by Ross Dupree
unerring with his bow, so he too was indispensable to this hunt.
Amund wasn't happy about setting out with four men to capture half a dozen bandits, but these were all good men, and he hoped they would be enough.
They mounted their horses and rode out across the bridge and towards the palisade gates. Fidrick had told several people what he had seen at Tumblebrook, so word of the massacre had spread through town, and people watched grimly as their sheriff rode out of town. They knew as well as anyone that they'd be on their own for the duration of his hunt. And maybe longer if the hunt didn't go as planned. Amund knew too that there wouldn't be anyone coming for them if they got into over their heads.
As they passed the palisade gate, Palry was there waiting for them on his small pony. Amund had half-expected this, though he had hoped he'd be able to avoid it.
"I want to come with you, Sheriff. Help you like I always do. You need every man you can get."
Amund looked the boy over. He had the two daggers he always carried with him. A cowhide jerkin he had boiled and hardened himself. Small saddlebags covered in scratches and with a frayed bucklestrap. Amund had been seeing to the boy in the years since his father died. He knew Palry was quick with those daggers, but he also knew he'd never been tested in a true fight.
Well, it had to happen some time.
"Come along. But do as I say. No questions. Follow my lead immediately."
Palry nodded solemnly and fell into line behind Amund. Dran lead the way, Hansen brought up the rear, his big horse clomping loudly behind them all.
Once they were out of town, Amund spoke as they rode along.
"When we find these men we're going to be in for a fight. They're looking to make a name for themselves and they'll see killing us as a means to that end. If they succeed they'll have the run of the hills until a garrison is sent back out. That might be months of terror. Not to mention we'll be dead. They're bandits. Outlaws. They have nowhere to turn and nothing to lose. I don't expect we'll be able to afford them any mercy."
"Then none will be given. We'll bring them justice," Hansen said. He was long used to balancing Amund's worry with his own confidence.
The men rode into the forest in silence. The air was warm, but a dampness still filled the air. In the coves along the trail water still dripped from pine needles onto mossy rocks. From time to time Dran detoured by himself into the forest, following game trails for a short distance, keeping himself aware of the changing land.
It was noon now, and it would take the better part of two hours to reach Tumblebrook. From there they'd have to decide if they wanted to pursue the bandits into the woods today or wait until the morning.
Fidrick rode up beside Amund. He still looked tired from his morning ride, but his eyes now carried more anger than horror.
"We're going to get them, Fidrick. We won't let them get away with it."
"Those people will still be dead. We can't help them."
"No, we can't. Not now. But we can be damn sure it doesn't happen to anyone else."
Amund thought for a moment, watching the younger man stare into the distance. He had no children of his own, not since his wife had died carrying their first, but he had been an honorary uncle to Fidrick and Bolrick. He knew their hearts better than they did themselves.
"When we find them, I need you with us. I need you to be in control. Don't let that anger force you to be stupid. You can use it, but be smart about it. They'll taunt us, don't doubt that one bit. They'll try to get us to fight on their terms. That's not how we beat them."
"You faced off a lot of bandits in the wild, Sheriff?"
Amund was quiet for a moment, recalling his first bandit showdown.
"When I was a boy a gang raided my town. Over and over again. They killed dozens. Slaughtered families. The ones they didn't drag off in the woods with them. We didn't have soldiers. We didn't even have a sheriff. Not one worth the name. `Sheriff' Calron was an old coward. Maybe that's how he got old, that's what people said anyway. But that didn't do any of us any good."
Amund knew they were all listening to him. Now he had anger in his own voice. None of them knew this story, none but his old friend Hansen. Amund had told him over one long drunken night ten years or more ago. Most of that night was a long forgotten haze, but Amund was sure Hansen remembered this story. He'd seen it in his eyes during many drunken nights since.
