Samuel led them in a prayer and a moment of silence. Don bowed his head and remorse again flooded his soul. His grief about Robert reminded him of his other grief. His error of judgment had caused Rachel’s parents to die. Only a miracle had allowed him to be a part of her regaining her freedom. Could she ever forgive me? Can I ever forgive myself?
Samuel looked at Don, as if asking if he wanted to say a few words, but Don shook his head. His throat was so tight, he doubted that he could have said anything. Samuel then nodded to Slim, on his left, and Slim dismissed the formation.
They walked to a bloodstained area, trampled with many hooves. “Is this the spot?” cried Deborah, with tear-wet cheeks. Don nodded, unable to speak. Deborah knelt and suddenly began to keen, to wail. The primitive, raw emotion of it went through them all like a cold steel javelin. He looked through tears at Samuel who also wept unashamedly. Philip, Colin, and Eric came from behind and joined them in their grief. Thad went forward and knelt much like Don had seen him before, beside Robert’s still-warm body. He reached out his hand, and Deborah took it.
After they had cried until they had no more tears to cry, Don stepped forward and helped Deborah to her feet. She leaned her head on his shoulder as he gently led her away, back to the horses. It was then that a thought demanded attention. Where was Bobby, Samuel’s other bodyguard? He had not seen him since the previous evening.
Chapter 4
†
The Tunnel
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11 NIV
Their first order of business, after the day’s march had begun, was to take the wagons to the place where they had hidden the captured armor and weapons. The cache was undisturbed, and they filled the empty wagons with swords, spears, helms, shields, breastplates, and mail armor. It was only a gesture, of course, perhaps enough to fully equip a mere two hundred men. But, at least, they would not be going to Hightower empty-handed.
Philip was riding close by when Don leaned and spoke in a low voice: “Is that a Christian custom, Philip?” he asked. “The way she was mourning for Robert?”
“No,” answered Philip. “I don’t think so. In fact, my parents always said it was wrong to—well, they thought too much of that sort of thing was wrong. At funerals, I mean.”
“They said we should not grieve like those that had no hope,” he continued. “Like the pagans, I mean.” Then he looked at Don. “No offense intended, sir.”
“None taken,” returned Don. “I see what you mean. It might seem untrue to your beliefs. Yet what she did seemed right, somehow.”
Philip nodded, and they rode along in silence. Don reflected that he was seeing yet another side of Deborah. She had always seemed a bit unemotional before. Certainly she seemed not to allow her emotions to cloud her judgment. What had brought her to such a naked display? Was she somehow trying to help them deal with loss?
Don suspected that somehow she had helped them yet again. He had been carrying a hard knot in his breast that seemed to grow heavier, the more he drew near to the battlefield. Now it was gone. He had been able to release it.
Not that his memories of Robert were less vivid. He still remembered the old man’s respect for horses; Don would never forget his insistence that each trooper should put the welfare of his mount before his own. He remembered Robert’s grasp of the overall battlefield and his ability to see beyond the crisis of the moment. He had learned much and vowed to pass those lessons along. Perhaps that was the best way to honor Robert’s memory. But the pain had subsided, and he suspected that somehow this was Deborah’s doing.
The morning was still young when they reached the western portal of the tunnel. Don recognized the commander of the small force that stood guard. His face changed from stoic sternness to a smile when he saw Don. Don dismounted and the two advanced and shook hands.
“It’s good to see ye again, Lord,” the tall man said. “Do you remember this armor? It was you that giv’ it to me.”
“I remember you very well,” returned Don. “It looks much better than your old leather coat.”
“Oh, I’m still wearin’ it under the mail,” the other answered. “O’ that ye can be sure.”
Samuel had also dismounted and joined the other two. Don turned and half-pointed to Samuel with his arm. “May I present Samuel, Lord Marshall of Haven,” he began. “Samuel, this is—pardon me, I seem to have forgotten your name.”
“I’m Hodgin, Lord Marshall,” came the response. “I’m right glad to meet ye.” They shook hands. “And I remember yer name, Lord Don. Can’t say I’m likely to soon forget it.”
“How do we get these horses to venture into the dark tunnel?” asked Samuel, pointing to the opening. “I am sure that my mount would be terrified of that black hole.”
“Oh, right enough,” returned Hodgin, turning his lanky frame to view the lead horsemen. “Some blindfold their horses and lead them through. The tunnel’s in fairly good condition, so ye shouldn’t have much trouble. But the best way is to have a couple of men dismount and carry torches ahead. The horses will follow well enough.”
“Wouldn’t the torches frighten them, also?” asked Don.
“Not at all,” said Hodgin with a dry chuckle. “Horses are funny about fire. It scares them and also draws them. Haven’t ye heard of horses running back into a burnin’ barn?”
Don and Samuel had to admit that they had, indeed, heard of such a thing. Don immediately gave orders for the scouts to proceed over the pass on the alternative route that bypassed the tunnel. They needed a couple of hours’ head start, so the rest of the company took a break.
