by S. J. Ryan
“Oh yes! And careful what you say in its presence, or you may get a wish you won't want. Or to be more specific, you may get children you won't want. And even more specific, you may get a kind of children you won't want.”
The men looked with puzzlement, but seeing that Carrot didn't contradict, they all took steps back.
Bok recognized the slender blond-haired woman as the one who had helped in the escape aboard the airship. He recalled her name: Mirian. And the tall man who was the third rider was: Norian. Three had gone north and three had returned safely with the Box. Apparently, Bok decided, there had been no problems with trolls or any of the other myths that people believed about the Northwest.
– Or so Bok was allowed to think for a few seconds, when a lookout from the western road watch burst upon them and panted a report: “General, an army approaches!”
Geth motioned the men holding torches to stay back, and he stepped north to the edge of the hill. Bok peered along with him. As armies went, it was underwhelming: perhaps a hundred torches massed along the stretch of road, marching loosely in double file. Yet there was something odd about the sight, in the way the torches were widely separated, in the way they revealed how stretched the gait of their bearers was.
“There is no need for alarm, Father,” Carrot said. “King Richard insisted on contributing troops.”
“Who is King Richard?” Geth demanded.
“Well, he does not prefer the title himself, but you might think of him as the King of the Trolls.”
“You say that as if you are not joking.”
“I am not, but it is not as significant a thing as it might seem. Frankly – and do not say this to Richard when you meet him because it will hurt his feelings – because of their great size, the trolls – Henogalians – are awkward and slow and in battle they will likely only be underfoot.”
“Or over-foot,” Mirian muttered.
Carrot continued, “Still, we may make use of them for intimidation. At that – Norian, will you tell Richard to keep his force at a distance? I don't want him shocking our own people.”
Norian bowed and galloped off. With the Box directed into concealment and his arm wrapped tightly around his daughter's shoulders, Geth escorted the women to the campfire that served as his 'headquarters.' They sat around the fire and Bok lost sight when the crowd pushed him out. Determination took hold, however, and he plowed inside the human circle, feeling like a mole burrowing through the earth.
Carrot and Mirian were given plates with double rations while Geth held his daughter's hands and said, “Tell of your adventures.”
Carrot shook her head. “That can wait until we return to Ravencall.”
“We can't return,” Geth said. And he related recent events, of how they had been made prisoner and escaped. “To think Letos is still alive!”
Carrot nodded solemnly. “Yes, so I was informed. It still is hard to believe that he is not dead. A village full of witnesses said it was his head on the pike.”
“I suppose from a distance one bloody and beaten head on a pike looks like another,” Geth replied. “And how often did Letos mingle among the common people so that his face could be recognized?”
“You say you are gathering deserters. Do you have enough to oppose him?”
“It would be hundreds against thousands, and even you don't like those odds. And it would be Britanians fighting Britanians, which I like even less. So no, for now we cannot oppose him. Yet if I had a week, I might steal all of Ravencall away from him.“
“We don't have a week. The Roman airship has been spotted among the mountains in the north. When it gives up searching for Inoldia, it will come south again and join the legions, and they will advance under its watch. The armies of the Leaf must be dispersed before then. Our goal after that will be not to confront the Romans head on, but to wage guerrilla warfare.”
“What is that?”
“An Aereothian term. Ambush and run, raid their outposts and supply caravans. Basically, what you and I were doing for two years in Umbrick.”
“Then we'll have no trouble with that.”
“Our trouble is getting to that. Father, I would know what I would do right now if I were Valarion. I would have Letos gather all the men in his command at Ravencall, and then have them do nothing while the legions march on them.”
Geth's face clouded. “We have received reports from Ravencall of such an ingathering.”
Carrot put down her plate, half-eaten. “Then there can be no delay. We must act tonight.”
“And do what, Arcadia? As I said, we cannot fight them.”
