by Robert Beers
Charity hugged herself and looked into the distance. “I am, too.”
Chapter Seven
He had hoped to leave the villages alone, but orders to the contrary had been issued. The greased harnesses on their horses barely whispered as he and his patrol made their way into Dunwattle from the southwest. They'd crossed the Firth River at the ford two days earlier. If there had been no interruptions, the other patrol should be approaching from the southeast along the edge of the forest. The orders were specific. Try to spare as many as possible. Women and children were to be left alone except in cases where you had to defend yourself. At least they were being humane about it, if you could ever call war humane. He was thinking about his wife and children back in Avern when the arrow took him in the chest.
* * * *
“Avernese!” The call went out from the Church tower where Old Thom kept watch. He was nocking another arrow to his bowstring as he yelled. The patrol fanned out and drew their swords. They held the round shield typical of Avern's military over their chests, steering their horses with their knees. Some of the men of Dunwattle came out to meet them, and were cut down in short order, as is often the case when shopkeepers battle experienced warriors.
Fredl hushed the men with him as they crouched behind Doggin's wall, dry stonework that ran along the eastern edge of Dunwattle, dividing the town from the farmland. He looked over the wall one more time. He thought he saw something twinkle in the moonlight. He was thinking he was wrong when the lance passed through him from behind.
* * * *
“Adam! Soldiers!” Charity gathered up her quiver, and pushed the cat back into the shop as she ran in after it. Adam drew the shutters closed as the horsemen rode past. They had decided that the area around the sausage shed would be the safest during the night because of the deep shadows in and around that part of the shop. He felt his rock become warm, the first it had happened since before they stayed with Milward. He felt it with his fingers through his tunic, and then followed Charity as she herded Ornette out of the shop and into the courtyard. The boy was crying, and Charity was having a time keeping his voice down as he blubbered.
A glow appeared over the northeastern wall of the courtyard. Ornette cried out. “They've set the Church on fire! Those godless bastards!”
“Hush!” Charity shook him with her free hand. “Do you want them to hear you?” He hushed.
“Too late, Charity. They're here.” Adam drew his sword as a group of the invaders came out into the courtyard. One held a torch. Adam felt the arrow pass his head. It took the torch holder in the hand that held it.
“Aaarrggh!”
“Get them!” They charged across the courtyard. Adam tried to count them as they came. He reached a half dozen by the time he was engaged.
He parried an overhand cut by the one in front, and then had to jump back quickly to avoid a thrust by the one just behind him. He heard another scream as Charity's arrows found their target, and ducked a sweeping blow that came from behind and to his left. He had three of them after him and no idea of what to do first. He was merely reacting and trying to stay unskewered. The rock grew warmer, and the soldiers attacking him seemed to slow down. He saw an opening and passed the sword through the neck of the one to his left. Another duck and a roll such as the one Ethan showed him put him behind the other two. A broad swing of the blade caught them as they turned, and removed their heads from their shoulders.
Charity saw Adam decapitate the two soldiers as she pulled another arrow from her quiver. Ornette was in hysterics and a complete whittle when it came to being of help in this situation. The four soldiers who were left approached her warily after seeing what her arrows could do. Three of their number lay flat out on the ground, and a fourth was on the step of the workroom his hand pinned to the wall.
“Give it up, lady. There's nowhere to go, and we'd rather not have to kill you.” The one speaking was a little older than the others, and had a series of diagonal slashes running down the left sleeve of his tunic.
“Worry about yourselves.”
They all whirled towards the voice, and saw a young man in green and brown with a very deadly looking saber dripping blood. There was only the two of them to their four, so why did they feel outnumbered?
The older soldier lowered his sword, and sighed. “Look, son, I've nothing against you personally. I might even like you if I had a chance to get to know you, but I've got my orders, and you two either have to come with us, or defend yourselves.”
Charity lowered the aim of her bow and called out to the soldier. “Why? Why are you doing this? This town has done nothing to cause this.”
