Mica took heart at his compliment. For some reason she liked this stranger, felt comfortable in his presence. She still held the dress in her left hand. He tilted his head; she knew he had seen the dress, was even now looking at it.
“You have acquired a dress?”
“It was given to me by Melissa.”
“The horse trader’s daughter, she is a fine young woman.”
This hooded man seemed to know quite a few people here, seemed to know what was going on. He also knew that Mica had made an escape route across the marsh. Was he watching them during the day from some other alias?
“You seem to be well informed.”
“I have been watching over this place, these people, for a long time.” He paused and lifted his head slightly. “I would like to see you wearing that dress.”
“I’m not sure if I will ever wear it.”
“Where do you intend to go if you have to use your escape route?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Into the high country, into the mountains.”
“It is the wrong time of the year to be going into the mountains.”
“If the Lothians come and there is fighting we will have little choice.”
He said nothing for a moment, his hand reached for his chin. It was obvious he was thinking something over. “There is a place called Santomine, you should inquire of it, it is north of here along the High Mountain Road.” He turned sharply and was about to walk away when Mica spoke.
“Will I see you again?”
“Yes, of that you can be assured,” he said, without turning his head. Then he walked off and was quickly swallowed by the darkness.
On arriving back at the camp Mica found everyone asleep, she put the dress safely away in her pack and snuggled down into her own rough bed of fern and straw. She pulled her one and only blanket around her shoulders. It was hard for her to believe that in a little over two weeks she had killed two men, had faced danger and death, found new solace in the children of the camp, had new friends and had met a Shadow Walker, even though he denied his own existence.
* * *
The next morning Mica busied herself doing some washing. Her clothes were dusty, grimy and sweat stained. The men had taken one of the wagons down to the river and filled up the casks with fresh water. Kate had a washing tub, which she lent to Mica and of course Robin had to help. As Mica washed, Robin hung her clothes on the lowered rope between the wagons.
Gabriel and Adar had gone into Tursy to sell and maybe buy some more goods as their stock was getting low. While she was washing, Elijah came over to speak to her. “I’m going into Tursy later, do you want to come with me and have a look around?”
“Yes, but we will have to wait until some of my clothes are dry,” said Mica, who was only dressed in a pair of thin black trousers and a white singlet that exposed more of her flesh than was normally seen.
“Yes of course, we can’t have you going into town dressed like that, could we?” You will have all the men chasing you.”
“That I can do without,” said Mica as she began washing the rest of her clothes. The sun was out and along with a gentle breeze her clothes would be dry in a couple of hours.
“Where are you going?” enquired Mica as they made their way through the outer fringes of the town.
“I’m going to the inn, I need to do what I do best, tell some stories and earn some coppers. You might wish to visit the church and talk to the priests about changing your silver.”
As they strolled along the road, Mica saw that the garrison’s soldiers had returned from chasing bandits and were even now checking on people. It was the soldiers she wanted to see for she was looking for two men, two very distinctive men. Her eyes were searching all the time.
They passed a group of soldiers standing at one of the arched stone gates leading to the centre of town. Mica searched the faces, but failed to find her foes, that would have been too easy she thought to herself. Some of the men were looking back at her. She gave them an icy stare and let her hand rest on the hilt of her sword as they continued on. They were not challenged.
The road here was paved and the buildings two-storey high with a combination of thatched and split paling roofs. Washing hung from the open windows of the top floors above the shops flapped gently in the breeze. As they moved closer to the centre of town, towards the market place, the crowds became thicker. Mica was jostled and bumped. She had never seen so many people in one place before. Carts and horsemen were trying to make their way along the road only to be impeded by the mass of people. When they came to the town square, the crowds were even more dense, they were only able to move at a snail’s pace. She followed Elijah through the square. He seemed to know where he was going. “Is it always like this?” asked Mica with some frustration.
“When the pilgrims are here, yes,” he replied, making his way into a side street where he stopped outside a grey-weathered timber building. The painted sign hanging over its door indicating it was the Red Dragon. A couple of drunken soldiers came out the door staggering as they left. Mica could hear the bawdy singing and was aware of the smell of stale beer as it wafted out the door.
“You had better not come in here; I’ll see you back at the camp later tonight. Follow this street and take the first turn to the right, you will see the church on a slight rise.”
Mica made her way down the street, taking in all the sights, the houses in neat rows, the children running about the streets and the smells of cooking. She passed a couple of women standing in the street; they stared at her. That she stood out didn’t worry Mica. She was who she was meant to be and nothing more. That she wore men’s clothes and carried a sword and a knife didn’t matter to her because it was her way of showing defiance, a way of giving warning to those who would dare challenge her.
The church, a rectangular building of grey stone, had a spire at the front with a belfry and arched doors at its base. It looked rather small to Mica. Surrounding the church were other buildings of stone. She could see stables, cottages and a large hall. There were men wearing coarse rustic-brown robes, with swords at their sides, moving about at the entrance to the stable. She noticed that all the men had the same style haircut, the pudding cut she knew it as, a bland unstylish shape that did them no favours. They were unloading a heaped wagon of bundled straw.
