I said, “What are you going to do for Brig and the rest? You cannot mean to leave them to their fates.”
My captain looked down on me coldly. “Didn’t you hear the priest boy say they were dead? They’re beyond our aid. Now out of my way, hound. There’s important work to be carried out and little time in which to accomplish it.”
“But maybe they weren’t all killed. We have only Garad’s word on that! I won’t believe anything could have happened to Brig until I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Rideon shook me off impatiently. “Then you’re doomed to a lifetime of wondering. We’ve more immediate problems to occupy ourselves with than worrying about what happened to Brig. Like getting all our people out of Red Rock and Molehill before they meet the same fate as Garad here. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but I forbid you or anyone else to go running off after a corpse. We’ve the living to defend, so let’s move on and do what we can for those who aren’t beyond saving.”
I wouldn’t listen. “I’m telling you, I can bring Brig back. I can and I will!”
“And where do you expect to find him?” Rideon asked. “Do you think the Praetor’s men just leave the bodies of outlaws lying out on the roads for carrion? Do you never pay attention to anything that happens around you? No, the Fists bring their victims, alive or dead, to Selbius, where the crowds may witness the Praetor’s justice. Brig’s remains will be displayed on the city walls or hung up in the market square, alongside the rotting bones of anyone else who has ever dared to flout the Praetor’s rule.”
I stood stupidly, factoring this new information into my plans as he shoved past. I was scarcely aware of his leaving. What he said changed nothing. I needed to see for myself whether Brig was truly dead. And even if he were… I couldn’t allow his corpse to be dishonored in the way Rideon described. One way or another, I must save him, and next to this, Rideon’s orders meant little.
I said, “Terrac, how far to Selbius from the way huts on Tinker’s Path?”
Terrac must have been following my thinking, for he looked uneasy. “You know these woods better than I do.”
I said, “I think it’s about a half day, as the raven flies, but it’ll take longer for them.” There was no question as to who ‘they’ were. “They’ll follow the road and that’ll cost them time. There’d be no taking their horses straight through Heeflin’s Bog. And if I know Brig and the rest, I suspect the Fists will also have injured men of their own, which will slow them down further. But they’ve a good headstart on us so we’ve no time to waste. Come on, I’ll need your help.”
“No.”
The priest boy’s refusal drew me to a halt before I had gone three steps. I wasn’t much surprised by his response and had my argument prepared.
“Brig saved your life when you came here, nursed you back to health as much as I did,” I reminded him. “You can leave him to his fate now? Is that the kind of honor your old priests taught you?”
Terrac shook his head. “I know what you have in mind, Ilan. But there’s only the two of us against an unknown number of them. As a man of the robe, I cannot fight, even to save my life, so I’d be useless to you. I’m sorry for you and for Brig, truly, but Rideon has given his orders and for once I am in agreement with him.”
I was furious but could waste no more time attempting to argue him out of his cowardice. “I see. Well then, may your friends ever be as faithful to you.”
I turned my back on him and set off into the underbrush without another look. I sensed I had shamed him and he was undergoing some internal struggle, so it was no surprise when, after a short pause, he came running after me.
We kept silent as we strode together through the thick trees. I set a brisk pace and neither of us could afford to waste breath speaking. Every instinct within me screamed at me to run, to hasten to Brig’s side as quickly as my legs could speed me, but I restrained myself. We had a long distance to cover and there was no sense in spending all our strength this early.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was mid-afternoon when we came upon the traveler’s way huts along the Tinker Path. It was easy to see the evidence of what happened in this place. The ground around the buildings was blood-soaked and churned with the prints of men and horses alike. There must have been a dozen or more Fists here, but I didn’t share that fact with Terrac. His resolve was weak enough.
Behind the way huts we found our men, or what was left of them. I saw Mabias, Spearneck, and a couple others I didn’t know as well. The Fists hadn’t troubled themselves with carrying the whole remains back to Selbius, but every corpse had been beheaded, the decapitated bodies left where they fell. I identified the dead mostly by clothing or distinctive markings on their bodies. Of the traitor, Resid, there was no sign and I could only assume he had ridden away with the Fists.
