Keeper of the Black Stones

by P. T. McHugh

  Then the soldier in front of him aimed a blow at his face, bringing Reis sharply back to the present. He ducked, his mouth grim. Evidently these men didn’t believe in a peaceful capture. Not that he could blame them. He had, after all, shot two of them already. A couple of the others threw some punches, but he didn’t think they’d do much damage. Sloan had ordered that the prisoners arrive unharmed, and they weren’t putting up a fight. Katherine was cooperating, of course, and Paul was obviously no threat. He was already trussed and laying on the ground, having taken a punch to the face and crumbled.

  “Tie them up and throw them in the cart,” one of the older men snapped. Reis watched carefully, filing information away in case of need. This man was the leader, then. Noted.

  “What about their belongings?” another soldier asked.

  The first man walked toward the duffel bag on the ground and kicked it. The soldiers had taken some of the clothing out of this bag and thrown it around the forest, but hadn’t found anything of interest, and had decided not to go through the other bags. The only weapon they’d recovered was the assault rifle Reis had used in his escape attempt.

  The man who had spoken lifted the rifle up now, looking closely at the safety and trigger mechanism. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen, though it seems to work like Dresden’s weapons,” he muttered quietly. Suddenly he looked up, shoving the weapon toward Reis. “How exactly does it work, stranger?” he demanded.

  Reis’ battered mouth stretched into a grin. “Untie me and I’ll show you,” he offered, lifting one eyebrow. If he could just get one more shot, now that he knew their weaknesses…

  The other man lifted both eyebrows in response, his expression cold. “I think not.” He slung the rifle’s strap over his shoulder and turned abruptly toward his men. “Throw them and the rest of their things in the cart. Our orders are to take the prisoners to Nottingham, and that includes their baggage.”

  The soldier behind Reis tied a rope at his wrists, then lifted him to his feet and shoved him into the waiting cart. He fell face-first into a bag of grain and turned his face to the side, gasping. Katherine and Paul appeared next to him, tossed into the vehicle willy nilly.

  “Well this is really terrific,” Paul muttered darkly. The side of his face was bruised and swollen, forcing him to speak out of the corner of his mouth. “Jason and Tatiana on their way to who knows where, and we’re back in a wagon, destined for another charming ride through the country to see the man we’re supposed to be stopping. Only this time we’re trussed up like chickens.”

  “I don’t know, Paul, it might not be as bad as you think,” Reis murmured, smiling. The soldiers had tossed the rest of their baggage into the wagon and slammed the gate shut, leaving Paul’s backpack closest to Reis’ face. The bag, Reis knew, was stuffed full of Paul’s clothing, extra socks, and robe, along with the other pair of shoes he’d insisted on bringing.

  And, of course, Reis’ own 9mm Browning semiautomatic, all his daggers, and the compass, which he’d stuffed in there the previous night.

  Looking up, he saw that fate was truly on his side today. The leader of the pack had evidently decided to drive the cart himself, and sat just in front of Reis. As they lurched into action, the assault rifle–loosely slung across the man’s back–began swinging on its belt, mere inches from Reis’ nose.

  A plan began to form in his mind, unbidden, and he smiled again. This might not take as much effort as he’d thought it would. Which was lucky, considering they were on a rather tight deadline. They didn’t have time to go gallivanting across the countryside. And he didn’t particularly want to meet this Dresden character as his prisoner. The man seemed prone to threats, torture, and other unsavory activities. None of which Reis wanted to experience.

  If this was going to work, though, they needed to move. Now.

  He turned back toward the teenagers at his side, glancing from Katherine to Paul. The boy had taken the brunt of the beating, and looked miserable. Katherine, on the other hand, met his eyes with a clear, knowing gaze. After a moment she looked away, blushing. More to that one than we realize, Reis thought suddenly. She knew exactly what was going on. Putting that thought away for future use, he raised his voice over the cart’s rattle.

  “Are you two okay?” he asked.

  Katherine nodded wordlessly, her eyes wide.

