The Stonegate Sword

by Harry James Fox

  “Oh, sorry!”

  “There is a logical place to take the girls, neither upriver nor down, and well away from a walled city—and not far from where they are. But we need a diversion!”

  “What kind of diversion?”

  “Come, let us sit on this bench by the fountain, and I will explain.”

  †

  The meeting resumed in the fire pit, which was much less formal, and correspondingly more comfortable. Tankards stood on a sideboard, some filled with dark ale, others with cider. Don noticed that Samuel took one of the latter and followed his example. The group settled into the circle of soft chairs, carefully avoiding each other’s eyes. Seeing that the party was uncomfortable, Don was tempted to open the discussion, but he thought better of it. He took a long sip of the cider and found it cool and delicious—spiced with some unidentifiable herbs. Several of the group cleared their throats and shifted their weight in their seats. Don noticed that Danny, however, was seated erect, as though riding a horse—perfectly relaxed and with a far-away look on his face. It was as if he was prepared to wait and hold the same position for hours, if it came to that. It would be a great advantage to have such patience, Don decided.

  Enos spoke into the quiet chamber, “The matter of the rescued women has been grieving me. Has anyone any further thoughts to share?” Again, there was a long silence. John mentioned some farmsteads directly south that might be a possibility. But that would be taking them farther from their homes.

  Samuel gestured toward Danny. “It seems to me that our friend from the far South has touched on the only possibility that is feasible. They must be taken, and taken quickly, to an unexpected place. But the trail must be cleverly hidden, and the place must be suitable for the care of invalids. Although the girls were able to ride to the House of Healing, we are not sure that any could ride any great additional distance without grave risk.”

  Danny nodded. “I agree with what you said.” He reached out and grasped Don by the forearm and looked him directly in the eyes. “I know you feel deeply for these women’s safety. The Diné can protect and hide them—but care for them? That is a big worry. I must think more on that.”

  Samuel continued. “Fortunately, I know of a place that is suitable for our purposes. I had prepared it for such a time as this.” He chuckled, dryly. “Of course, I had it in mind as a refuge for myself when I wore out my welcome here.”

  “And where is this place, friend Samuel?” asked Enos, a bit gruffly. He had his head thrown back and his beard jutted forward like a brush. He seemed as tense as ever.

  John said softly, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.”

  Don looked at him quickly. It sounded like a quote, but he could not place the source. The others nodded or gave small smiles.

  “I hope I give no offense when I point out that the exact location is probably best kept known to as few as possible,” answered Samuel. “I have an idea, but in order for it to work, I will need help from all of you. Some money will be needed, though I do have some left over from your last gift, Lord Enos.”

  “Money is not a problem,” returned Enos, with a tiny smile. He looked at John who nodded agreement.

  “We will need a diversion, which will require a wagon, just as our lore-man suggested,” continued Samuel. “It will require a cover, suitable for transporting women in some comfort.”

  “With some money it should be easy to rent a wagon in Glenwood,” suggested Enos. “And the Diné could be a great help in defeating trackers.”

  Danny showed no surprise. “We can help,” he replied.

  “We have to start back for the House of Healing soon,” continued Samuel. “Let me explain what I have in mind. We will need the wagon in Glenwood by dawn—tomorrow morning—with a driver that is willing to risk his life. If you will permit me, let me explain further.” He began to lay out the details of his idea to a most attentive audience.

  †

  It was well past mid-afternoon when Samuel and Don rode back through the gates of the House of Healing. Two young men with spears stood on the right of the main gate as they entered, but paid them little attention. They left their mounts at the stable and went their separate ways. Samuel went to meet with Eric and Bobby at the Herb and Leech while Don went to the hospital.

  The facade of the main entrance of the hospital itself was of brick, but the entrance way was cased with gray granite. The stout wooden doors stood open at the top of a broad ramp, perhaps three feet above street level. Don entered and went directly to the woman’s wing. He inquired of a young girl, dressed in white, sitting at a desk next to the entrance of the north wing. A sign over the hallway said “Hall of Women” and a vase full of flowers sat on the desk. She wore a bright red scarf over her brown hair.

