by Walter Rhein
Noah opened his mouth to protest but Malik silenced him with a sharp look. Malik thought for a moment, then regarded Gerard sternly.
“Why are you telling us this?” he said. “I’m sure there must be a reward for these fugitives. Isn’t it in your best interest to try to turn them in and collect it?”
“Perhaps,” responded Gerard, “and perhaps not.”
Malik and Gerard sized each other up. Suspicion still in the air, but the strain seemed to ebb. Malik concluded that if it was violence the guardians of Elmshearst wanted, they could have had it a long time ago. Something else seemed to be at stake.
“You see,” Gerard continued, as if recognizing a change in Malik’s gaze, “the earl’s messengers do not have a strong reputation for being truthful with us. In fact, they have been known to tell us flat-out lies on occasion.” He let that sink in. “Now whether these lies initiated with the messengers or they initiated with the earl is of minor importance. The more pressing issue is that we are fairly fed up with this kind of treatment and will not—how should I put this—” He paused, considering his words for a moment before continuing. “Let’s just say we are not necessarily predisposed to following all of the earl’s commands.”
The corners of Malik’s mouth trembled slightly in suppressed, hopeful amusement.
“But why is this case different than any of the others? Why would you not follow these orders when you have established a pattern of obedience?”
“Because,” Gerard responded, “there is a rumor that at least one of these fugitives is a healer— a true healer—and we have someone here at Elmshearst who is in need of some special treatment.”
Malik nodded and met Gerard’s steely gaze.
“Tell me,” Gerard said, “might you three have something to trade other than your labors and a stolen horse?”
Malik laughed and all the tension in the room had evaporated completely.
“We do,” Malik said. “We do indeed.”
Chapter 9
Summons
The silence of the courtyard broke by the sound of flapping wings. Denz looked up from a desk of papers to see a pigeon perched silently next to the falconer’s quarters. He stood up, and in two swift strides had the tiny bird in his hands. With trembling fingers, he unraveled the message.
“Elmshearst,” it read.
Denz hesitated for only a moment before calling out to one of his servants.
“Alert Father Ivory,” he said gruffly, “it seems a little settlement in the mountains might be in need of some spiritual cleansing.”
He paused for a moment, his face darkening.
“Tell him to bring his Nightshades.”
The servant blanched but Denz paid him no mind. He turned on his heel and set off to prepare. He’d be riding all night. With any luck, Elmshearst and the refugees would be his by mid-morning.
Chapter 10
Choice or Innocence?
The next day, Noah turned to face the fortified wall while sitting on the back of a proud white colt. The steed had been a gift for healing an elder of Elmshearst whose sanity had been deteriorating for some time.
At first, Jasmine had doubted she was capable of curing such an ailment. But when she laid her hands on the man, his eyes, which had grown cloudy in their madness, clarified almost instantly. Awareness and recognition returned in the form of a playful sparkle, and it took only a few carefully whispered words to verify the man had been completely cured.
The achievement startled Jasmine, for she had never before dared to test the strength of her powers. But after seeing the reaction of Gerard and the other men of Elmshearst, her spirit had soothed. The healing of the elder had opened a floodgate, and Jasmine had labored long into the morning curing hundreds of ailments of all shapes and sizes.
The people of Elmshearst had been generous in response to their treatment. As Noah waved to the fortified wall, it was with the knowledge that he was now well equipped to face the wilderness.
“Know that you will always be welcome at this settlement,” Gerard said, smiling. The ancient man Jasmine healed was Gerard’s father, and watching his slow decline had been a terrible burden on the stout guardsman. But now that the man was well, Gerard, too, seemed to be rejuvenated. “We wish you could stay longer.”
“It’s never been my habit to stay too long in one place,” Malik replied, sitting beside Noah on his own black colt. “The wilderness is a better place for us now that we are properly equipped.” He held up a stout bow Gerard gave him to emphasize his words.
Gerard nodded. Understanding passed between him and the refugees below that there were always enemy ears about and consequently some things were better left unspoken.
He gave one final look to Jasmine, sitting proud and beautiful on her ivory mare. “Thank you,” he whispered with sincerity.
“No, thank you,” Jasmine replied, “your gifts are too generous.”
With that, Malik turned his horse and the brother and sister quickly followed him.
After retrieving his weapons, Malik led his charges toward the rugged mountains. He went forward at a brisk pace but Noah, still flushed with the success of their endeavor, found it objectionable.
“Might we not slow down a bit and enjoy ourselves?” he asked. “It is a beautiful day.”
“We can’t,” Malik responded. “We need to get as far away from Elmshearst as possible.”
“But, whatever for?” Noah asked, surprised. “We’re among friends here. Approaching Elmshearst was the best thing we could have done. The equipment and blankets we obtained are of top quality.”
Malik was silent a moment before responding.
“I won’t argue that,” he said. “But I still have my misgivings about that little excursion.”
“Why? You saw the look on Gerard’s face. That man will be loyal to us forever.”