“You may be right, young lady. You may be right, but that doesn't change my orders.”
Adam shifted his stance. “So why don't you just leave, we'll go into the forest, and no one will be the wiser.” His smile was a death's mask. “And ... you get to live.”
The older soldier swallowed, and said sadly. “I'm sorry, son, but I can't do that.”
The sound of fighting drowned out the rest of what the soldier said, and then the fence gave way as a horse fell against it. A large knot of townsfolk, Avernese soldiers and men wearing another uniform surged through the breach in the fence. The melee pushed into the space between Adam, Charity and the Avernese soldiers. Adam soon found himself embroiled in a fight for his life as the crowd of combatants enveloped them.
“Adam!”
He heard Charity call his name. A whiskered face rose up before him swinging a blade, and he cut it down without a thought.
“Charity!” He tried to reach her. He could hear Ornette's wails. He'd probably survive, that kind usually did.
More of the crowd pushed between them. He could see Charity struggling to reach him, but being pushed back by shear weight of numbers. A lot of blades and lances were being waved aloft, but there wasn't room enough to swing one in combat so a few of the members of the crowd began using their fists, and then the knives came out.
“This way, lad.” A large hand grabbed Adam by the collar and hauled him backward out of the crowd.
“Hersh!” Adam twisted out of the Butcher's grip. “I've got to get to Charity. She's in danger!”
“Look out into that, lad!” Hersh's normally jovial voice was harsh with anxiety. “Do you really think you could get to her? My boy's out there. Don't you think I'd jump into that if I thought I could save him?” All we can do is wait and see if the Baron's men win the day.”
Adam stood in the doorway to Hersh's workroom. He could no longer tell where Charity was, and he could feel a frightening emptiness welling up in his gut as his impotence to help her became realized. No one seemed to be gaining ground in the battle. It surged back and forth before them like a pot on the boil. One especially aggressive Avernese made the mistake of charging Hersh and Adam. He met the Creator with a very surprised look on his face.
Hersh wiped the blood off his knife with one of the rags from his counter. “Come with me, lad. I think I see a way to the back.”
* * * *
He had a hold on the end, finally. Now all he needed to do was pull his counterstroke in the right direction. There we go...
Gilgafed felt a tugging in the back of his mind. The wizard was erasing his trap! It couldn't be! He frantically formed a shaping, and sent it along the path of his control for the trap. It rebounded as if hitting a dense wall. He sent it again redoubled, and reeled back, gasping in pain as it backlashed along his nerves. He fell to the floor of his chamber, writhing. What was that old Wizard doing? How did he come to have such power?
* * * *
“Around here, lad.” Hersh led Adam along an alley between the Butcher's courtyard and the Mayor's warehouse. It was a narrow, manmade canyon of ancient brick and stone with a wooden gate, at the end. They pushed through the gate and stepped out onto an open field thick with knee high grasses.
“There's the spot.” Hersh pointed to an old olive tree that grew against the back corner of his sau
sage shed. “I've a false door there. It's really part of the wall that comes off easy, never thought I'd have a need for it.”
The Butcher walked quickly around the tree, and swore softly. “Balls.”
Adam quickened his steps to see what was the trouble. A hole in the wall of the sausage shed greeted him. The false door lay in the grasses of the field. A night cricket hopped across it, and was grabbed as a quick meal by a passing lizard.
Hersh shook his head as he examined the back of his shed. “Someone's been here before us.” He pointed out the obvious.
Sounds of the melee in the courtyard filtered out through the shed. Adam could hear someone whimpering inside. He recognized the voice. “Hersh, Ornette's in the shed.”
The Butcher rushed past Adam and into the darkness. He found his son huddled in the corner behind the sausage maker.
Ornette saw his father, and threw his arms around Hersh's neck. “Da! Oh Da! Charity's gone! They took her away.”
