Jerrel Rozon arrived a few minutes later, with the rest of the Gravenhage team, followed by Lieutenant Herne and his men. The boys from Mechlen, Father Thomas, and the rest of the town council were the last to arrive. Outside of a few people whose farms lay near the outskirts of the town, it appeared that the entire male population of Devondale was represented. A good number of women were also present. Many were insisting on going along and had to be persuaded, not without some difficulty, to stay in the town. To his surprise, Lara was there too. People in Devondale didn't take well to being told what to do, and this seemed to go doubly for the women. When Mathew approached her to explain it was the sensible thing to do, she nearly snapped his head off. Fortunately for him, the stableman chose that moment to bring Tilda out, which gave him an excuse to check her saddle and get out of Lara's glare.
She is one stubborn girl, Mathew thought, but he was proud of her for wanting to go all the same.
People began to mount their horses as the mayor called out the names of those who would go with Bran and those who would go with Rozon. Finally, two groups totaling forty men each were ready to depart.
Mathew wasn't sure when it dawned on him, but it seemed logical that if everyone were to leave, there'd be no one left to defend the town. It was such an elementary concept, it seemed silly, but no one had thought of it.
"Excuse me, Mayor?"
"Yes, Mat," Palmer said, turning his horse around.
"I know it's not my place, but, uh . . . shouldn't we leave someone here to defend the town while we're gone?"
The mayor's eyebrows lifted and he sat back in his saddle, then he looked at the other members of the council. Seeing four embarrassed faces, he turned to Rozon and Bran, who both shrugged slightly and looked abashed. A conference was quickly convened on horseback. While they were considering what to do, the sound of snickering and laughter from the Gravenhage team attracted Mathew's attention.
In a voice just loud enough for everyone in the immediate area to hear, Berke Ramsey said, "I told you he'd find a way not to go."
Mathew's face went red. That was not at all what he'd intended. The conversations around him died quickly and a number of heads turned in his direction. Until that moment, he had been toying with the idea of trying to talk to Berke privately and see if they could mend fences, but his last comment changed all that in an instant. Berke was a fool of course, but now he'd left him no choice. A torrent of thoughts swept through Mathew's mind. More glances were being darted at him as the meaning of Berke's words became clear to everyone there. Being called a coward was not something Mathew could simply ignore. His mind weighed all the pros and cons before reaching his decision.
Slowly, Mathew dismounted and walked over to Berke. "Get down off your horse."
The other boy looked surprised, for a moment, but it was quickly replaced by arrogance as he dismounted. Several of the men around them began to back away.
Thorn Calthorpe, who was near enough to have heard the comment, understood what was happening and interceded quickly.
"Come, come, I'm sure that was not what he meant. Tensions are high, and the wit was not. Perhaps you should tell this young man that was not what you intended," he said, addressing Berke.
Berke was two years older than Mathew and nearly as tall, but considerably heavier and built like a boxer. He stood there belligerently with his hands on his hips.
"Master Ramsey," Calthorpe prompted again, more forcefully than before, "surely you didn't mean to im-ply-"
Berke glanced at the faces around him and recognized that the situation had become grave.
When Mathew recalled the expression on Berke's face at the end of their match, he knew it would only be a matter of time before there was another incident. People like Berke Ramsey fed on the weakness and misery of others, and the last thing Mathew wanted at that moment was to ride out with men who thought that his courage might be in question.
Berke said, "Well, what I meant was—"
"If he is willing to apologize and admit his error before eveiyone here, I will accept that," Mathew said.
Berke's temper flared, just as Mathew knew it would.
"Apologize to the likes of you! Not bloody likely."
"You see? He leaves me no choice."
If Mathew had let Berke's comment pass as the grumbling of a sore loser, it might have gone unnoticed, but now that he had taken a stand, it was impossible to ignore.
Thorn Calthorpe closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"As the insulted party, I believe I have the choice of weapons, do I not?" Mathew continued.
