The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2)

by Harry James Fox

  “Please tell me of this force that you brought. Where are they?” he asked.

  Samuel described their force and the fact that they were encamped near the front gate of the city. Jack’s brows went up and his face began to redden.

  “You mean that a force of nearly two hundred armed soldiers rode up to our very gates, and I was not informed? Why did you not send a messenger to warn us of your arrival?”

  “We understood that your guards on the tunnel through the Western Wall had sent a message by pigeon,” returned Samuel. “We certainly told them of our plan to meet with you. I don’t know why your guards at the town gate did not inform you that we had arrived.”

  They young man made a visible effort to calm himself. “Yes, yes. I do not doubt you in the least. It is very distressing—something I have to put up with all the time. I can’t seem to be able to get it through their thick heads…”

  He invited them to sit near a low table in a corner of the foyer and joined them there. “As you can see, we are not really on a war footing here. It should not have been possible for you to appear on our doorstep with a force of this size without us being warned well in advance. But you can see that it is all too possible. Anyway, go ahead with your story.”

  “You must have heard word of the attack against Ariel and Bethuel by an army sent by the False Prophet,” began Samuel. “But you may have not heard that we were able to defend ourselves well enough that they broke off the attack and continued east. A small force was then able to get ahead of them and defend the western entrance of the tunnel. They were stung badly enough that they turned to the north. Probably their supply situation also had them worried, and their northern supply route was more secure. They are now marching against Stonegate, and another army is approaching Steamboat, even as we speak.”

  “Of course we had word of the attack, and we even received several messages from the elders of Ariel warning us of the danger coming our way,” said Jack. “But how large is the army?”

  “We caused them some serious losses, but they remain strong. Probably twenty thousand or so. We turned them north with a force of less than a thousand, but we used some trickery and some new weapons to do so.”

  That brought the conversation to a stop. Jack searched their faces to see if they were serious. He seemed to think that this was some great, macabre joke.

  “You are serious, aren’t you?” he finally asked.

  “Of course we are serious,” replied Samuel. “This is no joking matter. I did not even mention the northern army, which probably has another thirty thousand. We need to speak to the mayor. You are all in deadly danger.”

  Jack nodded and, after a few more questions, excused himself and exited through a door to his rear. After a quarter hour or so, he returned and took them into a small room which looked more like a working office than a ceremonial reception chamber. Don took this as a good omen.

  After Jack made introductions, Don had a few moments to size up Sheridan, the leader of Hightower. He was tall and slender, but there was no softness about him. His black hair was salted with white, but his age was difficult to gauge. He was definitely older than Don and younger than Samuel. His tanned cheeks were clean shaven. He looked more like an outdoorsman than a pale city dweller.

  Samuel repeated the story of the recent invasion and the movement of the Prophet’s armies. Sheridan did not interrupt, giving Samuel his full attention like a hungry cat staring at a mouse.

  “And so,” concluded Samuel, “the threat of the armies is not immediate. But we have reason to believe that some Raiders may be heading this way, and we have come to urge that the cities of the eastern plains mobilize their forces in readiness for a mass attack.”

  “I have heard enough,” said Sheridan. “And you have convinced me of your worthy cause. We have little reason to trust strangers in these uncertain times, but I have heard of you, and your good reputation precedes you. However, you must be aware that we have no alliances with Stonegate or Longmont…in fact, we are bitter rivals, and there is no trust between us. On the other hand, in view of what you have told me, I will certainly begin mobilizing for war. Hightower will give a good account of itself.”

  “You and the other cities of the plain will have to field a united army if you are to have a chance,” said Don. “Otherwise, the Prophet will simply defeat you one at a time, like a man plucking ripe fruit.”

  “Yes. Well—I will consider what you said. Let us meet tomorrow afternoon. I will see that your officers are comfortably housed, and your troops will be supplied with hot food.”

  Don and Samuel nodded and withdrew with thanks. The interview was over.

