Keeper of the Black Stones

by P. T. McHugh

  “Yes, sir,” we replied in unison.

  Katherine paused for a moment, glaring at the rest of us, then spoke as though she was correcting us. “Yes, my Lord,” she said clearly.

  Doc stopped at that, frowning, and glanced at Katherine for the first time. His eyes ran down her body and back up, and he glanced at me in question.

  “And who, may I ask, is this?” he snapped.

  “Katherine of Doncaster, my Lord,” she replied. Her chin lifted in pride and her eyes sought his out, and I wondered again at the change in her since our first meeting. This was not the same girl we’d rescued, and it wasn’t only because she was wearing Tatiana’s clothes.

  Doc grunted in response, then broke into his quick stride again. “Come! We have much to discuss this evening, and very little time to do it. Your timing could not have been worse, though it seems you may have brought important information.”

  “But–” I started anxiously.

  Doc cut me off with a stern look as he swung up into his saddle. “Not here,” he snapped again, plunging into the woods and disappearing. We scrambled to mount our own horses to follow him.

  “I have to admit, this isn’t the welcome I was expecting,” Paul mumbled as he crouched behind Katherine on their horse.

  “You and me both,” I replied. Turning, I drove my horse forward after the man I called grandfather.

  35

  We galloped out of the woods and onto the plains in a tightly packed group, with Doc at the front. He was driving his horse hard, and the rest of us were struggling a bit to keep up. My initial euphoria at seeing him had quickly subsided; he seemed to be anything but pleased to see us. In fact, he seemed downright angry about it. I wondered if the stones had somehow altered his personality, and whether that was even possible. Did he truly become someone else when he traveled? Did the stones make him who they needed him to be? I didn’t think that had happened to me, but the person who rode with us now certainly wasn’t my grandfather. At least not the version of him I knew.

  Ahead of us, hundreds and perhaps thousands of people had gathered on the gradual slope that led to Henry Tudor’s encampment. I studied the camp as well as I could as we raced through, now that I’d learned–the hard way–about knowing the importance of your surroundings. Hundreds of tents, wagons, and other temporary structures covered the slope of the hill and the valley that lay beyond. I was surprised at the number of women and children among the people; they outnumbered the soldiers themselves, and gave the encampment a cheerful, almost festive air. It certainly wasn’t what I’d expected of a military camp, but then I was growing used to things being unexpected.

  Somewhere, far in the distance, I felt one of the stones. It wasn’t here, I didn’t think–its whisper was faint, as though it was traveling over a long distance. I pulled at it experimentally, wondering where it was, and it got a bit stronger. Interesting. I put that fact away for future use, and concentrated on keeping up with Doc.

  I looked over at Paul, to make sure that and Katherine were keeping up, and saw that he seemed to be enjoying the attention people were giving us. Everyone was bowing and calling my grandfather “Lord” as he passed, showing respect and love for the man leading their army. Paul was taking the praise for himself, and waving at the people as if he were Snow White riding in a gilded carriage at Disney World. Reis, on the other hand, was stoic and guarded, studying the terrain and people closely. If I knew the man as well as I thought I did, he was looking carefully for escape routes. Two of them, if he could manage it. His hand rested lightly on the gun at his side, and I saw that he still had the assault rifle strapped across his back. He didn’t trust this situation, or the new version of Doc, any more than I did. Tatiana rode on my other side, her shoulders tense and her face cold. I couldn’t blame her. Doc hadn’t exactly given us a warm welcome.

  After riding through the entire camp, we finally pulled up outside one of the largest tents on the hill. The canvas structure was surrounded by at least two dozen flags, all with different colors and shapes. Birds of prey seemed to be the main theme, though other banners featured wolves, boar, large cats, and lots and lots of crosses.

  “The lords who are fighting with Henry Tudor,” I murmured, looking through the standards. At least twenty of them, from what I could tell. Doc had gathered a mighty army for Henry. But would it be enough to stop Dresden and his guns?

