by P. T. McHugh
I smiled crookedly, still off-balance from Tatiana’s unexpected display of affection. This was new territory for me, and I wasn’t sure how to respond, but I shook it off, trying to think ahead to the next step.
“What do we do now?” she asked, with that unsettling ability to guess my thoughts.
“We get out of this damn castle,” I said quietly. “There’s a maze of tunnels right under our feet. All we have to do…” I moved my hands over the wall in front of me, looking for the loose rock I knew I’d find there. When I found it I pushed, and the wall in front of us slid away to reveal a dark, enclosed tunnel.
Grinning, I turned back to Tatiana and William. Both wore equally shocked expressions. But neither hesitated when I ushered them into the tunnel. I grabbed a torch from the wall and followed them in, then turned to the left.
Within an hour, I knew, we’d be out of the castle and on our way to finding Doc. I just hoped we had time to get there.
30
WORCESTER, ENGLAND
The Earl of Oxford would have been content to sleep under the stars for several hours, with his pack and blanket, as it would have meant a quicker start in the morning. Perhaps before the sun rose. Henry Tudor and his entourage, however, had other ideas. They’d been marching for two days, and Henry had demanded a reprieve for both men and horses. It was a hard point to argue. If they were going to intercept Dresden at the right time and place, they needed to hurry. But they were two days away from the battle, and it would not do to bring an exhausted and unhappy army to the battlefield. Demoralized soldiers didn’t win wars.
The Earl had compromised, and so found himself in his own tent, pacing anxiously at the unavoidable delay.
Suddenly the flaps around the entrance to his tent moved. The Earl jumped for his sword, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Trigva.
“My Lord,” Trigva muttered, stepping into the tent. “A messenger, sent by Lord Bernard of Constantine.”
Another man stepped into the tent, making his way cautiously into the uncomfortably warm confines of the enclosure. The Earl glanced at him, wondering why Bernard of Constantine was overworking his messengers. This one was thin, young, and beyond exhaustion, judging by his gaunt appearance and the deep lines beneath his eyes. He looked as if he’d been riding for days. Whatever the boy had been sent to say, it was important.
“Yes?” he asked quietly, trying not to intimidate the young man.
The messenger gulped and looked up. He nodded once, then settled back into the pose all messengers adopted while relaying their statements. “My Lord Bernard of Constantine wishes for me to relay a story many of his subjects reported witnessing in the village of Blythe yesterday afternoon, my Lord. He thought–that is, my Lord Bernard of Constantine thought–that the information may seem relevant to you. His own men do not know what to make of it.”
The Earl nodded, encouraging the messenger to continue. What he heard shocked him. The man spoke of a strange man who had claimed to work for the church, but had looked nothing like clergy. The man had fought with a group of Danes who had been holding the town of Blythe for days. He’d defeated them, and quickly, using a weapon more devastating than the Devil’s Flame.
“He pointed this stick at the Danes and they died immediately,” the messenger said quietly. “It roared with the sound of cannon fire, and shook the walls of the houses.”
The Earl sat back, trying to make sense of the story. Was this one of Dresden’s men with a gun, this far afield? Shooting at Danes? With a new sort of weapon? “Did he travel alone? Wear anyone’s colors or badges?” he asked intently.
The messenger shook his head. “Not that was reported to me, my Lord. But he did not travel alone. He had two young men with him, as well as two young women.”
The Earl nodded, and the messenger took his leave.
“Does that mean anything to you, my Lord?” Trigva asked after the young man was out of earshot.
The Earl said nothing for a moment. Someone was traveling in this time period, and drawing attention to themselves with their recklessness. They had modernized weapons, or something like them. His mind raced to his grandson, unbidden, and the look in Jason’s eyes the last time he’d seen him. Surely it couldn’t be … surely Jason wouldn’t have traveled back, or put his friends in danger by bringing them along.
His instincts, though, told him that the boy may have done just that.
The Earl shook his head and sent Trigva from the tent. If his instincts were right, and these strangers were Jason and Reis, it was going to make the situation–and the coming battle–far more dangerous.
31
Dresden stared at the men in the cell, horrified.
When his soldier hadn’t returned immediately with Jason, he’d suspected that something was amiss, and sent Sloan down into the tunnels under the castle to track them. He’d been reluctant to leave it to the boy, though, and had rushed after him, cloth pressed against his nose to protect himself from the stench of the underground maze and dungeon.
Now he breathed heavily through the thin cloth, trying to understand what exactly he was looking at.
“Thank God you’ve come for us, my Lord,” the jailer said, pushing his hand suddenly through the iron bars. “We’ve been down here in the dark for hours.”
Sloan brought the torch up to eye level and leaned hesitantly toward the cell. The enormous man–and the soldier they’d sent down earlier–pressed against the door, their faces filthy and desperate.
Dresden grabbed the torch from his son’s hand and pushed the flame through the bars of the door, causing the jailer and soldier to jerk back in surprise.
“Where is the boy? Where is William Stanley?” he snapped, his eyes rushing around the confines of the cell. They weren’t here, that much was obvious. His erstwhile daughter was gone as well, the devil take her.
