They both stared at each other. It was then that two soldiers brought Melissa to her. Melissa’s clothes were torn and her hair ruffled, there were smudges of dirt on her face and fear in her eyes.
“You are safe, Melissa, climb onto the horse, we’re leaving.”
Melissa climbed up onto the horse without saying a word. Mica joined her. “Goodbye, General, I fear your journey home is going to be a long one.”
Goran watched her ride away, the soldiers parting to let her through. “Send a message to the king, Porta, tell him that Penner has been slain in the fighting, the flag has been burnt and the priests killed. The pilgrims have been punished and will be dispersed and that we are on our way back.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
Mica followed the road at a steady gallop. Once they were clear of the town she stopped and helped Melissa from the horse. Melissa fell into her arms crying. “They killed, Father,” she sobbed. ”And they… they raped me. It was horrible Mica. I’ll not be married now, I’m not pure.”
Mica did not know what to say as she recalled the day when she killed the two bandits. They were going to rape her that was for sure. How would she have felt if it had actually happened? “You still have your family and I’m sure your real friends will stand by you.”
“I feel so ashamed, so dirty.”
“You have no reason to be, it was not of your doing. Now dry those eyes, I can’t have you going back into the camp in tears, it will upset the children.”
They climbed back onto the horse and rode further along the road, Melissa’s arms around Mica and her head resting on her back. They rode in silence. Mica let her thoughts go back to the moment when her sword had made the final death blow, when Penner had known it was the end and had seen the figure of the wild boar on the blade. He knew who she was, knew about the sword. If he knew her then the other man, the leader of the soldiers who had helped slay her parents would know as well. When she found this man she would not be so quick with her sword, she would find out what the man knew first.
She shifted her thoughts to Melissa, to the people waiting for her. What was she going to do with them? It would be foolhardy for her to take them into the mountains during the winter. She was going to the place called Santomine because the man had told her she would be safe there. She knew in her own mind that it was where she had to go to fulfill her destiny, just as she had known that she had to leave the village and go to the fields of Tursy. Her instincts, the Sight, had led her to her enemy and allowed her to have her revenge. It would be so into the future, she had to follow those instincts.
They came to a stand of trees. “This is where we leave the horse,” said Mica as she leapt to the ground.
“Why are you letting a perfectly good horse go,” enquired Melissa as she stood beside Mica, now having settled down somewhat.
“He doesn’t belong to me. I borrowed him from the Shadow Walker.”
“What are you talking about, Shadow Walkers don’t exist. They are the stuff of legends, of times gone by.”
“They were until now.” She urged the horse away. He peered at her for a moment, snorted and raised his head as if acknowledging her. Then he galloped off.
“I presume Peter is still alive, seeing you didn’t mention him,” said Mica as she began climbing up the steep slope with Melissa following her.
“I managed to speak to him last night, although I was not in the right mind to listen to him. Even so, I recall him telling me that they were keeping him as a bargaining chip. Father had a contract to supply horses to the Lothians.”
“Peter will be rescued along with all the others they have taken, I can assure you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How will your mother react to your father’s death?”
“She will mourn him greatly,” she said softly. “They will not see one horse. She will see that they are dispersed across the land. It will take the Lothians months to round them up.”
Mica was pleased that Melissa was showing some anger, some fighting spirit, it would help her get over the trauma of what had happened to her.
Mica paused to catch her breath. “Melissa, have you ever heard of a place called Santomine?”
“Yes, it is a mythical place, a place that supposedly belongs in the spirit world, some say it exists and others say it is pure imagination.”
“It had better exist because that’s where I’m going?”
The previous evening when Mica had tethered the Shadow Walker’s horse in the clearing away from the camp with some water and grain, she had told no one about the horse, about what she was going to do. She knew that Elijah and Gabriel would have tried to talk her out of what she intended to do. That was why she had left in the early hours of the morning. They would now be worried about her, but it couldn’t be helped.
As she approached the camp it was Elijah who saw them first. His eyes showed anger but when he saw Melissa they softened. “Where have you been, Mica? Everyone has been worried about you.”
“I’ve been into Tursy and as you can see, I managed to rescue Melissa.”
It was then that everyone began gathering around, even the children. Robin was there too, clamouring for Mica’s attention. All of them were asking questions of her.
“Everyone, this is Melissa, she will be coming with us. Kate, take Melissa and find her something clean to wear.”
“How did you get into Tursy and past the guards?” asked Argon as Adar handed her a mug of hot tea.
“Thank you Adar. I borrowed a horse and I had the flag of the Shadow Walker to protect me.” She sipped at the tea as they all stared at her.
“Where did you get the flag of the Shadow Walker?” asked Elijah.
“He gave it to me along with the horse.”
“Are you trying to tell us that you are on speaking terms with a Shadow Walker?”
“Yes, Elijah, your story now has substance.”
“We have to spread the word,” said Gabriel. “We have to let everyone know. It will light the flames of rebellion and give the people new hope.”
