Yost was becoming worried, the last time he had been here the weather was clear with bright blue skies, no wind and no snow. He remembered being able to see for miles, now he could see nothing except a blank wall of eddying white snow. There was nothing on which to gather his bearings. He was travelling on his instincts. He estimated that in another three hours it would be dark, they had to be below the snowline by then or they would perish in the night. They came to a shallow dip. Which way, right or left? He had no idea. There was a steep cliff here somewhere that dropped over a thousand feet straight down. He hesitated.
Mica stopped as she saw Yost standing still on the dip in front of them, Elijah drew up beside her. “He is lost, Mica, we will never get off this mountain.”
Mica said nothing as she kicked at the flanks of her horse, she let her mind relax, let if flow within the mountain and reach out beyond what one could normally see. “Go left,” she said to Yost as she pulled up beside him.
Yost looked at her. The hood over his face was laced with ice and snow around its edges, his face looked pale and worried. “I’m not sure, Mica.”
“I am, go left.”
Yost stared at her for a moment and then turned his horse to the left. Slowly the depth of the snow began to decrease, the wind, though still blowing had lessened somewhat in strength, but it was still bitterly cold. Then all of a sudden they came out of the cloud and could see the vibrant green land before them, some two thousand feet below. “Santomine,” he said, as they stopped and bunched together to admire the sight before them.
It was a huge valley, as wide as it was long. Waterfalls cascaded down the sides of the steep cliffs, glinting every now and then in the last of the blinkered sunlight. The paddocks and fields were interwoven with a webbed matrix of roads and rivulets. Lazy blue smoke could be seen drifting into the sky from the numerous dwellings that dotted the land. Their eyes were eventually drawn to the end of the valley where on the cliff face stood a huge castle with three spires reaching high into the sky. It was built of the same rock that made up the cliffs, dark and forbidding rock that echoed its age with grey-green moss clinging to its walls.
“That is some castle,” said Gabriel with a low whistle.
“Yes, it would be almost impossible to take,” said Mica, looking at the castle from a military point of view. “I suggest we get down off this pile of rock to the tree line where we can find some shelter and make camp for the night.”
They found a place to camp amid the trees just before dark set in. There was plenty of wood so they lit a big fire, warmed their freezing bodies, dried out some wet clothes, drank some hot tea and ate a hearty meal. Everyone was tired from the effects of a long, arduous day in the snow. Mica snuggled down beneath her blanket and as close to the fire as she dare. She knew the fire they had lit would be visible from below and that they would have visitors in the morning.
* * *
They came with some stealth and frosty breath through the silent stillness of the morning, using the trees to hide their approach as they encircled the small band of travellers with pointed spears held out in front of them. The soldiers wore rounded fur caps, jackets, boots and green scarves wrapped around their necks and heads leaving only a narrow slit for their eyes. They invoked a feeling of mystique. The lingering odour of wood smoke still clung to the air from the dying embers of the fire as they crept closer.
“You will have to do better than that,” said a voice, a feminine voice from behind the soldiers.
Being well trained, the soldiers turned slowly to see who it was that was speaking. They saw a young woman with steadfast eyes and bow notched with an arrow drawn back to its full length. On the other side of their circle stood a man dressed in green, he had his bow drawn as well. Four other men of varying ages stood at their perimeter with swords drawn. One of the soldiers spoke up. “We out number you two to one,” he said defiantly.
“That may be true, but two of you will die instantly if you decide to fight. Which two will it be?” Mica shifted her aim slightly to the nearest man. She could not miss from here and neither could Gordy.
The soldier who had spoken, hesitated, looked around, and then put his spear to the ground. The others followed him. “It will do you no good, you cannot escape,” he said with confidence.
“We have no wish to escape,” replied Mica, letting the pressure off the bow. “We want to go to the castle, to Santomine itself. We have a message to deliver.”
When they reached the castle, the soldiers, three behind and three at the front, led them through two huge, arched, wooden doors that were guarded by four men dressed in fur jackets, dark woollen trousers and the highly visible scarves of green around their necks. Each held a spear with sharpened tips of glinting iron. They were bearded, broad shouldered men.
The room they entered was long, with narrow deep windows either side, allowing a golden shaft of light to enter the centre of the room, exactly where they were walking. Mica felt that she was walking through something spiritual, something divine. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the far end of the room, to a raised platform where there was a huge carved wooden chair. In this chair sat a middle-aged woman whose beauty and poise had not deserted her, even though she was dressed simply in a drab-grey dress and brown slippers. Mica could sense an aura around this woman. Her eyes were fixed on them, curious eyes that showed a hint of sadness. Her dark wavy hair, with a small curl of grey at her forehead, fell to her shoulders. To the right of the woman stood two men, dressed simply with thin cloaks of red silk, they looked like scribes. There were also soldiers positioned at a convenient distance, not so close as to be imposing but close enough if they were needed. The eyes of the woman and her scribes were on them as they strode along the red carpet. Their boots were muffled by its softness. It was very quiet. The three soldiers in front of them stepped to one side allowing them to proceed on their own. The other three soldiers stayed right behind them.