  “Excuse me,” began Don, somewhat hesitantly. “I am Donald of Fisher. Lord Kerik told me last night that I would be able to visit a certain patient this afternoon.”

  “Oh. Yes, sir,” she replied. “I have been expecting you. I will have someone take my place here, and then we can go to her room.” She took a small hammer and struck a bell hanging behind the desk. It made a small, bright tone that matched the cheerful mood of her alcove. The wall was white, the floor tile red. The desk sat on a carpet of black and red on the floor, in bold geometric designs, which added a homey touch. A slender girl, dressed the same, in white with a red scarf, strode up with a smile.

  “Watch the desk, Grace,” said the girl, standing. She turned to Don. “My name is Claire. Just follow me.”

  She led Don down the spotless hallway in a brisk walk. Her smile was warm, but she offered no small talk. “How are the girls?” asked Don. “Are they well?”

  “You will see,” she answered, a bit evasively. “They are improving.” She did not look directly at him.

  They walked halfway down the corridor, then took a stair to the right and climbed two flights of stairs. They turned right and approached an iron-bound door. It was shut, and two husky men with swords at their belts were sitting on a bench on the left, behind a low table. Two spears leaned against the corner. They rose, but resumed their seat at a gesture from Claire. She knocked, and a window opened in the door. There was an iron grill that hid the face of the person behind the door. “It is Claire with a visitor. He is expected.” The small window closed, and the door swung open, outward. They entered a hallway much like the one behind them, except for a raised ceiling that allowed for a row of small windows, each letting in bright sunshine. There were two more guards and a young women, also in white, but wearing a blue scarf.

  “You will be Donald,” she said, holding open the door. Don nodded. The guards regarded him unsmilingly as he and Claire entered, and the door closed. “I am Ellen, and I‘m the duty nurse here. Which of the girls did you wish to see?”

  Don appraised her. She seemed to be much like the other young women. Are none of them old? Her look was kind, yet she had a firm, no-nonsense air about her.

  “I would see Rachel, first,” he answered. “We have much to talk about, yet I have little time. I must be out of the gate by sundown.”

  “Oh, yes,” murmured Claire. “I was supposed to remind you.”

  “We are sorry!” exclaimed Ellen. “It seems discourteous, we know …”

  “Don’t worry,” answered Don. “There are reasons, that I know. But come, where is Rachel?”

  “This way,” returned Ellen, turning away and gesturing down the corridor. Claire touched his elbow. “I must go now,” she said. “You are in good hands.”

  Don stammered his thanks and then watched her leave. One of the guards opened the door for her, and then closed it. There was a thud as the heavy bar dropped into place. Don noticed that the windows near the ceiling had stout bars on the inside. The room had the look of a bright, airy prison.

 
Don turned back to Ellen and she led him down several doors. “This part of the hospital seems very secure,” commented Don.

  “Some of our patients require protection more than others,” she commented. “Although this whole building is better guarded than it may appear.” She knocked on the door. It opened a moment later. She turned to face Don. “You may speak with her for a few minutes. No longer! She tires easily.” When Don nodded, she stood back and let him enter.

  He stepped into the room, suddenly anxious, as if he was preparing to speak in public. A pleasing fragrance greeted him. The room was not large, but the window in the center of the far wall was admitting the afternoon light. The view of the left side of the room was blocked by a screen made of light wood and pale yellow fabric. The bed took up the right side of the room, but it was empty. “Rachel,” he called, in a questioning tone.

  “Don! Don, is that you?” came the response, as someone moved from behind the screen. The oat-straw hair, highlighted by the window behind, looked like a golden halo, and then she was in his arms. She was crying, and her whole body was trembling. Don awkwardly patted her shoulder. Their embrace lasted a long time. Don noticed that the door stood discreetly ajar.

