Black Caps
The one who pursues righteousness and faithful love will find life, righteousness, and honor. Proverbs 21: 21 HCSB
Philip whirled his mare hard to the right and saw four riders closing in from the south, bows drawn. But they did not look like Raiders. He put an arrow to his bowstring, and he heard Rowan slam the bolt closed on the rifle. Then one of the riders held up his hand. “Who are you? Speak quickly,” he said.
“I’m Philip, and this is Rowan of Steamboat,” shouted Philip. “Who are you?”
“We are from Stonegate!”
Philip lowered his bow, and the riders approached, cautiously. “What are you doing here?” one challenged.
Philip moved to meet with one who seemed to be the leader and learned that they were scouts, and that Stonegate horse troops were not far behind them. Philip and Rowan then disclosed that they were carrying a message from the survivors of Steamboat which had been destroyed by the Prophet’s army. The scouts, six in all, conferred briefly, and two agreed to escort them back to speak with the leader of the Stonegate force. Philip unstrung his bow, and Rowan slung his rifle over his back. They galloped on toward the rising sun.
The horse troopers advanced to meet them, and what a beautiful sight they were. There was well over a hundred of them, with lances raised like a forest, tipped with steel. The scouts passed them off to an officer with a thin gold band around the rim of his helm. After a few quick words of explanation, the scouts reversed direction and rode to again take their place in the lead.
The officer quizzed them briefly then seemed to be satisfied. He led them back to the center of the advancing column. He saluted an elderly man who was obviously the commander, and the three turned to keep pace with him as he rode on.
“These two were brought back by our scouts, sir,” the officer said. “They say they are carrying a message to Stonegate.”
“My name is John,” the older man said. “Some call me Gray John. Now tell me what this is all about.”
†
Deborah had a small sketch map showing where Carla’s sister lived in Loveland. Don had not wanted to bring the full troop into the narrow streets of the town, but he insisted on escorting her the rest of the way. Osric, Don’s double, came with them, as well as four mounted horse troopers. They identified themselves as they rode through the gate, and the guards let them pass readily enough. Don simply said they were the party of “Donald of Fisher.” She noticed that the guards glanced at each other, as if in shock, mouths open.
The streets were not overly crowded, but they were in no hurry and fell in behind a slow-moving cart. She became aware of a sort of a buzz of conversation, which gradually grew louder, and she noticed that people were coming out to line up on the pavement. She heard scraps of conversation:
“The lore-man’s here.”
“Did you see the red horse?”
“Come on, let’s have a look.”
Youngsters ran on ahead as if carrying the news. Soon it appeared that they were drawing as much attention as a circus parade. Parents lifted young children on their shoulders. Young boys ran behind them, eager eyes wide with excitement. Then Deborah realized, with a flash of irritation, that all eyes were on Osric. He was the focus of everyone’s attention. No one even glanced at Don. This is so unfair! Don is the one they should be coming out to see, not this imposter!
She was even more irritated as Osric smiled and waved as though he was a great lord. He even reached down and lifted a young lad to ride in front of him on the saddle. The nearby crowd cheered. Deborah looked at Don and was surprised to see him chuckle. He doesn’t seem bothered at all. I would be furious!
Don quietly ordered Osric and the four troopers to wait for them in the town square while he and Deborah rode down a side street to find the house where Carla was staying. Deborah could hardly contain herself. As they reached the fifth house with a brass-bound lantern near the front door, they were sure they had found the place. Don dismounted and held Trixie, her mare, as she stepped down. She could hold her tongue no longer. “You might think this Osric’s—masquerade is amusing,” she said. “But it makes me furious. You are the one who should be getting the attention. Not this actor!”
Don laughed, a full, hearty, masculine chuckle. He held on to her hand. “Don’t let that bother you,” he assured her. “I care nothing for that. I am a bit astonished that Duncan’s trick seems to be working so well, but I am glad of it. Come on. Let’s try to find Carla.”
Deborah calmed down a bit, not that she agreed with Don. She did not know why the whole thing had annoyed her so much, but it did. She stepped up on the threshold and knocked on the door. Carla’s sister, Annabeth, admitted her, and Deborah and Carla embraced each other like they also were sisters. Carla was wearing an emerald-green frock that was an attractive counterpoint to her red hair. Deborah had been told that Annabeth was a widow, but she obviously had means. The townhouse was tastefully furnished, and a beautiful tapestry hung on the wall. Antique furniture was the highlight of the parlor, and the room was spotless, gleaming with care.
Don was admitted, apologizing for entering Annabeth’s peaceful home in full armor. Then Carla ran to him and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Donald, it is so good to see you,” she said, breathlessly. “Annabeth, this is the man I told you about. He saved us from the Raider camp.”
“I’m happy to see you, too, Carla,” said Don. “You are looking well. Charmed to meet you, Annabeth. But I really can’t stay. Please don’t listen to Carla. I was only one of many that helped her escape.”
They tried to persuade Don to linger for at least a cup of tea, but he insisted that one hundred men were waiting on him and that he must go. Deborah realized that he was right, but she wished that it wasn’t so. Carla told him that Rachel was expected to stop by soon, and he promised to return when the day’s patrol was over. Then he departed, his heavy boots thumping hollowly across the wooden floor.