Resid was not the only man missing. My heart climbed back out of my throat as I realized Brig was not among the dead. I searched the sheds and the surrounding area, thinking he might have crawled, injured, a short distance, but all I found was his bone-handled hunting knife lying behind one of the sheds. My search here done, I slipped the knife into my belt and hurried a protesting Terrac off the road.
Much as I regretted the necessity, we had to leave the rest of our men where they lay. There wasn’t time to deal with any kind of burial. I still had no way of knowing whether it was a live prisoner or a cold corpse I was chasing after, but as long as there was any hope for Brig, I couldn’t give up. We pushed on through the wood, making for the shortcut through Heeflin’s Bog. I had to catch the Fists before Selbius. Once Brig was within the city walls there would be little chance of getting him back.
* * * * *
We were weary and wet to the waist from our trudge through the bog when we came again onto the path the Fists took to Selbius. I was as dejected as I was exhausted, for I knew too much time had been wasted in the crossing of the marsh, and I feared we couldn’t hope to catch our quarry, let alone cut them off before they reached this point. But I wouldn’t admit this to Terrac, nor would I give in to his continual requests to turn back. We pushed on, following in the tracks of the company that had already passed this way.
It was past sundown when we approached a cluster of buildings looming ahead, out of the darkness. We were still within Dimming’s borders, but only just, and I recognized the ramshackle buildings set a little aside from the road as one of the abandoned woods folk farms. Thunder rumbled overhead and a few cold sprinkles began to fall as the holding came into view.
The last of the Fist’s tracks were being washed from the road but not before I saw their horses had turned off the way, veering into the direction of the abandoned hold buildings. I caught the dim glow of light filtering out the shuttered windows of the hold house and felt a surge of hope. If the Fists had stopped here to take shelter from the storm…
Terrac was less pleased than I to have caught up to our enemies, but I wouldn’t hear his warnings. I struck off for the hold buildings and he reluctantly followed. I shushed his protests as we neared and we made several careful, silent circuits around the property, wary of sentries. When I was satisfied our enemies were oblivious to our approach, we crept closer. The rain and the dark were our allies, shielding us from unfriendly eyes.
We moved in as near as we dared, then dropped to our bellies in a little stand of weeds on a gentle rise overlooking the hold house. My heart was beating fast and I expected discovery at any moment. Terrac parted the grasses and peered ahead. Seconds passed before I felt him stiffen beside me.
He said, “There’s a man circling the outer sheds. He doesn’t stop to look around, just keeps his head down and moves with purpose. Nothing else stirs.”
“Is he one of the Praetor’s men?” I whispered.
“Now how can I know that?”
I craned my neck, but Terrac was slightly ahead of me and I couldn’t see past him without the commotion of rearranging myself.
I said, “Does he look like a fight
ing man? Is he armed? Outfitted in the Praetor’s colors? A Fist would have a bear’s head worked into his breastplate.”
“At this distance do you think I can see a breastplate, let alone a bear’s head on it? It’s too dark even to make out his colors. Besides, he’s gone now, disappeared into the barn.”
I sighed and risked repositioning myself for a clearer view. My movements made the tall grass rustle and I hoped no one was near enough to notice. I now had a good look at the hold house and its dilapidated outbuildings. I could see no movement below. No men, no sign of horses. The only evidence anyone was down there at all was Terrac’s claim to have seen someone—that and the spill of light issuing from the open doorway and windows.
I located the barn, an old leaning structure beyond the house. I waited and was at length rewarded when a lone figure wandered out its doors. I couldn’t make out any particulars about him. I followed his progress as he ducked his head against the falling rain and hastened to the dry shelter of the hold house. Not a sentry, then, just a man checking on his horse. For a moment he was outlined in the doorway as he stepped into the house and I caught the glint of light falling across the steel at his hip and a quick glimpse of black leather over scarlet.