  “Don’t cry! Don’t cry,” he said softly. He did not know what to say. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

  She finally released him and held him at arm’s length, staring at his face, closely. “You look older, Donald,” she whispered. Then she gave a little smile and pulled him toward the window. “I can’t believe you came! We had all given up hope. No one taken by the Raiders has ever been rescued …”

  “I had much help,” said Don, not knowing where to begin. They held each other’s hands. Her face was thin and pinched and very pale, but her smile was brave. The little crinkles at the corners of her eyes were the same as always. Then her smile dissolved, and the blue eyes turned cloudy as they welled with tears.

  “Oh, Don, what news of my family?” she blurted. “Are they well? Was anyone injured …” Her voice trailed off, but her lips were parted and her frame was tense. This was the moment that Don had been dreading.

  “Maybe you should sit down, Rachel,” he began. He led her to the bed, and she slowly sank down, eyes large. She looked like a frightened doe.

  “Dear, your brother is alive and well, or was when I left,” began Don. “All of the young children were unhurt.”

  “Oh, I am so glad,” she cried. Then she covered her mouth with her hands. “But Mommy and Daddy?” He never heard her use the childhood names for them before.

  “I’m so sorry to have to tell you, but they were both killed,” answered Don. It was hard to force the words out. His throat felt tight, and his mouth was dry. Her face crumpled, and she turned away, facing the head of the bed. She wrapped her left arm around her face, and her right arm hugged her stomach. Then she fell into a fetal position, shuddering soundlessly. Don patted her shoulder. He could think of nothing to say. “There—There.” was the best he could do.

  Then the tears came. Finally, she choked out a few words, “Leave me for a while, Don. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  Don took a small linen handkerchief from a nearby table and put it on her arm, then left as quietly as he could. He shut the door behind him and then leaned against it. He took a deep breath and released it.

  “Was it as bad as that?” came a voice to his immediate left. He jumped and saw Ellen looking at him intently. “You could have stayed a few more minutes, you know.”

  “Oh—well, thanks,” returned Don. “But, you see … I told her about the death of her parents—they were very close to her. I thought she would be better left alone for a while.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she returned, softly. “But don’t worry. She really won’t kill the messenger. She speaks of you often. Was she weeping?”

  “Yes,” answered Don. “Is that bad for her?”

  “I sometimes think a good cry is a healthy thing, though I know it bothers men. Let me look in on her.” She entered the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Don waited awkwardly outside for what seemed like a long time. He heard the click of the lock and turned as Ellen came out of the room. “You can go in again for a few minutes. Then I need to see you before you leave. I will meet you at the front desk. One of the guards will escort you.”

  She stepped aside and held the door for him. Don entered to see Rachel sitting on the bed, twisting the handkerchief, hands on her lap. Her eyes and nose were red, but she was composed. “I can talk now, Don,” she began. “What happened to the farm? Why did you come alone? Where is the rest of your troop?”

  “They burned the house, I’m afraid,” answered Don. “I don’t have time to tell the whole story, but I left by myself. I didn’t ask anyone else to come. This was all my fault.”

  “But I have only a few minutes,” he continued. “You can’t stay here. In fact, you will be leaving early in the morning. Can you get word to the other girls?”

  Rachel looked startled. “Of course, it was not your fault—leave? Why? Aren’t we safe here?”

  “Probably, for a time. But your presence here is a danger to others, now. We think it’s safer if you leave right away, for all concerned.” Don knelt beside the bed and took her hand. He decided now was not the time to try to explain. “You will need warm clothes. We will get some boots and cloaks for each of you. Just be ready to leave at first light.”

  “Oh, well, of course,” she returned. “Yes, I can get the word to the others. But they won’t want to leave so soon.”