“Do not say a word, let me do the talking, and do as I do,” said Elijah, leading the way.
Mica sensed the warning in his words and understood that this woman commanded respect. Reaching the edge of the platform, Elijah knelt down on one knee and lowered his head, Mica did the same.
“You may rise,” said the woman, her voice soft and sounding a little weary.
“Your Majesty, I am delighted to find you alive and well,” said Elijah.
“Yes, alive and well, but cocooned here in this dreary place,” she said raising her eyebrows.
“Your arrival, although contrary to what is allowed in this land, I find stimulating. Santomine can be a rather boring place at times,” she said, turning her head toward the two scribes. They both bowed slightly, quietly acknowledging their queen.
“Tell me your names, a bit about yourselves and your reason for risking your lives to come here?”
“My name is Elijah, I am a storyteller and I fought at Tursy.”
“You are one of those who survived?”
“Yes,” replied Elijah, knowing full well what the next question would be. He sensed Queen Isabella’s hesitation. It would be hard for her to bring up the past, to return to the sorrow and anguish that she had felt back then. He decided to intervene, not to allow her to recall those unhappy memories.
“Your Majesty, I would like to introduce my friend, Mica, who is the reason we are here.”
Isabella shifted her eyes to the girl, saw her beauty and wondered why she wore a sword. “You may speak, Mica.”
“I am an orphan, Your Majesty, made so by the war at a young age. The man who raised me was one of your soldiers. He taught me how to use a sword.”
“This man, what was his name?”
“His name was Agar.”
“Agar, you were raised by Agar? Your story intrigues me, please tell me more.”
“He passed away so it was time for me to move on and find those who made me an orphan. I went to Tursy with Elijah and while there I met a man, a man who only allowed himsel
f to be seen at night and then only with a hooded black cloak hiding his face.”
“Would he not let you see his face?” she asked as she clasped her hands together in her lap wringing them like a piece of cloth.
“No, he would not. We spoke some more and it became clear to me that this man was locked in some sort of struggle within himself. He seemed unsure of his direction.”
“Did he give you his name?”
“He did not, but he eventually told me that I should come here to Santomine. He said he was a Shadow Walker.”
“He is alive!” she said with a smile on her face as she looked at one of the bearded scribes.
“Your Majesty, you should not get yourself worked up. It might be nothing.”
“Nothing indeed, then why did he send this girl and her friends here to Santomine? It’s his way of telling me that he is alive and well.”
“Your Majesty,” said Elijah. “We all know the story of Tursy, of the flag, but do I deduce from your comments that you are confirming that this man who calls himself the Shadow Walker is your son, Edmond?”
“It is the only explanation. I gave him the flag to use at Tursy.”
She turned to the scribe she had spoken to before. “See that Mica and Elijah’s friends are looked after, give them the best rooms. They will be with us for a while.”
She looked back, her eyes on Mica. “I think we should go somewhere more comfortable to talk, I have much to tell you and it seems you have something to tell me,” she said, rising from her seat.
Queen Isabella led them through a high corridor and then into a much smaller room with a blazing fire and soft cushioned seats around a huge wooden table capable of seating at least twenty diners. She sat down at one side of the table and then offered Elijah and Mica a seat opposite her. The scribes had not followed them. “Let me begin first. Let me tell you about the Shadow Walkers. It is true that Santomine is the birthplace of the Shadow Walkers and as far as I know our family is the only family who has kept the strain alive. Only the males inherit the powers of the Shadow Walkers, this was one of the main reasons why the Shadow Walkers disappeared. With daughters being born the strain was diluted.”
She continued, “Once upon a time every male was born with the powers, now it is by chance that a male carries the strain. I recognised Edmond’s abilities at an early age, or should I say, my grandfather, Wilber de Grand, did and pointed it out to me. I had the High Priests train him, without Edmond’s knowledge of the real reason. I just told him it was part of his education.
“On the day of the battle I felt that it would not go well, no one else had been able to defeat the Lothians. I informed Edmond of his birthright and gave him the flag and told him to use it only as a last resort.”
“We can presume he went into the mountains, to the temples of the High Priests and continued his training,” said Elijah.
“So it seems, but why did he wait so long to announce his return?”
“Maybe I can answer that question,” said Mica.
“When we first met he was reluctant to tell me who he was and he thought the gathering of pilgrims at Tursy a waste of time as it would achieve nothing. I told him he was wrong about that. I suspect that he was frustrated and unable to come up with a plan that would enable him to set in process that which he hoped for. I think we were both in the same boat in a way. I was seeking revenge for my past as I now know he was, but we both had no idea how we were going to achieve this.
“Then it was taken out of our hands. The Lothians attacked the pilgrims, killed all the priests and burnt the church. I managed to escape with a small group of people. He came to me that night and finally admitted that he was a Shadow Walker. He was greatly disturbed at what had happened at Tursy and he meant to do something about it. I took the flag of the Shadow Walker into the Lothian camp the next morning.”
