by C. Greenwood
She fell silent, and I wondered how far I could trust even her. There was a time when I would have had another companion to back me up.
Looking out over the dark treetops of Dimmingwood, I wondered briefly where Terrac was tonight and if he were well, before dismissing him from my mind. I had a rebellion to plot.
Chapter Seven
Despite Ada’s pessimistic prediction, there were over a dozen of us gathered at Horse Head Rock the following night. I made it a point to be the first one there, although it took some doing to get off my watch early without creating suspicion. I needed to make it clear I was wholeheartedly serious about this scheme, and by being there to greet each outlaw as he arrived, I hoped I was fixing it in all their minds that I was taking the bulk of the risk and responsibility for this treasonous meeting.
Dradac kept at my elbow, trying to wheedle out of me the truth behind all the secrecy, but I kept my silence until I was certain everyone who meant to attend had filtered in. When the men started shifting impatiently at the prolonged wait, I exchanged looks with Ada, who gave a slight nod. It was time. The gathering fell silent as I scrambled to the top of the big rock shaped like a horse’s head where I could look out over my small audience.
No verbal agreement had been made between Ada and I, but I had settled it in my mind that I should be the one to open the meeting. If things didn’t go as planned, I wouldn’t have her taking the blame for my idea. Looking out over the expectant faces, each palely lit beneath the light of the full moon, I almost lost my nerve. How could I be certain none of them would betray me to Rideon? I took a deep breath and the moment of uncertainty passed.
I said, “Friends, I know many of you are wondering why we’re here. Maybe some have already guessed and come to lend your voices to the discussion, while others attend out of curiosity. First, let me say that whatever your reasons, I’m glad you all chose to come. Secondly, I have to warn you that the things we’ll discuss in this circle tonight are of a secretive nature. Any of you who cannot hold your tongues are given this final opportunity to leave.”
There was an indignant stirring within the group at this, but I had to be clear on the point. Rideon wasn’t the man to tolerate dissention and anyone speaking up tonight would risk everything on the silence of the rest.
I held up a hand to still the murmurings, saying, “I’m sorry. I know I can, and have, trusted many of you with my life in the past. You’ve all been deemed dependable men—if it was otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”
A balding man I recognized as one of Dradac’s friends spat and stepped forward. “As both Rideon and his second in command are absent, would I be safe in guessing what you’ve got to say doesn’t meet with the Hand’s approval?” he asked.
I hesitated before admitting, “Rideon hasn’t forbidden this meeting, but only because he has no notion of its existence. If he did, we would not, any of us, be here. That is the reason for the secrecy.”
I held my breath, but no one stormed away yet. There were a few uneasy glances, but most shrugged and waited to hear what would be said next. Relived to have kept my audience this far, I launched into an explanation of the Skeltai raids and of Rideon’s determination to keep the facts from his outlaws.
Everyone had heard of the attacks but few knew the details. As I told how the villagers at Hammond’s Bend had been slaughtered by the Skeltai invaders, I sensed their growing anger at the fate that had befallen our woods allies. I emphasized the cowardly nature of the attacks, and the way the enemy had sprung out of nowhere in the dead of night. I didn’t give any dire predictions but insinuated a similar fate could befall us or others of our friends at any time. When I had finished the tale, I called up the two scouts who had been the first to bring Rideon news of the destruction at Hammond’s Bend. I had instructed Ada to be sure to install them in the audience to lend weight to our case.
They now gave chilling descriptions of the sights they had encountered and the barbaric treatment of the helpless villagers. When they left off speaking, Ada came forward and gave the others the same information she had shared with me on the blood rites leading up to the Skeltai celebration of Sagara Nouri. This was a calculated move on my part, saving the gruesome fates of the stolen villagers as the final words the outlaws would hear.
When Ada fell silent, I decided it was time to play my final card. I announced, “Ada has told me that as soon as our scouts came to Rideon to report the attack on Hammond’s Bend, she realized the connection. She recognized the descriptions she was given of the raiders and identified them to Rideon by one of the weapons they left behind. One of the scouts brought this.”