  “Terrific,” Paul snorted. “As I’ve already said.” He paused for a moment, then spoke again, his voice cracking with tension. “What do you think they’ll do to Jason and Tatiana?”

  The man driving the wagon turned to glare at them, and Reis grimaced. This wouldn’t work if that guy was going to watch them that closely.

  “Right now we have to worry about ourselves, and we don’t have a lot of time to do it,” he whispered hoarsely. “Once we get out of this, we can think about Jason and Tatiana.”

  “Do you think we can get out of this?” Paul asked nervously.

  Reis ignored the question as an unproductive one, and turned on his side instead. “Never mind that right now. Do you think you can move over enough to reach my belt buckle?” He had to speak more loudly than he liked, but hoped that the creaks and groans of the cart’s wheels and multiple sets of horse shoes would drown out his words. The last thing they needed was to be caught in the midst of another escape attempt now. If the soldiers had to come after them again, Reis knew, the order to keep them alive might be ‘forgotten.’

  Paul looked at where he was in relationship to Reis’s belt buckle. “I think so, why?”

  “Take your time–I don’t want these guys to notice that you’re moving. If you can reach my belt buckle, you should be able to slide the buckle itself up and out.”

  Paul squirmed to his left and scooted clumsily toward Reis. When he reached the older man, he waited for the next bump in the road, flopping dramatically over on his side when they hit it as though he’d been thrown by the wagon. Reis smiled, and looked down to see Paul’s fingers working quickly at the belt buckle, fumbling with the latch. He glanced at the soldier riding by the cart, noting the man’s dazed, uninterested face, and took a deep breath. The more uninterested these men were, the better. If they thought that the prisoners were well and truly defeated, they’d never see him coming.

  “Okay, I think I got it,” Paul muttered, turning his head so Reis could hear him.

  Reis grunted. “Be careful. When you slide the buckle out, you’ll be holding the hilt of a 3-inch double-edged knife.”

  Paul grunted back, suddenly serious. “Cool. Okay, I think I’ve got it out. Yeah, I can feel the blade. Now what?”

  “First, don’t cut yourself. Second, I’m going to roll over so my back’s to you. You’re going to feel around for the rope. Once you find it, start cutting. Avoid cutting my hands if you can.”

  It took nearly five minutes to cut through Reis’ ropes. By the end, Reis had two rather deep lacerations, and two very free hands.

  “Great, now what?” Paul asked.

  Reis shifted his position so that he was lying diagonally across the front of the cart, with his head near Katherine’s. “Katherine, can you see where we’re going?” he asked.

  She picked her head up and glanced toward the road in front of them. “Yes, I can see.”

  “Keep your eyes to the front, and let me know if you see anything useful,” he said, his glance darting to the right and left of the cart. Trees, trees, and more trees. They were still in the forest, then. That worked.

  “What do you mean?” Katherine asked, drawing his attention back to the cart.

  “If you see people coming from the opposite direction, or if there’s a hill or water. Anything that’s different, let me know.”

  “A bridge?” Katherine asked quickly, lifting herself up for another look.

  “Yes, a bridge would be perfect,” Reis answered, smiling.

  “I see a bridge. We should cross it soon.”

  Reis nodded, thinking. That was exactly what he needed. “How big is it? Is it ma
de out of wood or stone?”

  She looked again, frowning in concentration. “It’s rather large. I cannot tell what it’s made of, though.”

  “Paul, can you see anything on the other side?” Reis asked. He moved farther toward the front of the cart to make room for the boy.

  “Yeah, give me a minute,” Paul said, rolling to the side and throwing his body awkwardly against the wall of the cart. “Yeah, I see the bridge. She’s right, it’s pretty big. Maybe 30 to 40 feet long, hard to tell from here though.”

  “Is it made of wood?”

  “Looks like it, why?”

  “You’re sure? No Roman arches that you can see?” Reis asked.

  “What the hell are those?”

  “Sorry … big stone archways. Supports underneath the bridge.”