“On the ride here, I was thinking of a plan. Suppose we infiltrate the base, and take Letos hostage.”
“You think he doesn't have sentries? You don't think he's given orders to kill intruders?”
“A small party might penetrate without notice.“
Bok had been listening intently, watching faces (lingering, he knew, too much on the Lady Carrot). He knew his moment had come. He stepped forward, faced Carrot, and announced, “I can sneak you into the base.”
“BOK!” Geth shouted. “NO!”
Carrot stared intently at the boy. “How, Bok? Do you know a path?”
“Several,” Bok replied. “Archimedes had me make secret paths through the forest, for escape.” In his nervousness he added the obvious, “The routes will work as well going the other way.”
“Can you show them to us?”
Bok bowed.
“Here now, Carrot!” Geth scowled. “For years I was deluded that Fate would protect you in battle – but now that I know better, and speaking as your father, you will not risk your life or the life of this child on so foolish a plan – and for that matter, is it truly a plan, or just a notion?“
In the silence that followed his outburst, footsteps strode toward the circle around the fire. Norian, having returned, sat next to Mirian, took the waiting plate, rubbed his hands and declared, “Finally, after all that riding, to end the day with a warm meal!”
Carrot stood up and said resolutely, “We must go as soon as possible.”
Norian made sidelong glances and stopped chewing, becoming aware of the tension.
“I think she means now,” Mirian said to him.
“Of course she means now,” Norian casually said with his mouth full. Nonchalantly, he gobbled a chunk of chicken and gulped half a cup of ale, and arose with no sign of the exhaustion he'd manifested upon arrival. “I presume you'll tell me where we're going before we arrive.”
Their horses were still watering but other horses were nearby and what Carrot's charm couldn't accomplish in persuading the owners, Norian's stern glare did. They soon had the saddles fastened and Bok was helped onto a mount. While Norian adjusted the stirrups so that Bok's feet could reach them, Bok fingered the reins and wished he had paid more attention to what people did to make horses move. He observed that the horses of the others responded to the pulling and relaxing of lines, similar to how sails on boats were trimmed, which was something that he did know quite well, and he was encouraged by that. There were of course differences, but Bok was always determined to be a quick learner.
Norian mounted and flicked his reins, making a gentle clucking noise. His horse ambled forward. Bok mimicked the gesture and sound, and joined the others – who were the three travelers and a small escort. Their party did not include Geth, who by Carrot's and his officers' admonition had to stay and lead the army of deserters.
Reaching the road, they galloped. Bok clung precariously to the saddle, fearing he would be tossed with every jolt, longing for the smooth ride of his glider. At least when flying he could control the fall and did not have to worry about being crushed under the weight of a beast . . . still, he thought, as the road slipped beneath them faster than any man could run, there was something to this riding of a horse that felt as liberating as flying.
The gap between encampments was almost walking distance. The yielding yet resilient pavement of the Ok
siden Road was friendly to the horse's hooves, and it took only minutes to attain the rise that overlooked the fields of the base. They dismounted, and the four assigned to the mission went on, leaving their animals in the woods to the tending of their escort.
With Carrot, Norian, and Mirian following with stealth, Bok led to a large tree atop a nearby hill. Barely visible in the moonlight, the notch he'd carved in the trunk pointed amid the brush. Bok pushed aside the branches and they entered the secret path that he had hacked through the foliage under the direction of Archimedes. The path was still clear enough that despite the darkness, it was quick to grope through.
Midway in the woods, Norian tapped his shoulder and presented a sword. Even in the dappled moonlight filtering between the leaves, Bok sensed the beauty of the sleekly curving blade. But it was so long that it would tangle with his feet. Reluctantly, he shook his head at the gift and slapped the Roman short sword buckled to his side. It would have to make do.
Firelight glimmered ahead. They reached the edge of the woods and peered through branches across the clearing. Bok had never seen so many men gathered in one place at once. Hundreds of camp fires, thousands of soldiers, stacks of weapons and platters of food that would have been welcome at the victuals-barren camp to the west.