She approached the men. One of them, thin faced, tall and good looking saw her first. He stopped what he was doing and peered at her with glittering amusement in his eyes. “May I be of assistance,” he asked in a pleasant voice.
“I’m told that I can change some silver here for coppers.”
“I think you have been misinformed.”
“I travel with Elijah the storyteller and Gabriel the tinker; they told me of your business arrangements.”
Father Paul looked at the young woman before him with some intrigue, she was rather pretty. But why was she dressed as a man and carrying a sword and looking as if she could use it? He knew of the storyteller, he knew Gabriel the tinker. Every year he changed the tinker’s silver. He turned to one of the other priests.
“Father Adams, could you go to the market and find the tinker, ask him if he knows a certain young lady who wears a sword.”
Father Adams, a squat, middle-aged man, brushed the loose straw from his robe and left the barn and headed towards the market place.
“Forgive me for being distrustful, but there are those that would seek enrichment and favour by reporting any misdemeanor to the king’s men.”
“I understand.”
“I’m Father Paul, and this is Fathers Richard and Todd.”
Both of the men nodded to Mica as they continued to work.
“And your name is?”
“Mica.”
“I have seen women wearing men’s clothes but I’ve never seen a woman carrying a sword. Is there something you fear?”
“I fear no one. I wear a sword for good reason.”
“Like we all do. It is unfortunate
that this is so, it would be nice to be able to put down the sword and live in peace, would it not?”
“I’m afraid too much has happened, Father, too many crimes remain unpunished.”
“That is so true, Mica, so true. Would you like a drink of tea while we wait for Father Adams?”
“Yes, tea would be nice.”
Father Paul led her to the entrance to one of the tiny cottages and into a small smoke-stained room of timber. A fire smouldered beneath a blackened kettle. He bid her sit down at the wooden table that had seating for six people. “There are four of us living in the house at the moment, normally there are six, but we are rather shorthanded, we are needed in so many places,” said Father Paul, proceeding to make the tea.
“I’m led to understand that you guard the High Priests and the church.”
“For what little good it does, the king takes what he wants anyway. We used to have goblets, plates of gold and silver but the king confiscated them, along with all the lands we owned. The land enabled us to help the poor and the needy, to comfort them, but now we have nothing to give the people except hope and the promise of salvation.”
Mica sipped at her tea, it was hot and steamy. “I think there will be a lot more pain before there is any salvation, Father.”
“In that you are right, Mica.”
It was then that Father Adams joined them, his face red and his breath coming in gasps. “The tinker said she can be trusted and that we would do well to make her friendship.”
“Thank you, Father Adams.”
“It seems the tinker speaks well of you,” said Father Paul as Father Adams left the room.
“We have become good friends.”
“So you wish to exchange some silver for coppers. There is a small fee; it helps us in our hour of need.”
Mica had twenty silver coins in her pouch and twenty gold coins in the top of her boots. She would only change ten of the silver coins; otherwise her pouch would be far too heavy to carry. She retrieved the pouch from beneath her trousers; it was attached to her belt. She counted out the coins and put them on the table. Father Paul left the room to some other part of the house. He returned some minutes later with her bundle of coppers. “Are you here for the blessing or are just to exchange your coins?”
“I’m just here to exchange my coins, Father.”
“You have no faith?”
“I lost my faith when I was six-years old.”
“Maybe you will find it again in Tursy.”
“I think not, Father,” said Mica, sipping the last of her tea. She stood up to leave.
“Tomorrow the people will line up, be anointed with water from the stream by the High Priests. It will give them a sense of hope, of fulfillment and they will go away with a new fondness in their hearts.”
Should she tell this priest what she felt, what she feared? Would he understand her destiny, her instincts? No, she conceded, priests did not believe in the Sight, did not believe in anything else but their God. To them, every act had some reason, some hidden agenda that we as mere mortals would never be able to understand. These priests, she knew, would prefer to die protecting their beliefs rather than listen to the words of a stray urchin.
“You have your convictions, Father, and I have mine.”
“We may meet again, Mica, and then we can talk some more.”
“I doubt it, Father,” said Mica as she walked from the house.
* * *
Goran pulled at the reins of his horse and stopped as two riders in civilian clothing came toward him. They were scouts he had sent ahead to see how many people were in Tursy and if there were any obstacles to their mission that they should know about.
“Sir,” said the taller of the two men as they pulled their sweating horses up in a plume of dust. “There are at least fourteen or fifteen thousand people camped alongside the river, they will be easy to encircle.”
“And the town?”
“I have spoken to the garrison’s commander and he is going to seal off any escape routes on the other side of the town, including the northern road and the road to Darfor when we arrive.”
“Too easy, far too easy.”