Adam spun Ornette out of his father's arms, and held him by both shoulders. “Who took her? Where!? Tell me!”
“Soldiers. I don't know. They were so big, I was so scared, I couldn't ... couldn't...”
“There laddie, there, there. Not your fault ... did what you could.” Hersh comforted his son, as Adam rushed out of the shed calling for Charity.
Dawn was long past, and the victorious townsfolk and Spuian Guardsmen had rounded up the last of the Avernese soldiers by the time Adam stumbled back into Hersh's shop.
He slumped down into a chair in Hersh's living quarters. “I searched everywhere I could, no footprints, no tracks. I found nothing, not even the cat, and it wouldn't let her out of its sight.”
“I should have tried harder to get to her, but it wouldn't come. It helped that little girl, why not Charity.”
Hersh couldn't know Adam was speaking of his developing powers and his amulet. He handed the boy a cup of hot tisane. Adam sipped it automatically.
“You did what you could, lad. Rest up; we'll try again later.” He led Adam to his bed, and put the sword and its belt in the corner. As he closed the door, he heard “Why didn't it work? Why didn't...”
Chapter Eight
Charity fought against the Avernese soldier's grip, but he was too strong. She still had her bow, but the position he held her in gave her no opportunity to bring it to play. She was being dragged toward the forest, as far as she could tell. The moon had gone behind a cloud, deepening the night's gloom.
“Stop struggling, you little vixen, or it'll go rougher with you.” The voice was harsh, and his breath stank of ale. He fondled her breast with the hand that crossed over her arm. “Ah, a nice size you are, and firm, too. I'll bet you're ready, you are.”
Charity tried to scream as she increased her struggles. A blow to the top of her head stunned her. When she regained her wits, she was among the trees of the forest, lying on her back against the roots of a large tree. The soldier's silhouette blotted out a portion of the distant glow of the burning church. He appeared to be fumbling with something near his waist.
“Oh, you're going to enjoy this, girl. I know I will.” The moon came out from behind the cloud, and revealed the soldier's intentions. She shrank back against the bole of the tree, and he approached her. “Come on, girlie, you know you want it, you're lustin’ fer it, you're just whores at heart, you all are.”
The memory of Adam telling her what Darzin had said about her flooded into her. Rage overtook her fear, and she lashed out with her boot at the most prominent target available. Her heel took the soldier right where he lived.
His screams of agony echoed throughout the trees. He rolled on the ground, groaning and cursing all at once. His outbursts spiraled down, and then he lunged to his feet with a snarl, brandishing a long knife. “You rutting bitch! I'll gut you like a trout I will. I'll ... ulp!”
Charity stared at him along the length of a clothyard shaft. “You'll what, you bastard? Tell me what you planned to do. Go on, tell me. The only thing that's keeping me from sending this arrow through your heart right now is ... Deity! I don't know what it is. I think I'll just take you back to my brother, and let him decide what to do with you.”
“Your brother?” The laugh was short, sharp and evil. “The demon with the sword? You'll take me back to a corpse you will. We've taken the town, you little bitch. If I don't take you, the others will.” The second laugh was a leer. “I don't mind sloppy seconds ... Aaauuggh!”
The arrow passed through his heart, and buried itself in a tree twenty feet behind him. Blood vomited out of his mouth as he fell to the forest floor, twitched once, and then lay still.
“Adam.” Charity sobbed, and then she thought of the cat, and Adam diving into the water to save it. Scenes of their travels in the world passed before her like paintings in a gallery. She saw him defend her over and over again and then she fell to the ground, sobbing. She cried and cried and cried, letting her heart break with the depth of her loss. She wished she could die and be with him. She wished she'd been there to save him, to save the cat. She cried until exhaustion overtook her, and she passed into sleep against the tree, the body of the soldier next to her feet.
She woke with the sun, calling for her brother. The soldier's corpse brought it all back to her, and the tears came again. She stumbled away from the body, scooped up the bow, and ran deeper into the woods. Her sobs drowned out the faint calls of the villagers as they searched for her.