Don and Samuel told Hodgin of their mission and asked if he had seen signs of the enemy. Previously, he had been dubious when Don had told him that a large army had been headed his way, and it was only the threat to its supply lines and the spirited defense that had turned the enemy away.
“I have to admit that I thought ye were spinnin’ a yarn when you told me of the army,” said Hodgin. “We heard your guns firin’ o’course. So we knew somethin’ was up. Sounded like thunder, it did.”
“But we went down and looked the area over. Talked to a couple of deserters, too. Shoot! I could hardly believe my eyes. We couldn’t o’ held them for two minutes! Maybe we woulda been able to send a couple o’ messenger pigeons, but that woulda been it. We owe you, that’s for sure.”
“But did you see any sign of them after that?” asked Don.
“Sure did. A couple dozen bearded ruffians on shaggy little horses came this way, a few days later. Looked like Raiders. We were glad o’ this mail armor; I can tell ye!”
“What did they do?” asked Samuel.
“They rode close enough to size us up. We drew up in formation and blocked the road. We stared at each other for a while, then they turned and rode away. They didn’t say nothing. Haven’t been back, neither. I suppose they coulda worked their way over the top.”
†
Four men walked before them with torches as the entered the mouth of the tunnel. Don dismounted and personally led Red and Snap. They seemed to trust him enough to readily walk into what must have seemed like a trap. The air was still and cold, water dripped from the walls, and moisture shone in the flickering light. After a hundred paces, he smelled a strong, musky odor, and the horses snorted and shied, almost pulling the reins from his grip. But he was able to calm them and they continued still deeper into the earth. The way led steadily down, but the decline was gradual. Steel shoes rang hollowly and rebounded from the walls in a rumbling echo.
He kept looking backward to insure that he was not outpacing Deborah. She walked beside Colin, who was leading her horse along with his own. Samuel was close behind them, and then came Blade troop. Pinpricks of light showed to the
rear from torches carried at intervals to light the way. Uncounted tons of rock over his head seemed to push down with dull menace, and a few pebbles even fell from above at one point. But they made the passage through the mountain without serious incident. It had taken less than one hour. When they finally exited, the brightness of full day stung their eyes like vinegar. They were over the last pass, through the Western Wall. It was now only necessary to follow a long gorge down until they reached the plains below. And the first city of the plains would be Hightower.
The ridges ahead were covered with spiky conifer forests, but they ended well below the jagged summits. Above timberline, the gray granite surged upward, tinted with the muted green of alpine plants, and streaked with white snowfields in the lees of ridges. To the east the terrain seemed lower, hinting of the plains beyond. Some boulders had fallen on the road, but past travelers had cleared the way well enough for them to proceed. The high rock faces rose steeply on both sides, and a mountain stream, foaming with spring runoff, was below them on their right.
Don noticed that Bobby was back, riding next to Samuel, just as he should. Don studied him as they continued down. Bobby was large and muscular, probably outweighing Don by nearly a hundred pounds. But he had seemed different, lately. Not moody, exactly, but he did not enter into the conversation as before. The strange absence the night before seemed out of character also. No doubt Samuel sent him on some errand.
Then, riding behind Bobby and Samuel, were Deborah and Colin, chatting as they went. Deborah laughed at something that Colin had said. Don felt a flash of irritation. What’s wrong with you? You should be glad that Colin is showing an interest in her! But somehow he was not glad.
†
They were all curious to know more about Hightower. Of course, they had all heard tales about the three towers that still survived from elder days. They had all gasped when they had heard of the exorbitant fee charged to allow a curiosity-seeker to climb the fabulous stairs to the pinnacle of the tallest, which they heard was called the “Bank Tower.” But the ruins were almost even more amazing, extending for miles in every direction.
Of course, not much really remained undisturbed. Fires, tornados, earthquakes, and simple vandalism had destroyed many of the buildings in the old part of the city. They knew that. But there were also tales of amazing things still being dug out of forgotten basements or from under piles of rubble.
Had they pressed harder, they could have made it all the way to High-tower. But Samuel wanted to reach the city early in the morning, rather than late evening, so they stopped early. It did allow extra rest for their horses, which was good. They only had a few remounts along with them. They made camp at the base of the mountains, near a swollen stream. Old ruins huddled nearby, and a number of rusted hulks of the old horseless carts sprawled forlornly, weeds growing out of their glassless windows. Deborah was curious, so Colin offered to take her on a walk before their evening meal.
That evening Samuel gave Don a small codex. It was called “The Gospel of John.” He read it with interest as long as light lasted. It was complex but interesting, and he saw that it gave great insight into the faith of his old mentor.
They arose early, and the sun was only a finger’s width above the horizon when the fabled towers came into view. The tallest tower was cuboid with four rectangular faces, each looking like a gray honeycomb but with square openings. Glints of reflected sunlight showed that some glass still remained. It appeared to be well over five hundred feet high. The other two had a similar form but slightly shorter. Gaps showed in the facing of the shorter towers, revealing rusty skeletons beneath. Numerous lower buildings stood nearby, but the distance hid many details.
