The Stonegate Sword

by Harry James Fox

  There was none. They decided to meet the following morning to go over the patrol reports and heliograph messages. “Take back word to Bethuel, Del,” said Samuel. “Next week we plan to sweep the valley, and there will be refugees to take in. That will be a raid to remember. We will also send messages to Stonegate and Hightower as Donald suggests. And on Thursday, we will meet at my new headquarters in the cavalry fort. We are dismissed.”

  †

  The parade turned out to be quite an event. The troopers crossed the Kolaroo, rode by the gates of the House of Healing, made a loop through the streets of Glenwood, then up the road to Bethuel. There they formed up before the town gates, and the mayor, Mark Moses, presented Robert with the key to the town and made a brief speech. Del Pembroke stood stolidly by his side and said nothing.

  They then finished the parade in Ariel. Here the reception was much warmer, but one thing was different. The little people, the dwarves, came out with all the rest, which gave a distinctive look to the crowds on the pavement. The women, both big and little, were dressed in their traditional clothes—high-collared white blouses with green vests and skirts. Their colorful embroidery made up for the lack of flowers though a few flowers were thrown as well as a cloud of dried flower petals. Don had no idea where the fresh flowers had come from at this time of year. A young girl ran up and tied a red ribbon to his horse’s rein and blew him a kiss. Soon every horse was sporting ribbons. Timothy Stonehewer gave a mercifully short speech, and then it was over. Robert, Don and the troop leaders had been officially installed.

  “I designate your command as the ‘First Haven Cavalry,”’ said Lord Timothy. He passed out a blue pennant with an outline of a lance, a green with a bow and a red with a sword. The final and largest was gold, marked with a horse and a large numeral “one.” Valley beauties tied the pennants to the dipped lances of the standard-bearers, and the ceremony was over.

  As they trooped back to their fort, Donald heard one trooper say to another, “I like the name ‘Baldy’s Boys’ the best!” Don had to try hard to repress a smile. He looked behind, and the townspeople were streaming out of the gate. They were obviously looking forward to the ox-roast.

  After returning to the parade ground, they formed the troops in ranks and then dismissed them. As Don and Robert walked side by side to the stables, leading their horses, Robert turned and said, “You had better enjoy the ale, Donald. You bought it!”

  Don stumbled, his mouth dropping open. “You mean paid for it? What do you mean? I have hardly any money?”

  “Not true! The council approved a sign-up bonus of five hundred mills for you. Generous, I’d call it, since they only gave me six—hundred, that is!” He chuckled.

  Don did not know what to say. The bonus was unexpected and the sum princely. Obviously, his money worries were over.

  “The council was most happy when I agreed to split the costs of the ale with you, out of the sign-up bonus. They were a bit more generous as a result! I was able to get an excellent buy on some last year’s Golden Barley—so you’ll have plenty of money left.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. You have a new helm waiting at the ‘Flaming Sword.’ It has gold scrollwork inlaid around the rim. Time you looked like an officer! You will need to get a war horn, too.” Chuckling again, he led his blood bay down to his corner stall in the stable.

  Don had moved his military gear from the inn to a tent that he had ordered pitched close to the command tent and next to the barracks. A young horse-holder was standing guard. Don realized that he had been there all day and had missed the parade. Looking him over, he saw that the quartermaster had been stingy. He had been issued the oldest and most worn gear available. He had no sword—only a belt knife. The spear he was holding was new, but certainly nothing else. Don remembered that he still had a nice short-sword that he had taken in battle. He ducked into the tent, and retrieved it with its scabbard and belt.

  Walking up to the young guard, he inspected him, then told him to stand at ease. “Where is your sword, trooper?” he asked.

  “I—I was never issued one, sir,” he answered. “I am just a horse holder.”

  “And so you could not ride in the parade, either.” Don said. “You have done well to stand guard while we all were away. Take this sword and guard it just as well. It is not Ariel issue. It is now yours! Even horse-holders will be needed in the days ahead!”

  The lad stammered his thanks as he accepted the bundle. The belt was too loose, but another hole was quickly bored, and he was able to tighten it to fit. He quickly examined the blade, and a nicely-crafted one it was, with a high polish. Don then returned to his tent, took off his helm and mail, and donned a cloak and cap. As he left for the festivities, he noticed that the young guard was standing proud and straight, his face was radiant, and his new sword was at his hip.

  Don followed a group of troopers to the festival site and saw that the cooks had done well. There were not only two large oxen, cooked to a dark golden-brown, but two pigs were turning on spits as well. A third was being sliced up into kettles for the serving line that was being made ready. There were kettles of corn, gravy, beans, mixed vegetables, and mashed potatoes. The meal was not quite ready to be served, but the food looked to be in abundance. He stopped by a pavilion and a blonde young fellow, dressed in the livery of Ariel. drew him a pint of Golden Barley, which he sampled and found to be quite good. The new standards fluttered in the breeze. It was a beautiful day.

