The Orphan and the Shadow Walker

by Graeme Bourke

  Since the incident yesterday he had become even more interested in the young woman called Mica. At first he had just seen her as an attractive young woman who wore a sword like a man. He never thought that she could really use it. His instinct as an ex soldier should have warned him. She was smart too. Who would have thought to take the sword into the water and hide it? Whoever had trained her trained her well. He now had a new respect for this young woman and a desire to know more about her.

  He rode to the head of the caravan. “Wait here,” he said to the lead wagon, “I’ll go and see what’s happening.”

  Mica changed places with Elijah, removed her sword and Gabriel found her a hooded brown woollen cape.

  “You stick out like a sore thumb,” said Gabriel, passing her the cape. “I mean that in a nice way.”

  “I understand. I wonder what’s going on?”

  “They might have found some contraband, hidden weapons or gold. Or they might be arresting someone.”

  Argon rode up to the bridge, to the man with a red feathered plume on his helmet, the sign of a captain, the man who was obviously in charge of whatever was going on. He was thick-set with a full beard, long dark hair and big bushy eyebrows. A diagonal scar creased his ugly face from left to right, courtesy of a sword that he was too slow in avoiding. Their eyes met in instant recognition.

  “Argon, you old bastard, I haven’t seen you for nigh on eight years.”

  “Camden, you are still as ugly as ever.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.” Camden’s eyes looked past him at the caravan. “Escorting caravans are we?”

  “A man has to make a living.”

  “That is so old friend. That is so.”

  “What’s going on, what’s the hold up?” Argon leaned foreword in the saddle.

  “We’re collecting a toll, a new tax.”

  “More taxes!”

  “The king’s building a fleet of ships, he needs more money.”

  “If he keeps going on like this there’ll be no money to collect.”

  “I just follow orders, you know how it is.”

  “Yes, unfortunately I do.”

  “I’ll see that you pay the minimum fee, for old times sake.”

  “I thank you, Camden.”

  “Are you just passing through or do you intend spending the night?”

  “We’re just passing through.”

  “A pity, Argon, we could have enjoyed a drink or two.”

  “You tempt me, Camden, but I have responsibilities.”

  “Where are you heading old friend?”

  “To Tursy, these are all pilgrims,” said Argon with a nod of his head to the rear.

  “To Tursy you say.” Camden moved closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t camp in the fields, camp up against the hills where the timber is thickest. You grasp my drift old friend. There are rumours. The king has been talking of doing something about Tursy.”

  Argon peered down into the concerned eyes of his old comrade. “I appreciate the warning.”

  Camden backed away and turned to his men. “Clear the bridge, this caravan goes through first,” he roared.

  Mica could not help but scour the faces of the soldiers looking for the men she sought, but they were not there. That would have been too easy. She gave Gabriel one of her silver coins to pay the toll. It caused him to raise his eyebrows slightly.

  “Have you no other coin?” he asked.

  “No, it is all I have,” said Mica softly from beneath the hood.

  The young man collecting the toll also raised his eyebrows at the sight of a silver coin, as most of the people were poor and only had coppers. Only the rich had silver coins. The toll keeper looked across at his captain who gave him a sour and threatening look. He returned to his work, gave Gabriel his change and bid him farewell.

  The coins had belonged to her parents. The Lothian soldiers had missed the small cache hidden in a secret compartment beneath one of the wagons. Mica had known it was there, had seen her parents extract the money when they needed some. She had collected it that day and it had remained hidden beneath the floor of the hut for fifteen years. Now it would fund the quest to find her origins.

  “If you have more of those silver coins, I would suggest that you change them somewhere for coppers,” said Gabriel as he passed her the coppers they had received in change.

  She thought of the gold coins hidden in the sleeves in the top of her boots. If the silver coins attracted attention, what would gold coins do? She would have to be careful from now on, passing a silver coin had been a mistake. She was drawing attention to herself, to Gabriel and the caravan.

  “Where does one change coins, discretely?” she asked.

  “There are money changers in the cities, but they charge a large fee. The priests of Tursy may be able to change them for you. Between the bandits and the king it’s risky business being rich. Although there are many who have his favour and take great delight in showing off their wealth and status.”

  Once clear of the town Mica removed the cape.

  The road was wider now and was even paved with stone in places. Trees lined the right hand side of the road. The river, tumbling fast and foaming white around the rapids was on their left. The whispering sound of the water was soothing to the ear. Mica found herself drifting off as the warmth of the midday sun filtered through her clothes.

  That evening in the flickering light of the fire Mica retrieved the brown-leather book with its intricately carved patterns from her pack. It was a book of fairy tales and on the inside of the cover was written Mica’s name and birth date and an inscription. It said: To Mica, may this book bring you much happiness, your grandmother, Chantel. Today was her twenty-second birthday.

  “What have you there?” asked Gabriel.

  “A book of fairy tales, it’s all I have from my past along with the sword.”

  “May I have a look?”

  “Mica closed the book and handed it to Gabriel.”

