The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2)

by Harry James Fox

  You clear a straight path for the righteous.

  Isaiah 26: 7 HCSB

  Carla was confused about Deborah. She wanted to dislike her but found that she could not. In some ways, the two of them were alike. They were both very direct, and Deborah certainly had a strong personality. Thinking back on it, she almost chuckled about Deborah confessing that she had difficulty using feminine wiles. Carla knew that some women were apparently born knowing how to flirt and did so without thinking about it. Deborah was not like that and neither was she.

  Still, Deborah was quite attractive and feminine, despite being unconventional. She was decisive and bold, yet refined and well-spoken. Carla hoped that she would become her friend. Sadly, her dear friend Rachel was a rival, despite Deborah’s protestations to the contrary.

  Soon after Auden’s arrival, two men had knocked at the door, wanting to know where Rachel could be found. Carla had spoken to them and told them that she did not know exactly where Rachel was but offered to take the message and give it to her.

  Deborah had warned her that the Black Prophet had sent out his “Black Cap” assassins to try to decapitate the forces defending the eastern cities. But even without the warning, she sensed danger from these men. They had a feral look in their eyes, even though their words were pleasant enough. They had insisted that they must deliver the message in person, so she had directed them to Stonegate and closed the door in their faces.

  “You told a lie, Aunt Carla,” announced Auden.

  “Auden!” exclaimed Annabeth. “You apologize at once.”

  “But she did, Mother. She said she did not know where Rachel is. But she is in Estes Park.”

  “I did not lie,” calmly answered Carla. “I don’t know exactly where she is this moment. And there is no good reason that I should say more. I don’t trust these men.”

  “Did you notice their faces?” asked Deborah, who had viewed them through the open door.

  “No,” said Annabeth and Carla together.

  “Their cheeks were red and weather-beaten, but their chins and jawlines were pale pink.”

  Carla was puzzled. “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “They have recently shaved off heavy beards. Men are usually bearded in the Prophet’s lands.”

  †

  Without another word, Carla returned to her bedchamber and began to change her clothes. She clothed herself in a short, pale-green tunic and green riding trousers. From her leather cantle-pack she withdrew a pair of stout boots and her special coat. Donning these items, she picked up her bow and quiver of arrows and returned downstairs. Deborah and Annabeth stared at her. “What are you doing, Carla?” asked Annabeth. “I hope you don’t plan something foolish!”

  “It might very well be foolish,” said Carla. “I don’t know. But I am going to Estes Park to warn Rachel. I think these men are searching for her with evil intent. Somehow they mean to get at Donald through her.”

  “But Carla, you are also in danger. They might be searching for all those that escaped from the Raiders.”

  Deborah said, “If you must go, I will come with you! But perhaps a better plan might be to wait for Don to return.”

  “No. Stay here,” said Carla. “My horse, Ranger, is one of the fastest, for a short sprint, at least. None of those tall, long-legged racers can come close to him for the first mile. Your little mare would just slow me down. You can tell Don where I’ve gone, and if he wants to follow, fine.”

  “If you must go, so be it,” said Annabeth. “Let me fix you some food for the trail.”

  “What is that coat you’re wearing?” asked Deborah, “It looks like leather, but I see many metal—nails, brads, or something.”

  “My father calls it a hunting jacket. It is thin, oiled leather to shed rain, but there is a layer of light mail and some small plates underneath. It can stop an arrow, yet is less than half the weight of the mail armor that the men wear.”

  Deborah hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Go well, then, and stay safe. May the mail turn aside enemy darts, and may God direct your steps.”

  “Amen,” said Annabeth, returning from the kitchen with a square packet wrapped in oilcloth. “Will you be returning here?”

  “I am not sure. Perhaps, if the way seems clear. But I think that Estes Park is no longer safe. Too many people know she was going there.”

  Carla hurried out the back door and followed the curving path through Annabeth’s neat flower and herb garden. Ranger greeted her with a snort and a stamp of his forefoot. She knew he was telling her that he did not like the dark stable and wanted to run in a pasture. “You will get your wish, my fiery fellow,” she whispered to him as she slipped on his bridle. She tightened the girth on the saddle and checked to make sure that the short sword hanging from the pommel was secured. Annabeth, Auden, and Deborah stood nearby, anxiously watching.

  “I can help, Aunt Carla,” said Auden. “I know how to ride, and you should not go alone.”

  “Thanks, Auden. You are a brave young man, but you need to stay here and be the man of the house. When I come again we will get you a bow, and I will teach you to shoot it.”

  “You will?” came the excited reply. “Oh Mother, would that be all right?”

  “Of course, Son,” said Annabeth, patting his shoulder. “I should have got you one before now. I was just—I don’t know. Do be careful, sister! You hear?”

  “I will,” answered Carla, swinging aboard the eager stallion. “For goodness’ sakes, don’t answer the door to those men again. They might try to force their way in.”

  “We won’t,” they answered, as Carla waved and trotted down the alley toward the main street and was gone.