"Well, uh . . ." Calthorpe said.
Before he could answer, Jerrel Rozon rode up and asked, "What goes on here?"
"I have been insulted, and he refuses to apologize, so I have no choice in the matter," Mathew said calmly, unbuckling his scabbard. "We will use daggers."
Rozon heard the earlier remark along with everyone else, and he was fairly certain the Lewin boy knew exactly what he was doing. But daggers? The boy had just soundly beaten Ramsey with a sword only a short while ago, and now he was willing to stand there as calm as a tax collector and give up the advantage. There were looks of surprise and shock on the faces of everyone present. Ramsey is a fool, Rozon thought, but at the moment he could ill afford to allow a duel to take place.
"Gentlemen, we can settle this matter when we return," he said. "Right now we have work to do."
"If he thinks I'm going to apologize—" Berke snapped.
"Get. .. on .. . your . . . horse and do not speak another word," Rozon said to Berke, emphasizing every word, his eyes going cold and hard. After a brief pause, the larger boy did as he was directed, and then, turning to Mathew, Rozon added, with a gesture in Tilda's direction, "Master Lewin?"
Mathew opened his mouth to say something, but a slight shake of Rozon's head forestalled him.
They held each other's gaze for a moment before Mathew turned away.
Rozon watched the awkward-looking young man mount his horse, face impassive, and stare straight ahead. He glanced around, caught Bran Lewin's eye, and received an imperceptible nod of approval. Rozon found that his own heart was beating faster, and he took a deep breath.
The boy must have ice water running through his veins, he thought before pulling up on his reins and turning his horse toward the road.
For his part, Mathew never believed for one moment that Berke would apologize. He knew Berke would sooner die
than submit to a public humiliation. When he reflected on the fact that he might have been lying dead in the street, it sent a shiver up his spine. Nevertheless, the point was clear. Although everyone knew him as the boy who got sick at the thought of a competition, he was also the same person who could challenge someone to a duel in cold blood when his honor was questioned.
In the end, the council decided that Father Thomas and twenty men would stay behind.
8
Devondale, Layton Farm
The Anderon Road
led to Elgaria's capital city of Anderon. Everyone in Devondale simply referred to it as North Road
. When they reached the outskirts of town, Bran divided the men into two columns, sending Akin Gibb and Ben Fenton about a mile ahead, to act as scouts. Two of the soldiers with them, Ivor and Galdus, brought up the rear, along with Collin and Mathew. Both men had the look of seasoned veterans, and Mathew was grateful they were along.
After another mile, Bran reined in his horse and called the men together. The wind and snow had increased to the point where he had to shout to make himself understood.
"In about a half hour, we'll be at Thad's farm," he told them. "We don't know what we're going to find there, so you'll have to keep your eyes and ears open. The most important thing is to locate the little Darcy boy, and get the others back to safety. Lee Farolain and Garon Lang are also out here somewhere. So are Thad and Stel Lay-ton. Understand this—our friends come first, the Orlocks come s
econd—so let's have no heroes.
"Jerrel and his group are taking the South Road
, so we'll reach the farm before they do. If there's to be a fight, our signal will be three horn blasts. We'll deploy into two lines, in the same way you're divided now, and come at them from either side of the farm. Jerrel will strike straight on, from the head of the valley."
Bran took a moment to go over his instructions again, making sure they all understood which side of the farm
they were to attack from, if the order was given. He made them repeat the instructions back to him. Ivor and Galdus listened, exchanged glances, and nodded to each other in approval.
"No one is to move before the order is given. Is that clear? Now, I know some of you have seen battle before, and some have not. Mark this well—don't engage an Or-lock closely if you don't have to. Use your longbow first."
"You've fought the Orlocks before, Bran," Fergus said. "What are they like?"
Bran pulled the horse's reins in tighter and patted her neck to calm her as she stepped nervously in place. The bay's nostrils flared and her head bobbed up and down in agitation.
