“The woman could be among them,” said one of the other bandits.
“More than likely,” replied their leader.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering to seek her out.”
“She bettered me and I’m sure she knows more about our missing men than she let on.”
“You think she killed them.”
“Yes, even more so after hearing what she did in Tursy.”
“If everything they say about her is true we would be best to leave her alone.”
The bandit leader ignored the comment. “Have the men mingle with the pilgrims. We will find her, follow her, and then wait our opportunity.”
* * *
Cowdrey had been sent to the fort in the pass to take charge the day before General Goran left. His orders were to check all the pilgrims that went through the gates. “Check them all,” his commander had said. It was impossible. There was a line of pilgrims for two miles back down the road. He couldn’t check everyone. He would be here for weeks and he hated being at the fort, it was out of the way, away from the inns and whorehouses of Tursy where he liked to spend his evenings. It was boring and mundane work with little entertainment. He would rather be on a campaign of sorts, but there hadn’t been any real fighting or wars for a long time. In fact, army life was becoming boring. Maybe it was time he found something else to do, but what could he do? His life had been the army, he knew nothing else.
His thoughts turned to the young woman he had seen in Tursy, the very same young woman he had seen defeat and kill Penner. He had been right about her. She knew how to use a sword. Then there was the message she had delivered, supposedly from a Shadow Walker. She had admitted to not being the Shadow Walker, but she had his flag, the one that had gone missing, so she must have met this so called Shadow Walker. He didn’t believe in them; saw them only as tales from a long and forgotten past.
He eased forward from the stone turret above the gate and looked down at the miserable looking throng as they filed through the gate. He noticed a group of people who seemed to be together, some dozen or so. They had three horses, two of them carried children, the third a short swarthy man dressed in green. His eyes searched the group. Most of them wore capes over their heads as did most people; no one wanted to be recognised, whether they were innocent or otherwise.
One of the figures stood out, it was the litheness in her step, the bowed head and the small thin hand resting on the hilt of the sword at her side that convinced him. He knew it was the girl. His first reaction was to yell to the guards, but then he stopped himself. He had no orders to arrest her. Even the general had let her go. Why should he bother, she had earned her freedom, he would not stop her.
In the crowd no one saw Gordy slip the sealed envelope to one of the soldiers standing at the gate, who, on seeing the name on the front of the letter quickly took it and hid it beneath his tunic.
Mica breathed a sigh of relief as they came out on the other side of the fort. Everyone was smiling. She waited till they were out of sight and then she drew her little band together as she knew that Ivy, Simon and their children wished to go on to Darfor. Bidding their farewells to the children and their parents they turned off the main road to begin their journey north. Mica felt the chill of the wind and saw the first tiny flakes of snow. Winter had begun in earnest.
Mica, Elijah, Gordy, Gabriel, Adar, Stan and Lucy climbed higher up the side of the mountain on the twisting, winding road that almost came back upon itself in places, the snow became heavier and the cold began to seep through their clothes. Already there were some three inches of snow on the narrow road and the trees were sprinkled with white. The boughs of the pines almost covered the road in places, causing a tunnel effect. It gave them a sense of comfort and a false sense of security.
“We’ll need to find some cover for the night otherwise we will freeze to death,” said Gabriel, riding one of the horses.
Lucy rode the second horse led by her husband. Mica couldn’t understand why these two had elected to come with her, although they had stated their reasons and accepted the fact that the journey was not without danger. In a way she saw something of herself in them, something that might shape this new land as it could never be the same anymore, not after what had happened at Tursy. And of course, the appearance of the Shadow Walker would have a ripple effect throughout Islabad.
“Does anybody know much of this land, of this road?”
“I have never travelled it,” replied Elijah as he shuffled along in the snow. “This is the land of the Manutes, even the king’s men don’t venture here.”
“I have travelled part of it,” said Gordy as he drew his horse up level with Mica.
Many years ago the king had needed information, needed to know what lay ahead, and Gordy, a young man then, had been among some of those sent forward, disguised as merchants, to reconnoiter the land. It was very difficult as the Manutes would turn outsiders back; they had no desire to know what was happening in the lowlands, no desire to further their trade and did not want to be bothered by the wars that were being fought. On the fringes of their land there were other people living. They were tolerated, but as you went deeper into their lands, no strangers were allowed. So it was impossible for them to infiltrate into their territory any more than two days’ ride. They could not tell the king what awaited him there. The upshot of that was that the king received a bloodied nose when he had tried to advance into the steep valleys of the Manutes. They controlled the passes, the cliffs and it was impossible to dislodge them, a huge army would have been needed. The problem of supply was what finally turned the tide, the king could not feed his army and he had no choice but to leave the Manutes to themselves.
“There are some large settlements further on,” Gordy continued, “these are trading centres where the Manutes sell their minerals, their copper, iron and even some gold for extra food and luxuries from the lowlands.”
“These settlements, are they friendly?” she asked him.
“They are full of thieves, rogues and bandits. We will have to be on our guard. I don’t like your chances of getting much further than the first two settlements. The Manutes will allow no strangers into their land.”
“We will cross that bridge when we come to it, Gordy.”