“A Praetor’s man, all right,” I whispered to Terrac. “There must be more of them inside the house or in the outbuildings.”
A plan began to take shape in my head as I scanned the shadowy rooftops.
“And how are we to discover whether Brig is with them?” Terrac asked.
I pushed aside my qualms. I would do whatever I must to get Brig back, and if that meant using Terrac as unwitting bait, so be it.
I said, “I see no sign of a watch, meaning either they haven’t set any or their sentries are too well hidden to be seen. The first, I think, for I’ve pretty good night vision and I can’t make out anyone hiding in the shadows.” I tried to sound confident because I didn’t want him turning tail right when I had use for him. “But we won’t risk everything on that supposition. We’ll go down just as if there were lookouts.”
Here was where I must slip in the crucial point and pray I could convince him of it. “You’ll go first,” I said. “One is less conspicuous than two. Slip down to the house and try to get close enough for a look in the windows. Don’t come back until you can tell me how many Fists there are and if Brig is among them. I think it would be best if I wait here for you.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Terrac said, frowning. “How is it I’m the one handling the dangerous part when this was your idea in the first place?”
How, indeed? I scrambled for a plausible excuse. “Because you’re the quicker of us and have the best chance of slipping back and forth unseen.”
His expression showed he wasn’t buying that horse, so I struck out with a better lie. “And because I’m, um, afraid.”
“Afraid?” The mingled surprise and disbelief in his voice made me wish I had thought of something better.
I hurried to elaborate. “I mean, I’m afraid for Brig. You know how close we were and you’ve seen what the Fists do to their enemies. I’m afraid of what we could find down there and of how I’ll react. I might go mad and do something foolish to get us captured or killed.”
I inwardly blessed his gullibility as I saw the disbelief fade from his face. He nodded and said, “I suppose there is sense in what you say. Maybe it would be for the best if I’m the one to go. I’ll bring the news back to you, whether good or bad.”
Suffering an unexpected stab of remorse, I caught his arm as he started to turn away. I opened my mouth to confess, but what came out instead was, “You’re a good would-be priest, Terrac. An honest man. You can tell that to anyone.”
I couldn’t be sure if he detected the instruction behind my words, but he seemed to catch the seriousness of my tone. “I don’t know how good I am, but I think any friend would do as much. Now I’d best do this thing quickly if I’m going to do it at all.”
A part of me felt relief that he hadn’t understood. “Yes, of course,” I said. “Thank you, Terrac.”
He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then he was away. I kept my head low, watching his awkward progress as he moved off. Slithering down the hillock on his stomach and scrambling to his feet at the bottom, he ran doubled over in the direction of the hold house in the clumsiest stealth approach I’d ever seen.
I returned my gaze to the sentry I had previously observed lurking beneath the shadowed eaves of the house. I could only hope he would take my friend in for questioning, rather than killing him on the spot, but there was little I could do to ensure that and my conscience smote me. Terrac was my friend and here I was betraying him for my own schemes. But when I thought of Brig, my guilt was instantly silenced. For me, Brig came ahead of any other and this was the only way I could think of keeping the Fists busy while I searched for him.
From here on out, speed was important. I slithered quickly through the grass until I made it down the brow of the hill and then kept low to the earth as I circled to the back of the hold yard. The looming shadow of the barn was my goal because if Brig was dead, I imagined the Fists would have stowed his corpse in just such a place. I had to cancel out that horrible possibility before I could lay any rescue plans. I reached the barn without being seen and kept to the shadows, creeping around to the front entrance. The door was rotten and protested softly when I tried it so that I hesitated to test it further.
Abruptly, a strangled cry rang out across the yard. Although I’d been expecting it, I started anyway. The shout was immediately followed by sounds of a struggle and I dropped flat to the ground, training my gaze on the house. I made out two dark silhouettes scuffling in the shadows. The smaller of the two was actually giving a fair account of himself, but inevitably, his larger opponent soon drew something from his belt, possibly a knife. I was too far away to be certain. He hooked his arm around Terrac from behind, pressed the object against the boy’s throat and Terrac immediately stiffened and fell still. I held my breath, praying he would have the sense to heed the Fist’s orders. Apparently he did, and I watched as he cooperatively allowed the knife man to drag him backwards toward the entrance of the house.
