They had captured the rifle from one of the killers. Don wished they had taken at least one alive. An interrogation would have been valuable if they had been able to persuade one to talk. But that was not to be. Don examined the rifle and saw immediately that it resembled curios that he had often seen hanging above mantelpieces. This one was beautifully preserved, gleaming with oil, and the telescopic sight was in pristine condition. It did require the operator to lift a handle, slide a bolt to the rear, and chamber a round for each shot, so the rate of fire was slow. But it was very accurate over a long distance. They recovered eighteen rounds with the weapon, so it could prove useful. Don wondered how many of these old weapons were in the Prophet’s arsenal. Nothing like this had been seen in the conflict around Haven.
It was now mid-afternoon, so they reformed the patrol and headed east, back to the Longmont-Stonegate road. The two bound captives were sullen and refused to speak. As dusk began to fall, they again drew near to Loveland, and Don remembered that he had promised to look in on Deborah upon his return. Slim insisted that he take two troopers with him as bodyguards. Don agreed to this and ordered the rest of the patrol to return to Stonegate to make their report. He turned aside with his escort and entered the town, just as the gates were being closed for the evening.
†
Carla continued up the road to Estes Park, occasionally glancing over her shoulder. The two riders were always back behind her, just close enough to keep her in sight, while never coming too close. Obviously, they had no intention of overtaking her. The road wound its way up a steep gorge, running parallel to a small stream. The slopes were covered with a thick stand of spruce and fir, except where rocky cliffs lunged upward. The south-facing slopes were dryer, with fewer trees and equally rough. She came to a fork in the stream and was briefly tempted to take the right fork. No time for tricks! The best thing is to get there as soon as I can.
The walls of the gorge gradually became less pronounced, and she came to a narrow place where a rockslide almost blocked the road, allowing only enough room for one wagon to pass. Then she came to a vantage point where she could see the broad valley ahead, opening into a wide meadow with few trees. Snowcapped peaks formed a backdrop to a view of a lake, reflecting the sky. The road crossed the lake by an elevated causeway, and in the distance she could see the walls of Estes Park.
As she came to the causeway, she looked back once again. The two men were nowhere to be seen. She saw no use to make the final sprint to the gates as she had planned. So she held Ranger back, covering the final distance at a steady jog. Now, what do I tell the guards? Two men followed me? But they really did not do anything aggressive. I will sound ridiculous. They must have realized that I would report them if they chased me. Still, I need to give a warning.
The village gates were wide open and were lightly guarded by two young men with spears and leather coats. Round iron caps covered their heads, and they had short swords bound to their hips. A wagon entered just ahead of her, but they seemed to give it no attention. She reined to a stop and addressed the guards.
“Hello,” she began. “I want to report two suspicious strangers. I think they might be spies of the False Prophet.”
The taller of the two walked up and stood by her knee. He had a thin blonde mustache and the beginnings of a beard. She guessed his age as about twenty. “Spies,” he said, with a smile. “What makes you think that, honey?”
“I am not your honey!” she snapped. “They looked as if they recently shaved their beards, and they were asking questions about important people. There are rumors of spies and—”
“You said that right,” he answered, cutting her off with a bit of a scowl. “Everyone has seen strangers that they think might be spies. You look suspicious yourself with that studded leather jacket and your strung bow.
“This is my hunting jacket. And I will unstring my bow”, she said. She flexed the bow against her thigh and loosened the string.
“What did these scary men look like?” said the other guard, walking up to join the conversation. “Were they wearing black caps?” He laughed, leaning on his spear.
“No,” she answered. “But they might be Black Caps. In fact, I suspect that they are. They followed me all the way from Loveland, right up to the edge of the park. They have dark clothing, dark brown hair, on bay horses. They are big. Maybe two hundred pounds and close to six feet tall. They were asking the whereabouts of Rachel of Westerly, a councilwoman of Stonegate. I think she is in danger.”
“Hmm. Seems that I might have heard that name,” said the first guard. “I will keep an eye open. That’s all I can promise.”
“For heaven’s sake, don’t give them any information. If they show up, you would do well to take them in for questioning.”
†
Don and the two troopers escorting him entered Loveland just as an open-air market next to the city gates was closing. Farmers were loading their unsold wares onto wagons and disassembling their rude stalls. No one paid them any attention as they retraced their steps to Annabeth’s door. Don was admitted while his companions remained mounted, holding Snap’s reins.
Annabeth’s oval face was worried, her lips open and her brow furrowed. “Donald,” she said. “We are ever so glad to see you! We had quite a scare, and Carla has left for Estes Park!”
“What happened? Don asked, stepping inside to see Deborah standing there, clasping and unclasping her hands. “When did she leave? Did she go alone?”
Both Deborah and Annabeth tried to talk at the same time but were eventually able to explain what had happened. Just as Don was beginning to grasp the significance of the events, Auden came in “Mum!” he said. “There are two men out front in full armor!” Then he saw Don and stood, frozen.