†
Don, Osric, and their escort rejoined Slim and the Blades a few hundred yards east of the town. Osric was now wearing a scarlet surcoat that a Loveland tailor had given him while he was waiting in the town square. It looked crisp and smart, and Don had to admit that it added a distinctive look. Perhaps this is something that we should mention to Duncan.
Slim had taken advantage of the break to map out a patrol plan, and Don approved it. The concept was to send the scouts ahead to ride south, paralleling the main road, a mile to the west. The forty crossbowmen, led by Jenkins, followed behind the scouts. The main horse troop advanced in a column of four down the main highway toward Longmont at a steady trot.
Don knew that the troopers were vexed that they had seen no action against the enemy since leaving Haven. The long days in the saddle and mounted drills were becoming tiresome, and they wanted to again test themselves in battle. Don doubted that this day would be anything other than a routine patrol but knew that the Raiders were looking for unguarded supply trains to attack. That was their objective, and they were masters of hit-and-run raids, as their name implied.
The terrain was not actually flat, but rolling, with ridges running roughly east and west. The road, in tribute to ancient engineers, ran almost ruler-straight to the south. As they topped a ridge about half-way to Longmont, they saw a thin column of smoke ahead. A scout met them and said that it looked as if a wagon train had been under attack a few miles further on.
Don nodded to Slim, who ordered an advance at a gallop. The bugler remained silent. No use giving the enemy any warning. They thundered down the other side of the rise, their warhorses closing the distance with eagerness. As they approached the source of the smoke, they saw some wagons ablaze and dark forms lying motionless like a scatter of driftwood by a river. Then they saw figures on horseback retreating toward the foothills to the west. They had found some Raiders at last.<
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Slim ordered several troopers to turn aside and see if they could render assistance. The rest of the troop gave chase at top speed down a lane leading due west. Don rode stirrup-to-stirrup with Slim. Osric and his tall sorrel mount easily kept pace before them. Don knew that the large warhorses on gentle terrain could easily outrun the shaggy Raider mounts. But he also knew that the Raiders had an advantage in the mountains, since their agile little horses were carrying less weight and had great endurance. The troopers had to overtake them soon, before their warhorses gave out.
As they approached a series of low knolls, the lane became a trail that wound upward. Don had lost sight of Jenkins and his force and hoped that he had been able to get in front of the Raiders to cut off their escape. If not, it was likely that they would not be able to catch them. Their lead was too great.
The trail turned northwest and led through a saddle between two knolls. The west side of the first knoll had a cover of shrubs, higher than a rider’s head, but there was a clear area on each side of the trail for at least a hundred yards. Don shouted to Slim that they needed to make sure that none of the Raiders had taken cover on the hillside. Don spurred Snap ahead and had nearly drawn even with Osric in the column when a sound like a bullwhip cracked by his ear, and he heard a thud like an axe biting into a hollow stump. Then, a split-second later, he heard a dull crack that echoed from the hillsides all around. It was a rifle shot.
Don glanced at Osric, who swayed in his saddle, right hand on his chest. Don reined close to him and tried to grab his elbow, to steady him, but he was too late. Osric toppled and hit the ground, rolling. Don pulled Snap to a stop, along with Slim and the nearby troopers. One alert lad said, “There he is!” He pointed to a grove of shrubs, and, sure enough, Don saw a glimpse of movement. Several quick-thinking troopers swerved and spurred toward the area. Another shot resounded, and one of the troopers threw up his hands as he fell. At that, the entire rear half of the column wheeled in that direction and rode toward the gunfire.
Don rode with them and saw fleeting glimpses of two riders ahead of them, riding to the northwest, up a steep trail. Slim had taken charge of the chase, so Don reined in and rode back to check on the condition of the fallen trooper and Osric. Several troopers clustered around both, and it did not take a healer to determine that their spirits had left them. Don looked down at Osric’s pale face, the ruddy glow of life departed. A small rip in the scarlet cloth over his chest was the only visible wound.
“Oh, God,” he whispered to himself. “That bullet was meant for me!” He realized that this was no accident. The raid of the wagon train had been a carefully staged trap. How did they know I would be here? Or did they set a number of these traps along the highway, and we just happened to find this one?
He dismounted, knelt, and gently closed Osric’s eyes. His body slumped downward as with the weight of a lead overcoat. His throat choked, and moisture sprang to the corners of his eyes. Is this how it’s going to be? Do I bring death to all those around me?
†
After Don left, Deborah and Carla joined Annabeth in her kitchen. She did not cook on a fireplace. Instead, she had a very modern iron firebox that put out a great deal of heat with little fuel. She was older than Carla and a bit taller; full-figured without being plump. She wore an unadorned house-dress. Her hair was strawberry blond, instead of Carla’s fiery red, but they shared the greenest of green eyes. Auden was her only son, a lively seven-year-old. Deborah inquired about him, and Annabeth laughed as she told about some of his latest mischief. They all sat around her table and shared cups of mint tea and nibbled on slices of raisin bread and fresh-churned butter.
