For the last week the weather had been exceptional, fine sunny days and no wind. The only problem had been the dust stirred up by the large mass of moving men on the dry roads. A small shower of rain would be most welcome. Then, maybe he should not wish for rain as it would soon come. The nights were already becoming chilly.
Stag Penner was back there somewhere chewing dust, No Nose he was nicknamed by the men. Penner had been in a fight some years ago and his opponent had chopped off his nose. It had made him madder than ever, as it was a constant reminder to him of his failure. He didn’t intend to ever fail again. He was a surly sadistic bastard.
He heard a horse coming up behind him and as the rider drew alongside he saw that it was Penner. The hole where his nose should have been was prominent to the eyes of the onlooker and ugly in the extreme. Penner was near retirement age, but at fifty he still seemed to think that he had much more to give, much more to take, he was a looter, and outright murderer.
“I would suggest that we have a forward patrol,” he said in his gravelly nasal voice.
“No one is going to attack us,” he said, not looking at Penner.
“There are bandits in the area.”
Goran knew what Penner was up too. He would scout ahead, rob and kill any traveller on the road pretending they were bandits or some traitor he had been chasing for some time. To Penner it was some sort of sport, an entertainment that he craved. The peasants, the town folk were already becoming restless and more and more were speaking out against the regime. It would only take a spark, a valid reason for them to rise. He knew that Tursy could be that spark, could be the catalyst that might ignite the people. He was against this, but he had his orders.
“The bandits would be committing suicide and they know that.”
“The trouble with you, Goran, is that you have no balls and the king knows it.”
Goran’s temper flared, he stopped his horse and stared into the grimy ugly face of Stag Penner. “You and me, right here and now,” he said in a controlled manner. “You can choose the weapons.”
Stag Penner knew he was no match for Goran who was ten years younger, fitter and a very dangerous man to fight one to one. He had gone too far, that he now realised.
“Some other time perhaps.”
“You are too old Penner, your time is almost up. You are the one who doesn’t have any balls.”
The hatred in Penner’s eyes was like darts as he wheeled his horse around and rode back down the line of cavalry. Goran knew that this trip was a trap. The king was testing him. If all went well there would be no problems, but if he failed in any way Penner would see that the king was informed.
That evening Goran relaxed in his tent with his aid, confidant, and bodyguard, Porta, who served up his meal and then poured him out a generous portion of red wine.
“Take a drink for yourself. Porta, and sit with me awhile.”
Porta was from Treeland, recruited, shanghaied; whatever you liked to call it, into the Lothian army at the age of eighteen. In twelve years he had never been back home had never been back to see his parents and siblings. He was intelligent, trustworthy, and politically aware of what was going on. He could fight all day and still go back for more. He was a strong man with broad shoulders, dark curly hair and a square rugged face.
“I hear you and Penner had words?”
“Yes, I called him out, he declined.”
“You should be careful, sir, he has the king’s ear.”
“Only because he spies on his fellow country men and gives up their names. I suspect that most of them have more to do with Penner’s personal ambitions than that they are traitors.”
“Sadly, it is so, sir.”
They both sipped at their wine.
“What do you think about Tursy?” asked Goran.
“In one word, sir?”
“Yes.”
“A mistake.”
“That is exactly what I think. They will fight us.”
“But you will win the day, sir.”
“Yes, I have no doubt about that.”
“Killing the priests on the sacred ground will infuriate the peasants, the workers and the town people, they could unite against us.”
“To do that they would need a leader, and that is impossible, the king’s spies soon see to anyone who stands up to him.”
“There is always the Shadow Walker.”
“That is the stuff of legends, Porta.”
“Lets us pray that is so, sir. To your health,” he said, raising his glass.
The king’s spy had heard the rumour that was rife in the camp. Penner and Goran had had words; it had apparently almost come down to a fight. The king would know this, would have foreseen the tension between the two men. It was his way of testing his men, a way of finding out who he could rely on, who was the strongest and who he might have to be wary of.
Penner was more like the king, ruthless and uncaring, what he saw in Penner he saw in himself. He needed men like Penner, he also needed men like Goran. He was a brilliant tactical commander, none of the other generals came anywhere near him on the battlefield. This could be interesting he thought to himself, one of these men might not come back from Tursy.
* * *
Moving down from the north, the caravan’s journey passed without any further problems. They went through many towns, crossed a multitude of streams and rivers while Mica tutored and read to the children and Adar every night. On their final two days they climbed a steep winding road, a high open pass over the top of the mountains of Taffidor, supposedly named after a local chieftain in ancient times. Mica noticed the chill in the air as they climbed higher and higher, the wind became stronger and they spent a very cold night camped on top of the mountain. In the late afternoon of the second day the alpine road began to dip and they could see the low country some twenty or thirty miles away. It was the fields of Tursy they could see. It was then that Elijah pointed out the pass and the snow covered mountains of the White Glade to their right.
