by Robin Hardy
Several miles behind them, Nihl saw the soldier coming and hastily dropped behind the large, lumbering wagon of an armorer. The soldier passed him in a flash. Nihl, knowing the road ahead would be crowded with soldiers due to the Surchataine’s order, realized he would need some way to travel without drawing their attention. Almost any one of them would recognize him, even out of uniform.
He considered traveling at night. But then he would lose sight of the Surchataine’s retinue, and lure thieves besides. He glanced at the armorer. Perhaps he could attach himself to one of the merchants for the trip—the armorer glanced at him and Nihl nodded cordially. But the merchant spat, “Be off, drud,” and sped his wagon.
Nihl slowed his mount, burning. The last man who had called him that was dead. Then a clicking sound penetrated his rising anger. Nihl looked over his shoulder to see a leper on a donkey coming up the road. He wore the leper’s costume as required by law: a white shroud with hood, gloves, and castanets to warn of his approach. There was little of his offensive appearance that could be seen under his attire, which only fostered the fear and mystery of the disease. Travelers parted like the mountains around Falcon Pass to give him wide berth on the road.
Watching him, Nihl perceived that sometimes the best way to stay hidden was to be as conspicuous as possible. He dropped back to ride beside the leper, who raised his shrouded head. “I have need of your help, friend,” Nihl said. “I will give you my cloak and ten royals for your costume.”
“Are you mad?” a quiet voice from under the hood asked.
“No, but desperate,” Nihl replied.
“Show me your purse,” the leper said skeptically. Whereupon Nihl counted out ten gold royals into the gloved palm. “You don’t fear becoming as I am?” the shroud asked.
“I fear failure more,” answered Nihl. “If I am unsuccessful in my mission, then I may as well be a—as you.”
“Come off the road,” said the leper, and they went into the forest alongside the highway. A few minutes later a white-shrouded figure on Nihl’s horse emerged from the trees and took to the road, castanets rattling from the saddle.
Chapter 30
“Excuse me. Counselor?” Kam poked his head into the library and Basil looked up from amid piles of correspondence and record books on the massive desk.
“What is it, Commander?”
Kam shifted as if uncomfortable with the title. “We’ve just learned of robbers only minutes up the road from the Surchataine’s party—one of our scouts was killed. The men are asking permission to kill the renegades on sight rather than bring them back to Westford for sentencing.”
Basil hesitated. “Is the problem that grave?”
“The men think so, sir. And you have to admit, if the soldiers are being attacked, no one’s safe.”
“Yes, I see,” Basil agreed. “Very well, give them permission. But I want the outlaws identified, and if that is not possible, they must be brought back here, dead or alive. We must find out where this problem is coming from.”
“Counselor.” Kam bowed and withdrew.
Basil shifted back in his chair, pondering how reserved of a sudden the normally loquacious Kam had become. The responsibilities of power, Basil thought, rising from the desk to lean in fatigue against the window casing. It is such a burden to rule.
“What am I thinking?” he blinked. “I’m not ruling; the Surchataine is.” He returned to the desk to select a letter from the large stack in front of him to answer. “It is still a burden,” he muttered.
That evening, Roman and Effie sat at a campfire with the six renegades. Their horses, having been unsaddled and indifferently groomed, were now nosing in the undergrowth despite bits between their teeth. The men were relaxed and jovial, but the Surchatain seemed shaken by the events of the day.
He chewed slowly on a tough, poorly roasted rabbit shank which was nearly raw on one side and mostly burnt on the other. Effie, uneasy in this group, scooted closer to Roman. He put his arm around her shoulder in response.
“What are you thinking?” she whispered.
“I’m thinking of Deirdre,” he replied.
She toyed with the frayed hem of her linsey-woolsey dress. “You’re anxious to get her back, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He gave up on the rabbit shank, laying it down. “I have a son, too. His name is Ariel.” She nodded attentively. “I wonder if he remembers me,” he murmured.