Ada brought out the Skeltai spear I had instructed her to bring and held it out for the others to examine. She pointed out light etchings spiraling down the shaft of the weapon and told us, “These are magical runes spelled by the Skeltai shamans to grant the bearer of the weapon great strength and skill.” She fingered the bits of feathers and bones strung on a leather thong around the spear head, and I realized for the first time the resemblance they bore to the ornaments she wore braided into her own silver-blue locks.
“These are Skeltai ornaments meant to protect the warrior,” she explained. “And the spearhead is made of the red-streaked stone beyond the Black Forest.”
To emphasize that point, she drew a dagger with a similar blade from the inside of her boot and passed it around for examination. “A relic of my past,” she admitted.
One outlaw snatched the blade, and on comparison, had to admit the two weapons bore an unmistakable similarity. Others murmured agreement.
Now was the time to tell them everything. I said to the gathering, “I didn’t call you all together only to disclose who was behind the attack on Hammond’s Bend. I came here tonight with the intention of asking your help. I want to hunt the Skeltai raiders down, or barred the means to do that, at least find a way to thwart them from crossing into Dimmingwood again. I can’t accomplish either objective alone.”
The outlaw Nib had a question. “Are we to take it this hunting down of Skeltai is meant to be carried out without Rideon’s knowledge? Surely there can be no other reason why he’s not standing among us now.”
I hid my surprise that the observation came from Nib. I had never suspected the burly man of possessing the wit to get out more than three-word sentences.
I answered bluntly, “Rideon has forbidden the band’s involvement in this matter, so any man who wishes to join the cause will do so counter to his orders. I intend to keep our activities as secret as possible, but I won’t lie to you—there will always be a chance someone in our circle may betray our plans to Rideon. Or even that Rideon himself will simply become suspicious. He is known, after all, for being a difficult man to fool.”
“He is that,” the outlaws agreed, some with low chuckles of pride.
I wasn’t disturbed by their admiration for our captain. Part of me still shared it, even as the newer and wiser part knew our affection was misplaced.
Keeping the movement discreet, I reached a hand back to stroke the smooth wooden arm of the bow slung across my back. At my caress, a soft voiceless whisper stirred to wakefulness in the recesses of my mind. Reassured by the contact, I turned my attention back to the men before me, to see that Dradac at the forefront of the gathering was looking at me strangely.
I met his gaze with what I hoped was a reassuring look.
Then I told the others, “I’m as devoted to Rideon as any of you. But I think we can agree that for once…” I struggled for the right words, ones that would make my point without seeming like an attack against the Hand. “I don’t believe this particular order of his to be the best,” I said at last.
Dradac’s asked, “And exactly what is it you would have us do?”
I had anticipated the question and had my answer ready. “We already have a strong observation network throughout most of Dimming and the woods villages. Rideon himself has boasted to me of the wide range of his spy network. I propose we put together a
similar network or even set to work winning over Rideon’s own spies to our cause. They can still make their regular reports to Rideon, but there will be other more detailed reports for our ears alone. For example, I don’t think any of us have any notion yet as to how the Skeltai move their warriors from one location to the next with such speed. I know I haven’t been able to figure it out. But even the stealthiest of armies cannot pass through Dimming unmarked by those who know how to look for them. Our scouts will comb the forest daily for sign of them.
Our spies in the woods villages will be quick to get word to us of an army on the move. We should be prepared to act at the first suggestion of another attack. In this way, I believe we have a chance at preventing another tragedy like Hammond’s Bend.”
Seeing they weren’t thoroughly convinced yet, I hesitated before adding, “I won’t pretend my motives for this scheme are entirely unselfish. I suspect a number of you are inwardly asking the question, what is it to us what becomes of the woods villagers?