“That was where Armond was ambushed.”
“I don’t understand, Elijah, surely Armond must have known about the pass and suspected an ambush?”
“I’m sure he did but his scouts said the way was clear.”
“Betrayed do you think?”
“Yes, some of the men who were with him still reside in Darfor and they are now among the rich and famous and are stern allies of the king. Back then, I think the writing was on the wall. Steppland was the last unconquered province. It was only a matter of time, so many switched sides.”
“And what about Edmond, where is he?”
“Like I told you in the story, he has never been seen since.”
“What about his mother, did she escape?”
“Some say she lives high in the mountains, others say she died in the attack on the palace at Darfor.”
As they came down off the mountain they could clearly see the dry grassy plains of Tursy, the town itself was situated on a small river. Mica could see the spires of the church in the middle of the town. It was there where the Shadow Walker’s flag was kept. People were already camped on the plain to the south west of the town and as close to the river as they could so they didn’t have to carry their water too far.
Tursy was much larger than most of the other towns and villages that they had passed through, with perhaps around three or four thousand people while the small villages that they had passed through only numbered in the hundreds. The church spire in the town centre dominated the skyline while along the main road were several inns, shops and a cobblestoned market place.
Argon led them through the town, over the small stone bridge and on to the other side where he called the caravan to a halt and then rode back down toward them with his men. He stopped at Gabriel’s wagon. “My work is done here Gabriel. I would suggest that you make camp to the right up against the trees, shady there and far safer than being out in the open. You might pass the word on.”
“That I wi
ll, Argon.”
Argon shifted his gaze to Mica who was seated next to Gabriel. At first he had just seen her as a young woman to be lusted after but gradually as he learnt of her talents, her deadly abilities and saw her with the children, he changed his mind. If he had ever had a daughter he would have liked her to be as Mica was, strong, beautiful and gifted with a personality that shone as strong as the blazing sun. He had overheard Elijah say that Mica was infectious. He concurred with that, she left her stamp on everyone she met. He didn’t fully believe the story of Mica’s origins, it could be true, but he felt that there was more to it, far more. Without her the bandits might have attacked them, he owed her.
“Mica, it has been a pleasure to know you.”
“And I to know you, Argon.”
“A word of warning, there is evil afoot.”
Back when Elijah had first asked her where she wanted to go, she had suggested Tursy, for what reason she did not know. But as they came closer, nearer to the fields she knew that she was meant to come here. That somehow this place was to be a turning point in her destiny. At the same time something deep within her mind was telling her to flee, there was danger in Tursy. Argon had just confirmed her suspicions.
“Evil lurks everywhere, Argon.”
“Farewell to you all then. We may meet again if God wills it.”
Argon and his two men rode on into the town where they would find an inn and sate their thirst and spend the first day away from the caravan in a drunken stupor. It was what they always did, drank, ate, and whored until the money ran out. Then they looked for another caravan to escort.
They left their horses at the livery stable and paid the stableman’s son, a scruffy looking teenager, to water, bed and feed their horses for the next two days. After that they would more than likely have no money left.
The inn was dark and gloomy with tiny, smoke stained windows covered with boards in some places where they had been broken. The earthen floor had a sprinkling of freshly lain sawdust that still had the scent of pine sap; rather pleasant to the nose. Later when it became soaked in beer, vomit and blood from the many fights it would stink to high heaven.
The publican, a man named Ed Lowry, was a giant of a man and very wide across the shoulders. Some called him fat, but the man was all muscle. He was tall, well over six foot, his black curly hair hanging down over his back, his black beard and moustache so thick that one could barely see his coarse mouth. He was a mean son-of-a-bitch, would fight over anything. It paid to be very carful what you said to him, and you dare not argue with him.
“Argon,” he said as his dark brown eyes ringed by bushy eyebrows latched onto the threesome, “back again from escorting the weak and troublesome.”
“It’s a living, Ed. You don’t mind taking our money.”
“I don’t mind taking any man’s money,” he laughed loudly. Ed was in a good mood. Who wasn’t in the town of Tursy! The influx of thousands of people was good for business.
Argon slapped some coins on the counter. “Drinks for myself and my two friends, I hope you have plenty of beer because we’re going to drink you dry.”
“Never in a million years could you do that, Argon.”
“No, but we’re going to have a damn good try.”
* * *
Some of those in the caravan wanted to camp with the rest of the pilgrims on the field and would not be swayed, but Gabriel and Mica, who were both aware of Argon’s warning, managed to convince some of the others to camp on the high ground near the forest. Mica had visited the parents of the children, told them that it would be far safer for the children if they set up camp near the trees. She could never forgive herself if something should happen to the children or their parents.
Mica had the eight wagons formed into a funnel with a small opening facing the fields and the larger end to the edge of the forest. If someone came to attack them they would have to come through the small opening, which could be easily defended, while the women and children could flee into the forest. It was just a precaution she told them. It was better to be safe than sorry.
