Hasdel stood by the door. A tall man sat on a bed of straw, bent over at the waist with his head looking up at the boys. His long gray-streaked hair hung in tangles down his stooped shoulders. The odor of dampness and sweat filled the room, and Kalo blinked as he took his first breath inside. He looked about and found no one else in the room.
The man on the bed spoke. “Why have you two woken me?” His voice sounded dry and hoarse. His head descended, and his voice trailed after him as he reached for a flask on the floor. The two boys looked at each other, and then at Hasdel. “Relax,” said the man on the bed as he took a long drink from the flask. “Any enemy of Mallivar is welcome here.” Slowly, as if it took great effort, he got to his feet. He stood tall, though standing straight looked a chore for him until he reached his full height.
Hasdel spoke. “This is Quillen, lads. He agreed to hear our tale. I have told him only that Prince Andre and we need his help.” Quillen cupped his hand behind his ear as he walked across the room. “Go ahead. Speak,” Hasdel said to encourage the young Rivermen.
Kalo started. “I’m Kalo,” he began, trying to find the right words. “I came into possession of a silver tube belonging to Mallivar earlier tonight.”
Quillen turned slowly to look at Kalo, holding up his hand to stop the boy from saying more. “If you want my help, you must trust me. For if I am to help you, I must trust you.” He looked sternly at the two boys, his glare slowly moving from one boy to the other, his dark eyes piercing in the faint light. His long gray-black hair hung dry and loosely braided, and his weathered face looked hard and cracked. His voice was deep and low. “There can be only truth among us,” he said and nodded to Hasdel, who quickly nodded back.
Kalo began again. “I stole Mallivar’s purse.” The hunter slowly nodded with a pronounced motion. From there, Kalo told of escaping from Mallivar in the Kingfisher, meeting Hasdel near the pier, seeing Mallivar in the Compound, and meeting Prince Andre. Hasdel then pointed to the young thief’s boot, and Kalo quickly produced the silver tube and placed it in the rough hand of the hunter. Quillen opened it without any sense of concern and stared at the mysterious writing. He quickly gave the unrolled document and the two ends of the tube to Hasdel.
“Only Lamus of Melda can read this, Quillen,” said Hasdel, holding the message up. “That is why we are asking you to take us to him.” Hasdel handed the message and the open tube to Kalo, who quickly reassembled it and stowed it in his boot.
Quillen still held the tarnished silver flask he had retrieved from the floor next to his bed. He tilted the flask and took a long drink from it. The tall hunter walked to an open air vent in the far wall and peered out. He stood there for a time, and none of the other three in the room spoke or moved. Slowly, he turned around. “We need to hurry. We should be across the bridge before dawn.” Hasdel moved toward the hunter with an extended hand. The two clasped each other’s forearms with a firm grip, held tight for a moment, then released. Quillen sat again on the bed, reached down, and pulled on his sheepskin boots.
Hasdel turned to Kalo and pointed to the pack Ty still bore. “You had better dress, lad.”
Ty dropped and opened the pack, and Kalo began to change clothes immediately and silently. Out came trousers, knee-high boots, and a jerkin, all made of deerskin. Two finely crafted braided belts lay among them. The pack contained an assortment of supplies, small bundles of food, and waterskins as well. Ty helped himself to items from the cache, all of them of the highest quality.
Hasdel stood by in amazement as the two young thieves dressed. “Where did you two get such fine pieces?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know,” said Kalo with a smile.
“I do,” said the gava, his arms now crossed in mock scorn.
“From the public bath house,” said Ty as he and Kalo broke into hushed laughter.
Hasdel shook his head at them. “Hunter, I think we are doing a good deed for the people of Riverlok by escorting these two out of the city.”
The two young thieves grinned at one another.
Suddenly, a loud banging noise rose from the alleyway below. The four in the small room froze. The banging came again, followed by a call. “Innkeeper! Open up in the name of the king!”
Hasdel reached for the small lamp, but Quillen put out his hand and stopped him. Quillen moved to the wall, pressed himself against it, and peered out the small window. He pulled back quickly.
