The Reaper's Seed: The Sword and the Promise (Book 1)

by Jaffrey Clark

  Ten feet above his head, stuck in one of the main crossbeams of the house was a short black spear. It had almost blended in with the shadows of the eave above it. Something from its blade had stained the wood around it; it was blood.

  Creedus continued, “This wasn’t enough for our enemy. He has kidnapped Lord Wellman’s daughter, Olwen, her maidservant Gwen, and his younger son, Tristan. Tristan is now his only son.” The strength of his youth still flashed in his eyes as he recounted the injustice.

  The fear that had gripped Corred’s thoughts was quickly replaced by anger. They can hunt me all they want, even wound me, but they cannot harm the innocent and get away with it! The very thought that the girl he loved had been mistreated set in him a resolve he had never felt before.

  One of the men present asked in disbelief, “Why was the alarm not sounded in time to stop them?”

  “Our enemy is sly,” Creedus replied. “Lord Wellman knew nothing of it until he heard the sound of hooves outside his house.”

  “What of the guard?” another asked.

  “What man needs a guard when his enemies are silent?” There was a cutting sarcasm in Creedus’ voice. He paused even as he said it, disappointed with himself for having shown it. “We can trifle with such questions when our enemy lies dead at our feet,” he huffed. Drawing the Sword quickly from its scabbard, he let it ring as he pointed its tip at the horizon. With a light all of its own, the inscription at the base of the blade shined brightest. Creedus raised his voice, excitedly, “Get your horses and what provisions you must. We ride from the southern edge of town when the sun clears those trees in the east.”

  Without a word they dispersed, running back to their homes to prepare for a rescue party, and a fight.

  Creedus sheathed his sword and descended the stairs. “I have horses for the both of you,” he said addressing Einar and Corred.

  Together they ran back to Creedus’ cabin.

  The chimneys were now smoking well as the news had spread quickly and brought an end to a peaceful night’s rest. People watched them from their steps with wide eyes, looking for explanation; they would receive none from Creedus. His eyes were fixed on the road ahead of him. There was no time.

  As they neared their cabins, Creedus was breathing heavily, but not too heavily to give a few more orders. “Pack light. Only one of them is on horseback, but if we are to catch them we must ride swiftly. I have seen a scout run like a deer.”

  Corred and Einar quickly packed two days rations of bread, dried meat and water in their shoulder packs, and grabbed a roll for a bed. When they stepped outside Creedus was rounding his cabin with three beautiful horses, saddled and ready. He had a pack of provisions already tied to his horse.

  “The sun will not wait.” He mounted his horse and dug in. “Yah!”

  Corred was right behind him.

  Riding around the perimeter of the town from the east side where Creedus lived, they met up with two others that had arrived before them. Brothers, and both archers, Beathan and Boyd were not much older than Corred. Neither of them had seen any more conflict than could be provided by a bear hunt. But they had a stern and settled countenance behind their light, curly hair and clean-shaven faces; they would not be denied the chance to prove themselves.

  Corred met them with a firm handshake, having become familiar with them both and their love of the Promise from meetings at Hill Top.

  Reed, one of Creedus’ most loyal friends, was the last to arrive. Only six had answered the call when action was required.

  Creedus took charge. “The scouts will be taking them south into the woods and through the Bryn Mountains. We must not let them reach the other side. In this pursuit we have two things on our side: most scouts will have nothing to do with horses, and they will only run trails because of their captives. Pray they have reason enough to keep their captives alive. When we catch them . . . ? ” He paused to look each man in the eye. “Expect the fight of your lives.”

  Creedus addressed the archers. “Beathan, ride in the front with me. Boyd, ride behind with Einar. We will need your eyes to track and your arrows to strike first. Yah!”

  Creedus gave his horse a kick and set the pace with his white hair flying. Corred urged his horse to stay close to his grandfather as they raced through the fields. With no crops through which to navigate they rode straight for the woods.