  I hoped so. The world was, after all, depending on it.

  Two young men, no older than twelve, ran out from behind Doc’s tent to help with our horses. They were dressed in dark brown leather jerkins, with black breeches held up by yellowing rope. They wore tattered brown boots without spurs, and bowed repeatedly. They also knew what they were doing; they had all the horses by the reins in moments, ready to lead them away.

  We dismounted at their urging, and looked around.

  Doc’s tent stood on its own, with a large open area around it, as though no one else wanted to get close to him. Given the expression on his face, I could understand why; he had turned on us again, his face dark and angry.

  “Jason, Paul, Reis, into my tent, if you please. I shall deal with you first.” He turned to Tatiana and Katherine, his face growing somewhat gentler. “If you ladies will wait here–”

  “They come with us,” I snapped, interrupting him. I’d been taught never to speak over my elders, but if he was going to treat us as hostile strangers, he’d receive the same treatment from me. “These are my friends,” I continued. “Anything you have to say to me can be said to them too.”

  He raised his eyebrows, shocked at this turn of events, and opened his mouth to protest. Reis stepped into place behind me, though, followed by Paul, Katherine, and Tatiana, and my grandfather closed his mouth. He nodded slowly, and I thought I saw something change in his eyes. Then he turned and walked abruptly into his tent.

  “Come!” he shouted over his shoulder.

  I scrambled to follow, my heart racing, but looked up as we entered, just in time to feel the first drop of rain on my cheek. A flash of lightening suddenly lit up the skyline, followed by a crash of thunder, and the pile of leaves next to me exploded in the first gust of rain-borne wind. How appropriate, I thought grimly. I ducked into the tent before the rain could start for real, and looked around.

  The cloth structure was surprisingly large inside, and comfortably decorated. Several multi-colored rugs stretched across the ground, with clumps of bright green grass poking up between them. Two round tables sat next to one another in the middle of the space, both littered with maps and countless pieces of crusty-looking paper. Eight heavy wooden chairs were arranged loosely around the tables, and a lumpy bed sat in the far corner of the tent. It wasn’t exactly the Hilton, but it was certainly more than I’d expected in a war camp.

  We gathered awkwardly around the two large tables, not sure of our place or reception here. Doc still had his back to us, as though he couldn’t bear to face us quite yet. Finally he turned, raking his fingers through his thick grey hair, stripped off his cape and mail, and straightened to glare at us, one at a time. Even Katherine got a cold look. In the end, though, his gaze came to rest on me.

  “Are you ready to explain yourself, young man?” he asked quietly. He was angry, I could see that much. He also looked incredibly tired. And sad. “I have worked so hard to keep you out of this, to protect both your life and your world. Why are you putting that at risk?”

  I opened my mouth to reply, wondering how I was going to explain, but a crack of thunder rang out, interrupting me. Reis stepped forward to lay a hand on my shoulder.

  “Sir, if I may,” he said abruptly. “Jason had only your welfare at heart. He learned of the stones, and the danger to your life. We went to Fleming, sir, and learned what we needed to know to make the trip. Paul and I agreed to jump to the past with Jason.”

  “And you believed that you were doing the right thing?” Doc snapped in answer. “You were paid to protect the boy, not encourage him to run pellmel
l into the first trouble he could find!”

  “Sir, they would have come with or without me,” Reis answered, a slight smile at his lips. “I believed, sir, that it was best for me to accompany them. To continue protecting Jason, so to speak.”

  “You should have stopped them!” Doc repeated, running his hands through his hair again and pacing across the tent. At this rate, I thought, he was going to have a coronary before we even got to the battle.

  Besides, Reis had already shouldered enough of my grandfather’s anger.

  “He couldn’t have stopped us, Doc! I knew what I had to do, and I wasn’t going to let anything keep me from it,” I said firmly.