“Yes, it could very well do that, Gabriel,” said Mica.
“Have you made any decisions on what we are going to do, Mica,” asked Elijah.
Mica looked around at the multitude of faces, at the concern and worry. “I have my own journey to take and it does not involve all of you. It would best if we went our separate ways.”
“But is it safe for us to go back onto the roads?” asked Stan.
“Maybe I should answer that,” said Argon. “Eventually they are going to have to let the people go and I would think that this will happen today or tomorrow. The roads are going to be flooded with people and it will be quite safe to travel. With so many on the roads the bandits will have no chance and if the soldiers are looking for us it will hard for them to find us among the crowd.”
“It is time to make our up our minds where we are all going. I’m heading west, through the gates and on to the High Mountain Road and into the land of the Manutes. “You can either come with me or go back north along the main road.”
With some murmuring the group made their decisions. Ivy and Simon with their four children would go with Mica as far as the gates as they were heading to Darfor. Stan and Lucy, Gabriel, Adar and Elijah would follow her into the land of the Manutes, the rest of the group would head north along the main road.
Kate returned at that moment with Melissa, now dressed in men’s clothing and looking a little better with some colour back in her cheeks.
“I would like to go with you, Mica,” said Melissa.
“No, Melissa. You need to go home, to be with your mother.”
Mica turned to Argon. “Argon, would you lead these people back up the north road and see that Melissa arrives safely in Moorland.”
“If that is your wish, Mica,” said Argon, somewhat reluctantly.
“We will meet again in the spring, Argon. I will come to Moorland.
”
“You will come to Moorland?” asked Melissa, somewhat surprised.
“Of course, how could I not after everything you have told me about the place.”
Mica saw Melissa smile. She would be all right with time, although she would always carry the scars of Tursy.
* * *
The king’s spy led the three horses as quietly as he could through the camp in the grey predawn. Smoke still spiraled from the embers of the many campfires. Some of the soldiers had the luxury of tents, others with less finances huddled on the ground beneath their blankets. There was no wind. It seemed to him to be a strange stillness, quite eerie in fact as he shuddered from the cold. Or was it something else? He was leaving, it was time for him to mingle with the pilgrims, to follow the king’s orders.
Yesterday he had seen the young woman slay the evil Penner, no great loss there. But he was greatly intrigued. Who was she? And where did she learn to fight like that? He had been close enough to hear Penner’s dying words. In his death he had recognised the young woman. It was obvious to him and to everyone else that this was a matter of revenge, of a crime from the past, of some conspiracy. She was apparently the same woman who had slain a group of soldiers sent to their camp and then had fled across the marsh.
He could not help but admire the young woman. She had ridden into the camp showing no fear and carrying the flag of the Shadow Walker. This also had him intrigued. Where had she obtained the flag? It was supposed to have been missing from the church where it was hidden. Had she taken the flag from the church? He, like everyone else had grown up with the stories of the Shadow Walker. There wasn’t a man on this field that did not hold some silent fear, even though like him, they tried not to show it.
The woman he would have to find or follow. Maybe he could even join her small band of fleeing pilgrims. They would be looking for horses and he had two spare horses. She could lead him to this supposed Shadow Walker, a worthy prize for the king, and worth much gold.
He weaved his way through the camp slowly and cautiously, his eyes searching for the guards. Where were they? He hadn’t seen any at all. Were they asleep as well? He made his way onto the path leading from the camp, his eyes still searching the gloom.
Then he saw them. He almost let out a cry of alarm as his terrified eyes stared at the scene before him. Now he understood why there were no guards about. On the ground in front of him were seven severed heads, six were arranged in a circle and one was placed neatly in the centre. He immediately understood the significance of the arrangement. Each head represented the head of each province of Islabad, the one in the centre represented the king. She had warned them that he would come.
He crossed himself and then quickly made his way past the gruesome sight. This was something that the king had not foreseen. This could give the people a reason to rise up in rebellion. He was nervous and frightened as he made his way into the town where he hid the horses in an abandoned stable. The plan was to wait here until the cavalry left and the people began to move away, then he would join them on the crowded roads. He was glad that he had made his move. He wouldn’t want to be with the cavalry on their way back to Lothia, especially now a Shadow Walker had risen from the past.
Goran stood staring down at the scene before him. “Seven heads, sir, seven provinces, it is a warning.”
“I fear it is so, Porta,” said Goran as he lifted his eyes and cast them over the fields, over the town and the soldiers and pilgrims that were gathering to see the heads, to view the last shocked and surprised expressions frozen on the faces of those who had been slain.
Goran now felt his own fear. What had they started here? Was this the beginning of a new age? He knew the Shadow Walker would give the people confidence and a sense of direction. His only thought was to leave, to reach the sanctity of the Lothian borders. He would be safe there. “Have them buried, Porta. Then we will leave this place; leave it to the winter snows.”
