Pug laughed. “That will teach you to be mindful of who you escort into pantries.”
Tomas smiled sheepishly.
The doors to the keep opened, and the Duke and Arutha came out, accompanied by Kulgan, Tully, Lyam, and Roland. Carline followed, with Lady Marna behind. The Duke and his companions made their way to the head of the column, but Carline hurried down to where Pug and Tomas sat. As she passed, guardsmen saluted her, but she paid them no heed. She reached Pug’s side, and when he bowed politely, she said, “Oh, get off that stupid horse.”
Pug climbed down, and Carline threw her arms around his neck, holding him closely for a moment. “Take care and stay well,” she said. “Don’t let anything happen to you.” She pulled away, then kissed him briefly. “And come home.” Holding back tears, she hurried to the head of the line, where her father and brother waited to say good-bye.
Tomas let out a theatrical whoop and laughed, while Pug remounted; the soldiers nearby attempted to restrain their own amusement. “It seems the Princess has made plans for you, m’lord,” Tomas gibed. He ducked as Pug stirred to give him a backhanded cuff. The motion caused his horse to start forward, and suddenly Tomas was fighting to bring his horse back into line. The horse seemed determined to go in any direction except the one Tomas wished; now it was Pug’s turn to laugh. He finally moved his own horse alongside Tomas’s and herded the fractious mare back into line. She flattened her ears and turned to nip at Pug’s horse, and the short boy said, “We both have accounts to settle with Rulf; he gave us two horses that don’t like each other, too. We’ll trade your mount off with one of the soldiers.”
With relief Tomas half dismounted, half fell to the ground, and Pug directed the exchange with a soldier down the line. The exchange was made, and as Tomas returned to his place, Roland came down to where they stood and offered them both his hand. “You two watch yourselves, now. There’s plenty of trouble waiting out there without your looking for it.”
They acknowledged they would, and Roland said to Pug, “I’ll keep an eye on things for you.”
Pug noticed his wry smile, glanced back to where Carline stood with her father, and said, “No doubt,” then added, “Roland, whatever happens, good luck to you, too.”
Roland said, “Thank you. I’ll take that as it’s meant.” To Tomas he said, “And things are certainly going to be dull without you around.”
Tomas said, “Given what’s going on, dull would be welcome.”
Roland said, “As long as it’s not too dull, right? Take good care! You’re a bothersome pair, but I’d hate to lose you.”
Tomas laughed as Roland walked off with a friendly wave. Watching the Squire go up to the Duke’s party, and seeing Carline standing next to her father, Pug turned to Tomas. “That decides it. I am glad to be going. I need a rest.”
Sergeant Gardan came riding back with orders to move the column, and they set off. The Duke and Arutha rode in the van, with Kulgan and Gardan behind. Martin Longbow and his trackers set off at a run beside the Duke’s horse. Twenty pair of mounted guards followed, with Tomas and Pug nestled between them and the baggage train at the rear with its five pair of guards. Slowly at first, then with increasing speed, they moved through the gates of the castle and down the south road.
—
THEY HAD BEEN riding for three days, the last two through dense woodlands. Martin Longbow and his men had turned east that morning as they crossed the southern branch of the river Crydee, called river Boundary. It marked the border between Crydee and the Barony of Carse, one of Lord Borric’s vassal provinces.
The sudden snows of early winter had come and draped the autumn landscape in white. Many of the denizens of the forest had been caught unaware by the sudden winter, rabbits whose coats were still more brown than white, and ducks and geese who scampered across half-frozen ponds, resting as they migrated south. The snow fell in flurries of heavy wet flakes, melting slightly during the day, to refreeze at night, making a thin crust of ice. As the horses’ and mules’ hooves cracked through the ice, the crunching of leaves underneath could be heard in the still winter air.
In the afternoon Kulgan observed a flight of firedrakes circling in the distance, barely visible through the trees. The colorful beasts, red, gold, green, and blue in color, raced over the treetops and dipped out of sight, then reappeared as they spiraled upward, with cries and small bursts of flame. Kulgan reined in as the train passed and waited for Pug and Tomas to overtake him. When they were alongside, he pointed out the display, saying, “It has the appearance of a mating flight. See, the more aggressively the males act, the more responsive the females. Oh, I wish we had time to study this more closely.”