“Royal guards,” he said in a low, deep whisper.
“It cannot be. It must be only Mallivar’s men,” said Hasdel as he moved to the window to see for himself. He looked out and in the glow of the moonlight saw a dozen troopers adorned in royal blue standing in the alley. “Impossible! Mallivar does not command the Guard,” he said as he moved back into the room. “Something is wrong.”
The voice of the innkeeper came booming from underneath. “What do you want with me?”
“We are searching for a fugitive,” the soldier replied. Kalo, sitting on the floor half dressed, looked down and slowly shook his head from side to side.
Abruptly the soldier in the alley called out, “Prince Andre has been murdered by a king’s messenger named Hasdel who has frequented your tavern!”
Chapter 11
Hearing that his prince had been murdered, Hasdel drew his sword, but Quillen grabbed his arm from behind. “You shall avenge your prince, but this is not the time.”
The bolt on the downstairs door slid open, and Ty spoke up. “What now?” All four remained still, immobile figures.
Quillen moved first. He grabbed a ragged pack and a massive bow from the corner of the room. He slung the pack over his shoulder. Pointing to the long sword at the gava’s waist and his chest-high sheathed dagger, Quillen asked, “Is that all you have?” Hasdel nodded. “Then we’ll find you something.”
The hunter turned to the two boys. Ty was standing tall and still, a hand knife in his belt, a sheathed sword strapped to his back over one shoulder, and a traveling roll hung under his other arm. In the other hand, he held fast the neck of the bundle containing the remaining items he had brought. Kalo wore a small knife in his belt, another in his boot, and a short sword at his side. A small pack was slung over his back. In comparison to Ty’s ready stance, Kalo was frantically tucking in his loose garments. Quillen pointed to the bundle in Ty’s hand. “Is there anything in there worth dying for?”
“No, sir,” Ty said without looking at the bag.
“Then leave it.” He stepped to the center of the room. “Some people think I like sleeping over a stable because it’s warmed by the beasts below,” the hunter said as he ripped away a rug on the hard plank floor. “This used to be,” he grunted as he pried open a door in the floor, “a hay loft.”
One by one, they dropped through the hole into the stable below. They landed on a floor covered with straw and breathed in the mixed odor of warm horses and manure. Hasdel jumped quickly to his feet and moved to the door leading to a small corral at the rear of the livery stable. Through the cracks in the sideboards of the building, he could see the royal guards. Their excited but muffled voices filled the night air like a distant festivity.
Hasdel turned to the others. “The bridges will be controlled by the king’s men.”
Ty spoke. “We know a gate in the West Wall north of here that will open to us no matter the time of day or night.” The hunter and the gava both looked at Ty, questioning. “Sometimes we have items we cannot sell on this side of the river,” said the young thief. Kalo did not respond. “We’ll borrow a boat,” added Ty.
“Excellent,” said Hasdel as he looked about for any challenge. “Lead the way, Riverman.”
The talking ended, and the party slipped out of the stable and into the night. They crept across the corral grounds. Ty led, then Kalo, next Hasdel, and Quillen followed at the rear. They huddled in a row alongside the fence. The four silhouettes made their way north through the damp streets toward the waterfront. The shouts of the soldiers carried thro
ugh the night air. Dogs bayed all about. The small company was, at every step, only yards ahead of their pursuers. They moved cautiously along the river’s edge beside the docks, where boats of varying sizes lay moored. They moved steadily north. Ty squinted into the night, studying the buildings along the narrow lane separating the river and the land.
“Riverman,” said Hasdel, “how much farther?”
“There’s a tall, thin building that I use as a marker. The portal in the wall is directly across the river.”
“Riverman,” said Hasdel again, “I fear we may soon encounter straggling fortune hunters from earlier tonight coming down from the Kingfisher.”
“What’s the problem?” came a low and deep query from the hunter. The small company moved steadily north, four hunched shapes running in single file like a brood of quail.
Ty called back softly, “Kalo, can you help me?”