“You haven’t been gone that long!” Effie insisted, but Roman turned his head to the side, listening to something else. For a few moments his eyes darted around the dark, misshapen trees, then he quietly drew his knife and stared at Thane, trying to catch his eye. Thane saw him, but by the time he had put his hand on his own knife, a horde of soldiers rushed from the trees onto the camp.
Roman shoved Effie to the ground and stood over her as a soldier jumped him. Roman stiff-armed him, then wounded him with a swipe of his knife. He yanked Effie up and threw her on the nearest horse, bareback. He struggled up behind her, kicking a second soldier back, and one of the renegades yelled, “This way!” plunging into the woods.
Instead of following him, Roman yanked the horse’s head in another direction. He wasted not a second looking behind as he landed in the road and kicked the horse to a flat-out run.
They ran until Effie gasped, “Stop! You’re killing me!” Roman pulled the horse, sides heaving, to a halt. The road behind them was a silver ribbon in the moonlight, the dust glittering. Since it was empty as far back as he could see, he let the horse walk.
They journeyed on for several hours, clinging to the side of the road and checking behind them often. At last, when Roman grew so tired that he could not keep himself upright on the horse, he muttered, “Enough. We must rest.”
“Where?” Effie whispered nervously.
“Anywhere,” he groaned. They went twenty paces into the trees, where Roman tied the horse to a low branch and dropped to sit on the ground.
“Here?” Effie whispered, crouching close to him.
“Yes.” He lay on the bare ground, using his arm as a pillow.
“What if it rains?”
“Then we’ll get wet,” he yawned.
She clutched his shirt as she peered into the darkness around and above. There was just enough light to see shadows—shadows that drifted and changed as if they had a will of their own. “Roman.” She felt for his arm. “I’m afraid of the dark.”
“Most children are,” he said tiredly.
“No—I mean, I’m really afraid. I feel sometimes that—things are in the dark around me. That they’re going to come out of the dark and get me . . . Roman?” She leaned anxiously toward him, for he had said nothing.
While she was telling him her fears, he felt something manifest itself around them. Not that he could see it, but the weight of its presence bore down on him. It came up and positioned itself at his face like a challenge, and he intuitively recognized it as the same thing he had encountered in a dark, airless room in Corona. Effie was gripping his chest, too terrified to speak.
“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he said softly, “I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” He felt the thing pause.
“You have no cross, nor charm,” Effie whispered.
“We don’t need one. We have the name of the Lord. He comes without incantations or rituals because He wants to protect His own.” He gained assurance as he spoke, and the air stirred with a nighttime breeze. It seemed to blow the oppression away, leaving in its place the rich smell of humus and the strains of a lark’s song.
Effie relaxed. “It’s gone.”
Roman glanced around as moonlight broke through the treetops. “For now.”
“I have felt that before,” she said.
“You have? When?”
“Whenever Pax came home. It was like—a bad feeling would always come in with him. I could feel it even when he was gone. But I never knew what it was or how to make it go away. Sometimes I t
hought that if I—if I killed Pax, it would leave.” She paused. “But then it did go away.”
“When?” Roman asked uneasily.
“The day I brought you home.”
Roman pondered this as Effie, unafraid, curled up and laid her head on his chest to sleep.
When the morning sun began making faint inroads into the forest, Roman woke. He lay perfectly still, hearing the crackling of someone’s approach. He had turned his head to calculate the distance to their horse when through the bracken Thane appeared on horseback, accompanied by another renegade. “There you are,” Thane said with his cocky smile.
Roman sat up, heaving a sigh. “Did you follow us?”
“Yup. We didn’t want to lose the Surchatain.” His voice was tinged with enough irony to irritate Roman.
“Where are the others?” Roman grunted. Effie began to stir and yawn.
“They weren’t as quick on the getaway,” Thane answered, dropping from the saddle. He seemed to lose a bit of his bravado on the way down, and the other fellow was plainly flagging.
“I thought you knew you were hunted men,” Roman said. “It’s no game you’re playing. The soldiers won’t be toyed with.”