“We could go round the field and stay hidden,” Norian whispered, “but I say go straight across. In this dark, human eyes can't distinguish us.”
“If you say so,” Mirian said. Bok detected uncertainty in her voice. “Carrot, what do you say?”
“It would save time,” Carrot replied. Although her hair was unilluminated, she raised her hood and tied the strings tight. “Keep your heads bowed. Face away from firelight. Speak in normal voice, they won't pay attention to what we say but they'll gain suspicion in an instant should we whisper. Mirian, you and I must walk as if we are men. Norian, as for your kedanas, the shape will – “
“Understood.” Norian tucked the sheathed long swords beneath his coat.
Bok heard Carrot take a breath. She set off and they followed onto the field. After a few steps, she slowed and motioned Norian to take the lead. Bok was puzzled as to why.
Half the men they passed were asleep, a quarter were eating or talking. Judging from the tone of the voices, Bok decided they were complaining even more than usual. Mirian must have also sensed the pall over the site, because she commented, “They don't seem too happy.”
“Soldiers complain most when they have been given nothing else to do,” Norian said. “All I see is haphazard milling about.”
“This encampment cannot be sustained,” Carrot said. “They are packed too tightly.”
“So I gather from the stench,” Mirian said. “Bok, stick to the path. There are . . . puddles.”
Bok looked up – not much, because he was almost as tall as her – and saw her eyes gleaming brightly above the flash of her smile. He marveled at her making merriment at a time like this. But it did seem to alleviate his own fear, and maybe that was why she did it.
“They haven't been here long,” Carrot replied. “Else the smell would be stronger.”
Bok said to her, “You said the Romans want them in one place to trap them. You were right.”
Norian growled: “If the agent of the Romans believes that free-minded Britanians will remain still while legions encircle them, he'll be greeted with surprise when his army deserts as one!”
“I'm not so sure,” Carrot replied. “Men who are no fools will act as fools when they are led by a fool.”
“I'm not so sure I followed that,” Mirian said.
“Never mind,” Carrot said. “Once he's hostage, first thing we'll do is have him spread the soldiers, if only for reasons of health.”
Crossing a field occupied by thousands of armed soldiers had met no challenge. The command hut, however, was ringed with sentries. Two layers of guards watched the rear, so that there would be no slipping through a trap door this time. Bok wondered if even Archimedes would be stymied at this puzzle.
“I don't see a weakness,” Norian said.
“There is one that I know of,” Carrot said. “He can't resist drink.”
She motioned them to stay while she hurried to the meal hut. It was closed that late at night, but she soon had the door open with a pry of her knife and a sharp yank. She disappeared inside. When she exited seconds later, she had shed her traveling clothes, back-pack, and sword for a simple dress (where did she get that, Bok wondered?). Balanced on her shoulder was a tray with a jug and cup.
She walked over to the headquarters hut and greeted the guards. One of them slipped inside. He returned to the doorway and Carrot was admitted, vanishing from the sight of her companions while the guard shut the door and resumed his post. Minutes dragged.
“What is taking so long?” Norian asked.
“He's the man she believed for years was her father,” Mirian replied. “I imagine a tense reunion.”
“How could she have mistaken him for her father? Mirian, you know your parents are your parents by their scent, and her nose is as good as yours.”
“A person who raises a child from infancy has great influence over the child's mind. It can override all reason and evidence of the senses.”
“I suppose.” Norian studied Mirian's face. “Well, I hope that is not a problem here.”
Bok was listening, and tried to imagine what an unloving childhood must be like. His family had loved him, and in return he had loved his family and through them loved everyone in Britan. He might have loved Romans too if they had not come to kill the people he loved.
The door opened. The guard poked his head in and stood still, apparently listening. He turned and faced the trio, then rushed toward them. Norian reached inside his coat and Bok readied to flee, but Mirian said, “Hold, I don't smell a fight on him.”