"You'll know the first time you see one. Most are larger in height and weight than a normal-size man. They're manlike in appearance, for the most part, but their skin is dead white, and their hair hangs down well past their shoulders. You'll almost certainly smell them before you see them. There's a stench they carry you're not likely to forget. Despite what they look like, they're cunning and intelligent, so don't underestimate them."
A few looks were exchanged, but no one asked anything further.
Pulling his hood back over his head, Bran turned his horse and signaled for them to move out. Mathew watched his father's back, wishing that he could possess the same outward calm. He supposed such things came with age—along with a stable stomach. His own had begun to flutter, and he had to struggle to maintain a calm appearance. To his annoyance, Collin appeared relatively unconcerned, given the circumstances. There were plenty of other men around him, but that did little to ease his feelings of isolation as the weather continued to worsen and the temperature fell.
The road began to climb after they left the forest. Thad's farm lay at the end of a long valley, nestled between two ridges. Mathew knew the area well and was thankful there would still be a fair number of trees around to provide cover for them until the last minute. The snow was already ankle deep on the horses, which would make the descent down the ridge difficult, if not treacherous. To complicate things, a fog was beginning to roll in. Mathew glanced over his shoulder and could see it creeping around the base of the trees they had just emerged from, moving silently over the ground, covering it.
Once on top of the ridge, the trees began to thin. From that point on, the hard-packed dirt road flattened, rising now and then to follow the contours of the land. Without the shelter of the denser trees, the wind also picked up, whistling at them and whipping their cloaks around. No one seemed to have much of an appetite for conversation, and they rode on in silence for the next fifteen minutes. Several times Mathew thought he could see the valley floor stretching beneath them, but the fog and blowing snow made it impossible to spot Rozon's group. He knew they were getting close to Thad Layton's farm, and closed his eyes in a silent prayer for his friends.
Suddenly, the birds in the trees ahead of them took flight. Akin Gibb came charging out at a full gallop, bent low over his horse's neck, chunks of earth flying from beneath the horse's hooves. Mathew had known Akin all his life, and had no idea the man could ride like that. Bran halted the column as Akin skidded his horse to a stop.
"Dead . .." He barely got the words out as he tried to catch his breath. "Both dead."
"Slowly, man, slowly," Bran said. "Tell me who's dead."
"Garon and Lee—both dead. God ... I've never seen anything like that!"
"Where?" Collin's father asked.
"About three minutes," Akin said, pointing in the direction he had just come from. "Oh, God, it was horrible!" he added, covering his face.
"Akin, where's Ben?" Bran asked sharply.
"Back there. He's with them. I came back to get you."
"Were there any signs of a fight?" Askel Miller asked.
"No, nothing."
"Did you see anything else? Smell anything?" Bran asked.
Akin shook his head.
"All right," Bran called out. "Bows at the ready. The first half of you with me. The second half, starting from Lucas on back, will follow in one minute. Let's go."
Mathew watched the first group disappear back down the road, into the glade Akin had ridden out of. When it was time for them to follow, he spurred Tilda forward, urging every bit of speed out of the old mare that he could. The snow stung his eyes as he rode. His father and the other men soon came into sight. He could tell that they had surveyed the area and had now dismounted and were standing in a semicircle, looking up into one of the trees. Mathew reined his horse up and saw what they were staring at.
Twenty feet above his head, the bloody bodies of Lee and Garon hung upside down by ropes. Both boys had been skinned. Mathew's mouth fell open in shock. It felt as if he had just been struck by a blow. His stomach revolted and it took every ounce of his willpower to force himself to breathe. Even a hardened soldier like Ivor let loose a string of oaths as Bran and Askel lowered the bodies to the ground. Ben Fenton sat with his back against the trunk of a tree, staring blankly ahead, not speaking. Fergus Gibb dismounted and put an arm around his younger brother. These were farmers who had never been very far from Devondale, and this was a sight no one could be prepared for.