True, we’ve an alliance against the Fists but are we bound to risk our lives for their protection? We’re thieves after all, and by definition, care first for ourselves. Why defend our neighbors?”
The number of guilty faces looking back at me proved I had read their thoughts accurately.
I said, “You’re right to ask yourselves these questions. And the answer is no, we aren’t obligated to aid the woods folk. In similar circumstances, I doubt they would do as much for us.”
Nods followed my words but I didn’t let them get too comfortable. I said, “But let me ask you something, my brothers. If we turn a blind eye to the Skeltai raids, how long do you think it will be before the savages turn next on us? We’ve always held out against the Fists, but how well will we stand against a fierce enemy like the Skeltai? An enemy we know little about, one with unknown mystical powers at its disposal.”
A thoughtful silence fell over the gathering. I suspected it was my final reminder of the Skeltai magic that had really captured their consideration. Many of these men had spent a lifetime beneath Dimming’s shadow and woods folk were always a superstitious lot.
After a prolonged silence Dradac cleared his throat. I tried not to tense, for fear everyone would see how uncertain I was. “You make a good point, Ilan,” he said. “I, for one, am willing to join you in a fight against the raiders. You have also my vow of silence on all things related to this…secret circle of yours.”
I smiled. I should have known my old friend wouldn’t abandon me when I was depending on his support. The others were quick to come forward after that, one by one, giving their pledges of support. By the end of it all, only two men had refused involvement out of loyalty to Rideon, and from them, we easily extracted vows of silence. If they wouldn’t join our rebellion, neither would they do anything to oppose it.
At the conclusion of the meeting, our inner circle contained eleven members, and Ada confided to me she might find a couple more, given time to sound things out. It was a small start, but I was satisfied.
Chapter Eight
It was exactly three days after the forming of the inner circle that we met with our first success. Two of our members sent out on reconnaissance came upon the discovery of a lone Skeltai scout stalking a tiny settlement along the Dimming Road. Our men became overly enthusiastic, and rather than setting one of them to tail the Skeltai, and the other to report back to us, they decided to jump him alone. They managed to take the Skeltai alive but not without sustaining minor injuries to themselves as well as presenting the rest of us with a dilemma.
We had no place to keep a prisoner, no predetermined form for dealing with an uncooperative one, and perhaps most important, no notion of how to keep this particular captive a secret from the rest of our band. Rideon had kept a prisoner or two for ransom in the past, but then we had just bound them up and tossed them into Red Rock cave with a guard assigned to them. We could hardly take this prisoner to Boulder’s Cradle and parade him in front of Rideon and the men. This was business of the circle and had to be kept quiet.
But it was hard to keep a snarling yowling Skeltai warrior quiet. We stuffed rags in his mouth, bound him thoroughly with rope, and for want of a better plan, took him to an abandoned woodsman’s shack Nib knew of a little distance from Horse Head Rock.
The shack was ill-constructed, and all but caving in at the roof, but seemed ideal for our purpose as it was an hour’s walk from Boulder’s Cradle—far enough distant that no one inconvenient was likely to stumble over it.
Once we had our prisoner safely stashed away came the debacle of what we were to do with him next. Attempts were made to question him, but he spoke not a word of our tongue, or if he did, refused to acknowledge it. I would have called for Ada to interpret, but she was away on an errand for Rideon. And so, I was left to deal with the situation.
I stood in the center of the crumbling little shack, dust motes swirling around me, and a stiff wind cutting through the cracks in the walls. I knew I faced my first test as leader of our circle. Just now I wished to be anything but leader.
I glared at the prisoner trundled into a dark corner who was the cause of my dilemma. It struck me that the Skeltai didn’t seem in the least intimidated by his situation. I had never seen a prisoner appear so at ease.
I vented my annoyance on the men I considered most responsible for bringing this situation about. “If you’d only had the sense to follow him instead of attacking him,” I snapped at the men who had made the capture, “we might have learned something useful. We could have seen where he was going, if he was meeting others, and discerned something of their plans.”