Pug followed the creatures with his eyes as they rode through a clearing, then, somewhat startled, said, “Kulgan, isn’t that Fantus there, hovering near the edge?”
Kulgan’s eyes widened. “By the gods! I think it is.”
Pug asked, “Shall I call him?”
The magician chuckled. “Given the attention he’s receiving from those females, I think it would do little good.” They lost sight of the congregation of drakes as they rode after the Duke’s train. Kulgan said, “Unlike most creatures, drakes mate at first snow. The females will lay eggs in nests, then sleep the winter, warming them with their bodies. In the spring the young hatch and are cared for by their mothers. Fantus will most likely spend the next few days…ahem, fathering a clutch of young. Then he’ll be back at the keep, annoying Megar and the kitchen staff for the rest of the winter.”
Tomas and Pug laughed. Tomas’s father made a great show of considering the playful drake a plague from the gods visited upon his well-ordered kitchen, but on several occasions both boys had spied Megar lavishing some of the choicest dinner scraps upon the beast. In the fifteen months since Pug had become Kulgan’s apprentice, Fantus had become a winged, scaled house pet to most of the Duke’s staff, though a few, like the Princess, found Fantus’s dragonlike appearance disquieting.
They continued to move east by south, as quickly as the terrain would permit. The Duke was concerned about reaching the South Pass before the snows made it impassable, cutting them off from the east until spring. Kulgan’s weather sense had allowed they had a fair chance of making it before any big storms struck. Soon they came to the edge of the deepest part of the great southern forests, the Green Heart.
Deep within the glades, at prearranged locations, two troops of guards from the keep at Carse were waiting for them with fresh horses. Duke Borric had sent pigeons south with instructions for Baron Bellamy, who sent a reply the same way that horses would be waiting. The remounts and guards would be hurrying to the meeting places from the Jonril garrison, maintained by Bellamy and Tolburt of Tulan near the edge of the great forests. By changing mounts, the Duke would save three, perhaps four days of travel to Bordon. Longbow’s trackers had left clear blazes for the Duke to follow, and they were due to reach the first meeting place later that day.
Pug turned to Tomas. The taller boy was sitting his horse somewhat better, though he still flapped his arms like a chicken trying to fly when they were forced to a fast trot. Gardan came riding back down the line, to where the boys rode before the baggage guards. “Be wary,” he shouted. “From here to the Grey Towers is the darkest part of the Green Heart. Even the elves pass through here quickly and in numbers.” The sergeant of the Duke’s Guard turned his horse and galloped back to the head of the line.
They traveled the balance of the day, every eye searching the forest for signs of trouble. Tomas and Pug made light conversation, with Tomas remarking on the chance of a good fight. Both boys’ banter sounded hollow to the soldiers around them, who sat silent and vigilant. They reached the place of meeting just before sundown. It was a clearing of considerable size, with several tree stumps grown over with ground cover that peeked through the snow, showing that the trees had been harvested long ago.
The fresh horses stood in a picket, each tied to a long line, while six guard
s stood careful watch around them. When the Duke’s party had ridden up, they had weapons ready. They lowered their weapons when they saw the familiar banner of Crydee. These were men of Carse, who wore the scarlet tabard of Baron Bellamy quartered by a gold cross, a golden griffin rampant over their hearts. The shield of each man bore the same device.
The sergeant of the six guards saluted. “Well met, my lord.”
Borric acknowledged the salute. “The horses?” he asked simply.
“They are fit, lord, and restless from waiting. As are the men.”
Borric dismounted; another soldier of Carse took his horse’s reins.
“Trouble?”
“None, my lord, but this place is suited for other than honest men. All last night we stood watches by twos and felt the crawl of eyes upon us.” The sergeant was a scarred veteran, who had fought goblins and bandits in his day. He was not the type to give in to flights of imagination, and the Duke acknowledged this. “Double the watch this night. You will escort the horses back to your garrison tomorrow. I would rather have them rested a day, but this is a poor place.”