  A farmer preparing a set of oxen next to his barn on the outskirts of Wellman watched curiously as they passed by. Pondering their hurry, for he had not yet heard the news, he scratched his head and muttered a few words to his oxen as he yoked them together.

  Slowing the pace only a little, the party picked up a main trail headed for the heart of the Bryn Mountains just as the sun cleared the trees to the east. Its arrival was not as bright as the day before, as a low cloud cover was beginning to fill the sky.

  For a while the woods remained open with grassy floors rather than the thick underbrush that characterized most of the area. In single file the eight of them picked their way through the trees a little faster than a trot. They quickly picked out the deep tracks of a horse that had run due south several hours before. Everyone looked to the sides of the trail for any sign left by travelers on foot.

  “Over there. That is not from a wild animal.” Beathan pointed to a cluster of taller grass that had been freshly trampled. Leaving the path he checked it closely. “These tracks are too wide for a deer, or even a horse. They must have come this way.” He spoke over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the ground.

  “I see it on the other side as well,” Corred said. “The leaves have been pressed into the grass.”

  “They’re staying off the trail in hopes of hiding their tracks,” Reed said. “We should fan out while the woods remain open. To have any hope of catching them, we must first find their way in.”

  “Good, good. This will slow them down,” Creedus said under his breath. “We may overtake them by nightfall.”

  As they followed one sign to another, the path grew increasingly narrow, headed for thicker woods. The Bryn Mountains were more accurately hills when compared to the Altus Mountains in the north, but they were very tight, and not at all easily passed. The air hardly moved and grass gradually gave way to thicket and thistle the farther in they went.

  “They’ve moved back onto the path.” Beathan alerted them to this change just as they were beginning to reach a point where the brush was no longer passable on horseback.

  “With good reason,” Einar remarked as he wrestled with a thistle bush that had caught his pants.

  “Keep together,” Creedus said loudly. “These woods are perfect for an ambush. Let us ensure we are not the ones surprised for a fight.”

  Chapter 6

  At the base of a large tree, a young woman no older than fifteen collapsed to the ground. Through heavy breathing, mixed with sobs, she struggled to again raise herself to her feet. Her once white blouse was soiled and ripped along the bottom, and her blonde braids were coming undone. Both wrists were bruised and bleeding under the rope that bound them tightly, held at the other end by her captor.

  A man dressed in black leaned over her and grabbed the back of her neck. “This will be the last time you fall,” he growled. “Get on your feet and walk. If you do not I will quicken our pace by ending your miserable life.” He pressed his words through bared teeth. Standing up he pulled her to her feet with the rope. “Walk.”

  Just ahead of him two more scouts were playing a similar role, following a young man and woman with spears. With their hands bound tightly in front of them, their ropes were held by a fourth scout, Selcor, who led them all from the front. He was attentively watching the events at the rear. Turning to his other two captives, he spoke coldly. “If we are caught because of your little friend, she will be the first to die. Tell her to keep going.” His black eyes looked back and forth from one to the other expecting an answer. “Shall I kill her now and spare you the trouble?”

  Olwen quickly t
urned to encourage her maidservant. “Gwen, come, walk with us. We will help you.” Her face was no cleaner than Gwen’s but the tears that had once covered her cheeks were drying, and though her soft green eyes were filled with fear there was courage in her voice. Strings of her auburn hair clung to the dried blood on her forehead where she had been pulled hard through thistles.

  “Lean on me if you must,” Olwen said, coming along side her maidservant.

  Tristan offered his support silently, clenching his jaw. He was in far worse shape than his sister. His nose was battered and bloody and his right eye was almost swollen shut. He had not been as easily captured and was inclined even now to fight and die. His restraint was due only to his concern for the safety of Olwen and Gwen.

  All three of them had cloth hanging around their necks, which had earlier been used to gag them, ensuring a quiet escape from Wellman. From the moment they had been taken until the present, they had been running, marching, and at times been dragged to keep up with their captors. Now in the heart of the Bryn Mountains they had slowed the pace because of the landscape.