He looked back to the soldier, his eyes spitting fire, and waited impatiently for an answer.
“Gone, your Grace, through magic and trickery,” the soldier mumbled.
“Gone?” Dresden screeched, shoving the flame farther into the cell. What on earth are you talking about?”
“What did you see?” Sloan asked, his voice stiff with tension.
“He placed the girl in a box in his hand, your Grace, and cast a beam of light into the darkness, using only his palm,” the jailer said, his voice trembling. “He threatened to trap–”
“You allowed William Stanley and the boy to escape, because of a few simple parlor tricks?” Dresden gasped.
Suddenly he roared in anger, turning sharply from the men in the cell and striding back out into the tunnel. This was inconceivable. Those two fools had allowed his most important prisoners to escape, and in doing so had endangered all of his plans. He had lived with the people of this time for long enough to know that their incompetence knew no limits. The next steps were glaringly clear. He was counting on Lord Stanley to join Richard in the coming battle, and capture and kill Richard Evans, all because Dresden himself held the younger Stanley hostage. Now that the younger Stanley had escaped, he would go straight to his brother. If he found him quickly, neither of these important things would happen. Even if they did go as planned, Richard Evans would be dead, and the boy–Dresden’s only other hope at controlling the stones–would be … well, wherever he would be, it wouldn’t be safely and securely in Dresden’s prison.
Unless…
“Father, could it be true? Could he be a sorcerer?” Sloan asked, appearing suddenly at Dresden’s elbow.
Dresden drew to a stop just outside the gate and stared at the wall in front of him, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth.
“How they did it is of little importance, boy. The fact is that it’s done, and now we must undo it. Summon Lord Bryer’s son and his men, and send them to me here. Then gather my personal guard and ready the large wagon. You and I ride for Bosworth today.”
“But Father–”
“Now!” Dresden thund
ered. He watched the boy skitter away, then turned back to the wall in front of him, where a gaping hold stood, dark and grim. They had discovered the tunnels, then, and sought to escape that way. But they had neglected to close the door behind them, and would have made other mistakes as well.
Bryer was the best tracker he had in his service. Lord William, that boy, and his impetuous, sharp-tongued daughter would be captured and back in his dungeon by nightfall. And then they would pay for having escaped the first time.
Katherine hunkered down on the bench, willing her body to stay awake. They’d been driving for what felt like hours, and she was still reeling from the destruction of the bridge. And the soldiers, before that. And the escape on horseback, before that.
All in all, the last twenty-four hours had given her more action than she’d ever seen in her life. An adventure, indeed. Perhaps in the future she should be more careful what she wished for.
Now they were tearing along the road to Bosworth, seeking a man named Doc, and leaving Jason and the girl Tatiana to their fates. The thought did not sit well with Katherine, but Reis had assured her that Jason could fend for himself. She may have believed him if she hadn’t seen the doubt behind his own eyes.
She turned at the thought, seeking him out. The man was still balanced on his knees in the back of the cart, scanning the countryside through the strange metal tube atop his weapon. She gulped, remembering what that weapon had done to the bridge, and looked toward Paul. He too scanned the land around them, watching for soldiers. Both had promised that they wouldn’t be taken by surprise again. This, she believed.
The horse in front of her jerked to the left, and Katherine turned quickly around to focus on the road again. They were traveling at an unsafe pace, she knew, but her new friends were intent on arriving at their destination as quickly as possible. Neither had been willing to tell her exactly where they were going, or why.
“Damn,” Reis muttered quietly, drawing Katherine’s attention to the back of the wagon again. The man was looking through his tube at the road behind them, his shoulders tense.
“Soldiers?” Paul asked nervously, looking backward as well.
Reis shook his head. “Not sure, but I don’t exactly want to stay on the road and find out.” He turned toward the land in front of them and gestured to a group of trees. “See the trees, Katherine?” he asked quietly. “How quickly can you get us there?”
“Indeed,” Katherine muttered. She tugged lightly on the left rein, urging the horse in that direction, and gave him his head. “Five minutes,” she told Reis. “Maybe a bit more.”
“Perfect,” Reis answered. “That will give us some time to spare.”
“What are we doing?” Paul asked, climbing onto the seat next to Katherine.
Reis moved to stand behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders. “Hiding as they pass,” he murmured. “With luck, they won’t notice us, and we can avoid another nasty fight.”
Reis jumped off the cart first, snapping his orders as he checked the small clearing. “Katherine, stay close to the horse and make sure he doesn’t get spooked. Paul…” He looked at Paul, who simply smiled back at him, and shook his head. “Just stay close to me and try not to talk.”
Katherine climbed off the cart and led the horse deeper into the grove of trees, and Reis and Paul crouched down under some low-hanging branches, where they had a clear view of the road. Reis took a knee, aimed the scope of his rifle at the road, and studied the horizon.
“I see them,” Paul noted quietly. “Do you think they saw us before we got off the road?”
Reis shook his head, wishing Paul would keep quiet for once. “No telling, but they don’t appear to be rushing, so I’ll take that as a good sign.”
“Couldn’t you just, you know, take care of them if they saw us?” the boy asked excitedly.