Kalo put his hand on Ty’s shoulder as they ran. “I’ll see it,” said the younger boy.
“No problem,” called out Ty to the company, louder than necessary and more boisterous than he intended.
On they went in silence. Their feet shuffling on the dirt lane and the jingling of their armament made the only sounds.
Then Ty felt Kalo’s tug from behind on his tunic, and his pace slowed. He searched and found the tall, thin building among the dark shadow-casting structures. He stood straight and turned to the company. “We’re here,” he said.
He pointed to the west in the dark open space. The wall could not be seen; only the sparkling ripple of the Green Provide shone in the night. The men and boys stood together in the dark by the river, breathing deeply to regain their strength. They could not easily see one another. The moving lights along the riverfront street had a blinding and distracting effect.
“We’ll find a boat,” said Ty.
“The portal, you say, is directly across?” spoke the hunter.
“Yes. I swear it is,” replied the Riverman as he searched in the dark for reassurance from Kalo.
“You don’t need to swear it. Just move further north so we can drift down.” The voice of the hunter came low and firm. “Let’s move,” the deep voice came again, and the company obeyed.
The running resumed. Ty took the lead, behind him Kalo, then Hasdel, and lastly Quillen. As they pressed on, Ty squinted toward the river, studying each boat they passed.
Kalo grabbed Ty’s arm. “There,” he whispered as his keen eyes spotted the vessel that met their needs. He pointed to the boat. Then, suddenly Kalo’s arms went up in alarm. “Down!” he said, and all four squatted low.
Two figures moving south along the shoreline steadily came their way. The hunter raised his head above the others. Hasdel raised his head too. Suddenly, all the company’s attention turned to the south. For the first time, the clamorous sounds of the Royal Guard coming up behind them grew louder.
“Mallivar’s men must have dogs,” said Hasdel. He looked north to the two figures coming closer and then to the sounds from the south. No one moved.
“Sir?” whispered Kalo. “The two coming from the north are not royal guards. They wear the black and scarlet of the septor.”
“How do you know?” said Hasdel.
“He can see them,” said Ty. “Trust him.”
“Leatherneck,” said Quillen, “we must act. They will be upon us.”
“Yes,” agreed Hasdel, but still he did not move.
“If we were not wanted fugitives before, we soon will be,” Quillen murmured.
“You boys secure the boat and we will join you quickly,” said Hasdel. Then the gava and the hunter disappeared into the shadows.
Ty and Kalo moved down to the water’s edge and crawled into the small flat-bottomed boat Kalo had located only moments earlier. The boat looked smaller to Kalo now, especially since it would have to hold four fully outfitted men. Too late to search for another craft, he thought. He had already pointed the hunter and gava to this one.
At that moment, the muffled sound of objects falling into water cut through the air and was quickly lost in the noise of the night. Only the two young Rivermen knew the origin.
A moment later, Quillen and Hasdel slid down the riverbank and joined the young thieves in the boat. Quillen nodded. “It’s done.”
Without another word, they pushed off from shore. Ty used a pole to drive the raft across the wide river while Kalo steered. A gentle bend in the river, the docks, and the other boats made it possible to cross at this point without being seen from the distant bridge towers. The only sound was the splash of the pole each time Ty reset it. The Green Provide ran low this time of year, and the current offered a slow ride. The torch-carrying troopers could be seen on the distant Southgate Bridge. The royal guards coming up from the south on the lane bore torches as well. Kalo thought how foolish it was to use torches to see in the dark. It helped for a few feet in front and might keep a man from stumbling, but it was a hindrance to seeing in the distance.
The crossing went steadily yet slowly. Midway across, his heart pounding, Kalo looked back and saw the torches gathering on the riverbank near their departure point. “Hurry, Ty,” he prayed. “Hurry!”
Once they reached the other side of the river and the boat was secured, the four made their way up the short embankment to the ancient wall of timber. The moon in the southern sky silhouetted the small company against the thirty-foot high wall that separated the West Bank settlement from the city of Riverlok. It was early morning, and the light of a distant sunrise was beginning to paint the sky a softer blue. Ty motioned the others to stay against the wall as he searched the wood structure for a familiar mark. When he found it, his hand went up as a signal. He waited for a moment, then knocked six times, two beats of three. He waited and then repeated the pattern.