  As they made their way up yet another steep embankment, a light mist began falling on the leaves above them.

  The scouts paid no mind, leading their captives deeper and deeper into the wilderness with one evident mission. They all had a pouch completely full of spears except Selcor, who had used a few earlier that morning. Periodically he looked over his shoulder, beyond his captives and into the trees, as if expecting something.

  Tristan watched his eyes, trying to discern his intent. Their progress had gradually slowed to where they were merely walking through the woods. Every time he expected the pace to quicken, it only grew more relaxed. It was becoming clear that he, his sister, and Gwen were bait. It was more than he could bear.

  Watching the path closely, Tristan waited for the opportune moment. As he followed Selcor around a bend in the path, he tripped and fell on his face. Fumbling in the dirt he crawled a few feet as if unable to get up.

  The scout following him slapped him on the arm with his spear. “Get up. Watch your feet, you fool.”

  Feigning fear of more abuse, Tristan quickly rose to his feet with the help of a violent tug at his rope from Selcor. Once his captor returned to leading the way as before, Tristan went to work on his cords with the sharp rock he had picked up through his fall. If there was to be a fight, he would not be tied down to watch.

  * * * * *

  Hours later, with the sun’s position hidden behind the clouds, Creedus continued leading the way along a winding trail. The tracks of the rider on horseback had long since vanished, but the sign of several persons on foot called them on.

  They too were now on foot, leading their horses through the steep, short climbs on an increasingly rocky path. After finding a drop of blood on a leaf and other fresh signs along the path, it was clear that they were catching up, and that their enemy might hear them coming. A decision was made quickly.

  “We will be at a disadvantage for a fight, but unless we run from here, we may never catch them.” Creedus left his horse untied and started jogging, his eyes to the ground.

  The rest of the party was quick to follow, with Corred first in line. They tied their horses to a sapling here and there, trusting that they would stay put, or at least not wander too far.

  As they pressed on, the light rain that was now falling through the trees moistened their hair where sweat didn’t. No one wore their hoods, concerned that they might miss the slightest sound. With darting looks this way and that, they searched for a sign, movement, anything. A broken twig, a disturbance in the lay of the leaves along the path, or an overturned stone showed them the way through the wooded hills. And it was quiet. Not a bird was singing, not a squirrel stirred. An occasional leaf would fall in the distance and catch the attention of the group, their senses sharpened by urgency.

  Each man had his hand on his weapon, ready to draw. Beathan and Boyd had their bows in hand, ready to pull an arrow in the blink of an eye. Added to the sound of their steps was that of their breath, and the beating of their hearts, pounding in their heads.

  Creedus slowed his pace along the top of a ridge. From behind the base of a tree at the highest point he stopped to survey their surroundings. Waiting for Reed and Beathan to join him, he calmed his heavy breathing, held his breath and listened, watching.

  The six of them knelt low, hugging the ground, waiting for a sign from Creedus to continue.

  On the opposite hill, his eye caught some movement among the trees.

  Turning to Reed, he made eye contact and pointed his friend in the direction of his discovery. In a hushed voice he asked, “Do you see that?”

  Beathan nodded as Reed still searched.

  Passing over the mountain ridge just ahead of them and to the south was a small party on foot. Weaving in and among the trees, they were spread out along the trail. Two of the members of the party wore white.

  “We’ve caught up with them,” Creedus pointed. “If we play our position well we could take them within the hour.” Creedus whispered the news to Beathan and Corred, who knelt just behind Reed.

  Corred strained to see them through the forest before passing the news to Einar and Boyd in the rear.

  Einar smiled slightly with the good news and clenched his meaty fists. Each man took heart at having the goal in sight, though the hardest part was yet to come. They did not know how many scouts they were trailing. Scouts were trained for a single purpose: to terrorize and kill without hesitation.