  “I don’t think anyone would want to leave here,” answered Don. “And your accommodations won’t be nearly as nice where you are going. But trust me. You all must go, but we will try to make you comfortable and safe.” She hugged him then. Their farewells were brief, and Don soon found himself back at Ellen’s desk.

  “Rachel told me that she can tell the others that they must leave. We plan to move them early tomorrow,” said Don, quietly, watching Ellen’s eyes.

  She blinked. “Do you think that wise?” she whispered. Their heads came close together. Don glanced around to see if anyone seemed to be listening.

  “We think there is little choice, for their safety and yours.”

  “But what if the girls refuse?” she asked, doubtfully. “And at least one may well refuse. She has a mind of her own.”

  “My friend is talking to the Chief Surgeon,” returned Don. “But you make a good point. I am afraid you will have to convince them. I have no doubt that Lord Kerick will agree that we must act, and we cannot speak of this to anyone—except the few that must know. Tell no one else tonight, at any event.”

  “Why, what are you afraid of?” she asked, looking even more worried.

  “Let us just say that we can’t afford anyone to know our plans. Of course, as soon as we take everyone away, the word will probably get out. We can’t help that. But the girls would all be in great danger if our plans got to the wrong ears tonight!”

  †

  The gates of the House of Healing opened just at dawn the next morning. A wagon was waiting. It was drawn by two large bays, with red ribbons braided in their black manes. The wagon itself had high sides, perhaps three feet, and the box was a full 15 feet long. The wood planks were carved in fanciful dragon designs. These contrasted with the dull gray of the canvas cover, which stretched upward in a boxy shape to a ridged top. The driver had a steel cap and breastplate, as did the guard to his left. The latter had a crossbow and a box of quarrels by his feet. It did not look like a farmer’s wagon going to market.

  The steel tires of the wagon rattled over the cobbles as it moved down an alley near the woman’s wing and out of sight. Perhaps twenty minutes later, it returned the same way and left under the arched main gate. Two riders waited and fell in behind the wagon as it took the eastern fork t
oward the river road. By this time, a crowd of peddlers with packs, a group of pedestrians, a few horsemen and a couple of wagons were awaiting entrance. They all watched the wagon leave and distinctly heard women’s voices through the canvas. And several thought they saw a woman’s face peering out briefly through an opening in the rear. The waiting group discussed the wagon, and their gaze followed it as it vanished off in the distance.

  One of the peddlers, in particular, followed its progress with hard eyes, and he said little. A few minutes later, four horsemen rode up the Glenwood road and were rapidly passed through the gate. This caused less comment. Who could tell why the guards delayed some travelers and not others? The guards questioned the early arrivals for a few minutes, then admitted them all, except for one peddler who walked briskly off toward Glenwood.

  At the same time as the wagon pulled out of sight to the East, ten riders were also moving near the north wall. They traveled through the streets at a brisk walk, to draw as little attention as possible. They were hooded under dark gray cloaks, but were clearly not Gray Pilgrims. Only two guards and a lone figure on the wall watched them as they departed the House of Healing through the little-used northern gate. The figure on the wall looked like very much like Malcom. But Malcolm was normally serious, and this lonely watcher definitely had a grin splitting his face.

  The ten riders followed the narrow northern road at a jog, climbing up a range of hills with leafless, low-growing shrubs covering the slopes. The road was dry on the southwest-facing slope, but became gradually muddier after they crested the top and wound down through a stand of gnarled pines and junipers. They passed through a thick grove and as shadows crossed the road, the lead rider threw back his hood. Looking over his shoulder, he reined his horse to a halt. He waved the others up, and they formed a circle around him. The nearest rider also shrugged her hood back and a showed a black knitted stocking cap above a lovely oval face. A curl of pale blonde hair fell over one brow. It was Rachel. Don came forward from the rearmost position, and stopped with his left stirrup near her right. Most of the others threw back their hoods with relief. The one redhead caught Don’s eye, for a brief instant, then looked away. The horses welcomed the chance to catch their breath. They were steaming over their flanks and withers.