“What do you want?” came a gruff voice from within.
“Dreegle sent me,” replied Ty.
A brief silence filled the night. Before long, they heard the bar blocking the door being lifted. The door cracked open slightly, and the voice from within demanded, “What have you got? And it better be good!”
Quillen lunged past Ty and slammed into the partly opened door with a force that could be heard across the river. Ty stumbled back, and Hasdel caught him, pushing him and Kalo through the open door behind Quillen into a dimly lit, foul-smelling warehouse.
“Is that ‘good’ enough?” said Quillen to the stunned man, who held both hands over his bloodied face. A lantern on the ground cast huge shadows of the four intruders.
Hasdel turned to Ty. “Do you know the way out?”
Ty nodded, and Quillen reached back and shoved the bewildered boy into the lead as the party made its way through the building. Both Ty and Kalo turned their heads away so they would not have to look at the bloodied face of the man who had been their business partner on so many occasions.
As Hasdel closed the wall door behind him, he said to the man still covering his battered face, “You would be wise not to admit to anyone that you allowed us to pass.”
“Leatherneck,” said the hunter, “outfit yourself.” He pointed to a wall covered with hanging bows, quills, and swords of varied lengths.
The hunter snatched up the lantern and held it high for the gava to see. Hasdel ripped down from the wall a longbow, a quiver of arrows, a sack for food, and a container for drink. The bloodied man did not protest.
Chapter 12
Quillen assembled the party under a broad oak, high on a hill overlooking the West Bank settlement. They had run directly west from the building with the portal in the wall and then hiked up the bluffs to the high ground. Earlier they had stopped only to gather their might, but not to rest. This was the first time they actually rested. Reaching the top, their bodies sensed the accomplishment, but now their strength was rapidly leaving them as the dawn of a new day began and the auburn glow of the morning sun peeked through the tangled branches of the gnarled tree that sheltered them.
Kalo slumped against the
massive trunk, his knees tucked tightly against his chest. The events of the previous night had taken their toll on the young Riverman, and he found it difficult to stay awake. Only the chill of the morning wind and the aches in his body kept his weary eyes open. He relaxed his legs, and they fell away from his chest and extended across the dried grass under the tree. He thought of the girl at the Kingfisher Inn and how she’d devised his escape from Mallivar and his guards. He would never forget her dark eyes and pale skin as she stood so close to him in the dim lamplight. Nikki would have a good home with her, he thought. He fought the idea that he would never see the little rock ferret again.
“See any dogs?” asked Quillen.
“Not yet,” answered Hasdel. The gava was standing back from the rim of the hill, still within the cover of the tree, not wanting to be fully exposed.
“Riverman,” said Quillen. Only Ty looked his way.
“Get to the edge and watch for followers. But stay concealed,” said the hunter.
Ty quickly responded and moved toward the rim. He kicked Kalo’s foot gently, and when Kalo looked up, Ty motioned with his head to follow him. Kalo slowly rose as he was commanded. Ty dropped to the ground and crawled to the edge. Kalo did the same.
“Watch for dogs,” said Quillen to his two lookouts.
From the moment they broke through the gate in the West Bank, they had been pursued. The sounds of men calling and dogs baying had gradually died out a few hours earlier. Quillen knew the many ways out of the settlement as few men did, and he had succeeded in leading the small party out of the grasp of the septor and the Royal Guard. The hunter had insisted upon silence and spoke only in a hoarse whisper. His voice rose just once when, as they hurried along, he confided to Hasdel in hushed tones that he was puzzled by the determination of their pursuers. There were guards searching for them on the West Bank shoreline even as they slipped across in the stolen boat. Hasdel had then revealed to him that several hours before the murder of the prince, Mallivar had offered a thousand gold coins for the capture of Kalo and these were most likely the hungry remnants of those searchers.
The Ruins of Melda Page 7