"Once they saw we were helpless they started taunting us. They'd come late at night and smash into a house near the edge of town. They'd take what they wanted, kill most of the family, and burn the house. But they'd always take one person out of the house with them. Sometimes the father. Sometimes the mother. Once a teenage boy. And that person they'd hold in their camp until they tired of hearing them beg for release. Then they'd drag them back outside of town, all tied up and beaten down. They'd tie them to a tree and then they'd shoot arrows at them until they died. Sometimes they wouldn't stop then. Sometimes they'd light the arrows on fire first. And all the time they'd be drinking out of their bottles and yelling at us. Telling us we'd all get our turn. That they'd be coming back for all of us, one at a time."
Amund's jaw clenched. His anger at the memory could still burn through any calm he tried to maintain.
"I was just a kid. Maybe eight. I kept asking our Sheriff when he was going to stop those bad men. He laughed at me. Told me if I was so brave I should go stop them. So I did."
They all stopped now. Turned their horses to face him and listen.
Palry looked at Amund, anxious to hear the rest. "What happened?"
"Next time they came and tied their prisoner to a tree, I went out and threw rocks at them. I couldn't throw far, but I could aim well, and I hit one of them in the back of the head. The others laughed at him, which made him angry and he started towards me. I finally lost my stupid courage and ran. I ran and ran and made it back inside the town. When I turned to look, I saw he wasn't even chasing me. He was laughing. He yelled, `Only one of you has any courage at all. That little runt fought back, that's more than your men can say. Brave little runt!' And then he doubled over in laughter."
Palry looked proud. "That was very bold. You showed them you couldn't be pushed around!"
Amund shook his head. "But something strange happened after that. The other boys in town, the bigger boys, they did start pushing me around. They would knock me over, wrestle me to the ground, give me blackened eyes. Trying to prove to everyone they were braver than the brave little runt. I had a fight nearly every day for months. It was the worst time of my life."
"What happened to the bandits?"
"A few weeks later a company of soldiers was dispatched to hunt them down. They caught up to them and killed most of them in their camp. They took a few prisoner and brought them back to town. Those they shackled to poles in the center of town and left them to die of starvation and the elements. I went every day and threw rocks at them. Every day until the last one was dead."
They sat on their horses in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. A slight breeze swayed the pines.
Amund looked at Fidrick. "That's why I say you can't let your anger drive you. You'll do something foolish and spiteful and you'll pay the price."
"We must move along if we're to catch these bandits", Hansen said, bringing them all back to the task at hand.
And so they rode on, thinking about what would happen when they found the criminals.
When they reached Tumblebrook they found a handful of men from the surrounding farms already there. They had gathered the dead and were digging graves for each of them. Amund recognized a tall red-headed man, Jens. He was one the other farmers looked up to, so Amund went over to talk to him.
"It's a terrible day, Sheriff. A terrible day."
"Yes. Terrible this has happened. These were good people."
Jens's head bobbed in agreement. "They never caused anyone any trouble. The boys here put in some long days repairing Three Mile Bridge last spring. Krista Salrens was t
o be married soon to one of the Strostrop boys. Old man Salrens knew more about growing in this soil than any man on the plains. Terrible day."
"I have to ask you this, Jens. Do you know any of the men who did this?"
"No! No. These were not men from here. None of us could do something this awful."
"They came from nowhere? This is their first crime? Such a bold attack?"
"I did not say that, Sheriff. There have been small robberies lately. Lone walkers robbed and left on the side of the road naked and penniless. And Kent Hakken had his entire wagon taken from him on market day. We have our own justice on the plains, and some of those thieves have been dealt with. But our local n'er-do-wells have said a new gang was rumored to be moving in, The Sons Of The New Moon."
"What do you know about them?"
"Only that they are brutal. Even the thieves from Renstown are afraid of them. More than one has left for safer hunting elsewhere."
"Any more than that?"
"Their leader is said to have a terrible stare. They say he can see into your heart and no one dares to lie to him. They say he can see through the blackest darkness and that no one can hide from his gaze."
Amund gave the man a skeptical look. There were always crazy rumors about bandits, it was a natural response to a danger than could come unexpectedly out of the night. But this one seemed even more ridiculous than usual.
"I only tell you what I have heard, Sheriff. I must get back to digging. Brother