I wasn’t the only one to hear the struggle. A handful of Fists came rushing to fill the open doorway of the house. Apparently caught sleeping, no one had taken the time to throw clothing on and they stood in various stages of undress, many of them barefoot, but all with swords in hand. A few stepped out to help their comrade with his captive, while others cast wary gazes out into the wet night, probably wondering whether they could expect more intruders to descend at any moment.
Everything was in Terrac’s hands now. I could only hope whatever he told our enemies would dissuade them from searching the yard for his companions. I couldn’t afford to linger any longer and used my enemies’ brief distraction to try the barn door again. I winced at its muffled groan but didn’t hesitate this time, slipping through the doorway and into the building. The blackness within was even deeper than that outside and I stood, disoriented, just inside the door. I allowed my eyes time to adjust to the dimness before beginning a swift search of the interior from top to bottom.
It was as I was giving up a hasty exploration of the hayloft that I made a peculiar discovery. My foot scuffed against something hidden beneath the thin layer of moldy straw on the floor and hurried though I was, instinct made me kneel to uncover the object. Certainly I had no time for distractions, but the thing had an odd shape and for a moment curiosity took over so that I quickly dusted aside the straw to pick it up. In the darkness it was difficult to discern what it was and I nearly cast it aside as a crooked bit of wood with a string tied to it. Then, recognizing its feel, I took a closer look and realized I was holding a bow.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
This seems like an unlikely place to find such a weapon, I thought, turning it around in my hands and noting how light and sturdy it felt. From the little I knew of bows, I judged this to be a good on
e. In the darkness, my fingers traced a line of carvings spiraling down the wooden arms. I’d never heard of anyone putting such detailed effort into the making of a bow, and I thought I would like to see it in better lighting.
I had no sooner had the thought, than the weapon warmed beneath my touch and glowed with a faint orangey light. What evil magic was this? Startled, I threw the weapon away from me and it sailed over the edge of the loft. After a moment’s hesitation, I worked up the courage to clamber down the rope ladder after it and found it lying in a pile of straw.
When I dared to reach out and tentatively take the bow into my hands again, I was relieved to find it cold once more. The glow was gone too. Had I only imagined it before? Yes, that must be it. Impulsively, I slung the bow over my shoulder and returned to my search.
I made a hasty exploration of the rest of the interior, disturbing the Fist’s horses as I went so that they began whickering loudly and shifting in their stalls. Fearful lest anyone come to investigate the noise, I abandoned the barn and moved on to the outbuildings. I crept from one building to the next, heart sinking as I failed to find Brig locked away in any of them. I told myself this was a hopeful sign. If he wasn’t out here, he must be under guard in the house and that at least meant he was alive. What was happening inside the hold house now? What were they doing to Terrac and what was he telling them? I quickened my search.
The next shed I poked my head into was a privy and the one after that appeared to be a place for storing herbs. Dark shapes hung from the ceiling and it took me a moment to realize they were bunches of dried plants suspended upside down. The pungent scents of thickleaf and ravenspoison were heavy in the air. There was a low worktable scattered with cracked earthenware pottery and the rotting remnants of more clusters of weeds and leaves.
The shed held the bitter smell of decay and I lingered only long enough to determine Brig wasn’t there. Backing out of the building, I pulled the door to and turning away, stumbled over something. A stick of wood? No, it was a man’s outstretched arm. In the shadows I could barely make out his still form lying in a heap against the side of the shed. His shaven head was tilted at a side angle, his bearded face half buried in the dirt. Large crimson blotches darkened the back of his tunic. My stomach clenched and with a strangled cry I dropped to my knees and flipped the body over.
Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels Page 99
