to the keep! Those fire arrows will take the cabin, for sure, but we will have a better position to shoot from the loopholes.” Racing upstairs and down the hall, the men bolted the iron door to the keep behind them. They were safe from the Raiders, but the cabin would fall….it was made of timber. As they climbed a short flight of stairs to the tower they could hear the thud of fire arrows striking the house, and the smell of smoke filled the air.
From the east-facing loopholes, the view was a little distorted as flames danced toward the sky, eating the timber cabin in a rush. Taking aim from their positions, they all started firing. Philip was surprised that his shooting skills were not bad—better than he’d thought. The impact of the tiny bullets was hard to see, but nearly every time he fired, the enemy in his sights seemed stricken and soon tumbled off his mount. Looking down, he saw a tangle of downed Raiders. Some were writhing under the trampling hooves or lay motionless. Philip felt guilty and unclean, as though what they were doing was wicked. It seemed unfair to be killing other men, with little risk to themselves, almost like killing baby kittens.
Some of the Raiders wheeled around the keep, attempting to avoid the deadly fire. Crispin crossed to the other side and Philip could hear him firing. Stanley and Kelly were excellent marksmen, and they were grimly efficient. The Raider’s armor and shields were no defense, and they twisted themselves into a knot of confusion, trying to control their terrified, rearing horses. Time seemed to expand, but it could have only taken a few minutes to finish the slaughter. Only five or six Raiders escaped, riding back down the hill as fast as their stocky little horses could run, just to save their own lives. The scent of gunpowder filled the nostrils of those inside as they looked at the massacre below. Their own horses had been neighing throughout the ordeal, but at least they were safe inside the locked stone barn. Riderless Raider ponies milled about.
Lyn and Betsy came in to join the men as they realized it was all over. Stanley comforted his hysterical wife while Betsy praised Crispin and Philip for their bravery. Tears suddenly spilled down Betsy’s face. “Thank God, we’re all alive!”
“But the cabin’s gone,” said Stanley, “and every good thing in it!”
Remembering the beautiful antique crockery, Lyn piped up. “No it hasn’t, Stanley. I packed it up after the last lot of visitors left and put it in the keep. I only use the nice things when we have guests. All that we’ve lost is our old chipped crockery and some basic cookware. All the valuables are here, safe and sound.”
Giving his clever wife a grateful hug, Stanley mumbled, “Well, I guess all I have to do is build you another cabin.”
“Can I have a larger kitchen next time, please?” And through all the turmoil, she managed a smile.
†
Cleaning up the mess outside was the worst thing, because they had to look at the faces of those they had killed. The small bullets had done terrible damage, and none of the wounded survived. There were forty-seven bodies to bury. They recovered the arms and armor, then the men grabbed shovels and began. Digging individual graves would take all night, so Stanley ordered them to pile the dead into one pit. Philip felt bilious at the sight of all the blood. He worked with his scarf over his nose which helped to stop the smell. The odor was that of an open sewer, mixed with vomit. It was almost dark before they had finished. They were all badly shaken.
The ladies had gone inside to try to find a way that they could organize an evening meal. The only way into the stone keep was by ladder, which they had slid down from an upper doorway. Smoke still permeated the air as the ashes from the cabin smoldered and flames faded to glowing coals. All the food in the kitchen had perished, but luckily there was a store of dried and preserved foods in the keep. Also, the chicken coop had survived, so Betsy slaughtered a fresh pullet for dinner, and pulled up some new potatoes and carrots from the vegetable garden behind the hen-house. Lucy, the milking cow had been unnerved, but as usual produced some fresh milk for the evening supper. They would survive.
Crispin returned as dusk turned to night. He reported that the survivors had apparently fled on the main trail through the tangle of trees and were nowhere to be seen. There was no hope of stopping them now. Their secret was truly exposed, that was for sure.
They unsaddled the mounts of the fallen and turned them out to graze. Their own horses were glad to be out of their confinement, and Victory gave Philip a rub with her nose when she saw him. Later that night, a semblance of calm had been restored, and arrangements were made to eat dinner in the keep. Lyn had boiled the chicken, adding the vegetables last which made a nice broth to restore their energy. They enjoyed cups of soothing tea and drank glasses of Lucy’s fresh milk.
Stars had begun to sparkle in a night sky which was slightly obscured with light smoke from the cabin fire. Everyone was exhausted, especially Philip who had been sleep-deprived for days.
“Our main problem now is, how the False Prophet will react when he finds out that he has lost forty-seven men,” said Stanley. “We have to get this ammunition to a place of safety.”