“There is one more thing, it might be nothing, but there is a small group camped on the ridge to the right up against the forest.”
“We will deal with them separately.” Goran turned to Porta. “We’ll stop here tonight, no tents and no fires.”
The men began to alight from their horses as the order was passed down the line. Goran summoned his sergeants and Penner, they would need to discuss the tactics that they would employ in the grey dawn on the fields Tursy. “Penner, you are to take a hundred men, find the flag and burn it. If the priests resist kill them.”
“Do you want me to torch the church?”
“I really don’t care what happens to the church,” said Goran, knowing full well that Penner would take great delight in burning the church and killing the priests.
A smile creased Penner’s ugly face. “What about the town itself.”
“You will need somewhere to sleep, drink and whore after the killing, leave the town be.”
Goran turned to one of his sergeants, a tall thin fellow with a black beard flecked with grey. “Fodor, there is a small group encamped on the ridge. Take some men and slay the whole camp.”
“It shall be done, sir.”
He turned his attention to another of his sergeants. “Kemp, you are to take three hundred men straight into the centre of the main camp where the priests will be holding the blessings. Kill the priests.”
“What if the crowd resists, sir?”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you what your duty is, Sergeant, but I want no wholesale slaughter. We just need to leave a significant message. The rest of you will take your men and encircle the camp, any questions?”
No one spoke.
“Then sleep well and be prepared to move out at first light.”
* * *
Mica made her way through the town, past the inn where she could hear rowdy laughter and cursing. Elijah would be spinning them a tale, a tale to suit their depraved thoughts. She quickened her pace, not wishing to stay in town any longer than she had too. Some of the soldiers were already giving her leering looks and when she came to the gate one of the soldiers stood in front of her impeding her way. He was short, solid looking with a bull neck. He wore armour and a red plumed helmet and had a short fighting sword at his side. She felt his eyes travel over her body, his grey eyes lustful beneath thick bushy eyebrows.
His confidence was something she had seen many times when fronted with what men considered the weaker sex. “A wench wearing a sword, and a pretty one at that.”
Mica’s first instinct was to slay him. There were three more soldiers lounging up against the stone wall. She was confident that she could take all four if she had too. But this wasn’t the time for sword play; she needed to use her guile and femininity. They all wore short swords, useless in a duel, but deadly in the hands of experienced soldiers in close-order battle.
She smiled at the man in front of her and stepped back, giving herself some room just in case a fight ensued. “I was just beginning to think that there wasn’t a decent looking man in Tursy, but it is obvious I was wrong.”
“Well, finally,” he leered, “a woman who knows a real man when she sees one.”
His companion’s faces expressed surprise. One of them sniggered at his fellow soldier’s vanity. A second spoke up. “Cowdrey, you are so full of shit, the girl must be blind.”
He shifted his eyes toward the men who were now laughing at him. Mica knew that she had succeeded in distracting the men from their military responsibilities, away from the serious business of soldiering. But was it enough of a distraction for them to let her be? Cowdrey turned his eyes back to Mica, his expression had changed; the humour had disappeared. “What’s your name?”
“Mica.”
“I haven’t seen you here before.”
�
��No, this is my first time in Tursy, I’m here with my uncle, Elijah, the storyteller.”
“I know the storyteller but I never knew he had a niece.”
“Well, he could hardly take me on the road as a child, but now I am older he is educating me in the ways of the world.”
“We can educate you sweetheart,” said one of the men somewhat coarsely.
Mica moved her hand closer to her sword. The action was not lost on Cowdrey. “Quiet you morons,” he growled. “I hope you enjoy your stay here in Tursy,” he said, stepping aside and allowing her to pass.
“Thank you,” replied Mica as she gave the man her best smile and walked off.
He watched her, marveled at her beauty, she was a woman to be admired he thought to himself.
“You are getting soft in your old age, Cowdrey,” yelled the taller of the men.
He turned toward the men. “Fools, the lot of you, have any of you ever seen a woman wearing men’s clothes and carrying a sword like she was born to it before?”
No one said anything for they knew that their companion would get to the point eventually. “Didn’t any of you notice that she stepped back when I first confronted her? She was prepared to fight us, and I have a feeling that we would have been well out of our league,” he said, casting his eyes back down the road, watching the woman as she disappeared amid the throng of people, carts and cattle. He had seen this confidence before, this posturing on many men. It was the sign of a master swordsman.
Mica breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t wanted to fight it out. That would have been stupid. But she sensed that the man who had stopped her was no fool. He was a veteran, a man who had probably seen many battles, who had learned to recognise men and women by sight, able to appraise them and judge quickly. He had realised that she was no easy target. His instincts, his years of experience had probably just saved his life and that of his fellowmen.
On reaching the camp she was met by Robin, smiling, laughing and showing off the sewing she had been doing. It was only a piece of drab-grey cloth with some red and white patterns. She was so proud of her achievement.
The Orphan and the Shadow Walker Page 11