As soon as the soldiers disappeared over the hill the pilgrims began to leave the fields, to leave behind the sorrow and pain of lost husbands, sons, daughters, wives and children. There was a sullen atmosphere among the pilgrims. It hid anger and a satanic hatred of everything Lothian. They crowded the roads behind the soldiers to the south, crowded all the roads to the north, east and west, but it was more so on the road through the pass that led to Darfor where most of the pilgrims had come from.
Mica said her farewells to those who were going with Argon. Robin was especially sad. “Will I ever see you again?” she asked.
“Yes,” replied Mica as she gave Robin a big hug; there were tears in both their eyes.
“Our town is called Osford in Moran,” she said with a sniffle.
“I will remember it.”
After saying farewell to everyone else Mica turned to Argon. “See them safe to their homes, Argon. I will come to Moorland in the spring.”
“It will be as you wish, Mica.”
The two groups made their way down the hill and onto the crowded road where they parted, her small group joined in the long slow ribbon of people heading toward the pass.
Even though she wore a drab-brown cloak with a hood, and a heavy pack on her back, the king’s spy recognised her immediately. There was no mistaking the confident stride and the sword and dagger that could be seen beneath her cloak. The handle was now bound in leather, hiding the jewelled inlay. Slowly, he moved up alongside the woman. “You have some children in your party. They are welcome to ride on my horses.”
The short stocky man dressed in green continued to ride along beside her. She wanted to keep a low profile, especially now that the general had told her she would be arrested if he saw her again. For all she knew the word might have already gone out. There might still be spies among the pilgrims.
He tried again to get a response from her. “To be honest with you I stole these horses from the Lothians. I was with them, looking after their horses. But after what happened in Tursy I decided to flee,” he said.
The woman continued to ignore him. The big ugly guy walking beside her with the thick-wooden staff glared at him.
Behind them was a man he had seen before, he knew him as, Elijah, the storyteller. “You are Elijah, the storyteller, are you not?”
“Yes, I am,” said Elijah as he stared up at the man on the horse. He was around thirty years of age with a full dark-brown beard neatly trimmed, a rounded face and hazel eyes. His hair was straggly, not long and not short. He wore a sword at his side.
“Have we met before, sir?” asked Elijah.
“Not personally, but I have heard you tell some of your stories and you are very good at what you do.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you chasing a new story?”
“I’m always looking for a new story.”
“Then the resurrection of the Shadow Walkers would be of interest to you.”
“It is a tale, most want to hear.”
“Then let me tell you one more, Elijah.”
“This morning when I left the camp I came upon seven heads, six in a circle and one in the centre, a rather grisly sight. This I construed as some sort of warning. I will not be the only one fleeing from the Lothian contingent.”
Mica heard what the man said to Elijah. So, the Shadow Walker had struck as he said he would. This she knew would strike fear into the soldiers’ minds and into those who travelled with them. The story would spread like wildfire from one end of the continent to the other. She smiled to herself, this could be the beginning of the end for the king.
“That is indeed the sort of incident that a storyteller could add to his repertoire,” said Elijah, keeping his reply neutral and non-committal.
It was then that it dawned on him that if he was going to Santomine he would not be able to attend this year’s guild at Darfor. It didn’t matter anyway, he didn’t have a story that would wow them, but he might have one for next year if he continued to follow Mica.
“Elijah, I really need yo
ur help,” pleaded the spy. “Let the children ride on the horses. If I try to go through the fort with no one on these horses the soldiers will become suspicious, I will be arrested and more than likely beheaded when they find I have stolen the horses. The walking is hard on the children and you would be doing me an eternal favour.”
“You are trusting of us, we could turn you over to the soldiers and take your horses.”
“I trust you, Elijah, and I trust the lady who leads you.”
So, this man knew who she was, if he was in the camp yesterday and saw the fight he would be able to recognise her. Mica stopped, turned around and peered up at the man on the horse. “What is your name?”
“Gordon Lamprey, most people call me Gordy.”
“Can we trust you, Gordy? You come from the Lothian camp.”
The silent pilgrims shuffled past the small congregation that had stopped on the side of the road. Some of them stared at the man on the horse, others at the beautiful face beneath the hood.
“I have no family, I make my own way in the world, and like many others I changed my allegiance when all seemed hopeless. We all have to live somehow. I, like everyone else yearn for the good times. Maybe they are about to return, I’m prepared to take the risk.”
“Either way it could cost you your life, Gordy.”
“One’s life is always in danger during these troubled times.”
Mica beckoned to Ivy and Simon’s four children. They could fit two on each horse.
Looking down from the northern heights a group of four uncouth, badly dressed men watched the stream of people as they moved along the road. “Plenty of pickings on the road today,” muttered one of the men.
“Too many,” replied their leader, knowing that their usual means of robbing the wayfarers was to pick a small group and isolate them. This would be nigh impossible with so much traffic on the road.
The Orphan and the Shadow Walker Page 15
