The Stonegate Sword

by Harry James Fox

  “How are you fair ones doing?” Samuel asked. He looked at all six, one by one. “Does anyone need to dismount for a few minutes?” Don got down to help one off her horse. Slightly taller than Rachel, she had ash-blonde hair that was slightly darker. But she had the look of Stonegate and was strikingly beautiful. She moved with cat-like grace, but her long neck reminded him more of a swan. Her poise reminded him of royalty.

  Don stepped near Rachel’s stirrup. “Stonegate?” he asked. She nodded. “Her name is Margaret,” she whispered. “She is from south of Stonegate.”

  Two of the other girls also took Samuel at his word and began to dismount. Eric and Bobby hurriedly swung down and helped them off. Rachel identified them with a whisper as Jane and Amber. Bobby held their horses as the three girls walked toward a juniper thicket. “Don’t go too far!” called Samuel. “We are not going to be looking your way!”

  “How far have we come?” asked Don, idly, gazing back in the direction of the House of Healing.

  “Probably seven miles, or near enough,” returned Samuel. “I think we got away cleanly, at least for the time being. The ruse will do little more than buy us some time. But then, that is all we need.”

  Don looked up at Rachel. She turned her sky-blue eyes toward him and gave him a tight little smile. He transferred his reins to his right hand and placed his left hand on top of hers, as it rested on the fork of her saddle. “How do you feel?” he asked, quietly.

  “Well enough,” she answered. “But then, I was nearly born on a horse. I don’t think many of us are experienced riders—except Carla, of course. She works for my family or did …”

  “Well, I know I’m not!” said Sara, a spunky little brunette with a turned-up, elfin nose. “I knew I hated riding, and now I remember why. I’m afraid if I get off, I’ll never get back on.” Her tone left no doubt that she meant it. Turning to Samuel she said: “How much farther?”

  “I would just discourage you if I told you,” returned Samuel with a grin. “But be honest with us. We are concerned about your health, if you can believe it. And we can take a long break for lunch. I know a place.” Samuel looked at Carla who sat with both hands on the saddle horn, shoulders hunched, staring straight ahead. He and Don exchanged glances.

  The three girls rejoined the group, walking stiffly, and with a bit more help than was probably necessary, Eric and Bobby fussed with their cinches and helped them remount. Then the men checked all the other cinches.

  “We need to go on,” said Samuel, just loudly enough for all to hear. “I am proud of how well all of you ladies have done. It is not easy to leave a sickbed and travel—even in a wagon. And horseback riding is hard work, I know that full well. But think of every mile as adding to your safety. We are going to a place well away from the Prophet and his minions!”

  “If you need to stop, just say so,” he concluded. “We will be met within a couple of miles, so don’t be concerned if some strangers ride up to us. No unnecessary talking! Understood?”

  Everyone nodded. There was no enthusiasm for conversation. They continued along the way. Dark storm clouds were building towards the West.

  Chapter 14

  †

  Over the Hogback

  Like a bird fleeing, forced from the nest, the daughters of Moab will be at the fords of the Arnon. Give us council and make a decision. Shelter us at noonday with shade that is as dark as night. Hide the refugees: do not betray the one who flees. Let my refugees stay with you: be a refuge for Moab from the aggressor. Isaiah 16: 2–4a HCSB

  The ride did not go easy that morning. They had not expected the trip to be anything other than a desperate flight, and that is exactly what it was. Rachel kept up with little problem and could probably have gone faster. Jane, a slender girl, older than the others, revealed a sharp tongue. Samuel had to remind her to keep her voice down. As for the others, they silently endured as best they could.

  They took a brief late-morning rest stop on a side hill overlooking a small opening in the juniper. As they let their horses breathe, two cow elk came out below them and walked away to the edge of the clearing. They did not see the line of silent riders in the mottled shadows. Then they ambled off, angling uphill and to the left—northwest. Rachel smiled at Don, pleased by the sight of something that was not a threat. He returned the smile looking deep into her eyes.