  Chapter 5

  †

  A Night in Castle Rock

  Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another. Proverbs 27:7 HCSB

  Eric and Bobby rode their horses at a brisk trot into the small town of Castle Rock. Deborah was trailing behind them, hoping that tonight she would be sleeping in a real bed. She hadn’t had a proper meal in days, and the thought of a hot meal and a warm bath helped her to overcome her weariness. Just ahead lay the town center, which had a hospitable inn and shuttered council buildings. The roads were cobblestone and lined with clay pots of seasonal flowers, their color barely visible in the approaching dusk. Bobby followed Eric as he pulled up at the inn, The Bull and Whistle, and both men tethered their horses to the street railing. This was a place specifically made for weary travelers; that was clear. Climbing down from his mount, Eric grabbed his leather satchel which was securely fastened to the horse’s saddle. It contained all the money they had—copper coins that Samuel had paid them for past work and some silver to help them with their mission.

  The inn was alive with the sound of fiddles, women’s laughter, and men’s voices, happy that as yet the False Prophet was just a legend from the West. It was as if they could not seriously imagine him entering the town and conquering them. Yet, Deborah suspected that during the day people quietly went about their day-to-day business trying to prevent fearful thoughts of war from encroaching upon their minds. It appeared that on nights such as these, with a few hearty ales, the men let loose, forgetting the troubles of the day.

  Eric made arrangements for the horses to be stabled, and Bobby brought their gear into the foyer. The innkeeper agreed to store their baggage behind his desk until he could find them rooms. He sent a stable boy out to take charge of their horses.

  The smell of a good, hearty beef stew was a pleasant greeting as they entered the great room. Eyes followed them to the counter where a maid took their order and seated them at a table in front of an old marble fireplace lit by a robust fire. Embers crackled and sang as the flames lit up the room. Deborah warmed her cold hands in front of the fire, relieved that at last they were here.

  “So where ye come from?” asked an old man sitting at a long table nearest them. He was a rugged-looking specimen with wrinkles covering his face and gnarly old arms ending in even more weathered hands. His aged eyes twinkled as a friendly smile appeared, and he drew in his legs as if about to stand up.

  “We’ve just come from the outskirts of Ariel, Bethuel, and Glenwood, Grandfather, after battling the Prophet’s army back there,” said Eric, as if sensing that the greeting was meant to be friendly. “And what a hard battle we fought. My name is Eric.”

  The old man’s eyes began to shine as he said, “My name’s Harley, Harley of Franktown, and we heard about the fighting, alright. We owe ye a debt of gratitude, my boy, for without yer courage, the Prophet’s men might be on our doorstep.”

  “How did you hear about that?” asked Bobby, sitting down beside them.

  “There was a trader though here the other day. He got the story from the tunnel guards. Turned him back, they did. Said it was too dangerous to go west, just now.”

  Eric helped Deborah to a chair. She had
wanted to take the opportunity to freshen up a bit but decided to wait for a few minutes. Seeing her seated, he continued the conversation. “We are here to help you fight the enemy army, but we need more men. The False Prophet is massing his forces and planning to take every city on the eastern plains.”

  Harley thought for a moment, and then realizing that the boys and Deborah were without an ale, he sang out to the drink-maid, “Hannah, bring an ale each over here for…”

  “Eric and Bobby…and Deborah,” responded Eric, finishing his sentence. “We are with Samuel of Gibeah and Donald of Fisher. They are back at Hightower waiting to talk to the leaders there. Samuel has asked us to come here and ask for men of muscle to help us fight.”

  As Hannah delivered three cool, frothy ales to the table, Harley nodded his head as he said, “I see, I see. Well, yer talkin’ to the right man, youngster. I have been meetin’ all week with twenty good men of this town who want to do nothin’ more than put up a strong defense.”

  They all took a sip. “Who’s this Samuel, ye speak of?” he asked.