“That was a brave thing to do,” said Isabella.
“I had an ulterior motive. One of the men who killed my parents was with the Lothians.”
Now Isabella understood the reason for this young woman wearing a sword.
“I delivered the flag and the warning. The Lothians laughed it off and burnt the flag. I also took my revenge on one of the men who killed my parents in a duel. That night the Shadow Walker visited the camp, slew seven men and cut off their heads and left them in a circle with one head in the centre.”
“He intends to slay all the leaders of the provinces,” said Isabella. “A smart move, it will lead to chaos.”
“There will be a price to pay though.”
Queen Isabella looked at Mica, whose eyes, steadfast and sure, stared back at her. “The king will have to attack the Land of the Manutes if he wants to dispel the myth of the Shadow Walker, he will have to take Santomine. He will come in the spring,” explained Mica.
“How can you be so sure of this?”
“It’s the only choice he has unless he wants to lose face.”
“I feared that one day this would happen, that the king would try again. We have the winter to prepare. In the meantime you and your friends are welcome to stay.”
Mica was shown to her room where there was a petit young woman with dark hair in pigtails waiting. Her name was Hannah and she was to be Mica’s maid.
“I have ordered a bath for you, Madam.”
“Hannah, call me Mica, I am no more a Madam than you are.”
“Yes, Madam, I mean, Mica,” she replied rather nervously. “I will see to your bath.”
Left alone in the room Mica cast her eyes around the opulence. The bed was huge, a four-poster with red curtains and pure white covers. It was a real bed. Mica had never slept in a bed with sheets. The fire in the brazier was burning brightly, radiating a succulent heat as she made her way past it to the window. She pulled aside the red velvet curtains. It was snowing outside; winter had finally set in. Her thoughts turned to the Shadow Walker. Where was he and was he safe as she now was?
* * *
Brannigan sat by the tiny fire turning over the rabbit he had snared earlier that morning while his master had been sleeping. His thoughts went back over the last few days, back to when his master had asked him to watch for the girl and those that followed her. He wasn’t sure what to expect that day, but when he saw the young woman he understood why his master was so interested. Even he drew in his breath at the sight of her. There was no questioning her beauty, her poise and agility.
He had followed the group as they climbed the mountain and when they made camp he had returned to his master and told him where they were. The next evening his master went to see the young woman and returned without his horse, he had loaned it to the young woman, whom he now knew was called Mica. He said she would deliver the flag to the Lothians and the message of their impending fate.
The horse had returned by itself the following day while Brannigan was in Tursy. It was what he did best, infiltrating the enemy lines, he had an uncanny ability to blend in, to change his appearance and become something he was not. In this way he was able to gather information for his master. The information he gathered this day was of Mica’s delivery of the flag; of the duel she had with Penner, one of the king’s evil overlords whom she had killed. Brannigan was beginning to like this young woman.
Finally, his master had acted, had become a true Shadow Walker and was striking fear into the hearts of all those who had killed and maimed. Last night he had struck the first blow and had arrived back in the early hours of the morning with a bloodied sword. Even Brannigan would have gladly taken up the sword after what happened at Tursy, so much was the anger in him when he heard of the senseless slaughter.
The Shadow Walker had risen from his sleep and walked over and sat by the small fire. “Is that that rabbit cooked?”
“A few more minutes, Master.”
The Shadow Walker sat quietly as if deep in thought and then he spoke. “She will have to pass through the fort.”
Brannigan knew who he was talking about but he feigne
d ignorance, wishing to draw his master’s thoughts from him, to understand why he was so interested in this young woman. “Of whom do you speak, Master?”
The Shadow Walker raised his eyebrows at Brannigan’s question. “Sometimes Brannigan I think you joke with me and test my patience.”
“Sometimes, Master, you speak without saying what you mean to say.”
“Brannigan, you are an incorrigible bastard. You know I speak of Mica.”
“Yes, Master. She is a woman of incredible beauty. I have only ever seen one other carry herself with such confidence and she was a queen.”
“That is so, Brannigan. That is so.”
“I don’t think she will have any trouble, she is woman of amazing talents.”
“It was Agar, an old friend of my family, a master swordsman, who taught her how to use the sword,” said the Shadow Walker rather solemnly.
“That I did not know, Master. Is he still with us?”
“No, he recently passed away.”
The master reached across and took a leg off the rabbit.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you off for picking at the food when it was cooking,” growled Brannigan.
“All the time,” he said as he bit into the flesh. “By the way, I told Mica to go to Santomine, she will be safe there.”
“You told her to go to Santomine!” said Brannigan with some surprise.
This was something that Brannigan had not expected. Santomine was his master’s birth place, he hadn’t been back there in many a year. In fact, once he took up the cause and started his training he had never visited his people; they now all presumed him dead. “They will be suspicious of her when she arrives.”
The Orphan and the Shadow Walker Page 23