  Once they were sure that their quarry had dipped over the hill and out of view, they descended. Swiftly, and with as little noise as possible, they worked at closing the gap without compromising their position.

  * * * * *

  Halfway down yet another steep hill, Selcor suddenly stopped.

  Tristan, still working on his cords, nearly walked right into him.

  They were almost out of the mountains. Only two small hills separated them now from an open field several hundred yards away. In the far distance were more woods, but the land flattened significantly.

  Without a word Selcor nodded to the scouts that had been following Tristan and Olwen with spears in hand. One of them returned his spear to his pouch and went about gagging Gwen. Looking back and forth from Olwen to her captors and then to Tristan, she began to cry again.

  “Leave her be,” Tristan said, turning to Selcor with a scowl on his face.

  “You are in no position to enforce such a command,” he replied. Selcor’s thin frame did not appear very strong but Tristan knew first hand that this was not the case. It was Selcor who had given him his stripes.

  Before Tristan could respond in any way, the scout who had been tending him followed suit. Returning his spear to its pouch, he forcefully shoved Tristan’s gag back into his mouth and tied it tightly behind his head.

  Selcor went about gagging Olwen himself, but she bit him. In a flash he had a spear held to her throat and nodded for the scout beside him to finish the job.

  Tristan lunged angrily at Selcor, but he was grabbed from behind and thrown to the ground.

  Olwen froze as her gag was placed. She blinked away a few drops of water from the branches above and looked into Selcor’s hollow eyes. He slowly lowered the spear, shaking his head.

  Turning to the others, Selcor nodded, “Take them.” For a second he paused to look at Olwen closely. With black, beady eyes he admired her beauty. A hint of emotion came to his face, but it was fleeting. Handing the ropes he had been carrying to one of the others, he left the trail, followed by the scout who had been bringing up the rear.

  Tristan struggled to his feet as he watched them go. When he looked back to see if they were being followed he received a swift slap to the face. Turning the other cheek with disdain, he glared at his captor.

  “Let’s move.” The scout who had gagged him drew a spear again and held it up to Tristan’s nose. “Go.”

  Continuing the flight with a renewe
d sense of urgency, the captives once again struggled to keep the set pace.

  Every few steps Tristan searched the trees for Selcor and the fourth scout; they were gone. His suspicions were true: they were being followed and an ambush had been set. With a quickened pulse, Tristan resumed cutting at his cords.

  Olwen watched her brother’s hurried looks and caught a glimpse of his hands fast at work. She immediately looked away not wanting to bring attention to his efforts.

  At the bottom of the hill they were forced to begin running again.

  Tristan broke through in a matter of seconds, dropping the stone along the path. Holding fast to his cords, he now feigned his captivity, waiting for the right moment.

  * * * * *

  No sooner had the rescue party rounded the next hill than Beathan pointed through the trees over Creedus’ shoulder. “There they are!” he whispered, trying to contain his excitement. In the same motion he pulled an arrow from his quiver and placed it gently on his bowstring.

  From the top of the ridge the rescue party watched as two men dressed in black led three captives between two rocky hills, the last in the Bryn Mountains. They were moving fast.

  “Only two scouts,” Reed whispered as they crouched low to the ground.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Creedus said. In the same breath he scanned the woods to either side. “They know they are being followed. They wouldn’t have taken Lord Wellman’s children without expecting it.” After a few thoughtful strokes of his beard, he moved on. Glancing back at the whole group he whispered, “Watch the path closely.”

  Boyd knocked an arrow. With his left hand he held his bow in front of him and with his right he tucked the hood of his coat behind the top of his quiver and out of the way.

  Einar and Corred remained in the middle, surveying the forest on either side.

  The woods were beginning to thin as they followed the path down the hill. From tree to tree they watched for movement, listened for sound, never losing sight of where they had last seen the captives. Tension hung like the moisture that filled the air.