“No.” Reis frowned, but kept his concentration on the men before them. They were soldiers, judging by their weapons, though they didn’t wear any type of uniform. Not that it mattered, really. At this point, as far as he was concerned, soldiers were trouble in and of themselves.
He hoped they hadn’t spotted his small group.
“Why not?”
The question broke Reis’ focus, and he turned sharply. “Why not what?”
“Why not take them out?”
Reis groaned. “Three reasons. First, I don’t believe in killing people unless they’re trying to hurt me. Second, one of them could very well be your great grandfather ten times removed, or mine for that matter, and how would that work out for us?”
Paul nodded. “Okay, good points. And the third reason?”
Reis sighed. “Third, I don’t have much ammunition left. A half a magazine for the rifle and two clips of fifteen rounds for the handgun. And then we’re out.”
“That’s all you brought?” Paul asked, visibly shaken. “And then you’re out?”
“Well the plan was to avoid the locals,” Reis said sharply. “I didn’t exactly plan on shooting up the joint.”
Suddenly something caught his eye. Movement closer than he expected. He shoved Paul’s face into the ground and flipped the safety on his rifle, searching desperately for the source.
The group of soldiers had sent outriders ahead of them–presumably to scout the area for other dangerous characters–and one of them had decided to beat through the small group of trees. He was just beyond the tree line now, 10 to 15 feet from where Paul and Reis lay hidden.
Reis watched him tensely, his finger on the trigger, and willed the man to move on. As the man turned to do just that, though, Reis felt the boy next to him begin to squirm. He looked down to see Paul holding a finger under his nose, trying desperately to stifle a sneeze. Reis moved to cover the boy’s mouth, and knelt on a stray branch in the process. Several twigs cracked, ringing out through the trees, and both Paul and Reis froze. So did the soldier in front of them. He turned to stare at the juniper trees around them, looking intently into the underbrush. For several seconds, all three were still. The soldier moved his head to the side, studying the trees and listening to the wind. Finally, after what seemed to be a lifetime to Reis, he shook his head, turned, and walked back to his horse. A moment later, he was spurring the horse away from the woods.
Paul collapsed and rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. Reis switched the safety into place and tried to still his own heart.
“That was too close,” he mumbled. The sooner they reached the battlefield, the better. He hated all this sneaking around.
Before he could get Paul up and moving, another twig snapped behind them and a voice rang out.
“That was very close. What do we do now?”
Reis swung around, his heart racing again, and gasped at the vision in front of him. Katherine had taken the opportunity to change into a pair of Tatiana’s cargo pants, along with a loose-fitting beige sweater. Her dirty dress lay crumpled on the ground next to her.
“What?” she asked, noticing the stares. “Tatiana wears them, and if I’m going to be of any use to you in this running around and sneaking through forests, I cannot be hampered by skirts.” She lifted an eyebrow–a skill she’d perfected in the last day–daring them to question her, and Reis shrugged. At the moment, Katherine’s apparel was pretty low on his list of things to worry about.
She nodded at his silence, then asked again, “So what now?”
“Now,” Reis answered, “we follow those soldiers to Bosworth and hope like hell that Jason and Tatiana managed to escape too.”
“And if they didn’t?” Paul asked.
Reis put the rifle back into the cart and looked down at Paul, smiling grimly. “If they didn’t, we’ll find Doc on our own, then go get them.
32
We scrambled along for at least a mile, zigzagging our way through a tight maze of dark tunnels, and moving as quickly as we could. The walkways were dank, tight, and still, and in some places they were no taller than my head. After the first ten minutes of walking, m
y shoulders were soaked with water from brushing against the walls. Rats rustled by our feet and loose rock crumbled down on our heads, making me wonder how long these tunnels had been there. And how much longer they would stand.
When the torch went out, I pulled the flashlight from my pocket and used it to light our way. William questioned it once, and then accepted it. We had already discussed the likelihood of someone coming after us, and not even William’s curiosity about the flashlight could delay us. We needed to get out of there, and quickly. It was only a matter of time until someone from the castle came to drag us back.
“I hope you know where you’re going, my young friend,” William huffed as we rounded yet another turn. Before us, the tunnel stretched on, dark and foreboding.
I didn’t answer him because I didn’t need too. I knew exactly where I was going. Truth be told, if I concentrated hard enough, I thought I could probably get by without any light at all. I still hadn’t figured out where the stone was, but it was close enough to speak to me, and it was providing a steady flow of information. The map in my head unfolded itself in my mind as I needed it, guiding me to the right tunnels, and around the jagged rocks and dangerous drops that littered the ground of the passage. I knew every corner and crevice as if I’d been playing in these tunnels my entire life. And for the first time since my initial encounter with the stones, I was accepting and even embracing this for what it was–a gift. I was also counting on it to lead us out of the tunnels before Dresden–or whoever he sent after us–arrived.
I’d barely completed the thought when a flash of light, followed by the sound of an explosion, boomed out of the passage behind us. I jumped, and checked with the stone. I was right, I learned; Dresden had found us more quickly than I’d anticipated.
“What in God’s name was that?” William gasped, looking fearfully over his shoulder.