Annabeth stepped over to him in three quick strides and pulled him to her in a hug. “This is Donald,” she said. “He is a friend. Donald, this is my son, Auden.”
“Nice to meet you, Auden,” Don said. “And the two men are with me. We need to decide, and quickly, whether to go on to Estes Park immediately or wait until morning.”
“Annabeth says that it is thirty miles to Estes Park, and they close the gate at dark,” said Deborah. “Daylight is almost gone. You should rest here a few hours at least.”
“But Carla may have met with trouble along the way,” said Don.
“Carla has one of the fastest horses around,” said Annabeth. “And she is a deadly shot with her bow.” Don took a step toward the door, and she put a hand on his arm.
“Besides, how would you find her in the dark?” said Annabeth. “Even if you ride hard, you will need six hours.”
“I suppose so,” said Don. “My men and I will have to find a place to stay.”
“Stay here,” said Annabeth. “I have four bedrooms. Your two men can share one, surely. Auden can sleep in my room. It would be no trouble.”
Don hesitated. “That is settled then,” said Annabeth. “Auden, show Don’s men to the stable. They can put your horses there and bring in your things.” She addressed the last to Don.
Don agreed and went back to the stable to help Snap get settled. He made a note to replace the feed that the horses would eat. There was no reason that Annabeth should have to bear the cost of the hay and oats. He left his javelin and shield in the stable and entered the house with his saddle-bags. The two troopers followed him in but remained in the kitchen. Scott, the taller one, spoke. His well-seasoned face and grizzled hair showed him to be the elder of the two.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’am,” he said. “We don’t want to seem ungrateful, now. You see, we would be more comfortable in the stable than in your nice bed.”
“Why, I could not hear of it,” said Annabeth. “You certainly don’t have to sleep in the stable. We have plenty of room.”
“I’m sure you do. But the stable is mu
ch better than we are used to, in the field. We would feel more comfortable there.”
“And you might want to walk down to the inn for a drink,” added Don, with a small smile.
“You have me there, sir. We thought we might go down for a wee one.”
“Make it one then, Scott. We have an early start ahead of us. Midnight will be about right.”
“One it will be, sir,” came the ready answer, and the troopers nodded politely at Annabeth, saluted Don, and left. They seemed to be in a hurry.
Annabeth and Auden showed Don to his room, and Auden stayed behind to watch Don take off his paired breast and back-plates. Don then pulled his mail coat up and over his head and lowered it to a braided rag rug next to the bed. Auden grabbed it and lifted it. “Ugh, that’s heavy!”
“You get used to it,” answered Don. He took off his boots and padded surcoat and put on a pale green tunic from his pack. He laid his sword and sword belt on the bed. But he kept his narrower belt that held his purse, horn pen-case of a lore-man, and small belt-knife. He slipped on some moccasins, washed his face and hands, and felt presentable enough to rejoin the ladies.
Auden was interested in his gold-inlaid breastplate and war-horn but spent more time looking at his sword. “May I take it out of the scabbard and look at it?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” said Don. “But only if I am here. The edge is quite sharp. It is not a toy.”
Auden dragged the blade out of the scabbard with both hands. He made a couple of awkward thrusts, then laid it on the bed and examined it closely. The sword had a crossguard that actually had the shape of a Christian cross. The blade tapered gently, then more abruptly to form an acute tip. Each flat side of the blade had a deep groove or fuller. The grip was wrapped in leather, and the pommel was a thick disk, giving a counterweight to the blade. The workmanship was exceptional, but the sword was not ostentatious. It was made in Stonegate and represented the peak of a sword-smith’s craft, though there were no engravings or inlays of gold or silver. It was a simple tool, designed for war.
“I wish I had a sword like this,” said Auden.
“I hope that when you are grown, there will be no need for swords.”
†
Donald ate a light supper in Annabeth’s kitchen. It was informal, and Annabeth asked Don to tell something about himself. Donald did so, and then he tried to learn a bit about Annabeth. She told of her life on the farm, which was very near to Rachel’s home. In fact, their fields bordered each other. Annabeth was several years older than Rachel and had always considered her something of a little sister. Even though her father’s farm was much smaller than Rachel’s, the two families had been close.
“I was so sorry to hear about Rachel’s parents’ cruel deaths,” said Annabeth. Then she suddenly paused. “Oh, Donald, that must be such a sore subject. Do forgive me for mentioning it. I was just remembering them…”
“I can’t help thinking about it,” Don answered. “So, bringing it up does no harm. I will bear the shame till the day I die.”
“Now, I am really sorry I brought it up,” said Annabeth. “Don, you simply have to move on. Constantly thinking about this will do no good. You certainly have tried. You have done more than anyone could have expected.”
“I have told him this, also,” said Deborah.
“What happened, Mum?” asked Auden.
“I will explain later, young man,” said Annabeth, rising to collect the soup bowls and plates and take them to the sink. “Now who would like a nice cup of hot tea?”
They did accept a cup after the tea had brewed, and then Annabeth took Auden upstairs to put him to bed. Don and Deborah sat in silence for a few minutes, gazing into each other’s eyes. The silence was comfortable, not awkward.