On reaching the top of the mountain the snow was deeper, although the land was flatter. Heathland it was, with low bushes and rocky outcrops. It would be a pretty sight in the summer when the low bushes flowered in their orange, white and red. Mica had seen it before on the plateau near where she grew up. All that seemed so long ago now. She had come far in these last few months and had changed since leaving the village. She was a different person now and it would be more so as her journey continued.
It was nearing nightfall when they saw the town, quite a large settlement nestled between two sheer mountain peaks that looked like an entrance, a gateway to the Manute lands beyond. They were cold, hungry and badly needed shelter for the night. Snow was still falling.
As they walked down the almost deserted mud-stained street Mica felt hidden eyes on them, eyes that were probably assessing them for whatever reason, or maybe they were just curious. She didn’t like this place, felt its evil lurking beneath the shadows that had now formed in the approaching darkness. Elijah moved up beside her. “I don’t like this place.”
“Neither do I,” replied Mica as she rested her hand on the pommel of her sword.
The houses and buildings were built of a mixture of stone and timber. The ashen motley stone was more than likely gathered from the side of the two mountain peaks where the scree lay heavy. The timber would have been sourced from the lowlands as there were no forests in the town’s vicinity. The rock formed the walls and the timber the roofs. Split palings kept out the rain. These were covered in green algae and turned slate grey with age. Smoke coiled from almost every stone chimney. There would be peat here to burn she surmised. It would be a source of revenue for some. A man, stooped and dressed in drab brown clot
hing with a bright red scarf wound around his head to protect him from the cold led a fully laden horse toward them.
Mica called out to him. “Where might one find accommodation for the night?”
The man stopped, peered at Mica from behind the narrow slits of his scarf. For a moment all was quiet. The man seemed surprised; maybe Mica had woken him from a torpid slumber as he walked the street, oblivious to what was going on around him. Maybe he was only thinking of home, a warm fire and a warm bed. His ruffled red hair, spiked, and poking through the folds of the scarf gave him a somewhat demonic look. His voice when he spoke was low and gravelly. “Ma Kelly’s is the place you want; the others are not fit for a woman to stay in. Just keep following the road, it is on the edge of town on your left, you can’t miss it. There’s a sign out front.”
“Thank you,” replied Mica.
They eventually came to the building. It was made of the same stone, the same timber and reflected the same weathered appearance as all the other buildings in the town. It was only one storey with stables to the rear through a narrow lane on the right. A verandah of sorts covered the solid wooden door. Stone pavers lay in front of the door. The hanging sign, grey and gnarled with a tinge of red where the name Ma Kelly had been etched into the wood stood frozen and still.
“Wait here, while I go inside,” said Mica as she removed her hood.
“Adar come with you.”
“I think it would be better if I joined you as well,” said Gordy, leaping from his horse.
Mica said nothing as she looked at them and then opened the door and stepped inside. The smell of smoke was the first thing that struck them. Then their eyes saw the low beams and stained timbers in the ceiling. The room was quite large with a serving bar at one end and a multitude of wooden tables filled with people, who immediately turned their attention to them as they entered. Mica strode across the bare earth floor toward the serving bar. She could see no women. They were all men, scruffy, bearded men, who were staring at her with some disbelief. Beautiful women like this did not just appear in Mountcross. As a matter of fact no woman of beauty had ever entered this town as far as they could remember.
One of the bearded men jumped from his table and barred her way, he was a rounded fellow with thin-blond hair and a bald patch on top. His eyes sparkled from too much wine and his bravado was obvious. “Might I offer you a seat at my table? We can have a drink or two and get to know each other.”
“If you were the last man on this earth I would not sit at your table,” said Mica knowing full well she would have to stamp her authority here in this den of depravity, or they wouldn’t stand a chance. These men were like wolves looking for prey, slay the leader and they would think twice about making any advances.
The man’s eyes sharpened, his hand went to his sword.
“If you unsheathe that sword then be prepared to die as the fool you are,” said Mica, stepping back to give herself more room, her hand rested on her sword. She met his eyes with a steely gaze; she was angry.
Others at the man’s table went to stand, Gordy unsheathed his sword and Adar raised his staff.
“This is between the lady and the gentleman,” said Gordy, rather politely.
The men sat down. It was very quiet in the room. A big woman with a round, middle-aged face and long-black hair tied back, entered the room. She was wearing a black dress that comfortably fitted her large frame. Her eyes quickly took in the scene. She said nothing.
The man’s bravery had somewhat diminished. He had placed himself in this situation knowing he had plenty of friends to back him up, but now it seemed no one wanted to help him. The anger seethed in him. He began to draw his sword, yanking it from its leather scabbard, but he was far too slow.
The woman had drawn her sword with lightning speed and now its tip rested at his throat. “Who will speak for this man, who will save his life?”
Mica could see the surprise in the man’s eyes and then the fear as he realised she meant to kill him if no one spoke for him.
He began to sweat, alarmingly. He could feel the perspiration running down from under his armpits, the dampness on his brow and lip. You could have heard a pin drop in the room.