When they travelled the last stretch of the ancient highway, they saw that it did not lead directly to the towers, as they had expected. It led down out of the foothills, made a series of graceful curves, and continued due east toward the plains, as far as they could see. The imposing towers were still two full miles to the south and east.
They passed a glittering lake to their right, or south, then exited down a short side ramp that led to the gates of Hightower. It was a walled city much more imposing than Glenwood, though the walls were not of the stature of Ariel and certainly not of Bethuel. On the other hand, the city was obviously much larger, and the walls certainly made up in length what they might have lacked in height.
As they approached the gates, Samuel called a quick conference. He explained that it was important to send a small party to a town to the south of Hightower to recruit some local volunteers. This was the town of his youth, and he suspected that his name would be an avenue to break through the natural suspicion of strangers. It was important to begin recruiting as soon as possible, so that they could use the recruits to visit still other towns. Unfortunately, it was still about thirty-five miles away.
Samuel turned to Deborah. “Deborah, I need you to go along to tell them of the atrocities that you saw. Bobbie and Eric will be your bodyguard, so you should be safe enough.”
“Why me?” she asked with a small quaver in her voice. “You or Don could convince them much better than I!”
“We need to stay here and try to get a meeting with the leaders of Hightower,” Samuel answered. “You are very capable. You can give personal testimony of the Glenwood massacre. Bobby and Eric can talk to the men about the military side of things. And look here! I was raised in Castle Rock. I think you should be able to get some men who will join us. We need locals to send out with our recruiting teams.”
“Oh, me!” sighed Deborah. “Very well, I will go if Don agrees that it is necessary.” She looked at Don.
“Are you too tired for another day’s ride?” asked Don.
Deborah shook her head. “No, that’s not it at all.”
Don was surprised. In actuality, this did not sound like a good idea. He still had an uneasy feeling about Bobby, though Eric was certainly trustworthy. The distance seemed far, but she should be safe enough with two trained men at her side. With some reluctance, he nodded. “I think it would be worth a try,” he said. “Even if you can’t recruit anyone on your first visit, you can at least get the whole town talking about the danger.”
“That’s right,” said Samuel. “If they refuse, we will return, and I will go with you. But I think you will be able to get a few volunteers.”
With a few more instructions, they sent the three on their way. Don and Samuel led the rest of the party toward the gates of Hightower.
†
There was an inviting inn off one of the main squares. A nearby stable was happy to take the officer’s horses and promised them a rubdown and hot mash with their hay. The place looked well-kept and they entered the inn satisfied that their mounts would be well cared for. The horse troop was much too big for any inn to accommodate, though. Slim had found a field near the gates and had set up a camp there for them and their animals. The farmer had been more than glad to supply fodder for a few silver coins.
The inn was an impressive stone building flanked by a small bookstore selling ancient tomes from the Elder days. Don glanced at the books on display. They reminded him how much he still loved to read—but right now they were a distraction. He forced himself to follow the others into the inn.
Now that Blade troop and the other units were settled, Don, Samuel, Colin, Thad, and Philip had a few minutes to themselves. It was early for the evening meal, and only a few patrons were sitting in the great room when they entered. A tall and cool brew was in most people’s minds, as evidenced by their line at the tap and readiness to part with a few coins.
The bartender seemed to have some time to spare, though he was polishing some old glasses that no doubt dated back to the elder days. Don sat at a stool and asked for a short ale. When he was served he took a close look at their host while the others talked
The young man behind the bar h
ad clear eyes and youthful features. He had a friendly smile and seemed anxious to please. His clothes were plain, but well made, and his apron was clean and white.
“Are you from the West?” he asked. “Is it true what we’ve been hearing? Has the Prophet really invaded?”
“It’s true.” Don waved his arm at the trestle table where the others were nursing their ale jugs. “And if it wasn’t for some brave men like this lot, the enemy would be eating at your table, right now. And they would not be paying.”
†
After taking refreshments in the inn, Samuel and Don, armed with directions, remounted and rode through the narrow Hightower streets to the town hall. They tied their mounts to a rail under an open-sided shelter and approached the guards standing by the gate.
Don took the initiative. “This is Samuel of Gibeah, who is also marshall of all the combined forces of Bethuel and Ariel. I am Donald of Fisher and I am in command of the horse troops of Ariel. We need to speak with your mayor immediately.”
The guards questioned them closely, then allowed them to proceed, with a warning that they would probably have to disarm before being allowed inside the mayor’s quarters. And so it proved. But they were finally admitted to a chamber next to the town hall and spoke briefly with a young assistant to the mayor.
“We are deeply honored to be visited by such distinguished guests,” he said with a smooth voice and a ready smile. “My name is Jack.”
They introduced themselves and began to tell their story.
“We have come here today with a small force to alert you to a serious danger from the False Prophet,” began Don. But he was interrupted by Jack’s upraised hand.
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 5