“Indeed,” responded Malik, “Gerard is a good man.”
“What then?” persisted Noah.
Malik pulled up short and turned to focus all of his attention on the young man.
“No leader ever has complete control of his charges, at least not all of them. I’m willing to bet there are several in Elmshearst loyal to the earl and they are not at all happy about our release. There will be soldiers coming to Elmshearst soon enough, and when that happens, the results will not be pretty.”
Noah’s good humor faltered. Jasmine gazed at Malik with fear shadowing her eyes.
“Do you mean I will be responsible for more fighting, more killing?” she said.
Malik gazed at her for a hard moment, then turned away. “Swords kill, milady, and misplaced beliefs, not your healing hands. There’s enough warranted guilt to go around in this world without you taking an unfair share. Now let’s get moving,” he said.
He kicked his horse forward and the two followed him in subdued silence. However, it didn’t take long for Jasmine to find her voice again, and this time her words were tinged with accusation.
“You knew! You knew something like this was going to happen and yet you said nothing! You’ve sacrificed those people! Who are you to determine who lives and who dies?”
Malik faced her and said, “The choice had to be made! It’s easy to say that all should be allowed the right to live, but what do you do when you see one man trying to kill another? Are you innocent if you stand back and do nothing while the victim dies? Do you maintain your innocence if you make the choice to kill whom you perceive to be the aggressor? The questions are not so easy if you face them in practice instead of in theory. Perhaps Lightbringer has the power to allow all to live in harmony, but mortal men do not! Sooner or later, you have to make a choice. You have to decide which side you will fight for and which side you will kill. Neutrality is not piety.” He pulled his horse around. “It’s cowardice.”
Malik urged his mount forward and rode off in the direction of the mountains at a steady clip.
Noah watched him go while Jasmine regarded the path. As Malik’s
form grew steadily smaller, it quickly became obvious they didn’t have any choice at all.
Jasmine started her animal forward and Noah did the same.
Chapter 11
Nightshades Rising
Gerard stood at his customary post along the walls. At first, he had been afraid that the feeling of profound calm he felt at the presence of the young healer would disappear with her departure, but it had only taken a brief chat with his renewed father over breakfast to let him know that his sense of peace was permanent. He sighed as he pondered the surrounding forest of Elmshearst.
“Thank you again, milady,” he said beneath his breath.
His eyes scanned the tree line absently as they had thousands of times. He knew every leaf, every branch, and every blade of grass in the forest below. He was even accustomed to how the wind bent the waving limbs. Anything out of place would alert him instantly.
All was calm.
Yet, Gerard found himself troubled.
He gripped the wooden fortification he leaned on and scanned the wilderness again.
Tree, shadow, shadow, bush. The darkness beyond the front line was as cold and impenetrable as always.
There was nothing.
He finished his circuit and then snapped his eyes back to the start.
Tree, shadow, shadow, bush. Glint.
What was that? A sparkle in the underbrush? A reflection of the sun! Metal!
“Alarm!” Gerard screamed reaching for the bell with his gauntleted hand. No sooner than he voiced the alarm, an arrow flew from below to pierce his forearm.
Gerard screamed again, this time in agony, but he managed to lurch forward and grab the dangling chain. The bell sounded as more arrows rained on him.
Gerard turned back to the clearing before the walls to see black-clad soldiers swarming from the forest.
“No,” he gasped, recognizing the silver skulls emblazoned on the soldier’s leather uniforms.
Nightshades.
These were the Earl of Miscony’s finest killing force. Fighting men, mercenaries and convicts who had been spared sentences of execution in exchange for absolute loyalty to the royal decree. The Nightshades were allowed to ride with free reign to kill anything and everything in their path.
Another arrow thudded into Gerard’s shoulder and he slouched on the ramparts. His men responded as they had been trained, but compared to the Nightshades, their coordination seemed clumsy and slow. A volley of arrows rained down from Elmshearst on the scampering black forms below, but not a single point seemed to find its mark.
From the woods, Father Ivory emerged in an ominous black robe.
“Citizens of Elmshearst,” he bellowed, his voice seeming somehow unnaturally augmented, “you have housed the Demon. Now you must be cleansed.”
The flames appeared from the forest, engulfing weighted arrows.
Gerard looked down to see that the foot of the walls had been washed with some glistening substance, some alchemical concoction assuredly designed to feed the unholy fire.
“No,” he screamed, and for the first time since the healer’s visit despair entered his ragged voice. “No!”
An arrow took his eye, then he knew only darkness.
Chapter 12
Stops and Consequences
Night fell and still Malik drove them on. They rode in silence under the light of the moon, hunched beneath their cloaks to fend off the piercing mountain night. Up in the higher reaches, it grew cold without the warming rays of the sun, and the journey soon became a torture for the youths. Still, they endured it for as long as they could.
“Can we stop and build a fire?” Noah said finally.
“We can’t stop until tomorrow night,” Malik replied, hardly shifting his gaze.