  †

  Philip and Rowan rode back to the west, one on each side of Gray John. He had them tell the story of the fall of Steamboat and asked them penetrating questions. His manner was gruff, but they sensed that he was impressed by their answers, nonetheless. He had been surprised to learn that Philip was Donald’s aide, and he urged him to tell something of the enemy attack on the walled towns of Ariel and Bethuel. He was particularly interested in the Haven horse troops and how they had been used.

  The Stonegate horse troops steadily advanced across the open park, ringed by white-capped peaks on three sides. Only to the north were there lower ridges, dark with conifers. Gray John’s patrol consisted of three horse troops. He commanded his own, the Red Axe troop, and was in overall command of the two others, the Black Eagle and Lobo troops. Together with scouts, horseholders, and camp guards with their pack horses, the force numbered close to two hundred. They were Stonegate’s finest, and Philip sensed that they were spoiling for a fight.

  Gray John had been particularly interested in learning that the Steamboat artillerymen, with their remaining store of propellant and shells, had survived and were with the refugees. “We need to bring those men back to Stonegate,” he muttered. “Their experience could be vital.”

  “But they said that the guns did not work as they had hoped,” protested Philip.

  “Sometimes you learn more from failure than success, lad,” replied Gray John.

  They reached the refugee column by mid-afternoon, and it was well that they did. The pitiful survivors had not been attacked, but there were three parties of Raiders, circling the column like hungry wolves ready to attack a herd of fawns. The fleeing party had closed up their column and had circled the carts and wagons in a defensive position, prepared to sell their lives dearly. At the sight of the Stonegate troopers, the refugees had raised a weak shout of welcome.

  Gray John ordered two troops to give chase to the Raiders, who retreated north. He warned them to go no farther than five miles and then return. The troopers galloped off and were soon out of sight. The leader of a group of riders from Steamboat rode over and gave them a quick report. />
  They learned that the mounted soldiers from Steamboat had actually fought off one attack by the Raiders, with a half-dozen casualties on both sides. The arrival of two more Raider bands had made the situation desperate, indeed. Philip and Rowan led Gray John and his assistant troop leader to meet with Wesley Fletcher. After introductions and expressions of gratitude, Wesley listed the needs of his party.

  “Your arrival was most timely,” he began. “There was no way that we could outrun those shaggy devils, and I suspect that they planned to keep us penned here until a larger force arrived. I think you must assume that their heavy cavalry is on the way, and we know there are thousands of them. Besides security, our greatest need is food. We only have enough potatoes, turnips, and the like to give everyone a bowl of soup today, then there will be no more. We will save a bit for the children, so they can have a meal tomorrow, and that is all.”

  “My pack train has a week’s worth of rations. If we all go on half-rations, that should be enough for two days. I will send a messenger pigeon and ask that supplies be sent by wagon to meet us on the way. Everyone will be a bit hungry, but there will be enough. No one will starve!”

  Hamway, the assistant commander, spoke up. “But, Sir John, that will mean that we have to cut our patrol short. Our orders were—”

  “I know what they were,” said Gray John, cutting him off. “The situation has changed. We will have to delay our patrol to the north. We at least know that the eastern army has passed north of here.”

  Gray John ordered the camp tenders to bring their pack horses into the circle of wagons. They distributed dry meat and biscuits, together with dried fruit, to the refugees, enough that everyone had a small lunch. Then they insisted that the party continue the march to the east. Scouts were sent in all directions to try to determine if any other enemy forces were in the area.

  Philip watched as Gray John drafted a short message and gave it to the pigeon-keeper. Then he remembered. “Have you seen Crispin and Lord Wesley’s daughter, Amber?” he asked.

  Gray John stared at him. “She is his daughter?” he exclaimed.

  He turned to Wesley, who had mounted and was nearby. “Lord Wesley,” he said. “Your daughter is safe. And so is the young man who is with her.”

  †

  Carla rode down the main street and out the eastern gate of Longmont. She did not see the two strangers, for which she was grateful. Once she found the main road leading west to Estes Park, she allowed Ranger to travel at a gallop for a half-mile, just to release his pent-up energy. Once he had loosened his muscles, she held him to a brisk trot. She knew he could hold that pace for miles more before he needed rest.

  She kept all her senses alert and her bow strung. There was no sign of anyone following her, though she passed several wagons on the road and met still more heading east. The way was not deserted, but she noticed that traffic was light, as though people were afraid to venture far from home. Her costume and the fact that she was riding without an escort drew some curious looks. But none tried to speak to her, and she held her tongue. Her mind kept returning to the tension between Rachel and Deborah.

  She wondered how a man like Don would choose a mate. It seemed to her that men usually thought that they were the ones who sought and won a bride. They seemed blissfully unaware that in most courtships much was happening behind the scenes. Rarely was the woman content to merely sit with folded hands waiting for her man to ask for her hand. The young woman often discussed the matter with her friends and with wise women rich in age and experience in these things. She had often heard the old saying, “Men think they are the ones chasing until they find themselves caught.”

  She, herself, had tried to gain the attention of a handsome young man a couple of years older than herself, but it had come to nothing. She did not want to be too obvious, so he had never seen her as anything more than a tomboy, a young friend. She certainly could have benefited from some advice. Perhaps the fact that she had beaten him in friendly archery competitions had not helped. Oh, well, I have plenty of time before I become an old maid.