  “I cannot read myself, but I know a good quality book when I see one,” he said, flicking through the pages and peering at the pictures. “Fairy tales.”

  “Adar’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Mica read to Adar, Adar love fairy tales.”

  Elijah put out his hand; he wanted to look at the book as well.

  “It would fetch a good price,” said Gabriel as he passed the book on to Elijah.

  “It’s not for sale,” said Mica sharply.

  “No, I didn’t expect it would be.”

  Elijah opened the cover. He saw the inscription and Mica’s birth date, he lifted his eyes, Mica was watching him but he said nothing as he slowly turned the pages, studying the writing and looking at the pictures. He was looking for a clue, any clue that might hint at the origins of the book. One thing was sure, it was not of this land, the stories he had never heard and the quality of the writing and the paper was far beyond anything he had ever seen in Islabad.

  “Yes, it is a fine book.” He gave it back to Mica.

  “Will you read to me, Mica?”

  Mica stared at the big bulky frame of Adar. He was a child in a man’s body. “Yes, but you had better inform the children, they may as well hear a story as well.”

  Adar scurried of and soon returned with a group of seven or eight children who immediately gathered around Mica. Some had small wooden seats to sit on while others just sat on the ground, their smiles and chattering mirrored their cheerfulness.

  Gabriel and Elijah sat quietly as Mica began reading. They were all enjoying the classic story of a prince and princess who were threatened by an evil dragon. Not a sound was heard from the children as Mica read on.

  For the first time since meeting Mica, Elijah saw her smile, saw her open up; this was a far different woman to the one he had first met. He sensed tenderness, compassion and an inner contentment in her as she read to the children. This was the true Mica, the real person that she should be, not some roaming and vengeful warrior.

  Much to
the children’s annoyance Mica only read one story but she promised them that she would read one story every night until they reached Tursy. This seemed to make them happy as they rushed off to tell their parents.

  “You have won some hearts there,” said Elijah.

  “Only for tonight, Elijah, who knows what will happen tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”

  “Good night, Mica.”

  “What did she mean by that?” asked Gabriel as he poked at the fire with a stick.

  “Mica’s life has been one of loss. She doesn’t see any happiness for herself. Like all of us she has her dreams but as you know some dreams never come true,” said Elijah, recalling that the people in Cragmoor had feared Mica, feared the fact that she was supposed to have the Sight. Was she predicting that something would happen tomorrow?”

  “That I can well understand; dreams are not easy to come by in this land.”

  “Very true, Gabriel, very true.”

  That afternoon Mica had felt uneasy, but she had dismissed it as nothing, but now she felt the same uneasiness. She slept with the sword by her side as she always did.

  The next day Mica refused to ride in the wagon. She walked with Adar and carried her unstrung bow and quiver of arrows. Elijah, who was riding in the wagon, had detected the tension in her. Now he too, felt uneasy. The road here was well worn. Sparsely growing trees lined the edge of the road where they occasionally thickened. It was these places where Elijah focused his attention, if someone was going to attack them it would come from these thickets. Argon and one his men were riding up in front of the caravan, the other man was scouting ahead.

  It was around midday when Elijah saw the scout ride back at some pace to meet Argon. They stopped the horses. The scout was gesturing and pointing further up the road. Something was wrong. He saw Mica string her bow and notch an arrow. Argon rode back to them.

  “Bandits further up the road,” he yelled. “Close up the wagons and everyone who has a weapon is to arm himself. It may not come to fight but we should be prepared.”

  Adar and Mica walked to the front of the wagons. Elijah felt for his dagger and Gabriel retrieved an old sword from under the seat of the wagon.

  “I haven’t used this in years,” said Gabriel, “it’s more of a deterrent than anything.”

  “What are the chances they will attack?”

  “They will palaver first and then try to intimidate us into paying them a toll while the rest of the bandits surround the caravan. They will assess us; see if we are easy pickings.”

  “How often does the extreme happen?”

  “Not very often, but it does happen. Mostly the caravans pay the toll.”

  “We have already paid one toll.”

  “Yes, it’s most unusual to have to pay two.”

  “Maybe they are looking for their two friends that Mica killed.”

  “You could be right, Elijah.”

  They continued on at a much slower speed. The wagons had moved closer together. Argon rode up front with his two men and all three had their shields up and swords drawn. Mica and Adar followed behind. As they rounded the bend in the road they saw four men seated on horses, armed and looking dangerous, blocking their way. Argon came to a halt some twenty paces from the horsemen.

  One of the men who was short and dumpy with long black hair and a red bandana tied around his neck, held a lance in his hand. He lowered the lance, pointing it at them. “Good day to you, sir,” he said politely and with confidence.

  It was then that Mica strode forward of Argon and into view. She planted her feet firmly on the dusty ground and turned side on to the men so as to lessen herself as a target. She withdrew three arrows from her quiver and stuck them in the ground in front of her so that she could reach them quickly and easily. She said nothing, her actions and her stance was enough to inform the bandits of her intentions.

  Four arrows, four men, the implication was not lost on the bandit chief as he stared at the fine young woman, her face showing no fear. Was she good enough he wondered? He had no doubt that her first arrow would be aimed at him.