“I have wanted a few minutes alone with you,” said Don, finally. “You know that I am very fond of you. I feel that you are my friend.”
“Yes,” said Deborah. “I—this is difficult for me. If only…”
Don patted her hand. “I am not the most sensitive person, unfortunately. I know you care for me. And I am ashamed that my heart belongs to another. Because you are a wonderful person, and it pains me to hurt you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Deborah, taking his hand in hers. “I understand that you must follow your heart. But be sure that it is Rachel that you love and not some image of her. You hardly know her. Oh, I am getting this all wrong!”
“I understand. I really do. Although I don’t even know if Rachel would have me.”
“Maybe you want me to be ready,” said Deborah with a sad smile. “Would I do as second-best?”
“No, don’t put it like that,” said Don. He hardly knew what to say. “You are not second-class. I know I have no right to assume anything with either you or Rachel. Perhaps all we can do is wait and see what the future holds. All I know is that I must go to Estes Park. It is high time that I saw Rachel. She wrote and said she wanted to see me again. But I don’t know what that means.”
Deborah looked directly at him. “Don, I thought about throwing myself at you,” she whispered. “Do you know what I mean?”
Don swallowed. Her eyes were large and liquid, brimming with moisture. “I think so,” he replied. “But I know that you are not that sort—”
She cut him off. “I am not so sure, Don. Women do not fall neatly into ‘sorts.’ But, I care for you too much to try to trap you that way. Do you see?”
“I am trying to,” replied Don. “But I know you are honest and true. I will always be honest with you.”
“That is all I could ever ask, Don.”
†
Carla had no confidence that the gate guards would pay any attention to her warning. She could not blame them. She had no real evidence that the two men intended to harm anyone. But she intended to take no chances. Her first problem was finding the house of Rachel’s aunt. She had been there but not for several years. The walled village of Estes Park was not large, and she found an elderly woman who gave her directions.
She tied Ranger to a steel post by the front door and knocked. She saw an elderly woman peep through the partially opened door, so she identified herself. Then she heard running steps inside the house, and the door flew open. “Carla,” came a voice from inside. “How nice to see you.” It was Rachel.
Rachel introduced Carla to her Aunt Florence who stared at her strange hunting coat, her bow and quiver of arrows. “Nice to meet you, dear,” she said. “But what a strange jacket! You look like a barbarian princess.”
“I suppose it does look strange,” Carla replied. “It was a gift from my father. I call it my hunting jacket.”
“I thought we were going to meet in Loveland,” said Rachel. “But I am glad you came. Actually, we can take some side-trails home that lead through good areas for deer. But come in and sit down and we can get you some refreshments.”
Carla was led to the back of the house where there was a dining nook with a built-in table and two padded benches. At Rachel’s urging, she took off her jacket, hung it on a peg, and deposited her bow and quiver in a corner. Florence went over and examined the jacket.
“I was just curious, Carla,” she said. “It almost looks like it is lined with mail.”
“It is. My father said it would turn a knife, an arrow, or the thrust of a buck’s horn. It is a jacket fit for these times. But not very ladylike, I fear.”
“You young people. Though you are right, I think. The times are evil. Perhaps all our girls should wear such a thing when they ride out of town. But in my day we would never allow girls to go hunting without a proper escort if they went hunting at all!”
“Times have changed, Aunt Florence,” said Rachel. “And Carla and I are not pampered city girls. Life on the farm is stern and sometimes dangerous.”
“I kno
w, dear. Now you both must sit down and chat. I will get you some chilled cider and a fresh-baked pastry.”
“My horse,” said Carla. “He has been ridden hard, and I need to take care of him before I eat.”
“Of course,” said Florence. “Rachel, you can show her the stable in back where you put your horse. I have a carriage and a gentle old nag back there. I share it with two neighbors, but there is plenty of room for yours and fodder, besides.
Rachel walked beside Carla as she led Ranger down a side street and up an alley to the stable. “What’s wrong?” asked Rachel, a bit breathlessly. “I know something is bothering you. Out with it.”
“Yes. Well, a strange thing happened. Two men stopped by Annabeth’s house asking for you. They said they had a message, and only they could deliver it to you. There was something about them that I did not trust.”
Rachel wrinkled her brow and pursed her lips. After a moment she said, “Did they give you the message?”
“No. They refused. But Deborah told us—”
“Was Deborah there, too?”
“Yes, Don brought her down. Anyway, she said that there are reports that the evil Prophet has sent out his Black Caps to try to kill our leaders.”
“Black Caps?” Rachel’s eyes grew wide. “Really? I thought they were just stories, like a bogeyman.”
“No, they are real. He usually uses them to terrorize his own people. But these two might have been some of them. Deborah noticed that their chins were pale, as if they had recently shaved off their beards, like the men in the West usually wear.” She paused. “But they also had a look in their eyes, like ravenous beasts—Oh! I can’t explain. Yet I know they were evil.”
The False Prophet (Stonegate Book 2) Page 26
