The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2)

by Harry James Fox

  “Thank you, sir,” said Rowan. “I thought I was hitting some of them.”

  “You broke the back of their resistance. Their horse armor and breastplates make them formidable. Without your fire, we would have had a difficult time.”

  †

  Carla had dismounted and was inspecting the narrow trail that they had been following. The path wound around a steep, westward-facing slope with low-growing bitterbrush. They had seen a glimpse of movement ahead, and there were fresh tracks. Rachel saw a mountain bluebird on a branch at the edge of the thicket ahead and heard its alarm cry, a high-pitched tink.

  “Definitely deer tracks,” said Carla, bending low to inspect the patches of freshly disturbed soil. “One is quite large. Probably a buck.”

  “They must be just ahead of us,” whispered Rachel. “Perhaps we should stalk them on foot.”

  Carla nodded, and Rachel also dismounted. They took their bows and quivers, and they were just tying their horses to some shrubs when Carla gasped and pointed. Rachel looked up, and on the top of a ridge, perhaps a half-mile away, she could see a dark figure outlined against the sky. It was too far to make out any features. They were out in the open, and there was no place to hide.

  “I don’t like the looks of that,” said Carla. “Whoever it is, he has seen us.”

  Rachel nodded, trying to decide what was the best thing to do. “His clothing is dark. Do you suppose it is one of the men who was following you?”

  “It very well might be. Hard to tell.”

  They stood there next to their horses, watching. After a minute, the figure moved away from them and disappeared from view. “Let’s move on a bit farther and get out of this clearing,” suggested Rachel. Just then they could see the figure again, and they saw a flash, as if he was holding a shiny object.

  “Rachel!” exclaimed Carla. “Deborah said the enemy is using signal mirrors now. I think he might be signaling someone. Do you think we should turn back?”

  Rachel considered this. From the angle of the sun, the person could easily flash signals to anyone ahead of them, to the northeast. Several more flashes appeared, quite visible to them and anyone else in the area. “I think our deer hunting time is over,” she said, finally. “We need to go somewhere fast. We can’t stay here. We have to assume that he is an enemy scout, and there are others somewhere around here.”

  “But they might as easily be behind us as before us. Is that what you are saying?”

  “Yes. So I think we should go on as fast as we can. We will at least be getting closer to Stonegate.”

  “I swore that I would never let myself get captured again. I am not prey for those Raiders. This time I will fight!”

  “I tried to fight last time. I picked up a sword. They just laughed and surrounded me, then someone grabbed my arms from behind. For the first time in my life I wished I were a man.”

  “If you were a man, they would have killed you!”

  “Better so.”

  †

  “Arrest us!” snapped Don. “That would be unwise!”

  “That is for me to decide,” calmly answered the sergeant, moving his hand to the hilt of his sword. The crossbowmen behind him raised their weapons.

  “No. I have decided,” said Don, firmly. “We are soldiers on the field. We are not subject to civil jurisdiction. Therefore, we will not submit to arrest.”

  That puzzled the sergeant for a moment. “I have not decided to arrest you yet. If I decide to, and you resist, I will order the crossbows to open fire.”

  Scott growled, “If they fire, it will be the last thing they ever do.”

  “Now look here—” said the sergeant, taking a step backward and drawing his sword part-way from its sheath.

  Don cut him off. “Decide swiftly. If you draw that sword, or if your men aim their weapons, we will consider you hostile. Now, tell me what you know! I am losing patience.”

  Neither Don nor his troopers drew arms, but the sergeant took a step backwards. He and Don stared at each other for a long moment before the sergeant lowered his eyes. “Perhaps I spoke in haste,” he said, finally. “I can tell you this much. The women that you seek left through this very gate not more than a half-hour ago. They did not take the east road but headed northeast on the narrow trail that goes north of the lake.”

  “They left?” repeated Don. He had not expected that. “That sounds unwise.”