  Doc glanced at me, frowning, and Reis cut in again. “I believe, sir, that you’ll find your grandson somewhat … changed.”

  For a moment, no one spoke, the only sound the pitter patter of rain on the tent around us. I held my breath, wondering what my grandfather was going to do. He couldn’t send me back, that much was certain; I was already there, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. It would make things a lot easier if he’d just accept that and get on with it. We didn’t exactly have time to sit around arguing.

  Finally Doc settled back against the table, waiting. “Changed? How?” Then he glanced at the door, seeming to remember where we were, and straightened. “And quickly. We don’t have much time.”

  I took a deep breath. Here it was, then, the moment I’d been waiting for. The moment when I could finally tell someone who just might understand what I’d been through. But where to start? The beginning seemed as good a place as any.

  “Well,” I finally said, “it all started when I had a dream…”

  I gave Doc a quick sketch of the dream I’d had about Lord Stanley and Dresden, along with Dresden’s threats. I went on to tell him what I’d decided to do, and that I could feel the stones. That they’d been talking to me and even giving me information. I told him that there’d been a stone at Nottingham, and that I could feel one here, though it was far away. Then I told him that they were still sending me visions. I left out our adventures of the last few days; those weren’t important to the current situation, and we were running dangerously short of time. I finished with the tale of William Stanley, though, and noted that his presence would – ideally – alter certain plans of Dresden’s.

  The longer I spoke, the more concerned and confused Doc’s face became. I didn’t bother to look at anyone else as I rushed through the story; I knew they’d believe me, and they weren’t the important ones here. Finally, though, Doc held up a hand, signaling me to stop. My words died on my lips, and I waited anxiously.

  “You can read the stones?” he asked breathlessly. “I thought … I had thought I was the only one.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “And you say that you can hear them? Incredible…”

  I blew a soft breath through my teeth at his words, thinking that I finally had his attention. Maybe now he’d listen to what I had to say, start taking me a little more seriously. I opened my mouth to continue, but stopped when the tent flaps flew open, revealing a dark, stormy sky, driving rain, and a man in armor and a cape. We turned with gasps toward the intruder.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Doc asked in a strangled voice.

  The man named Trigva gave Doc a startled look at his reaction, and strode into the tent.

  “I have just arrived, my Lord. The war council is gathering in Henry’s tent for the meeting you requested.”

  Doc turned to face Reis and straightened his back. “Well, here we go,” he muttered. “You three come with me, and keep your mouths shut. If anyone speaks to you, tell them that you are with me. You are not–under any circumstances–to ask or answer questions. Understood?” He strode toward the opening of the tent, his mouth a grim line, and we scrambled to follow, throwing on the hooded cloaks we’d been given. Suddenly I paused.

  “What about Tatiana and Katherine?”

  Doc shook his head, throwing a quick glance at the girls. “They may come with us, but they will not be allowed into Henry’s tent. They will have to wait for us outside.” He was already striding out of the tent, throwing his own hood up over his head, and we rushed to catch up with him.

  “We will not have much time,” he snapped. “But I must warn Tudor of what you’ve told me. If the Stanleys have changed their allegiance, we must change our own plans to accommodate that.”

  “What exactly is the state of affairs here?” Reis asked, loudly enough to be heard over the rain.

  Doc nodded at his question, but strode quickly past two knights–seemingly oblivious to the weather–before answering. He looked around to ensure that no one outside our circle was within earshot, then cleared his throat.

  “Our scouts, for the most part, agree with the text books in regard to the scale of armies on both sides. Between archers, horsemen, and infantry, Tudor has close to five thousand men. Richard’s numbers are greater at over seven thousand.”

  I gasped. Those were the numbers I’d learned in my research, but I had assumed that they were exaggerated. If Richard’s army was that much larger than Tudor’s before Stanley’s defection…

  “And archers?” Reis asked quickly, his long stride matching Doc’s, his head bent in thought. I could almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to find a way out of this particular mess.