  Paul shook his head. “Nope, nothing like that. Looks like a rickety wooden bridge.”

  “How far away?” Reis asked. He scooted toward the knife Paul had dropped and scooped it up, raising his legs in front of him and slicing through the rope with one smooth motion.

  “Maybe half a football field. Why?” Paul turned back toward Reis, frowning.

  “Terrific, grab that sleeping bag with your feet and slide it over here.”

  Paul struggled with the bag, passing it upward toward the body guard. “What exactly are we doing?” he asked suspiciously.

  Reis shook his head. “Trust me Paul, you don’t want to know.”

  27

  Riding a horse the day before had been challenging, and today I was sore in places I hadn’t even known existed. Riding again at a gallop, and tied to both the saddle and the girl in front of me, was far worse.

  Sloan had thrown a rope through our horse’s bit and tied the other end to his own saddle, so we had little to no chance of escape. We galloped for hours, passing what felt like hundreds of small towns, carts, horses, and people. Tatiana and I tried repeatedly to speak to Sloan, to find out where we were going or what awaited us there, but to no avail. He’d evidently snapped out of the curiosity he’d felt at our camp.

  I tried desperately to rein in the sense of dread growing in my stomach. Dresden’s son had found and captured us, and was now taking us to an unknown destination. Most likely to see his father. Doc was out there, alone and unaware of the plot to kidnap and assassinate him. We had less than two days to find him before it all came crashing down. And that was just the plot against Doc. Never mind the plot against the world.

  I needed to come up with a plan, but I was finding it difficult to think around my thirst and fear.

  Suddenly we crested a hill and left the thick forest through which we’d been galloping. Sloan pulled the horses to a stop and looked out over the view.

  “It’s beautiful,” Tatiana said quietly. I followed her gaze to the valley that lay before us, and gasped.

  To one side, far below us, marshland came to an abrupt halt, the watery soil butting up against flat, lush farmland. A river sliced its way out of the marsh, ripping a ragged trail through the open terrain and traveling through the valley to disappear into another heavily wooded forest. Farmers had divided the land on each side of the river into dozens of neat plots, which sported hundreds of even rows. It looked like something out of a book.

  The city, which stood at the opposite end of the valley, was built on a large bluff, giving its inhabitants a clear view of the countryside and negating the chance of a surprise attack. A cathedral with two large stone towers dominated the city’s skyline. If anyone had any questions about how powerful the church was, the beautifully designed and constructed structure left little doubt. To the side of the cathedral, four smaller towers marked the location of a large castle and what I took to be the prominent homes of the city.

  Sloan turned to us now, wearing an unpleasant smile. “You ask where we are going, Jason Evans of Lebanon, New Hampshire.” He pointed to the castle, his face grim. “That is our destination. The castle of Nottingham, where I shall hand you over to my father, and your fate.” His face changed, then, a shadow flitting across his features, and I wondered what that was. If I’d had to guess, I would say that he actually feared his father, or hated him. Possibly both.

  He gave me no chance to ask. Seconds later we were off again, racing down the steep slope toward the farmlands. I clutched at Tatiana, who rode in front of me, trying to maintain my balance as trees, boulders, and then the river flew by.

  Within an hour we had cut through the valley floor to reach the city. Hundreds of ramshackle homes crowded together around the perimeter of the city’s high walls, their own walls tilting dangerously over the street. We careened through the streets between them, the horses’ shoes sparking against the cobblestones in their mad dash.

  Before long we came to the point where the river crossed the city’s boundaries. Here the stench of raw sewage became overpowering, though it wasn’t enough to keep the people out of the water. Three children played on the riverbank, their hands and faces covered with mud.

  “Oh my God,” Tatiana murmured.

  I nodded, speechless. The level of poverty here, the lack of sanitation, the fact that those kids would probably die within the next week of some nameless infection…

  A sudden ruckus from the bridge ahead arrested my attention, and I turned from the children. Sloan seemed to be taking offense at something the toll keeper had asked him, and was now shouting at the poor man. Seconds later, he drew his sword from the scabbard at his side, aimed, and thrust it through the man’s throat. The toll keeper fell, choking, and then grew still.