The outlaw pair shifted nervously. “We didn’t want to risk the savage escaping,” one of them explained nervously.
I said, “The only danger of his escaping would have been if he’d magicked a circle into the ground beneath his feet to drop into!”
They exchanged uneasy glances and I realized that was exactly what they had feared he might do. And who was I to say he couldn’t. How much did we really know about these people anyway? Ada was our only source of knowledge on Skeltai magic, and even she admitted herself to be of little use, since she didn’t possess the skill.
I frowned at the bound Skeltai warrior heaped in the corner and wondered if he was likely to disappear in a poof of smoke at any moment. It was an unnerving thought.
“Get yourselves cleaned up,” I told the two outlaws. “Hide your injuries or invent a likely story as to how you came by them.”
They had taken a few cuts and bruises in their skirmish with the Skeltai. We would just have to hope nobody decided to be overly curious about how they’d acquired them.
Their footsteps moved away, and already I forgot them. I moved to stand over the Skeltai in the corner, and he gave a little start at my approach. Maybe it was crazy, but I had the brief impression there was recognition in his eyes.
“Take the rags out of his mouth,” I told Nib.
Nearby, Dradac frowned and said, “We’ve already questioned him. He doesn’t speak the civilized tongue, and even if he did, I got the firm impression he wouldn’t tell us anything.”
I noticed he had helped the prisoner into a sitting position that was probably more comfortable than the one we had dumped him in.
“Dradac, why don’t you go looking for Ada again?” I suggested.
“I just got back from searching for her not an hour ago. I told you, she’s not to be found.
My gaze didn’t leave the prisoner. “So go out and make a long circuit of the perimeter. We don’t want unwelcome folk stumbling in on us.”
I thought he would protest, but he must have realized then why I wanted to be rid of him. I had a great affection and respect for the man, but as leader of the circle, I couldn’t afford to let his sympathy for our captive get in my way.
Dradac’s mouth clicked shut, and I waited for him to withdraw. Instead he said, “Thanks, but I’ll stay.” He sounded reluctant but determined.
> “Fine.” I shrugged and nodded for Nib to remove the rags from the prisoner’s mouth. Then I squatted down level with the Skeltai. His eyes hadn’t left me all this while, but it wasn’t until I was close to him that I realized it wasn’t me alone. He was equally interested in my bow. As the savage and I stared at one another, I thought he should have seemed frightened. He was in a strange place and surrounded by so many enemies. But his expression was stony. If he felt fear, he gave no sign.
This was my first chance to get a good look at a Skeltai warrior, and I took my time getting to know the face of my enemy. His silvery blue hair was waist length and strung into a multitude of tiny braids with long feathers and bits of bone that rattled whenever he moved his head. His most startling feature was the blood-red paint covering his face and body. Only glimmers of skin as pale as milk showed through. It was skin that looked unnervingly familiar because it was so like mine. But I wouldn’t think about that right now, wouldn’t consider the possibility that this savage and I shared common ancestors.
Because he was clad only in a loincloth, I could see the collection of wicked looking scars tracing his arms and torso. These were no battle scars, as I might have expected, but trailing designs, intricate shapes and swirls that were almost graceful. I wondered if the carvings were self-inflicted or if he had allowed someone to etch designs into his skin. Considering how much of the Skeltai culture was magic related, I wondered if these scars could have a more sinister purpose than mere decoration. Maybe they had something to do with spells.
I shook aside my uneasiness. The prisoner was flesh and blood, no different from the rest of us.
Our captive had been studying me even as I examined him, and it was clear he had something on his mind. His eyes kept flickering to the bow. By this time I was used to people’s unusual reactions when they noticed the weapon for the first time but his was more marked than most.
I reached over my shoulder to stroke the smooth wood of the bow’s arm. “You know something about this?” I asked the prisoner, never removing my fingers from the wood. I felt the bow stir slightly to life beneath my touch.