  He began to relax and enjoy himself. He accepted the congratulations and good wishes of a number of townsfolk. The many women in their embroidered vests all began to look alike, but then he saw one talking to Abel who looked familiar, even though she was facing away from him. Curious, Don walked over to join them. She turned and looked his way. It was Deborah, at Owl Hollow no longer!

  “Hello, Don,” said Deborah. She led him a few paces apart from the others. “Do you still hate me?” Her gaze was direct, but her voice was soft.

  “No! Of course not,” said Don. “I was hurt, that’s all. But I just—”

  “You just want to avoid me. Why?”

  Don realized that she was correct. He did want to avoid her. But not because he disliked her—not really. He did not know what to say.

  “I think I know why. I don’t fit into any of your little boxes. I am not like the women in your books. Isn’t that so?” He felt her eyes boring into his, yet she was more kind than stern.

  That comment struck home, like a dart to the throat. She was exactly right. He had been categorizing women. Rachel fit. She was the “fair maiden.” The other rescued girls fit the “noble ladies” category. But Deborah was neither. She was not like he imagined the lower classes to be nor was she like a bar girl. She was brave, decisive, and keenly intelligent—a natural leader. She almost seemed like a woman with a man’s personality, yet she was clearly feminine. What was she? His gaze dropped to the floor.

  “Deborah, as usual you are right,” he said, finally. “I really don’t know what to make of you. Again, I have treated you poorly. But it is not that I have forgotten what I owe you.”

  “Don, why can’t you just accept that I am a person? People don’t fit into neat little compartments. We are more fearfully and wonderfully made than that. Both men and women.” With a sad smile, she turned away to rejoin the others.

  Chapter 24

  †

  Sweeping the River

  For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle? 1 Corinthians 14:8 KJV

  Donald had not foreseen every problem with the sweep, no matter how much he, Abel and Robert had tried. This was hammered home by a farmer’s wife near Deebeck, a village less than a day’s ride upriver from the local bishop’s toll booth.

  They had begun the sweep here. They had little time. Reports indicated that the vanguard of the Prophet’s army
was only five–six day’s march away from the town of Junction. All farmland downriver from Deebeck was in the Prophet’s domain, as a practical matter. Even here, many followed the Prophet. The people would have to choose which way they would go. Those who wished could take their belongings, livestock and food and go downstream to the Prophet’s lands. Others could move upriver. But the infantry levies from Ariel and Bethuel systematically moved throughout the area and forced everyone to leave. No food or livestock was allowed to remain. But no one had the stomach for kidnapping anyone against their will.

  The first few farms were the hardest, since they had received no warning. It took a full half-day to get them moving, and the levies were not gentle. But it took some time to pack a lifetime’s belongings in a couple of wagons. A motley caravan finally began heading south, led by bearded, angry men, driving herds of cattle and flocks of sheep and goats. Wagons carried families, pets, pigs, chicken, to say nothing of children. At the same time, those who feared or hated the Prophet started north. Don was forced to put haystacks to the torch. It was regrettable, but there was no reason to leave feed for the Prophet’s beasts, and there were not wagons enough to move the hay. But they were able to salvage most of the food.

  Don found himself standing face to face with the angry farm wife, holding Snap’s reins in his hand and feeling foolish. She wore a red handkerchief over her hair, almost as red as her face. A tan apron covered her dress, and her hands were on her hips. “No, you can’t just drive my milk cows away,” she repeated, angrily. “They have to be milked every day. Even if you turn the calves onto the cows it won’t be enough. They give far more milk than the calves can drink.”

  “We can’t stop the drive so you can milk the cows whenever you want,” answered Don. “What would it hurt if they weren’t milked for a few days?”

  “You blockhead! They would probably die. That is what would hurt! We can’t allow that!”

  Don did not know what to do. He knew that he was beaten for the moment, at least. He told her that he would see what he could do, mounted and rode back to talk to Slim, the commander of Blade Troop. Was this an old wive’s tale? On the other hand, milk stock were valuable, not just to the owners, but to the war effort. He and Slim checked with some farm boys in the troop who backed up what she had said. Something would have to be done about the milk cows. It was just one more worry.

  Don jogged back to where the woman was loading her wagon. He greeted her, somewhat shamefacedly. “I have decided that you can drive your own milk cows,” he told her. “You will be responsible for milking them morning and evening. Keep them alive. We will need the milk.”

  She gave him a quick smile of thanks. “My cows can’t move fast, but they can keep up with this mob. Be sure of that!” Then she turned and continued loading baskets into a wagon with the help of a teen-aged boy. Don beat a retreat.

  But throughout the long day Don was faced with decisions that made the milk cows seem simple. He had to look into the eyes of a woman and tell her that her invalid father must be moved, despite her fears that the move would kill him. A husband, fearing his pregnant wife would lose her baby, almost made Don call the whole operation off. Did he have the right to risk the lives of a mother and child? Was anything worth that?

  In the end, he made the agonizing decision that no exceptions could be made. Moving these poor people was a risk, but leaving them behind was not safe, either. And once he made exceptions, where would he stop? But he would often see their tortured faces in his dreams.