  Doc grunted. “The one area where we have favorable numbers. We have over fifteen hundred. Richard has about two-thirds that number.”

  “What about Stanley?” I countered, hurrying to catch them and join the conversation. “What if he goes to the other side?”

  Doc’s mouth turned down at the interruption, and he closed his eyes for a moment at the thought. “Stanley has an army equal to our own in foot soldiers and cavalry alone. They lack our number of archers, but not by much. If they have joined Dresden, it will be a very large problem. Which is what we’re going to discuss right now.”

  “But once William reaches his brother, Lord Stanley won’t have to fight on Dresden’s side,” I huffed, struggling to breathe, walk so quickly, and talk at the same time. “Dresden won’t have any leverage against the family. Surely Lord Stanley will turn back and withhold his men. The way he did in the text books.”

  “As much as I’d like to believe that,” Doc said, turning toward me, “I’m not going to bet our army–or history itself–on it.”

  “You don’t believe we’ve made a difference?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow at this lack of confidence.

  “I don’t believe you’ve done anything concrete, no,” he muttered. “William may or may not have made it there. Lord Stanley may or may not realize that his brother is free. And finally, Stanley may change his alliance at any time. No matter what you think you’ve done. If history holds true, he will keep his army at bay and let the battle play itself out.”

  “And if that doesn’t happen?” Paul asked.

  “That’s exactly what I have to talk to Henry and the others about,” Doc answered grimly, ducking lower to clear a low-hanging branch. “If Stanley enters the fight–on Dresden’s side–I do not know if our army will be able to hold them off. And if we don’t–if we lose the day–then the line of history changes and…”

  Suddenly he stopped, and we found ourselves in front of a tent every bit as large as Doc’s. My grandfather drew his shoulders up and pushed them back down, took a deep breath, and strode into the tent.

  We scrambled to follow, as usual, and ducked through the opening to start our war council with the future king of England.

  36

  I gagged the moment we stepped into the tent.

  It was stuffy, smelled terrible, and was much too warm for any reasonable person under the age of eighty. A fire burned in the pit at the center, and several dogs lay around it, smelling distinctly wet. The men stood on one side of the tent, gathered around a large table. They were arguing loudly when we entered, but grew quiet when they saw Doc. My eyes ran around the table, trying to judge the
men in front of us, and paused when I came to a familiar face. Henry Tudor. I would recognize the long, gaunt face of the historical leader anywhere. I gulped, wondering what the protocol was in this situation, and then turned to look at the other men. I didn’t recognize them, though I would later learn that Lord Taylor, the Duke of Northridge, Philibert de Chandee, the Earl of Eaton, Lord Edmond, and several highranking men of the church were also included, awaiting my grandfather–the physics professor’s–arrival.

  Everyone, including Henry Tudor, stopped talking and looked up as the man of the hour strode confidently toward the table. I had always been proud of my grandfather, but the pride and awe I felt at that moment, as Doc walked forward to take his place next to those men, went far beyond anything I’d ever felt for him. He was the man they turned to, I realized. The one they trusted. England–and the world itself–was resting on his shoulders, treating him as its savior, and he was moving forward and doing what he could to serve that responsibility.

  I began to regret some of my earlier words, then, but shook it off. Action now, regrets or celebration later, Evans, I told myself. That had to be the way of it.

  Doc had already reached the table, and was now gazing down on the maps and figures there. I knew what the map held: the terrain of tomorrow’s the battlefield. The positioning of the archers, the placement of the infantry, and the timing of the cavalry’s charge. Doc would know all of that from his research–the best times and places to deploy men, the areas where they should attack, what Dresden and Richard’s army would do…

  Assuming, of course, that the historians had it right. And that Stanley’s men stayed out of it.

  “Therein lies the rub,” I whispered, thinking suddenly of Shakespeare. Two rather large problems, and no simple answers.