  Carla, the redhead, did not last long after that stop. Her experience as a rider could not overcome the months of maltreatment. She swayed in the saddle, and nearly fell. But Eric, who was riding behind her, simply rode up and lifted her off her horse and cradled her in his arms. His big buckskin danced a few feet sideways, then calmed down. Don spurred forward and grabbed her horse’s reins. He was worried. If Carla gave out so quickly, could the others go much farther?

  “You can’t carry her like that,” protested Don, facing Eric. The girl looked small in his arms, but she was not tiny. The red hair shone brightly, and the freckles on her face only made her pallor more obvious.

  “Yes, I can,” returned Eric, softly. “For a few miles, at least.”

  “Put me down—really,” exclaimed Carla, weakly. She did not struggle, but stiffened and raised her head. “I can ride.”

  “Just be quiet, both of you,” insisted Eric. “This will work! You must take a bit of a rest.” She relaxed and put her head on his shoulder. He urged his horse ahead. Don decided that there was little harm in letting him try, so he fell back to the rear, leading Carla’s mount with the halter rope. Don did wonder how long Eric’s mount, large though he was, could keep up with while carrying another hundred pounds—or more.

  Perhaps a half-hour later, they passed through a small aspen grove, and three figures suddenly appeared at the edge of the road. They had been sitting next to the gray trunks of large aspen, and their gray blankets had made them almost invisible until they moved. Don’s heart jumped in his throat, but then he recognized Danny and saw that the other two were Diné warriors. Snap’s ears went forward and he danced sideways for a few steps. Don placed his hand on his withers, and he settled down.

  The Diné had bows, carried battle axes on their belts, and wore light metal breastplates etched with geometric designs. They kept their blankets thrown across their shoulders. They wore no helms or hats. Don looked up and saw a horse’s tail switch, perhaps thirty yards off the trail. It was one of the Diné horses. “Everyone off,” ordered Samuel, softly, as he dismounted.

  Eric passed Carla down to Bobby, who carefully put her on a blanket, next to a gray aspen log, in the shade of some small blue spruce. Everyone took the opportunity to rest. They loosened the cinches on their horses and tied them to small, limber trees. After inquiring about the girls and getting them comfortably settled, Samuel motioned Don to follow him a few paces away from the group. Don, Samuel, and Danny sat on several logs and passed around Samuel’s canteen of water, except that it turned out to be cold cider.

  “Good!” said Don, in surprise, expecting brackish water. Danny’s eyes twinkled as he nodded thanks. Even Samuel gave a tight little grin. “Might as well have something sweet,” he said. “ We can always get more water up here. Though, don’t get water out of beaver dams, if you want to stay healthy!”

  “Yes,” returned Danny. “The beaver carry sickness from the old days.”

  “I will remember that,” returned Don, with a bit of impatience. He turned toward Danny. “Where are the rest of your men?”

  “They are not mine,” said Danny, simply. “I am theirs! They chose me as their war leader. But I do not own them, I owe them my best effort, and they will follow me until they elect a new war leader. But—the others are mostly along the lower roads; some a thousand paces below, some two thousand. They have to make sure you are not followed closely. Then they have to make sure that trackers and dogs cannot follow later. A few are scouting ahead.”

  �
�The gray man with the cross is up at the place for resting,” added Danny, after a brief pause. “It will be a good place for lunch.”

  “Very good,” returned Samuel. “That is very good. You can see that some of the young women are still weak. They may need some medicine.”

  “Yes,” observed Danny. “And they have come far already for ones not used to horses.”

  “I agree,” said Don. “They have done well, though Carla—well, she is almost too weak to travel.” Some of the girls rejoined the nearby group and sat down. Bobby and Eric tried to make them comfortable and made sure that they had plenty to drink. Don looked over at them, and the other Diné, but his thoughts were far away. “I remember you said in Ariel that you could protect us from pursuit. But I don’t understand how.”