There were three families in the group, each with a wagon; Kate and Alex with their daughter Robin, Mary and John with the two blond-haired children, Paul and Clare. Then there was Simon and Ivy with their four children, two girls and two boys. How they all fitted into the wagon at night had Mica baffled. The rest of the wagons consisted of a young recently married couple who only had eyes for each other, a middle-aged bachelor who kept to himself, and two middle-aged couples. And of course there was Gabriel’s bright red wagon.
Of the ten men in the camp about six or seven were young and fit enough to fight if they had too. She would have to talk to them later and find out what fighting skills they had. Also she would need a retreat plan if they had to leave in a hurry. Tomorrow she would scout the land behind them for an escape route. Elijah came to her as she stood looking around, studying the ground about them. “You look worried, Mica.”
“Yes I am, Elijah, Argon had a reason to warn us.”
“You are expecting trouble?”
“I feel it in my bones, Elijah. I have seen no soldiers, where are they?”
Elijah looked down towards the river and on to the township. The soldiers were always here, had been for the last fifteen years, haranguing the crowds, looking for traitors, looking for excuses to beat up people. It was the priests who ultimately kept them at bay; the intermediary priests were excellent swordsmen. They were necessary as they guarded the church’s treasures, when they had some. But in this case their only treasure was the flag of the Shadow Walker. They also protected the unarmed High Priests. The king had never provoked the priests, preferring to have them in his pocket by means of bribes and subtle threats. They in turn knew that they owed their continued existence to the whim of the king and played his game while helping the people as much as they could.
Elijah knew that Tursy had become a central meeting point. To the people and the church this place was a sacred site and the priests had protected it for fifteen years. Too many pilgrims came here now. To have twelve to fifteen thousand people together was dangerous.
Tursy was becoming a danger to itself. The king surely could not let this go on for much longer. He along with everyone else had feared the flag, feared the stories of the Shadow Walkers. But after fifteen years with nothing happening, the soldiers, the well-to-do and the king did not believe anymore and were fast becoming unafraid of the old tales. The only ones who still believed were the down-trodden people. The priests prayed with them and they went away with a new found eagerness in their minds, most never achieving any salvation. The bandits had seen to that, along with the king’s tax collectors. But Tursy gave them some hope, something to cling to.
In past pilgrimages Elijah had learnt to keep his thoughts to himself as the king had spies in the crowd. If anyone spoke up against the king or talked of insurrection they were quickly located and arrested by the soldiers, their fate sealed. “You’re right, Mica. Normally they would be here directing the crowds, searching them, conferring with their spies and looking down their lists for wanted men and women.”
“I have set up camp so that we can easily escape through the forest if we have to.”
“A wise move, we should talk to everyone and work out a plan so if something happens we are ready.”
“My very thoughts,” replied Mica as she cast her eyes around the campsite.
Adar was collecting wood from the forest as were the other men. The women were setting up their sites for a longer stay than normal. Some of the seven children were helping their parents; some were laughing and playing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Mica had become attached to these children and now felt some responsibility toward them.
“I’m going down into the camp, why don’t you join me Mica?” suggested Elijah
Mica knew that it would be better for her to go into the camp with Elijah by her side. It would give her some sort of credence as many would lo
ok on her with suspicion.
They began the walk down the gently sloping hill. The long grass was dry, yellow and slippery beneath their feet.
“How long have you been coming here, Elijah?”
“It seems like forever, fifteen years in fact.”
Mica was somewhat surprised at this; fifteen years put Elijah here at the battle of Tursy. “You were here at the battle?”
“Yes, I fought with Armond.”
“So the story you tell is not just hearsay.”
“Well, I enhance it a bit to make it more interesting to the listeners, the gist of the story is true.”
They had reached the first tents, the first wagons. Some people glanced at them, while others took no notice. “Did you know Edmond?”
“No, I never met him personally, but I saw him all the time. He was a handsome lad, broad shoulders, tall, dark hair and blue eyes. He was kind to his people, friendly with his soldiers, they adored him. If there was ever a man worthy of being a king it was him.”
“Is that why you followed him and his father into battle?”
“Part of the reason. Twenty years ago I had a family, a wife and children, they were taken from me by the Lothian soldiers. I never saw them again and I had to flee for my life. I was betrayed by my brother.”
“So you sought revenge.”
“I’m not sure what I sought, what I hoped to achieve by enlisting in an army that was going nowhere. Steppland was surrounded by defeated provinces. We really didn’t have a chance. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for the flag and for the mist that suddenly came down. Both aided my escape.”
“Elijah, you old rogue,” came a rowdy deep voice from within the crowd. A short obese man with a whiskery, ruddy face wrapped his thick arms around Elijah.
“Martin Burrows, you old devil,” said Elijah in instant recognition. They separated. Martin’s hand rested on Elijah’s shoulder.
The Orphan and the Shadow Walker Page 8