  Before anyone could comment, we were moving again, pounding over the bridge and through the rich part of town. Straight toward Dresden, the voice in my head whispered. Here, what felt like hundreds of men and women packed the streets and surrounding alleyways, slowing us down. Marketplace, that same dazed voice supplied. The people were buying and selling pies, loaves of bread, vegetables, rugs, knives, animal pelts, wine, grain … the selection of goods varied as much as the people. Some sold their wares from small wooden carts, others from open wagons, tabletops, and large cloth bags. Merchants stood outside their doors, beckoning people into their shops, while children of all ages held their hands out in search of money, food, or both. It was a madhouse of activity, nearly impossible to take in. My eyes flew from one person to the next, overwhelmed by the blurs of color, noise, and activity.

  After ten minutes of weaving in and out of human traffic, we arrived at a large green gate. On the other side stood the castle. Suddenly it all became real. Dresden was on the other side of that gate, waiting to do God-knew-what to us. I was, after all, the grandson of the man he called his enemy. Knowing what I knew of him, I didn’t think my tender age or out-of-time status was going to do much to save me. I gulped heavily, wishing we were anywhere but here. Wishing Reis was with us. Wishing I had more than a jackknife, an old pocket watch, and flashlight in my pocket.

  Three soldiers jumped to open the gate for us, and we trotted into a large courtyard. The low-lying sun reflected brightly off a massive stained glass window, which took up nearly a third of the wall in front of us. I squinted against the glare, turning to look around. The other walls sported ornate carvings in stone and heavy timber, with deep eves over the roof, windows, and doors. The whole place felt creepy and gothic.

  To our right, a stone well sat next to a large wooden platform. On the other side, a massive carriage sat in front of the castle’s stable. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before, with eight large wheels reinforced by heavy iron bands to support the undercarriage of the vehicle. The axels, which held the massive weight of the carriage, looked like they were built from whole oak trees, coated in black paint and lined with heavy grease. It was easily twice the length of any of the wagons or carts we’d seen since our arrival.

  Two guesses who that belongs to, I thought. That must mean that Dresden was already here. Possibly even expecting us. The thought made the lump in my stomach several sizes larger.

  �
��Get down!” Sloan snapped, turning abruptly toward us. I saw now that he was casually wiping the blood from his sword, his face a mask of cold disgust. My stomach turned over again and my eyes darted away, unwilling to deal with the situation.

  Tatiana and I slid to the ground at his urging, looking around warily, and I reached for the jack knife in my pocket. I could see Tatiana flexing her hands and knees, readying herself to do battle. We were deep in the enemy’s territory, now, and deprived of most of our weapons. We hadn’t discussed it but we’d both had the same thought–we needed to be ready for anything.

  It was then that I felt the stone. The feeling was faint at first, a tickle in the back of my throat, the dull feeling of déjà vu. As if I had both seen and lived this exact same experience before. Then it grew stronger and expanded. A wave of calm peace washed over me, bringing with it a strength I hadn’t felt moments before.

  The pain in my legs and lower back disappeared, and a newfound energy coursed through my body. Suddenly I felt rejuvenated. The world, which had felt so foreign a moment ago, now felt familiar, comfortable. I knew what lay on the other side of the stable, and how to enter the royal chamber through the secret passage I wasn’t supposed to know about. There was a maze of tunnels under our feet, which led into the walls, and the dungeon below them. And out of the castle. I also knew the alleys and side streets of the city. If asked, I could have led Sloan to his father, for I knew exactly where he was within the castle. I smiled at the thought, feeling as if an old and dear friend had come to visit me.

  “Are you alright?” Tatiana asked.

  I looked over at her and nodded at her question. I could feel everything about her as well, including her absolute fear of meeting her father unprepared. I reached for her hand, squeezing it when I found it.