“The general demands your report,” the guard breathlessly said to Norian and Mirian. He glanced at Bok and added, “The child spy is to come as well.”
At his gesture, they followed him to the hut. He waved them in, stayed outside, and closed the door.
Beneath the cheery lantern light, Letos/Faron was seated rigidly at his desk, his expression blank. Carrot was standing behind, pouring into his cup. Her posture was stiff and her expression was stone. Bok compared the man and young woman and thought he saw an inheritance of mannerisms, at least.
Letos broke into a nervous smile. “Arcadia! Carrot! How can you threaten me? Don't you remember all those years I kept you secure in my household, the meals, the roof over your head!“
“I am most grateful for those things,” she replied in a voice of ice. “I won't kill you for those things.” She raised the dagger she'd been holding behind his back and stabbed the point into the desktop by his fingertips. “I will not ask twice. Reveal the Roman plans.”
“I know nothing!” When he saw that wasn't sufficing, Letos hastily added, “Save, I received a message this evening from the Romans, it said it was of the highest priority. The order was, spare no time in gathering all men under my command onto the field in as tight a gathering as possible.”
Norian let a sharp laugh. “You must be a fool! If the Romans intend a trap, you'll be killed in it too!”
“I have men watching the eastern road,” Letos replied. “If the Romans advance in battle, I will make an escape.”
“Escape – but only for yourself!”
In response, Letos seized the cup and drank deep. Carrot opened her mouth to speak, but there was a pounding at the door. Before anyone could stop him, Letos blurted, “Enter!”
A soldier rushed in, perspiring and huffing. “General Faron, sir! Observers to the north report a shadow in the sky. They believe it is the airship returned!”
Bok turned back to Carrot, noticing that the dagger that had been standing upright on the desktop had vanished. With one hand kept behind her back, Carrot placed her other hand on Letos's shoulder and squeezed. Letos's eyes widened as he winced.
“General
,” Carrot said cooingly, “it's time for your back rub. If we could have some time alone . . . . “
Letos met her fixed gaze, then faced the messenger. “Yes. Keep me appraised, Soldier. Dismissed.”
“Sir!” the soldier protested. “My captain said that it is most urgent that – “
“Dismissed!” Letos snapped, as Carrot's finger tips went pale.
When the soldier was gone, Mirian turned to Carrot and said, “Back rub?”
“I couldn't think of anything else to say to make him leave,” Carrot replied. “Norian, can you watch the hostage? Slay him if you must, I do not care. Mirian, please come with me. I fear we must see what this is about and your eyes are better than mine.”
Bok started to ask what he could do, then realized that as he was seemingly invisible, he could do anything he wanted. He trailed the women outside.
Outside the door, Mirian met the soldier's questioning gaze at Carrot and said, “The general has decided he prefers our male companion to administer the back rub. They are not to be disturbed – whatever noise you may hear.”
The eyes of the soldiers widened and averted.
Carrot went to the nearest tree behind the hut and effortlessly climbed. Mirian followed, grunting then growling as Bok passed her. They took places on the boughs near the top. Carrot frowned at the north, then scanned the horizon in a circle. Suddenly she pointed south-west and exclaimed, “There!”
Bok squinted, but in the darkness he saw only gray against black. One hint of a dark cloud, though, was moving south, barely above the treetops, against the breeze.
“Mirian,” Carrot said. “What do you see?”
Mirian jostled Bok's shoulder as she took place next to him and squinted. “It's not that far off, rather it's small. Smaller than our own ship, by a lot.”
“The trolls said they had sighted the Roman ship, and that it was much larger than ours. So I wonder, did the Romans make a second, smaller ship?”
“This one is more like a boat.”
Still unable to clearly see the object, Bok watched their heads twist from southwest to southeast and asked, “Why is it circling us?”