  “He said he was from these parts,” answered Eric. “He is of the Warren family, he told me. Perhaps you may have heard of him.”

  “Samuel Warren,” said Harley, half to himself. “That does sound—Sure! I know who that must be. Sammy Warren! Left to go to Stonegate if I remember right. How is he?”

  “He is lord marshall of Haven, now,” said Deborah. “He came east to warn you of the danger you are in. He thought someone here might remember him.”

  “Aye, that I do. His family was well respected hereabouts. All gone, though, I think.”

  “Could you help us spread the word? We need every able-bodied man to join us.”

  “How do ye know so much about it, young lady?”

  “I saw them murder the men of Glenwood with my own eyes!”

  Conversation stopped. Deborah’s clear voice had pierced to every corner of the room. She looked around, seeing that every face was turned toward her. She looked into the eyes of each person, and then spoke in a loud voice. “We have come to ask your aid. Not for ourselves. We have driven them off for the moment. But if you do not stand united, the slaughter of Glenwood will be your slaughter too.”

  There was an excited babble of conversation, and everyone began to ask questions. The three of them tried to answer each one and were forced to tell the story several times. Deborah’s tale of how the enemy commander, General Logan, had summarily executed the men of Glenwood was greeted with stunned silence. Most were shocked, ashen-faced, but a few looked at them with suspicion and hung back, refusing to be drawn in. Just then the stew arrived, and as the trio ate heartily, Harley called out above the music of the fiddles, “Men! Where are my men?”

  The music stopped instantly as fifteen or more men rose from their seats and joined Harley at the long table. “Come join us, boys, and ye too, young lady,” Harley motioned. “Bring yer stew and yer ale. Tonight must be fated by the One above, who knows all things.”

  Eric, Bobby, and Deborah joined the men, all as rugged as Harley and even more muscular. They looked fit and fight-worthy, ready to do battle and join the troopers. “We can only spare twenty able-bodied town-men,” explained Harley, ordering ales all round with a gesture to the drink-maid. “We need the rest of our men to stay here and protect the town and our women-folk and children. We’re afraid the Raiders might slip through.”

  “Any help would be better than naught,” answered Eric, grateful for the offer and amazed how easy it had been to get it. “It must indeed be fated by the One above,” he said in a low voice. Then he spoke to the room in general: “Samuel is expecting us back at the camp near the gates of Hightower by mid-day tomorrow. Do you have many weapons?”

  “Now, it just so happens that we’ve been stockpiling weapons, fearing that the Raiders would soon try to attack us. We’ll take all we need and leave the rest to the other men-folk to use in case the Raiders find a way into town.”

  “We also have our own armory and horses,” murmured a tall, handsome man sitting opposite Deborah. “Our blacksmiths have been hard at work making helms and breastplates for just this very kind of thing.”

  “Jarrad is right,” said Harley, acknowledging the man who spoke. “We’re prepared and ready.”

  Finishing off his meal, Eric wiped the last bit of stew from his mouth with a kerchief from his pocket as he said, “Right, we are all agreed then. Tomorrow we ride to the camp where Samuel can instruct us further.”

  “Does this inn have rooms available?” asked Bobby as he tried to stifle a yawn. “We have travelled many days without a proper sleep, and I am worn out.”

  Harley called Hannah over, who promptly said, “We have three nice loft rooms left available upstairs with feather-down beds and home-spun blankets. There’s also a communal bath room down the hall where you can freshen up. Oh, and we have breakfast down here in the morning. I am sure that the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee will awaken you, soon enough.”

  “We’ll only need two rooms, Hannah,” said Eric. “One for Lady Deborah and one for us to share.”

  “Of course, sir,” beamed Hannah. “I shall arrange for an extra low-bed to be brought to you room.”