Akin shook his head and said, "Why would they do something like this?"
"Food," Bran said over his shoulder. "They planned on coming back for them later."
"Dear God," Akin said under his breath, turning away.
Mathew slowly walked to the edge of the ridge to clear his mind. He'd been talking to Garon only a few hours ago. What sort of creature could do this to another living being? He didn't know how many minutes passed. Instinctively, he began to check for signs on the ground, but the snow had blanketed whatever was there. He took a deep breath and looked out across the valley below him. Most of it was still shrouded in fog. For an instant he thought he saw something, but it was gone again as the fog closed back in. A moment later the movement was back. Yes—there it was! The dark brown cloaks had to be Lieutenant Herne and his men. They were just over a half mile away, moving steadily along the South Road
.
"C'mon, Mat," Collin called. "We're getting ready to ride."
Before the fog closed in again, he was able to make out the rest of the column, winding its way up the road—but that wasn't the only thing that attracted his attention. At a point where the road turned into the valley, he saw something else move.
"Mat, we're going."
Mathew crept to the edge of the ridge and lay down, ignoring the biting cold and the snow, and shielding his eyes from the wind. His heart pounded while he strained to see what the movement was. A minute ticked by, then another, and then he saw them—about twenty white shapes concealed in different places on either side of the road. Another eight were on the opposite side of the stream, which ran parallel to the road. Even from this distance, the axes and pikes they carried were plain enough. The mathematical part of his mind registered the sound of his companions leaving, at the same time calculating how long it would take Rozon and his men to reach the bend in the road. Somehow he had to warn them. He dared not call out, and the hill was too steep and treacherous to take Tilda down, but surely he could make it.
Impelled by the urgency of the moment, Mathew made his decision. He swung his feet over the edge, testing for a foothold, and using his arms for support, began to lower
himself. The snow was achingly cold. He was partway over the edge when someone grabbed his shoulder. Mathew reacted without thinking and thrust himself forward. He fell about six feet down to a small l
edge, rolled to his right and came up with an arrow notched.
"Damn ... what's the matter with you? You nearly scared me to death," an offended Collin protested from just above his head. "Your father sent me back to get you. He needs you to—"
A fierce gesture from Mathew silenced him. "Get down," he whispered.
"What is it?" Collin asked, looking around.
"Down there in the trees, behind the rocks," Mathew said, pointing.
Collin shielded his eyes from the wind and squinted in that direction. "Right, right, I see them," he said after a second. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Rozon, Herne, and the others are coming up the road right now. They should be here in about five minutes. I've got to get down and warn them."
"Wait, I'll come with you," Collin said, unslinging his bow.
"No!" Mathew whispered sharply. "Get to my father and tell him what we saw."
"Mat, what are you doing?"
In truth, Mathew wasn't sure what he was going to do. He just knew that someone had to warn Rozon. "I'll think of something," he said, with a shake of his head.
Collin wanted to argue, but Mathew was already well below him, moving quickly between the snow-covered boulders.
The fog made it difficult for Mathew to keep his bearings, and every sound seemed magnified in the heavy air. Although he was hurrying as fast as he could, the snow, wind, and lack of visibility greatly slowed his progress. The hill was so steep that it was impossible to go straight down, and he was forced to constantly cut sideways. Just how much time had elapsed was impossible to tell, but he knew that Rozon and the men had to be very close. Thirty yards farther down, the ground started to flatten out. Mathew quickly crouched down low behind a good-size boulder and listened. By now he should have heard the sound of horses or men talking. Instead, a fetid odor reached his nostrils, followed by whispers in a language he didn't understand. They were close. He began to ease backward, but froze when something metal scraped against one of the rocks to his left. Somehow he had managed to come down just behind the Orlocks. Seconds ticked by. He tried to make his legs start moving but couldn't.
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 9