“I know, but we’ve never been ambushed like that before. They must have tracked us all day, then called together a whole unit. That’s never happened before,” Thane said.
“It’s happened now, so now we have to deal with it.” Roman stood and stretched his creaking bones. He winced at his sore shoulder, noting how suddenly difficult it had become to sleep on the ground. “Old age,” he groused. He reached down to help a sleepy Effie gently to her feet. “Come now,” he murmured, still thinking. “They’ll begin tracking again with daylight.” He suddenly peered at Thane. “Or could they have followed you?”
“No,” Thane said scornfully, then glanced at the other renegade for support. “Did they, Braxton?”
“How would I know?” Braxton muttered. So they lost no time getting on the road without breakfast. There, they mixed warily with the early risers who occupied the thoroughfare. They shared bread from Thane’s pouch, darting out of sight whenever they spotted the rich brown uniforms of the soldiers far down the road.
Roman felt befuddled and weary. How had this ridiculous situation come about?—running from his own soldiers, unable even to contact his grieving wife. He felt immersed in a nightmare which had to run its course before he could awaken.
He thought of the evil presence he had encountered last night. Was it only his imagination? But Effie had felt it, too. It was the reason she was afraid of the dark. How was that affecting what was happening to him?
He tossed his head in mounting apprehension, and a glint of pink from the new morning sky caught his eye. Roman looked upward in amazement. It was the sky—the exact same sky that he had seen when he had been lifted from the pit of hell, only now the Man was not stretched across it.
Or was he? If there were invisible presences in the dark which could oppress and terrify, then wasn’t His presence also in the light, to protect and encourage? Thinking of this, he recalled pieces of a psalm: “Even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.”
Roman exhaled. How many times did he have to be reminded that God reigned in every realm? These terrible powers could reach only so far as God allowed, then they were checked. And they were reduced to puffs of wind when confronted with the Name of the beloved Son. So he was not riding along powerless in this nightmare, rough though the ride may be.
Thane spoke up: “Eyes ahead!” A hundred yards up the road was the border to Calle Valley. At this crossing stood four Callean soldiers inspecting travelers who desired passage. The forest had been cut back extensively from the crossing as a guard against secret entry.
The outlaws hesitated, letting traffic flow around them. “There are only four,” Thane muttered. “We can take them.”
“And have the entire Callean army chasing us as well?” responded Roman. “Think a moment.” Travelers who had to circumvent them cast irritated glances their way. Effie, sitting behind Roman, returned their looks curiously.
“Then let’s just leave the road and go around them,” Thane suggested im-patiently.
“Not possible. They’ve already spotted us,” replied Roman, peering ahead.
“So we’ll find another way!” Thane was already turning his horse back.
“And have you forgotten who’s back there chasing you?” Roman asked sharply.
“We sit here long enough, they’ll have to ride over us to get into the valley!” Thane shot back.
“We’re stuck,” muttered Braxton. Roman chewed his lip as he silently prayed to the Power that moves mountains.
They sat on their horses, Thane eyeing Roman as Roman watched the road. The heavy traffic forced them off to the side. The Callean guards looked up at them occasionally, but did not leave their posts.
“Well?” Thane prodded.
“Wait,” Roman said, eyebrows gathering slightly in anxiety.
They waited a few minutes, Thane tapping his horse so that it danced restlessly. Finally he taunted, “Can’t you decide? Do we go forward or back?”
“If you’re that bold, you go ahead,” Roman answered.
Muttering a reply which Roman was glad not to hear, Thane spurred forward to the crossing. His companions watched as he was stopped by the guards, and spoke to them. One gestured back to Roman, and Thane shook his head. Another guard pointed to Thane’s horse, then crossed his arms skeptically at the proffered explanation. Nor was the ranking guard satisfied, for he waved Thane back.
The renegade returned to the three while the guards watched suspiciously. “They won’t let anyone pass who doesn’t have a clear and identifiable occupation,” he muttered. “I told them we were bodyguards for merchants at the fair, and they wanted to know who. So I said we were for hire, but they said we had to be hired before passing. That decides it. We’ll have to go off the road.”