  “The red-headed one said something about going hunting,” commented the sergeant. “I am afraid I must agree with you.”

  “Thank you for your help,” said Don in a loud voice for the benefit of the others. “You have done your duty well! If I can ever assist you or your town, you only have to ask!”

  “Thank you, sir. It was an honor to meet you.” He gave a formal salute, then pointed out the way.

  Don returned the gesture and reined Snap in the direction the Sergeant had indicated. He gave a light touch of the spurs, and Snap lunged forward, as if glad to be moving again. The first part of the trail was confused with several sets of recent hoof prints. But as they circled around the north side of the lake, two fresh sets of tracks stood out. Don reined to a stop.

  “I think these are the tracks of the two women that we are searching for,” Don said, pointing. “Are either of you good trackers?”

  Scott rode up next to him and said, “I would be lying if I said no, Lord Don. I have been trailing horses, cattle, and game since I was a wee lad.”

  “Very well,” said Don. “Take the lead. We need to stay on their trail and move quickly. I think they are in great danger.”

  “Right you are,” said Scott, as he dismounted. “I need to take a close look at these hoof prints to make sure I have their shape in my mind.”

  As Scott carefully examined the tracks, the other young man spoke, “Could we have taken them, Lord Don? There were five, and two had crossbows.”

  “True,” said Don. “It would have been a tragedy to fight them. They are not our enemies. But the advantage was ours.”

  Scott looked up and added. “Lad, the two of us could have charged the crossbowmen. We had shields, steel breastplates over mail, and would have closed the distance in four bounds. If you had guarded your face, it would be very difficult for them to have stopped you, and once you closed on them, it would have been all over.”

  “He is right, said Don. “Then you could have helped me finish the other three. Only the sergeant had full armor, and none of them had shields. They had little chance against skilled men, and the sergeant knew it.”

  “These are the tracks,” said Scott. “I am sure. They are very fresh and do not seem to be carrying a heavy load. They are fresh-shod and should be easy to sort out.”

  “Very well,” ordered Don. “Let’s be on our way.”

  †

  Carla remounted, and they urged their horses forward as fast as they could go. The trail was narrow, and it skirted around a rocky ridge, forming a narrow ledge on a steep side-hill. The horses’ hooves slipped on the gravel, and their gait was more of a scramble than a trot. They soon entered a thick patch of black timber. Feeling hidden, Rachel breathed a bit easier, but she kept alert, watching to both sides and even glancing behind. She let Justin have his head, and he stayed close to Ranger’s tail, as Carla continued to set a fast pace. The trail wound lower down the slope and finally came to a glade. The ground was nearly level, so they were able to gallop toward a bare knoll.

  Rachel looked back over her shoulder, and she could see the rocky point behind and above them where the dark figure had stood. Though she had only a glimpse, she could see no sign of him. Just then she noticed fresh horse tracks on the trail that they followed, and she let out a cry.

  Carla reined Ranger to a stop. “I don’t like the looks of this,” she said. “It looks like a l
arge number of horses are on this trail ahead of us.”

  “I don’t either,” said Rachel. “They could be Raiders.”

  “Let’s don’t follow them,” said Carla. “We might be riding right into an ambush.”

  Rachel looked around. A faint trail led due east, around the south side of the small knoll. She pointed it out. “Let’s go that way, instead.”

  Carla nodded and pointed Ranger in that direction. At a gallop, they soon crossed the open area and were back into a scattered stand of ponderosa pine. Again, the trail became rough and rocky, and they had to slow to navigate through the obstacles. Rachel’s heart was beating in her breast, and her hands were sweaty on her reins and the bow she carried. Just then she heard a shout behind them. It was not loud, but was clearly audible over the horses’ breathing and the crunch of hooves on broken rock. Carla looked back. Her eyes were large, but her jaw was set.

  “I think someone picked up our trail,” Carla said in a low voice.

  “Or maybe someone saw us before we entered the trees,” responded Rachel. “What shall we do, now?”