Prince Arutha came forward. “I have also felt eyes upon us for the last few hours, Father.”
Borric turned to the sergeant. “It may be that we have been shadowed by a band of brigands, seeking to judge our mission. I will send two men back with you, for fifty men or forty-eight is of little difference, but eight is a far better number than six.” If the sergeant felt any relief at this, he did not show it, simply saying, “I thank my lord.”
Borric dismissed the man and with Arutha walked toward the center of the camp, where a large fire was burning. The soldiers were erecting rude shelters against the night wind, as they had each night of the journey. Borric saw two mules with the horses and noted that bales of hay had been brought along. Arutha followed his gaze. “Bellamy is a prudent man; he serves Your Grace well.”
Kulgan, Gardan, and the boys approached the two nobles, who stood warming themselves before the fire. Darkness was descending quickly; even at noon there was little light in the snow-shrouded forest. Borric looked around and shivered from more than the cold. “This is an ill-omened place. We will do well to be away as soon as possible.”
They ate a quick meal and turned in. Pug and Tomas lay close, starting at every strange sound until fatigue lulled them to sleep.
—
THE DUKE’S COMPANY passed deep into the forest, through glades so thick that often the trackers had had to change their course, doubling back to find another way for the horses, marking the trail as they went. Much of this forest was dark and twisted, with choking underbrush that impeded travel.
Pug said to Tomas, “I doubt the sun ever shines here.” He spoke in soft tones. Tomas slowly nodded, his eyes watching the trees. Since leaving the men from Carse three days ago, they had felt more tension each passing day. The noises of the forest had lessened as they moved deeper into the trees, until they now rode in silence. It was as if the animals and birds themselves shunned this part of the forest. Pug knew it was only because there were few animals that hadn’t migrated south or gone into hibernation, but that knowledge didn’t lessen his and Tomas’s dread.
Tomas slowed down. “I feel something terrible is about to happen.”
Pug said, “You’ve been saying that for two days now.” After a minute he added, “I hope we don’t have to fight. I don’t know how to use this sword, in spite of what you’ve tried to show me.”
“Here,” said Tomas, holding something out. Pug took it and found a small pouch inside of which was a collection of small, smooth rocks and a sling. “I thought you might feel better with a sling. I brought one, too.”
They rode for another hour, then stopped to rest the horses and eat a cold meal. It was midmorning, and Gardan inspected each horse, ensuring it was fit. No soldier was given a chance to overlook the slightest possible injury or illness. Should a horse falter, its rider would have to double up with another, and those two would have to return as best they could, for the Duke could not wait for such a delay. This far from any safe haven, it was something no one wished to think about or discuss aloud.
They were due to meet the second detachment of horses at midafternoon. The breakneck pace of the first four days had given way to a careful walk, for to rush through the trees would be dangerous. At the rate they were progressing, they would be on time. Still, the Duke was chafing at the slow pace.
On and on they rode, at times having to stop while guards drew swords and cut at the brush before them, their sword blows echoing through the stillness of the forest as they followed the narrow path left by the trackers.
Pug was lost in thoughts of Carline when, later, a shout erupted from the front of the column, out of sight of the boys. Suddenly the horsemen near Pug and Tomas were charging forward, oblivious to the thicket around them, dodging low-hanging branches by instinct.
Pug and Tomas spurred their horses after the others, and soon their senses recorded a blur of brown and white, as snow-spotted trees seemed to fly past. They stayed low, close to the necks of their mounts, avoiding most tree branches, while they struggled to stay aboard. Pug looked over his shoulder and saw Tomas falling behind. Branches and twigs caught at Pug’s cloak as he crashed through the forest into a clearing. The sounds of battle assaulted his ears, and the boy saw fighting in progress. The remount horses were trying to pull up their stakes, while fighting exploded around them. Pug could only vaguely make out the form of combatants, dark shrouded shapes slashing upward with swords at the horsemen.