  As the day began to come to a close, Don saw fewer hard cases. Probably this was because these farms had been given more advance notice. Some were nearly ready when the troops arrived. Even so, some tried to resist, but that was not tolerated. A few hotheads were trussed and thrown in a wagon like a sack of potatoes. Some families left with tear-streaked faces, others too shock-stunned to weep. A few tried to hide, but the infantry was ready for that, and systematically beat their way through the willow thickets and hedgerows.

  There was always some chance of an enemy cavalry unit advancing upriver. Don was in command of two troops: the Bows and the Blades, and that was his greatest concern at the moment. The levies were foot soldiers and were well armed, but they were thinly scattered across the valley searching farms, except for those that were driving the refugees upriver at the rear of the main column. The Lance Troop with Robert had remained at the upper end of the valley to provide a blocking force between the Raiders and the refugees, but they were now more than a day’s ride away.

  Darkness found the tail of the column about eight miles upriver from Deebeck. But the plan had called for all stragglers to be at the southern camp by the end of the day, which was about two miles farther on. It took another hour’s work for the levy to prod, push and drag the last stragglers into camp. A long line of campfires showed many were camping even farther north, but at least they had made ten miles despite all the angry farmers, problems of moving sick and infirm, and broken-down wagons. They would have to do better than this tomorrow.

  The Diné scouts were stationed at high points to give as much warning as possible. But Don was very much aware that enemy horsemen could easily make fifty miles in a day. They were far from being in a safe place, if anywhere was safe!

  That evening, Don discussed plans with Blackie and Slim, the troop commanders, and with the commanders of the levies. Tomorrow evening would put the main body of refugees within easy striking distance of the Raider camp, which was a known danger. They would be that much further from the Prophet’s forces at Junction, on the other hand. They decided that it would be best to move one troop upriver and join with Robert. Slim’s troop, the Blades, would remain, to provide rear security along with the foot archers. Even two troops would be outnumbered nearly two to one if the full body of Raiders were to attack. Don would ride with the Bows in the morning.

  Don wrote out a brief message to Robert, outlining his plan, and sent a rider north on a fast horse. He told him to first give the message to Robert, then continue on to Ariel and ask for at least a dozen more heavy freight wagons to be sent south. A number of rickety farm wagons looked as if they would never make it. The freight wagons would allow many of these to be abandoned, which should speed up the pace.

  “Don’t leave anything useful behind,” ordered Don. “If it can’t keep up—destroy it!” With faces of stone, every head nodded.

  The next day the levies ate a quick breakfast before sunup and began forcing the mob of people to form a marching column. But Bow Troop, with Don, were an hour from the camp when the first dim dawn began to break over the peaks to the east. They ate in the saddle—hard biscuits and dried meat, washed down with canteen water.

  By midmorning they met a messenger from Robert. The message was routine, only saying that things were quiet in the Raider’s camp. Don decided to push on.

  By noon, they had already been close to six hours on the trail and had thirty miles behind them. They took a break, watered the horses and the men were able to eat sitting on the ground. But Blackie kept scouts out in every direction.

  They were now well past Battle Ridge, a natural barrier that ran across the valley from the northwest to southeast. The combined forces of Bethuel and Ariel had fought the Prophet’s army there a generation ago and had fought them to a standstill. The main road, a wide highway built in the days of the Empire, went through the only pass in the ridge. Locals called it the Great Highway. But even this pass was strengthened by crumbling breastworks that came down from the ridge tops to nudge both edges of the way. It would still be a good place to make a stand. If they could just get all the refugees upriver from this point, Don would be able to breathe easier.

  They continued upriver at a rapid pace, paralleling the old highway. It was mid-afternoon when a messenger on a lathered horse met their column. It was Philip. He rode with an easy grace, his light armor fitted him perfec
tly, and he passed the message case to Don with the self-confidence of one that knows he has done his job well. Don was glad to see him,and proud of the changes that the last few weeks had made. The note was from Robert and was brief. They were to continue north with all speed. About twenty Raiders had left the camp and were heading south. Don was to try to force the Raider patrol back upriver, if possible.

  No sooner had Don finished reading, than one of the troopers shouted. Don looked up to see him waving from a ridge. Don spurred Snap to a gallop and waved Blackie and Philip to follow. When they got to the ridge top, they were shown glimpses of horsemen on a ridge to the northeast, perhaps a half-mile away. Don quickly went over the message from Robert.

  “Those riders are probably the twenty-man patrol from the Raider’s camp,” began Don. “Of course, they might also be another force that we don’t know anything about.”

  “I doubt it,” returned Blackie. “They are only a short distance behind Philip, so the timing is right. What should we do about it? Remember that we can’t make the first hostile move.”

  “Give me your recommendation,” returned Don, tossing the problem back into Blackie’s lap. He needed time to think. “You are right that the council has tied our hands. But I think that Balek Brown is going to have to do something. The Prophet is not going to be happy if we clean the entire valley under the Raider’s noses, and they do nothing.”