  “That sounded like someone behind us. Let’s push on as fast as we can. Remember, we have hunting broadheads. They are not good against mail armor.”

  “Wait,” said Rachel. “I have a half-dozen bodkin points. Gray John gave them to me. No good for hunting, but they will bite through mail. Let me give you some.”

  Rachel sorted through her quiver, drew out three of the needle-pointed war arrows, and gave them to Carla. She nodded her thanks and strung one on her bow, holding her reins in her right hand. She spurred ahead, but she had to be careful. A misstep could lame a horse, and that might be fatal.

  Chapter 27

  †

  A Passage of Arms

  Sharpen the arrows!

  Fill the quivers!

  Jeremiah 51:11a HCSB

  Carla glanced back to see the small knoll receding behind them. The way was better now, with a firm footing of pine needles. The trees were thicker, and they had to weave their way through them. She looked back again. Rachel’s blonde hair was tied up in a bun, and her face was flushed, but she gave a brave smile. The horses broke into a gallop. Carla looked ahead and saw that the trees were more scattered.

  They passed through a clump of young pines, the tops not much higher than their heads, and when they broke out of them they found themselves on the edge of a small clearing. As they did, they again heard a shout to their rear. Carla cursed herself. Why were you so careless? Riding out in the open without checking. How could you?

  She looked back to her right. At least a dozen mounted men were there. Their beards, oval shields, and shaggy dun ponies told the tale. They were Raiders, and they were only two hundred yards away. But they were behind them. Stonegate was ahead. She urged Ranger forward and delighted in his burst of acceleration.

  †

  The trail was clear and easy to follow. Don could have found the way without help. Yet he was glad that Scott was with him. They followed the tracks with ease, leading them to the northeast, in the direction of Stonegate. But Don had a small worry in a corner of his mind that these were two other riders.

  “Someone dismounted here,” Scott announced. “No, I see two sets of tracks now. They both were walking. Small footprints. This has to be them.”

  Don made no comment, and they pressed on. The sooner they caught them, the better he would like it. The way was rough, and they had to proceed with caution. They had just broken out of a dense stand of pine when he glimpsed movement ahead. He could see a form on horseback and a glorious glimpse of blonde hair.

  “Rachel,” he yelled. “Wait!”

  Then the figure disappeared in scattered trees next to a knoll. They worked their way off a talus slope then galloped across an opening to where he had seen a glimpse of Rachel. The two were nowhere to be found, but tracks led their way up a trail to the north. They forced their way through the thick underbrush following a faint trail marked with fresh hoof prints. Don called again, but there was no answer.

  “I think I may have frightened them,” said Don, ducking a low bough. Why didn’t I hold my tongue? They may be trying to escape us.

  †

  Carla spurred Ranger toward the well-beaten trail that led through a narrow park with ponderosa pines on both sides. She looked over her shoulder to see that she was outrunning Rachel, so she slowed a little. The trail veered close to a clump of trees on the right, and as she passed it, a man with a black beard and a mail shirt lunged from the shade and tried to grab her horse’s reins. She had an arrow on the bowstring, so she drew and fired in a smooth, practiced motion. The arrow hit the man square in the middle of his chest. The mail must have slowed the bodkin point, but did not deflect it. As she passed him, she saw him clutching the arrow as if to draw it out, as he fell to his knees. Then she glanced to her right and saw that there were two men, and the second also had a feathered shaft sticking out of his side. Rachel had made a perfect shot, as well.

  Carla looked back and saw that there were a large group of Raiders still behind them. But they were no closer, even with the slight delay. Rachel’s mount was not as fast as Ranger, but was well capable of staying ahead. Carla began to hope they could simply outrun them. They were out of bowshot, and only a mishap could stop them now.

  But she saw ahead two more men riding to meet them. They were blocking the trail with drawn swords, and there was no way around them. Carla pulled another arrow and fitted it to her bow. She had a taken a broadhead with no time to search for a bodkin point. Not much good against mail.