Grief and despair drove her on until exhaustion once again claimed her, and the woods offered their leaves as a bower.
Now into the foothills far to the east of Dunwattle, Charity picked ripe Thimbleberries until she had a small handful that she could nibble on while she walked. She wanted to be as far away from Dunwattle as she could be. The mountaintops she saw in the east were hidden behind clouds. Her tears had dried now, but she had spent the last two days weeping off and on. The thought of losing Adam and the kitten still caused deep feelings of loss and sorrow to well up, but not to the point of bringing on the sobs of the previous days.
Her best guess placed the mountains at least another day away. She busied herself by both walking until she could no longer put one foot in front of the other, and by inspecting her remaining arrows. She had eleven left from her baker's two dozen, and one of them was well out of true.
She looked at the clouds again and thought of the mountains. There was a chill in the air last night. It would be bad if the first snows caught her in the heights.
Either she had fortune walking with her, or Bardoc himself held back the storms, for Charity made the pass without trial. Hunger became her main problem as she descended the eastern slope. No trees grew in the rocky soil, and what vegetation there was grew sparsely at best.
By the time she reached the Long Wood, she was famished. A bramble patch left purple stains on her fingers and mouth and little satisfaction in her stomach, but at least the fare would keep her going for a bit.
She'd entered the Long Wood at a narrows, and thus her passage through the wood lasted only a few hours, bringing her into the farmlands west of Berggren just before sundown. Again famished, the sight of the cornfield on the other side caused her mouth to water, and she closed the distance at a run.
The corn proved itself to be sweet beyond her wildest dreams, and she gorged herself into a sleepy stupor. She fell asleep with the third cob still in her hands.
A cock crowed, and Charity stirred listlessly. Morning had come far too early to suit her, and the tall corn did little to block the sun's rays. Grabbing the corner of her cloak, she pulled it over her eyes, and drifted back into her dream.
Ethan yelled at the barmaid to bring him another flagon, and to be quicker with it than the last one. The wine didn't help his bad temper, nor the feeling of loneliness. Dunwattle had proved a waste, and the folk of Bantering were nice enough, he supposed, but no one had need of an experienced woodcrafter. Bantering earned most of its wealth from the sea, and the shops and homes in
the village were built of the local stone, and mortared with the local clay. Oh, they were willing to let him tinker a bit for them here and there, but what they really wanted were his watchman skills. Well, they're going to have to put up with a drunken watchman, he thought, as he drained the last of the flagon.
He turned and raised the empty to catch the barmaid's attention. “Bring me another.” He turned back to the table, and said to himself. “I've got some dying to catch up on.”
* * * *
“Hoy lassie, wakey, wakey.” Something was shaking her. She opened her eyes to see a thin, homely face peering back at her. The prominent nose stood out on a face that could have used a lot more chin, and about half the amount of ear. Stringy brown hair slunk out of a battered knit hat, and his smile showed teeth that had needed care for a number of years.
“Wh ... who are you?”
“'Ear now, Neely. Give the lass a mo', that's a good lad.” The other voice was fruity and jovial. Charity turned her head to see its source. What she saw was the polar opposite of the first one. His head was as round as a pumpkin, and so was his nose. Rather than needing more chin he had at least two extra. An old cloth hat that had a sad, limp pheasant feather stuck in one side of its band perched on his head. His tunic was plain, but serviceable, colored in oxblood and tan, and his massive forearms showed an alarming amount of reddish hair.
The one to wake her gave Charity a half bow, his hand over his heart. “Neely, at your service, my lady. This large rascal is my friend and companion, Flynn.”
Flynn knuckled his brow at Charity. “How do, miss.”
Charity pulled her cloak away from her shoulders and sat up, her right hand resting near the knife she had taken from her would-be rapist. “Charmed, I'm sure. Why did you wake me?”