Noah urged his horse forward to speak with Malik without Jasmine hearing. The lean warrior shifted his gaze to Noah, surprised as he came alongside with relative ease.
“I’m not trying to be unreasonable, Noah,” Malik said in anticipation of the boy’s complaint. “Believe me when I say there’s danger here.”
Noah inclined his head toward his sister. “Her lips are blue,” he whispered.
At first Malik was confused by this statement, but in a moment, comprehension dawned. He looked back at Noah’s twin sister with concern. The young girl was shaking with cold despite the blankets hunched around her shoulders.
“She lost a lot of weight during our father’s illness,” Noah said. “I think using her power in Elmshearst drained her. Make no mistake, she’d die in the saddle before she ever uttered a peep of complaint. But you understand, I had to say something.”
Malik sighed deeply and looked down in resignation. He didn’t want to alert his companions, but they were being followed. Malik knew this with certainty. Not because he had caught any signs of his pursuers, but because of his tactical instinct. There was no doubt the Earl of Miscony’s men were out there, and if he, Noah and Jasmine decided to camp, there would be a fight.
He looked back once more at Jasmine. Her tiny frame was nearly shaken apart by the ferocity of her shivering. That image, more than anything, decided things for him.
He brought his horse to a halt.
“Noah, make a fire.”
Noah leaped from his mount in gleeful obedience and lashed the animal smartly to a tree. “Where is the best cover to hide the light?” he asked.
“Don’t bother,” Malik responded. “Just get her warm.”
Noah threw Malik a perplexed look. “But didn’t you say they could be after us? Won’t they see a fire?”
Malik looked back at Noah sternly. “I thought you wanted to get your sister some rest,” he snapped.
Noah realized he had overstepped and quickly set about gathering some kindling.
Malik watched him work for a second before dismounting and tying his horse. Jasmine was too cold to move and merely sat where she was, so Malik helped her down and tried to make her comfortable next to where Noah was working. Once he was satisfied they had established themselves about their tasks, he lifted his sword and walked purposefully back along the road they had traveled.
Noah happened to look up from the flickering flames he had just ignited and caught the retreating sight of Malik’s back. He opened his mouth to call out, then caught himself.
Part of him wanted to know where the warrior was going.
And another part of him knew it was better that he didn‘t.
The warrior was going to kill again, kill for them, and this time, Noah had asked him to. The significance of that distinction did not escape the lad as he continued tending to his sister.
Chapter 13
To Kill Again …
Malik set himself up several hundred yards away from the camp and waited. The night enveloped him like an old friend and he sat in perfect stillness, contemplating the dark, silent woods.
The light of the fire was behind him, glowing like an ember in the blackness. Even at this distance, rays of light could be seen streaming between the trees, cast by the flickering flames.
They would come.
They would see the fire and they would come.
Their eyes that had been used to darkness would orient to the light.
Their night vision would be lost.
And Malik, whose back was to the fire, would surprise them.
When you had surprise, you had victory.
Malik shook his head and caressed the handle of his sword absently. Those were Oberon Keels’ words. His mentor, his enemy, and anything that originated with that assassin did not sit well in Malik’s mind.
He caught his rising ire and calmed himself using an ancient breathing trick. After all, he reminded himself, just because he intended to kill Keels the next time he saw him, it didn’t make the man’s tactics any less sound.
The calm that Malik worked so hard to personify returned. He waited in the dark, stiff as a rod, back firmly wedged against a tree.
They would come.
They would
see the fire and they would come.
The fire would blind them.
That would be his advantage.
The fire raged now and Noah was tending a broth when he heard Jasmine groan. He hopped over to her.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Where’s Malik?” Jasmine responded.
Noah said nothing, he merely passed a bowl to her in silence.
“Where is he?”
“He’s gone to protect us.”
The strength left Jasmine’s hands and the bowl nearly dropped as Noah passed it to her.
“He’s killing again.”
“He has to,” Noah replied.
Jasmine was silent for a long moment before finally speaking.
“Is there nowhere for us, Noah? Nowhere we can live in peace and help people?”
Now it was Noah’s turn to be reflective. He stirred the broth for a while then plopped down heavily beside his tormented sister.
“I don’t know, Jas. I just don’t know.”
It was a long time before they came, and when they finally did, Malik was late in spotting them.
The legendary Nightshades. Every region of the North had a troupe of the fierce mercenaries called in for the foulest of sword work. Even in Camden, Malik had heard of them. Observing them now, Malik saw their reputation was well-deserved.
They were good.
He was surprised at how good they were.
A glint of light reflected off something, and had Malik not happened to catch it, they might have slipped by him.
That didn’t bode well.
These were assassins, and they knew their trade.
They crawled on their stomachs, moving like lizards. There was nothing consistent or predictable about their motion. They moved forward a few yards. Stopped. Held absolutely still, then started again, this time sideways, diagonally, even backwards from their previous motion. It was all designed to disorient so the subtle perceptions of distant human eyes wouldn’t sense the woods were closing in on them.