A figure broke away and came running toward him, avoiding the blow of a guard a few yards ahead of Pug. The strange warrior grinned wickedly at Pug, seeing only the boy before him. Raising his sword for a blow, the fighter screamed and clawed at his face as blood ran between his fingers. Tomas had reined in behind Pug and with a yell let fly with another stone. “I thought you’d get yourself into trouble,” he shouted. He spurred his horse forward and rode over the fallen figure. Pug sat rooted for a moment, then spurred his own horse. Pulling out his sling, he let fly at a couple of targets, but couldn’t be sure if the stones struck.
Suddenly Pug was in a place of calm in the fighting. On all sides he could see figures in dark grey cloaks and leather armor pouring out from the forest. They looked like elves, save their hair was darker, and they shouted in a language unpleasant to Pug’s ears. Arrows flew from the trees, emptying saddles of Crydee horsemen.
Lying about were bodies of both attackers and soldiers. Pug saw the lifeless bodies of a dozen men of Carse, as well as Longbow’s two lead trackers, tied to stakes in lifelike poses around the campfire. Scarlet bloodstains spotted the white snow beside them. The ruse had worked, for the Duke had ridden straight into the clearing, and now the trap was sprung.
Lord Borric’s voice rang out over the fray. “To me! To me! We are surrounded.”
Pug looked about for Tomas as he frantically kicked his mount toward the Duke and his gathering men. Arrows filled the air, and the screams of the dying echoed in the glade. Borric shouted, “This way!” and the survivors followed him. They crashed into the forest, riding over attacking bowmen. Shouts followed them while they galloped away from the ambush, keeping low over the necks of their mounts, avoiding arrows and low-hanging branches.
Pug frantically pulled his horse aside, avoiding a large tree. He looked about, but could not see Tomas. Fixing his gaze upon the back of another horseman, Pug determined to concentrate on one thing only, not losing sight of the man’s back. Strange loud cries could be heard from behind, and other voices answered from one side. Pug’s mouth was dry and his hands sweating in the heavy gloves he wore.
They sped through the forest, shouts and cries echoing around them. Pug lost track of the distance covered, but he thought it surely a mile or more. Still the voices shouted in the forest, calling to others the course of the Duke’s flight.
Suddenly Pug was crashing through the thick underbrush, forcing his lathered, p
anting horse up a small but steep rise. All around him was a gloom of grey and greens, broken only by patches of white. Atop the rise the Duke waited, his sword drawn, as others pulled up around him. Arutha sat by his father, his face covered with perspiration in spite of the cold. Panting horses and exhausted guards gathered around. Pug was relieved to see Tomas beside Kulgan and Gardan.
When the last rider approached, Lord Borric said, “How many?”
Gardan surveyed the survivors and said, “We’ve lost eighteen men, have six wounded, and all the mules and baggage were taken.”
Borric nodded. “Rest the horses a moment. They’ll come.”
Arutha said, “Are we to stand, Father?”
Borric shook his head. “There are too many of them. At least a hundred struck the clearing.” He spat. “We rode into that ambush like a rabbit into a snare.” He glanced about. “We’ve lost nearly half our company.”
Pug asked a soldier sitting beside him, “Who were they?”
The soldier looked at Pug. “The Brotherhood of the Dark Path, Squire, may Ka-hooli visit every one of the bastards with piles,” he answered, invoking the vengeance god. The soldier indicated a circle around them with his hand. “Small bands of them travel through the Green Heart, though they mostly live in the mountains east of here, and way up in the Northlands. That was more than I’d have bargained was around, curse the luck.”
Voices shouted from behind, and the Duke said, “They come. Ride!”
The survivors wheeled and rode off, again racing through the trees ahead of their pursuers. Time became suspended for Pug as he negotiated the dangerous course through the dense forest. Twice men nearby screamed, whether from striking branches or from arrows Pug didn’t know.
Again they came to a clearing, and the Duke signaled a halt. Gardan said, “Your grace, the horses can’t endure much more of this.”
Borric struck his saddle horn in frustration, his face dark with anger. “Damn them! And where are we?”
Pug looked about. He had no idea of where they stood in relationship to the original site of attack, and from the looks on the faces around him, no one else did either.
Magician: Apprentice Page 18