  “Hard to explain, Donald,” returned Danny. “But we will sweep away your tracks for a long way. Where the ground is dry we will use bunches of dried grass. In mud, we will smooth out your tracks. Then we will make a false trail. We have some steel shoes like those from Glenwood and we will fool even a good tracker. We have cloths to rub on your horses and your faces to get the scent, to mark the false trail. On the real trail we will put herbs, and powder from the hot chile. The dogs will find the scent turning off, and the way you took will smell bad. If they keep on going they will burn their noses. They will not follow you long. They will follow Diné.”

  “How will you shake them?” asked Don.

  “Not easy to explain,” returned Danny with a small smile. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and Don noticed that his eyes were hazel, not black. His unsmiling companions, sitting a few feet away, had eyes like midnight. “But maybe we do not want to lose them. Maybe we will take them where they don’t want to be. Maybe.”

  Danny had noticed Don’s look at the other two and motioned them forward. “Let me name my friends for you,” he said. He pointed to the nearest, a young man, perhaps twenty. His raven-black hair was cut short, except on top. A gray band was around his forehead. The breastplate was a dull gray with black designs and with a cotton pad under it, with a bit of rusty red at the edges. The pad covered his shoulders, under the crossed shoulder straps, but his arms were bare.

  Two stripes of dark red and a third of gray ocher paint were under each eye. He wore leather leggings and cotton trousers under them. His feet had moccasins. “This is my sister’s son, Wilson. He is Yazee like me.” Then he pointed to the other youth. “And this is the son of my father’s sister, named Charlie. This is Sir Don and Sir Samuel.”

  “Glad to know you,” said Don and Samuel together. The others nodded and flashed quick, shy smiles.

  The second boy was dressed like the first, but he was considerably bigger, He clearly stood over six feet but was slightly more slender. Wilson was shorter, but was stocky, with muscular arms. Their faces and arms were tanned a dusky brownish red. They stood and offered their right hands. Don and Samuel solemnly shook them, standing as well.

  “Now that we have met you and your companions,” said Samuel, hitching up his clothes, “We must continue on. We will have our lunch at the place we planned.” He nodded to all three. “It would give us pleasure if all of you could join us. Bring as many of your other companions as you wish.”

  “Yes, of course,” returned Danny. “But, before you go, have everyone rub their hands and faces with these cloths.” Samuel nodded, and Wilson produced a number of small cloth pads and distributed them to everyone.

  Samuel said in a low voice. “These pads are to leave a trail to fool any dogs that may be sent after us. Just rub them over your face, hands, backs of your arms. The Diné will use them to make a false trail.”

  Everyone complied. Wilson efficiently collected the little pads and replaced them in a pouch he carried at his hip. Then Samuel stepped over to his horse and tightened its cinch. It was a signal that no one missed. They all were soon mounted and continued uphill, but immediately left the main trail. They sloped upward along a narrow elk trail through the aspen, avoiding several patches of old snow, and came out on a rocky ridge. The trail was narrow and steep, winding through groves of oak brush. They were heading for a ridge line straight ahead, running southeast- northwest. They bore northeast, as though to intersect the main ridge at right angles.

  Don looked up ahead after the first quarter-hour and saw Carla’s horse standing by the trail, saddle empty. He realized that she must be riding double again. He grabbed the reins and began leading her horse as before. It was getting close to noon, and the ridge ahead was getting close as well. Don was beginning to get tired and sore, and sweat was running down and burning his eyes. He looked back, for the hundredth time and saw nothing behind them. Along the north side of the ridge they were following, in the shade to their left, was a foot-deep snowdrift.