Annabeth was gracious and assured Deborah that she was welcome to stay as long as she liked. Her house had four upstairs bedrooms, and only two were being used—three while Carla was there. She insisted that she loved to have company. Deborah thought she seemed a bit lonely. She also sensed a coolness in both Carla and Annabeth, that was not completely hidden by the warmth of their welcome. She thought she knew the reason and decided to confront the matter head-on.
“Auden will be home from his school in a short while, dear,” said Annabeth, speaking to Deborah. “He will see to your mare and bring in your things. There is a roomy stable in the back. So I want you to relax, and we are interested in hearing all about your journey.”
“Thank you,” answered Deborah. “I can’t think when I have been in a more inviting home or in more pleasant company. The men I have been travelling with always treated me kindly. But I have been longing for feminine companions.”
“Of course,” said Annabeth. “I’m sure it has not been easy for you. Please stay here as long as you want.”
“Thank you. You are very kind. But I have something—Oh, I hardly know how to begin. But I first want you to understand something—something important.”
“What?” they said, as both sat upright in their chairs and turned to face her.
“I don’t want you to think that I am Rachel’s rival.”
“Well,” said Carla carefully, “it was kind of you to bring Rachel the letter from Don. I understand that you defended Don when Howard brought up—well, the unfortunate deaths of their parents. I can’t help but wonder—but do go on.”
Deborah turned her attention to Annabeth. “Have you heard this story?” she asked. “About the conflict between Howard and Don.”
“Yes. Carla has told me all about it. What a tragedy! Still, I must say that Don has done as much as anyone could to make amends.”
Deborah nodded and paused for a moment. Her throat seemed to constrict, and it was hard to speak. “He did, and I was proud to be able to help. Last December, I hope you don’t think the only reason that I told Rachel about her parents—well, because I wanted him for myself.”
Carla looked her in the eye. Her tone was firm, yet not unkind. “I wondered about that. You certainly put the matter in a bad light, and you were careful to tell the story of a—I don’t know what to call it. Don’s dalliance or relationship with a noble woman of bad reputation, I suppose. It was a shock to Rachel, and I am not sure she has been able to get over it.”
Deborah nodded. “I know. I was being selfish, although I also thought the right thing to do was to tell her the truth. But I forgot that truth without kindness can be cruelty.”
†
They had finished the pot of tea by the time that Deborah finished telling the story of the events that had happened since she had last seen Carla. The two other women took it in thoughtfully, saying little, except to praise Deborah for her work as a healer. They were also impressed that she had been an effective voice spreading the grim tale of the Glenwood Massacre. Finally, Deborah stopped, a bit embarrassed that she had been dominating the conversation.
“Oh, you will have to forgive me,” she said. “I have been talking about myself the whole time, and you have not been able to get a word in. Do forgive me.”
“Not at all, dear,” said Annabeth. “We will have plenty of time to tell you our news. Not that I have much to tell. My life is quite ordinary.”
Silence fell for a time as Annabeth put a kettle of water on the stove to heat. The kitchen was a bit too warm, so she opened the window and let a cool breeze enter. Finally, Carla spoke. “There is one thing I need to ask. You said you were not a rival of Rachel’s. But are you in love with Don?
A rush of warmth surged up Deborah’s neck and across her cheeks. She had always known that Carla was direct. She was very much so, herself. She had to force her lips to speak. “I suppose I am,” she answered.
Carla’s face also had red spots on her cheeks, her nostrils flared, and her green eyes flashed. “And you said you were not Rachel’s rival. I think you have been trying to steal him away from her!”
“Yes, I did. You are right about that. I tried feminine wiles on him. Although, my wi
les are not very wiley, I fear.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that sometimes Don can be the most irritating man that I have ever met. Sometimes he is as keen and quick as a razor cut. Other times he is as dense as a post. I did try to win his heart—tried and failed. He has always been kind, and I am sure he is fond of me. But he is in love with Rachel, and that is the end of it.”
“What she is saying, Carla, is that she loves Don, though not in a possessive way.” Annabeth spoke quietly and laid her gentle hand on Carla’s arm. “I think you want Don to be happy, and if that means a future with Rachel, then you can accept it.”
“That’s right,” blurted Deborah. “You said what I was trying to say. So I am not really Rachel’s rival, even though we both love the same man.”
“Hmm,” said Carla. “I think you are right about that, but Rachel is not as sure as I am. Her feelings are confused right now, I fear. Still, I am her dear friend, and I am glad that I don’t have to choose between you.”
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a small whirlwind of a young lad who came in, banging the front door behind him. “Mom, some men have been asking around for Rachel. They say they have a message for her.”
Annabeth introduced Auden, who smiled, and quickly turned to the pantry to find a snack. Deborah did not see any reason for concern, not at first. Then she remembered Samuel’s warning. Could these men be the Black Caps that were sent to kill? Do they plan to use Rachel in some way?
“Wait, Annabeth,” said Deborah. “I just remembered something.”
Chapter 25
†
Carla’s Ride
The path of the righteous is level;
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 24