  “And good day to you, sir,” replied Argon, equally polite and now a little more confident with Mica standing in front of him. If Mica was as good with the bow as she was with the sword then the four men didn’t have a chance, she would kill them all if they tried to attack. The only thing that had him worried was how many other men there might be in the trees.

  “I’m missing two of my men, you wouldn’t have happened to seen them by any chance?” he asked, deciding to keep the conversation low key and not provoke the young woman with the bow.

  “We have seen no others than those at Tumult,” replied Argon.

  “No other travellers?”

  “None, sir.”

  There was a moment of stillness, the bandit leader’s horse neighed and tugged at its reins. He stared at Mica. The bow was drawn back and her eyes fixed on him. In less than a second he could be dead.

  “What is your name, woman.”

  “Mica,” she replied.

  “I will remember you.”

  He turned his horse, took one long last look at Mica and then rode off into the forest with his men.

  “That was close,” said Argon as he lowered his shield and sheathed his sword.

  Very few men when faced with their own death will not throw the dice.

  Mica lowered the bow, unstrung it and retrieved her arrows. She had gambled that the bandit leader would not risk his life.

  With each day, with each passing hour, Argon was beginning to find further respect for this young woman, she was brave, fearless, and last night she had read from a book for the children. What more would this startling young woman reveal of herself in the coming days.

  That night Mica read to the children again. One little girl with long, dark hair down to her shoulders, brown eyes and an inquisitive nature, was always asking questions of Mica. Her name was Robin, she was about six or seven.

  “Where did you learn to read?” she asked one evening when the story had finished and most of the children had gone back to their wagons.

  “My master taught me.”

  “Was he a good man?”

  “Yes, he was a very good man.”

  “Could you teach me to read?”

  “We would have to ask your parents.”

  With that Robin took hold of Mica’s hand. “Let’s go and see them now.”

  Mica followed Robin as they made their way through the circle of fires to a small covered wagon where sat a young rounded woman with short dark hair. Beside her sat her husband, a thin man with soft features and blond hair. He was sipping at a bowl of soup. The woman looked up at Mica then shifted her eyes to Robin.

  “I hope she hasn’t been annoying you, she can prattle on at times,” said the woman as she stood up.

  “Mother, Mica is going to teach me to read.”

  “I told her that we would ask you first,” added Mica.

  The man looked up at Mica. “My wife and I were never blessed with schooling as our families could never afford it. To have Robin learn would be wonderful. Do you have the time though?”

  “I will make time, each evening. If I’m going to teach Robin then I may as well teach all the children, maybe you could spread the word for me.”

  “Yes, we will certainly do that,” replied the woman. “We haven’t met before, although we’ve heard a lot about you, my name is Kate and my husband’s name is Alex.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  Mica let go of Robin’s hand. She was beaming from ear to ear. “I’m so happy.”

  “Till tomorrow then,” said Mica leaving the firelight.

  The next evening Mica had all the children circled around her, along with Adar and some of the parents.

  “It seems you have been superseded my friend.”

  Elijah peered across the top of the fire at the smiling happy group. “It’s good for the children and it will be good for Mica, she n
eeds to broaden her mind and to find her real self. She has not had the opportunity to mix with any other people other than those in the village where she lived.”

  “It seems strange to me that you would take her to a village and leave her there all these years.”

  Elijah knew that Gabriel was probing, it might just be curiosity and it might not, but he was beginning to like Gabriel. He seemed honest and was not beyond criticizing Thomas Letcher’s rule, which was enough to land you in one of his dungeons if you were overheard by the wrong people.

  “The village was a safe haven. It was out of the way and soldiers very rarely visited. She grew up there, she learned to read and write and how to defend herself.”

  “You must have trusted her tutor well.”

  “He was a good man, a man of many talents.”

  “As is Mica,” said Gabriel, looking across at the young woman seated amid the children.

  “Yes, I’m beginning find that out for myself.”

  * * *

  On finding out that the king was sending an army of two thousand light cavalry to Tursy the king’s spy found it easy to attach himself to the supply train. An army needed food, water, clothing and footwear. Someone to sharpen and repair their weapons, horseshoes and organise grain for the horses, this left the cavalry free to concentrate on their objective.

  He knew the king had been pondering over the problem of Tursy for some time. He hated the priests and felt that they were using the flag, the ancient stories of the Shadow Walker to unite the people. Each year more and more pilgrims arrived at Tursy. It looked like the king was about to do something about it, there would be blood on the fields of Tursy once again.

  The king would expect him to mingle with the remnants that were left at Tursy as there was sure to be a revolt of sorts. There would be those that would speak out, those that may even take up arms. He would supply all their names to the king.

  Goran led his cavalry at an easy but steady pace, there was no hurry. The priests and the pilgrims were going nowhere, they would be there when he arrived in one-and-half weeks time. He had chosen to use his light cavalry because they were more maneuverable than foot soldiers and more threatening to large crowds who might just overwhelm ordinary soldiers.