  She had only one option; something that she had said she would never do. She aimed at the throat of the lead rider’s horse. Her years of training paid off. The arrow went true and drove to the feathers in the horse’s chest. He staggered, mortally hit, and his legs began to buckle. Carla reined to the right, to give Rachel a clear shot and fumbled in her quiver for another shaft.

  She caught a blur from a corner of her eye as Rachel sent another arrow at the other rider’s mount. He was wheeling to the left to intercept them, and the shaft hit behind the horse’s shoulder, just below the rider’s left knee. Another mortal hit and his horse was out of the race. Swinging farther to the right, she knew that the two could not intercept them. If they could get by, then the way ahead seemed clear. Please, God, let these be the only two in front!

  But the first rider stepped off his horse with a bow of his own, and sped an arrow at Carla. She tried to dodge it, but it was well-aimed and hit her just above her left breast with a thump. Fortunately, the hunting jacket had a double layer of leather and mail at that point. She felt a sharp pain but knew that the wound was slight. Then she was past.

  She looked back at Rachel with a tight grin. Then her expression turned to a cry of anguish. Something was wrong. She glanced back again, and to her horror she saw that Rachel was falling farther behind. Then it became obvious why. Justin, Rachel’s mount, had an arrow in his side. A red mist was blowing out of his nostrils, and his gait was labored.

  She wheeled around and rode back toward Rachel. A line of charging Raiders were coming dangerously near. With strength she did not know she had, she threw her free arm around Rachel’s shoulder and swung her onto Ranger, so they ended up riding double, Rachel sitting in front. A moment later, Justin’s knees buckled, and he turned a somersault, smashing to the ground. Thank you, God. A moment later, and she might have been crushed.

  They were now within bowshot, and an arrow zipped past her right ear. Another bounced off the back of her jacket. The shock and stab of pain were immediate, but it was only a pinprick. She began to swerve from side to side. It made them a much more difficult target, but they could not seem to pull away from their pursuers. Ranger was tiring, and he was now carrying double.

  The park opened to the left as they rounded a pine-c
overed ridge. She had finally pulled farther ahead. With more lead, Carla stopped swerving and gave Ranger his head. He found a surge of strength from somewhere and accelerated. Again, she hoped they could outrun the Raiders.

  But two more fast-moving horsemen came out of the woods before them. They were dark-clad and mounted on rangy bays. She realized that they were the two that had followed her from Loveland. They must have found a shortcut. Carla could no longer use her bow, but Rachel drew hers, and when the two riders came in range she released her arrow. She aimed well, but the horseman swerved to his left, and the arrow only grazed his mount’s shoulder.

  But the horse shied from the sting, and the other rider took the lead. He had a javelin, and Carla knew he planned to try to get close enough to cast it at Ranger. Rachel fumbled for another arrow and dropped it. Carla felt a pang of despair. “I’ll head for that grove of trees. We can dismount and use our bows. I plan to fight to the last arrow, then I have a sword.”

  “I plan to make them kill me this time,” returned Rachel, breathlessly.

  Carla charged deep into the pine grove, and the two scrambled off. The Raiders, confident now, rode up and blocked every way out. A man rode forward, still staying a long bowshot away, and raised his voice, “Throw down your bows, and you will come to no harm. You can’t escape!”

  “Come closer, and I will give you our answer,” shouted Carla, fitting a bodkin point to her bow. Rachel tied Ranger to a sapling and joined her. Carla counted seventeen of the enemy and realized that she could not afford to waste many arrows.

  The Raiders conferred, and about ten of them stepped down and handed their reins to the shield-less men on the bays. Then the dismounted group formed a shield-wall and began advancing, crouched and hidden. The only thing that Carla could see was their feet and ankles. She planned to take a difficult shot when she heard running horses and saw three riders coming up the trail.