“Ah, but, he doesn’t know we only had the four of us fighting. He may think we have some of Donald’s troops here and may not wish to risk another attack,” said Kelly.
“Perhaps. Let me think about that,” said Stanley, as Philip piped up.
“Well, the other reason that Don sent me here was to ask you if I could travel to Steamboat with Crispin. We have to warn them. Don thinks they will soon attack Steamboat and gave me a letter to take to Wesley Fletcher.”
Stanley thought deeply for a moment. “It is true…if fifty Raiders came to attack us here today, it is possible that a larger group might also be on their way to Steamboat as we speak. Philip, you must take Crispin with you and go. But not until both of you have had a good sleep. I suggest you retire after dinner, and I will rouse you early in the morning. It is safer to leave early, as the Raiders may not be on the trails at that time. However, once dawn breaks, you will have to be on the lookout for them.”
“There is another thing,” said Stanley. “I hope Kelly is right, but I remember the stories of the Dixie Rebellion. The Prophet sent an army to capture a store of antique weapons and ammunition, and those that had them were exterminated. I am afraid that we will suffer the same fate, unless we leave at once.”
“Let Crispin and Philip take rifles with a few magazines of ammunition each,” suggested Kelly. “Since we have to leave, the safest way to go would be east.”
But General Logan’s army is between you and Stonegate,” warned Philip. “I was able to avoid their patrols, but I was alone.”
“And the Raiders block the way to the House of Healing,” said Crispin. “They have been fighting skirmishes with the Diné for days.”
“Well, we can’t stay here,” said Stanley. “But how can we leave all this?” He looked at the women, aware how they loved their secure nest.
“The best way would be due east, then either take the trail over the Western Wall to Estes Park, or south through the tunnel on the Great Highway,” suggested Philip.
“You young men must go,” reminded Kelley. “Don’t depend on the rifles. Your only hope is to avoid being seen.”
“Yes, I’ve been captured by them before but was fortunate to escape. I almost died from starvation, until Donald found me, fed me, took me under his wing, and saved my life,” said Philip, recalling his ordeal with horror.
“Perhaps we should stay and help you protect the ammunition,” said Crispin.
“Two more or less would make little difference,” said Kelly. “I think you both should go to Steamboat.”
“Boys, “said Stanley, sternly. “Don’t come back here. We will meet you somewhere in the East, God willing.”
“Well, we will do what we must do. And we’ll pray for you boys,” said Lyn, kindly. “Crispin, you and Philip must arrive in Steamboat safe and alive. After all, there is a certain young lady there who is said to be quite charming.”
Crispin blushed. “Yes, Amber…Amber Fletcher…Wesley Fletcher’s daughter. I can hardly wait to see her again.”
Chapter 20
†
The False Prophet
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
From Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Life in Prophet City seemed almost normal compared with the rest of the Empire. Martin Abaddon sat in his quarters, thinking only of Steamboat. His eyes were set on claiming this town and all those in the East. General Logan and Balek Brown had kept him informed of their progress. Reading the latest message, all appeared well, and plans were in place to besiege Steamboat in the next few days.
Suddenly, a knock interrupted his thoughts. Isabella brought a tray carrying his morning coffee in a solid silver pot and an assortment of cheeses, fresh grapes, and dried fruits. Behind her trailed a dozen or so scantily dressed palace dancers. Selena and Shakti were the main entertainers of this troupe of gorgeous women, and as they moved seductively into the room, Martin smiled in approval. A jester also appeared carrying a flute, which began to fill the air with a mysterious melody, inspiring the dancers to move their hips to the rhythm.
Slowly, the women took their places for a performance that would please the Prophet. Selena wore a sheer ensemble, consisting of a pinky-purple veil, edged with old gold coins, and a harem top and pants that sat on the hips exposing a firm midriff. Her exotic features delighted Martin, who could hardly take his eyes off her as she bent her subtle body into unimaginable positions—like an acrobat.
Shakti danced, her long black hair swaying under a pale-blue headscarf, which resembled a short bridal veil. Mesmerizing Martin with her gracefulness, she smiled. Dancing for the Prophet was a pleasure that the women enjoyed as he lavished them with gifts of perfume and silken fabrics in return for their dancing skills.
One of the women broke free to lower grapes into Martin’s eager mouth. Isabella kept her smile, as well. She sat on a plump crimson cushion near the window where she could see the road outside.
“Oh, my lord,” she suddenly exclaimed, interrupting the dance music, “we have visitors approaching. I do believe it looks like a messenger and several others, riding very fast into the palace grounds.”