“It won’t work,” Roman insisted.
“Then what do we do?” Thane countered.
“Wait,” Roman said, and Thane groaned in frustration.
Suddenly Effie squeezed Roman’s waist, crying, “Oweda!” A woman on a passing cart jerked around.
“Effie! What are you doing here?” Oweda exclaimed. The cart lurched to a stop as Mathias, beside Oweda, hauled back on the reins.
“Looking for you!” Effie scrambled down from Roman’s horse to clamber up in the cart. While the renegades studied the merchants, Mathias scrutinized the three scruffy men.
Oweda and Effie joyfully embraced. Effie began excitedly, “Oweda—Mathias—this is—”
Roman gestured, glancing at the passing crowds. “Tell her later, Effie. Let’s just say that since you saved my life, I promised to deliver you safely to them. I seem to have done that, though I’m not sure how. . . . But they can help us now, if they will.”
At Mathias’ dubious look, Effie reassured him, “They’re all right, Mathias. He killed Pax.”
Mathias immediately asked, “What can we do for you?”
“Tell the guards ahead that we’re your bodyguards,” said Roman. “But once we get to Crescent Hollow, we need to go our own way.”
“That we can do,” replied Mathias, and they headed for the border crossing.
A unit of Lystran soldiers marched triumphantly into Westford, then down the streets and across the bridge to the palace. In the front courtyard, they threw down four bodies and called for the Counselor. At Basil’s appearing, the ranking soldier bowed and said, “Counselor, Iven here. As you ordered, here are the renegades we caught. We don’t know a one of them. Some others got away, but we’ll have no trouble catching up with them. We know where they’re heading—the fair at Crescent Hollow.”
The Counselor looked up sharply, as did Kam, who had joined him. “You think they’re following the Surchataine’s party?” the Counselor asked.
“Could v
ery well be,” admitted Iven.
“Then why are you standing here? Go stop them at once, by any means!” shouted Basil. Iven saluted, leading the unit out at a heroic run. Basil pulled his grey hair in distress, turning to Kam. The new Commander was staring down at the bodies. “Commander, gather all the men at your disposal and join the Surchataine’s escort!”
Kam’s black beard began to twitch. “I don’t think that would be wise, Counselor,” he mumbled.
“What are you saying?” exclaimed Basil, astonished that Kam would refuse a command.
“Something isn’t right, Counselor,” Kam whispered, looking around as if fearful of being overheard.
“Whatever are you talking about?”
Drawing him closer, Kam whispered, “I know one of these fellows they caught. His name is Quint. He’s one of us.”
“You mean he was. He turned renegade,” Basil corrected him.
“No, Counselor. Not Quint. He was as sure as the seasons. That’s why the Commander had sent him on a special mission that only he, Olynn and I knew about—to search out the source of these renegade attacks.”
“Apparently he found it,” the Counselor remarked sarcastically.
“Apparently, he did. But before you judge, let me tell you something else: Iven was lying. He knew Quint. They all did. He was in the same unit—check the rolls to see for yourself. And what’s more, if these were really renegades, they wouldn’t be traveling to the fair, nor would they accost the Surchataine’s party—that would be suicide. Real renegades stake out a territory where they know every rock and hole for hiding, and stick with it. Whoever this is the soldiers are chasing, I’m afraid to guess.” A possibility crossed Kam’s mind, but he dismissed it at once as too wild.
“So what do you suggest, Kam?” Basil asked, eyes on the four bodies.
“I recommend we get Commander Nihl back at his position right away.”
“Then find him,” Basil growled, and called a soldier to remove the corpses.
Out of the corner of his eye Kam watched the soldier, a Polonti, walk over to the bodies and pause. Kam guessed that he, too, recognized Quint. But the soldier turned on his heel, signaling to another soldier, who disappeared toward the stables. Kam grabbed Basil’s arm as Polonti began gathering on horseback like thunderclouds.