“I will speak for him. Chester is a fool and has a big mouth, he tends to act before he thinks. I’m sure he will apologise whole heartedly,” said the woman, stepping closer, her hazel eyes locked onto the man named Chester.
“Ma Kelly is right,” he stuttered, “I act before I think. The drink you see, it befuddles the mind. I sincerely apologise for my actions.”
“You invited death by your actions. Heed this warning, if I have to draw my sword to you again you will die in an instant,” said Mica, removing the sword and sliding it back into its scabbard. The man bowed slightly, retreated and sat down with his friends.
“In all my born days I have never seen a woman better a man with a sword. Ma Kelly’s the name, I presume you are looking for lodgings?”
“Yes, for myself and my six friends. We have three horses as well.”
“The horses can be put in the stables out back. The stable boy is there. I only have one room available with four single beds,” said Ma Kelly. She moved back to the bar. Mica followed her while Adar and Gordy went back outside to see to the horses.
Gordy led two of the horses to the stables, while Adar led the third. Elijah followed with Stan and Lucy. A young man dressed in grey furs with a white fur cap met them at the door. He was only about nineteen or twenty. He walked with a limp. He reminded Gordy of the Manutes; they wore furs. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes, we need these horses stabled and fed.”
“I presume you have seen Ma Kelly?”
“Yes, it was she who told us to bring the horses here.”
“Follow me,” he said, limping back into the stable.
“Are you a Manute?” asked Gordy, entering the stable where the odour of hay and horse dung prevailed. It was a smell that he rather liked as it reminded him of his own childhood, a happier time in his life.
“Yes, I work here in the spring, summer and autumn. In the winter I go back to my home in the mountains. Ma Kelly pays me well, the money helps the family.” He took the horses from them and led them to some fresh fodder where he tied them up and removed the saddles.
Gordy had a thought; this young man might be able to help them with some information, or maybe even guide them into the land of the Manutes. “What’s you name?”
“Yost, sir.”
“Tell me, do you know of a place called Santomine?”
“Yes, it is a sacred place high in the mountains at the head of the Valley of the Skulls.”
“The Valley of skulls, what is that?”
“It is called that because the bones and skulls of the vanquished are often ploughed up by the farmers. Over the centuries many have tried to conquer the land of the Manutes, all have failed. While ever Santomine stands, while ever it lives in the heart of the Manutes, the land will never be taken.”
“Do you know where this place is?”
“North of here and high in the mountains, the people who live in the valley guard it jealously.”
“The young woman I am with seeks this place, wishes to go there. Is there anyone who will guide us?”
“No one will guide you there. Strangers are not permitted past the town of Grada.”
Gordy knew this town. It was about two days ride from here. It was as far as he could go when he was seeking information for the king. How was Mica going to get past Grada?
In the short time that he had been with her he had been surprised at her intelligence, her strength, her poise, her beauty and her confidence with the sword. She was truly a woman to be admired. But he could not let himself be distracted by her indomitable spirit, to be affected by her charm.
The king had instructed him to hang around after Tursy, in other words he was given free reign to gather information. The girl, the Shadow Walker and now a possible route into the Manutes w
ould add to this. To find a route to Santomine, to see its defenses and maybe find some weakness would earn him much gold. Maybe after this he could finally afford to retire and leave this dangerous work behind and lead a normal life. “I think my mistress will want to speak with you.”
“I will be of no help, sir. I am but a lowly village boy.”
Even though Mica had plenty of money, she didn’t wish to over spend or reveal that she was carrying silver and gold. “We have a storyteller with us,” said Mica as Elijah stepped inside. “He will entertain your guests; in return I would ask for free board, the food and drink we will pay for.”
“Sounds fair enough, we never have any storytellers here. We are too bloody far off the main roads.”
“I think you might want to hear what he has to say, things are changing in the lowlands.”
“For the bloody better I hope,” she said, leaning her elbows on the bar.
The rest of the group came inside carrying their bulky packs and shook the flaking snow from their clothes.
“Is everything all right?” asked Elijah. “Gordy said there was a problem.”
“No, it has been sorted out,” replied Mica.
“Are you the storyteller?” enquired Ma Kelly, after casting her eyes over the rest Mica’s group.
“Yes.”
Mica led them to their room. Two of them would have to sleep on the floor. At least it would be dry and far warmer than sleeping outdoors. “I would suggest that at least two of us stay in the room at all times to keep an eye on our gear,” she said to the others as they filed into the small space.
Mica knew that Gabriel had a hoard of money stowed away in his pack, as did most of the others to some degree. Robbers would know, would expect them to be carrying money and their greed would supersede any morality they felt. Stan and Lucy agreed to stay while the others went for something to eat. One of them would return with food and drink for them.
It was good to feel the warmth of the fire and to have something hot in their bellies. Shifty eyes watched them from among the men in the crowd. Mica had no doubt that many, if not all of these men were robbers and thieves. The man named Chester had left by the time they had come back. She knew she would see him again. This man would not take the rebuff lightly. He was a fool. Agar had been right, men were so stupid when it came to seeing a woman as their equal; for some reason they would not accept it, even if it meant dying.
The Orphan and the Shadow Walker Page 16