  She thought on the matter of how someone would choose between Deborah and Rachel. Rachel was the better catch in terms of worldly goods. Her parent’s death had left her in charge of a large farm, with flocks and herds besides. Her family was one of the most prominent in the Stonegate area which is why she was chosen to sit on the Stonegate city council in the place of her father. Some men would find the temptation to marry a wealthy girl nearly irresistible. She did not know Don that well but suspected that he cared little for such things.

  What else, then? Men seemed to be attracted to physical beauty and charm. Rachel was certainly beautiful. Carla considered herself attractive, and plenty of people confirmed that to be true. Deborah was nice-looking, also. But in terms of attractiveness, the nod had to go to Rachel, again. Charm—that was something else, and she hardly knew what men found charming.

  Rachel was not particularly witty, and she did not have the gift of captivating a room with her conversation. Truth be known, she was a bit shy and did not enjoy social gatherings. She was, however, a strong leader and had taken firm hold of her father’s farm. Some of the family retainers had chafed at taking orders from a woman, but they soon learned that she was no one to trifle with. She was intelligent, competent, and a hard worker. She was also a faithful and loyal friend. But charming? Probably not.

  What about Deborah? For starters, she had little in terms of worldly goods. Carla had heard the story about how Don had rescued her from virtual slavery and how she had saved his life, in turn. Deborah had helped rescue Rachel and the others, including Carla, herself. Deborah was bold and decisive without lacking in femininity. Her speech and manners were flawless, showing excellent upbringing. She was no simple servant girl and no tomboy, either. Still, it must be said that she could not be described as charming, no more than could Rachel.

  Carla finally gave up. She had no idea why a man, or a woman, for that matter, would choose one person over another. She once had a crush on a handsome young man, but was that love? She doubted it. And was love even necessary for a good marriage? She did not know, but it certainly could not hurt. Deborah’s frank admissions had disarmed her, though. She thought it was possible to be friends with both women, no matter how the matter with Don played out. Perhaps it was best if she stayed out of it. Then there was another matter. She also found Don attractive. She could not help it.

  Carla kept looking back—not that she expected to see any danger from that direction. But she did not intend to be caught by surprise. With a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, she saw two riders coming up behind. They were much too far away to see much, except that they were on horseback and dressed in dark clothing. They could simply be two travelers with errands of their own. Somehow, she was sure that they were the two strangers that had appeared at her sister’s house, looking for Rachel.

  At first, she simply thought that they had somehow learned that Rachel was in Estes Park. There was no way that they could be following her. She had seen no sign of them when she left Longmont. Then she realized that she was distinctive. A lone woman with bright red hair on a showy horse would stand out in any crowd. People would have noticed her. Any of the people that had seen her could have told them where she was going. Why did I let them see me? Why did I answer the door? Why didn’t I cover my hair?

  She did not know what to do. If she continued on, she would lead them directly to Rachel. If she did not give a warning, Rachel would be in danger and not know it. They had planned to go hunting, and Rachel would be taking her two little brothers back to Waverley-stead sometime after that. All of those things sounded risky, now.

  Carla thought she could divert onto a side trail and eventually lose the two men. Ranger was fast, and she was probably more familiar with the area than they were. But if she did lose them, they would certainly continu
e to Estes Park. It was a small village, and everyone would know Rachel’s aunt Florence. They would find her easily enough. Carla realized that she had already told them by her actions what they wanted to know. No! The best thing would be to go on, find Rachel and—then what? Perhaps she could speak to the guard force and have them apprehend the two men and hold them for questioning. Then she and Rachel could escape.

  Carla decided to hold a brisk trot and make no attempt to lose the two riders. When she got within a mile of Estes Park’s walls, she would make a dash for it. She should get there in plenty of time to give warning. She was not concerned that they could run her down, no matter what they did. Their horses were carrying more weight, and Ranger was fleet of foot. She lifted a prayer heavenward, nonetheless.

  †

  The patrol re-gathered at the site where Osric had fallen, and Don heard their report. The two killers had fled on fast horses and would probably have escaped, had they not run directly into Jenkins’ crossbowmen. They had both fallen in a blizzard of crossbow bolts. The Raiders had been delayed by a few brave scouts, who had used their short bows effectively, forcing them to slow just long enough for the stragglers to be overtaken by the leading horse troopers from the Bows troop. In a brief skirmish, six Raiders had fallen and two were taken captive. Another dozen or so were able to make their escape, and Slim had called off further pursuit. Three horse troopers had been slightly wounded, and one warhorse had been lost to a Raider arrow.

  It reminded Don of the many patrols that they had run against the Raiders, when the enemy was invading the peaceful towns of Haven. Slim had brought a couple of remounts, and the horseless trooper was soon mounted again. The Raiders were no match against the more heavily armed horse troopers, but they were still dangerous, nevertheless. Previously, they had left the enemy dead where they had fallen or, at most, given them a rude field burial. This time they recovered the enemy bodies, as well as their own slain and brought them along, tied to their mounts. Time to bring the people of Stonegate face-to-face with this war.