“Bring them here, immediately,” ordered Martin, surprised at this unexpected visit. “Dears, have a spell and enjoy some elderberry wine with me while we wait for our visitors to arrive. There is no need for any of you to leave…The pleasure of your company is exactly what I need right now.”
The ladies gathered around Martin as he asked the jester to pour the wine into large crystal goblets. He enjoyed their giggling, their feminine chattering, and their glances of adoration. He was like a god to them.
Isabella returned promptly, flanked by a dusty messenger and a disheveled bunch of worried-looking companions. “So, what brings you here so unexpectedly?” demanded Martin, with a loud voice.
An officer, apparently the message center commander, nervously cleared his throat, before he began to speak. ‘Unfortunately, I have come to report some terribly bad news. We just received a message by pigeon from Balek Brown. We have some dispatches from several of your cities. And this messenger brings a report from the field. If you wish, I can summarize.”
“Go, on,” urged Martin, beginning to sense that the news would be alarming.
“Well, you see, our supply caravans have been harassed continually by Haven horse troops and those cursed Diné…The southern branch of the supply line has become unusable. Our losses have been heavy, both of men and of supplies. Essentially, we’ve lost control of the lower Kolaroo valley. Several guard posts have been lost…And the Raiders sent to attack Owl Hollow were almost wiped out by gunfire from antique weapons. The cursed stronghold there was well armed. Finally, there are even whispers of a people’s revolution in some of our cities.”
Martin’s face turned white, then red, then purple as his fist slammed down hard on the polished arm of his throne-chair. “And who is responsible for this debacle at Owl Hollow?” he snarled. “I want to hear from the surviving Raiders personally!”
Nervously, the officer explained that the distance was long. He would give orders that the men report as soon as possible, but it would take days for them to arrive.
“I am well aware of that,” said Martin, as the full impact of the report sank in. “Now we will have to resupply the entire army through the more northerly supply route. I order it to be so. Personally see to it that the supply officers make the necessary adjustment.”
“It shall be done.”
“I want to see those Raiders, but first have them act as guides for a full-scale assault on Owl Hollow,” said Martin. “Order Balek Brown to send all his heavy cavalry south to capture those weapons.”
“But sir, that is over a thousand horsemen,” exclaimed the officer.
“They won’t be needed in the assault on Steamboat, anyway. My mind is made up on this. I want overwhelming force. I want those weapons and ammunition.” He thought for a moment. “Send a message to every mayor. Anyone whispering rebellion is to be summarily executed. There will be no people’s revolution in my Empire.”
“Yes, sir. At once, sir,” the commander said, bobbing his head.
“You might not be aware, commander, that I have kept a select group of spies and assassins near my side, to keep order in Prophet City. The common folk call them the Black Caps.”
“I have heard something of this—” ventured the uneasy officer. But Martin cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“I have decided that the time is right to send them to the field. Their talents are largely wasted here. They create healthy fear in the population, but they could be used for much more. I read about these kinds of organizations in the Elder days and see how the loss of one individual could change the course of a battle. The Black Caps are masters of disguise and should have little trou
ble in eliminating this enemy leader, Donald. Use our most secure code and advise our generals that these men will have orders personally signed by me; they are to be given every possible assistance.”
The commander assured him that messages would be immediately sent. Martin questioned the messengers briefly then told them to leave their documents and depart. Once they were alone, Martin adopted a fatherly tone with the commander.
“Remember, as commander of the message center, you are my voice and my ears. Now, exactly what happened at Owl Hollow?”
“It is all in the report,” said the commander. “They obviously had gunpowder weapons and plenty of ammunition. Our Raiders never had a chance.”
“The fools!” said Martin. “Our spy told them that they had ammunition for the old weapons, yet they rode up to the door in broad daylight? How could they have been so stupid?”
The commander replied in a quavering voice. “Your anger is just, lord. But someone apparently neglected to tell them of the danger. Security considerations may have been behind it.”
Martin cut him off with a wave of his hand. Suddenly, his mood switched from anger to icy calm. It almost appeared that he was amused. The sudden shift kept the anxious man off-balance.
“It seems that my spy’s account of this so-called secret fortress was correct,” smirked Martin. “I need access to their weaponry…that supply of ammunition could be most useful. Order the cavalry to cut down trees to make ladders and then to storm it from all sides in a night attack. We have to make an example of this Owl Hollow. As for the southern supply route, let further movement be suspended, for now. The most important, immediate action is to take Steamboat…and then Stonegate. The northern routes will suffice.”
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 19