  Though the sun was hot, the air was brisk and cool. It felt good when it gusted in his face, but it mostly blew up country from behind them. After about two hours they passed through a small patch of Douglas-fir and out into a small basin clothed in tawny grass. Don rode out of the trees, just as Samuel was dismounting near a small pond. There were four horses and a mule tied there to a picket line, and a camp was set up nearby. A small tent stood there, perhaps fifty yards from the pond. There were muddy spots from the melted snow, but the soil was sandy near the tent and only a bit moist.

  Standing in front of the tent were two men. There was a fire built and various kettles, pans and grills arranged over the coals. Two aspen trees and a rope formed the picket line between the tent and the pond.

  The six girls brightened considerably when they saw the tent. They all dismounted with some groans. Rachel started to unsaddle her horse, but Don shooed her away. “You rest with the others, now. I will take care of this.” She smiled weakly and nodded. It was not long before the horses were unsaddled and tied to the picket line with the others. Don saw that each got a sack of oats. Someone had made careful preparations.

  “We will let the horses rest for awhile,” said Samuel, “Then we will take them over and water them. Be careful not to let them drink too much, too fast.” Bobby and Eric nodded.

  It sounded familiar. How many times had Don heard it? “Never let a hot horse drink too much cold water.” It reminded him, briefly, of happier days. He brought himself back to the present with an effort and followed the others over to the tent, looking at the men seated by the fire. There was something familiar about the Gray Pilgrim. He wore the usual: simple gray tunic, with a red cross over the heart, and a shapeless, black, broad-brimmed hat. He smiled as they approached, and then Don recognized him. It was Abel, the armorer! And he was unarmed.

  “Abel!” exclaimed Don. “What are you doing here? I never thought to see you without weapons. Since when have you been a Pilgrim?”

  Able grinned and they embraced with a rough, quick man-hug. “I arrived up here the day before yesterday,” he said. “Then I got a message from Ariel that got here long before you did! Lord Kerik had agreed that it was time I return to the field, in gray, at least for a little while. I was a Pilgrim for many years, you know. I was not always an armorer. In truth, an armorer is a thankless job in the House of Healing, I am afraid.”

  “They may soon see the value of your armory,” said Samuel, in response, clapping hands on Abel’s shoulders. “I pray not, but dark times are coming, I fear. It was a good thing that you had already gone ahead!”

  Soon they were sitting on stools made from sawn lengths of log, drinking hot coffee. The last was a luxury, imported from places far to the south. But a wonderful herbal drink for restoring tired limbs, it was. Don noticed that the front of the tent was thrown open and three of the girls, including Rachel, were also drinking coffee and relaxing on cushions.

  “We like this place,” said Rachel, loudly. She and Don exchanged waves. Then Rachel and the striking blonde, Margaret, put their heads together and began to talk in a low
voice. The men turned away and faced the fire.

  “This is amazing!” exclaimed Don. “Who arranged all this? How did they know?”

  “I think I will let Samuel introduce his friend,” returned Abel. “They can answer most of your questions. As for me, I must look in on the ladies. They are the main reason I am here. I am not sure Lord Kerik would have let them go, had he not been told of my plan to meet them at noon, and give medical attention. I left the day before yesterday, and rode all night, if that helps you understand.”

  Suiting action to words, Abel retreated to the tent and, doffing his hat, went inside and began talking with the girls in a low voice. Samuel waved toward the other man who had kept himself busy with the fire and a variety of black-bottomed kettles and pans. “I don’t think any of you have met Stanley.”

  “Call me Stan,” said the stranger. “I’m glad to see you, of that you can be sure.”

  He was taller than average, about six feet. He was balding, with a fringe of black hair that wrapped around the back of his skull a bit higher than his ears. He also wore a broad-brimmed hat, but he was using it to fan the fire when the introductions started. He had large shoulders and big hands. His beard was black, but well shot through with white hairs. His clothes were well-worn, but clean and neat. He obviously took some pride in his appearance, even in a lonely camp. “I’ll be your host at Owl Hollow,” he added. “So you’ll be seein’ a good bit o’ me.”