  Tears of joy sprang to Deborah’s eyes, joined by a smile, at the thought of soaking in a hot tub, feeling clean again, and then sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed. She found Jarrad watching her, and she realized his eyes had been on her all night. Deborah wondered about her appearance. What must he think of me? Travelling unescorted with these young men and living in rough conditions? She hoped that he and the others would see her as courageous and resourceful and not assume she was some sort of camp-follower. I must try to appear self-confident!

  Deborah returned his stare, a little taken aback by the intensity of his almost-black eyes. He was obviously younger than Don and quite different in build. Her desire for Don was like an ache, but Jarrad’s eyes had a force that she had rarely sensed before. Jarrad was taller and darker than Don. Long black hair would probably have reached his shoulders (had he not tied it behind his head with a leather strap) and his body was well developed, with muscles bulging through his shirt sleeves. Suddenly, he smiled, exposing a perfect set of white teeth.

  “Hello, my lady,” he said in a bemused tone. “May I have the pleasure of buying you another ale?”

  Deborah was a little taken aback. She had enjoyed Colin’s company, of course. But it was unusual for a complete stranger to show her this kind of attention. After the struggle she had been through the past weeks, she couldn’t resist something to help her wind down.

  “I would like another drink, sir, but would it be too much trouble to ask for a strawberry wine instead?”

  Jarrad threw back his head and roared a loud, hearty laugh. “Whatever your heart desires, my lady, so shall you have.”

  Last drinks were being served now as the inn was about to close for the night. Hannah graciously brought the wine, a bottle of it, as requested by Jarrad.

  “We’ll share it, my love, and what we don’t drink, we’ll take for tomorrow. I am coming back to your camp with you, as all of us are here. It will be lovely to get to know you better,” said Jarrad with a wink, saluting her with his glass. “To the young lady and a pleasant future ahead!”

  Deborah blushed as they sipped strawberry wine together. Thoughts of Don crossed her mind, reminding her of how much she liked and wanted him. At the same time, Deborah found Jarrad attractive without really wanting to. Brushing aside her thoughts, she noticed that Eric and Bobby were ready to retire upstairs to the loft-rooms. She noticed that they looked at each other uncertainly as if they were unsure whether to leave her alone with this stranger.

  “So we’ll all meet here for breakfast,” Bobby was saying. “And then we can ride to camp. I must say, Old Samuel will be pleased.”

&
nbsp; “Don’t expect much praise,” warned Eric. “I daresay he was hoping for more than twenty.”

  Shaking hands and saying their good-nights, the men all left the inn with Jarrad reluctantly following last. Deborah watched as they all disappeared outside, then followed Hannah as she showed them to their rooms.

  “Is there any chance I can have a soak in the hot tub?” asked Deborah. “My muscles all ache, and I feel rather grubby.”

  “Of course, my lady,” said Hannah. “I’ll pour you a bath straightaway and bring you some lavender soap and oil.”

  The boys decided to freshen up in the morning, all too eager for some much needed sleep. Hannah had added an extra bed in their room as promised and had kept a warm fire going in the grate. It was midnight when they collapsed into bed, unable to keep their eyes open any longer. But after meeting Jarrad, Deborah’s energy was renewed. She really didn’t want to hop into a clean bed with snow-white sheets after not having bathed for days. Lying back in the huge, hot tub, she let the lavender oil work its soothing magic, lulling her into a dream-like state.

  An image of Don crept into her mind, overtaken by a vision of Jarrad throwing his head back and laughing. What was happening to her? Maybe she was just flattered by a bit of extra attention. Maybe she was just weary and her mind was playing tricks. I’ll think about it tomorrow.

  Drying herself off with a fluffy, white bath towel, Deborah thought she heard a noise in the hallway. It sounded like footsteps. Quickly, she threw on the clean linen nightgown that Hannah had lent her. Peeking out of the bathroom door, she saw Bobby sneaking down the steps from the loft. What on earth is he doing? But before she could ask him anything, he had bounded to the door and slipped out into the crisp night air.