Quest Call_The Dowland Cases 2

by Kirk Dougal

  Spoon was still his same talkative self once avatars started closing down for the night, the camp often looking like an abandoned museum with so many frozen figures standing or sitting. The first night it surprised me just how many of the Horde were active players. I had assumed that most of them would be computer constructs, non-player characters placed into the adventure to fill out DeBrest's back story but I was wrong. All but a handful were live, and of them, at least a few dozen were sleepers, or at least players who ignored the government limitation rules. We eyed each other every night, them circled around campfires lining the perimeter and me near Spoon and his cooking pot.

  With all the activity, I rarely saw Saleene and Bree. They stayed out of camp at night except to grab food and leave, no longer eating beside me before leaving. They spent the days outside the main group, on point or guarding one of our flanks. I caught Saleene staring at me once while she waited in line for dinner. Her eyes narrowed as I returned the look, and her mouth opened like she was going to speak, but it closed without her saying a word. I had a feeling that if I followed her out of camp, she would not object, but our uneasy alliance did not allow her to invite me. Bree was content to throw her normal glares in my direction.

  Trellac was even worse. Food was the only reason he made an appearance, as well, but at least before, I could turn and find him at the rear of the column most days before the Horde joined us. Now, he was just gone, a ghost to be forgotten until the next time Spoon rang his bell announcing a meal. However, one night as people were settling in, shouts and swearing erupted near the tree line by the Horde members. Two of them rolled on the ground, putting out small flames that licked at their clothes until they leaped to their feet again, angry faces highlighted by wisps of smoke curling upward. I never heard what had happened, but I was sure Trellac had been the cause of the fires.

  Pagul still dropped back to talk to me from time to time, sharing stories and telling tales about one of the Horde riding near us, but never giving me any real information about what was happening. He spent most of his time riding at the front of the column with DeBrest and the Horde's leader, a man who went by the name of Three Fingers, although most of the men called him Captain. The reason for his name was easy to tell once I had seen the scarred remains of his left hand.

  The sun was still climbing on the seventh day when the forests peeled back and a good-sized village hove into view. In the previous few days, we had passed three larger towns and two wayfarer stations that had at one time consisted of a handful of houses and stables, perhaps even a small inn. All of them had been razed to the ground without more than a wall or two of any building left standing. The ground had been just as barren as the green in Breton as well, without so much as a blade of grass re-growing.

  But this village's outer walls still stood with spots showing repair of previous damage. Fresh split shingles dotting roofs and smoke curling into the sky spoke of activity. The gates were also new, no more than a year or two old by the lack of aging, and they were shut to the road.

  A murmur passed through the Horde as we stopped. DeBrest, Pagul, and Three Fingers were too far away for me to hear what was being said, but it was obvious that Captain was not happy about the conversation. Two of the Horde rode around the edge of the wall and heeled their horses into a trot toward the trio. I stared ahead, looking for a sign of Saleene or Bree, but I did not catch a glimpse of their silver hair anywhere on the small plain. If I was going to know what was going on, I needed to take action myself.

  “…not our deal, Duke,” Three Fingers was saying as I rode close. “It won't go over well with the men, and you know it.”

  “I won't have my own cities ransacked by men under my command,” DeBrest said. “Those are my people inside those walls, and they are under my protection.” His voice was level, but red crept up his neck as he spoke.

  “Captain,” one of the two men who had been riding flank said, “if the people living inside there are Bretonians, then I'm a Traxon dancing girl.”

  “Yeah, Cap,” agreed the other one. “They're Gargian for sure. Their skin is as pale as a sheet with the golden hair to match.”

  “I don't care where they came from,” DeBrest said. His voice was louder, and I was afraid he was on the verge of losing control of his temper. I dropped my hand to my sword and shrugged my shoulder so the shield moved to my side. I also eyed the distance to the woods, not liking the odds of the number of people I trusted in relation to the number of the Horde.

  “Let's talk to them,” Pagul said. “We can't make a good decision until we know more about them.”

  DeBrest and Three Fingers stared at each other for a few seconds before they both nodded. They heeled their horses forward and trotted to the gate, Pagul right behind. I did not wait for an invitation, instead, following the tattooed man. He half-turned in the saddle when he heard my horse's hooves and smiled but said nothing.

  The main gates remained shut as we approached, but a walkout door opened and three men moved into sight, one unarmed and the other two carrying spears. I had never seen a Gargian before, but it was easy to see what the Horde men had described. All three were pale enough that I wondered if they had ever been in the sun before. They showed varying shades of blond hair, the leader's the color of new cut straw. But it was their eyes, blue so pale the color almost blended into the whites, that really set them apart from anything I had ever seen—inside the games or in real life.

  “Strangers,” the leader said, his right hand raised in salute, “why are you on the step of our small village with a band of war? What could you possibly want from someone like us?”

  DeBrest moved forward a few paces from the group.

  “I am Duke Robert DeBrest, the lord of Bretonia. You have taken up homes in Bear Run, one of the villages in my land. Perhaps I should be the one asking you why you are here.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out the royal ring. Although they were not close enough to see the seal, the sunlight glinting off the gold and jewels spoke of its worth. The bear's head emblem on his shield also spoke of his lineage.

  Whatever demands or statements the men had been expecting, DeBrest's words were not what they anticipated. The leader glanced back over his shoulder at the two men who blinked in surprise as well.

  “Duke DeBrest, I am Head Council Barrowman, what stands for a leader among our people. We were told all your family was killed and that Bretonia had been deserted. When we settled in Havern—Bear Run to you—we believed the land was unclaimed to live upon.” He hesitated. “I…I, uh…”

  DeBrest dismounted and walked toward the men. Pagul inched forward as well, his hand gripping one of his axes.

  “What brought you here, Council?” the duke asked. “Why did you need to settle in Bear Run, far from your native Gargia?”

  Barrowman shook his head. “You're right. We are from Gargia, but we will most likely never call that land home again. Word must not've traveled this far yet. Gargia is under attack, villages and towns burned to the ground, the dead stacked in smoldering piles. Our enemy attacks at night, waves of black clad warriors. They would be bad enough, but with them comes a plague of fire from the sky, pouring down from the heavens and leaving nothing but death and devastation in its wake.”

  “The Long Night,” Pagul said, drawing a nod from DeBrest though the duke did not turn away from the other men.

  I was struck by the story. It was obvious that at least Barrowman was an avatar. His surprise at DeBrest's words was too real for any computer construct to emulate. So, their tale was not some back story added by programmers to make his quest feel more real. But then, what was the plan for the Gargians?

  “The story doesn't fit.” I nearly fell out of my saddle at the words whispered close to my ear. Trellac should have been happy I was so startled I did not have a chance to smash my shield into his red face. He did not notice my glare, however, his gaze remaining glued to DeBrest and the other men.

  “It is a tale we know all too well,�
� DeBrest said. “We are traveling now to settle our debts with those same warriors.” He stepped back and raised his voice so it would carry beyond the wall. “I, Duke Robert DeBrest, do offer the citizens of Bear Run shelter in the land of my fathers. You will be granted all the rights and privileges of citizens of Bretonia, and bear all the same responsibilities.” He lowered his voice again so that only Barrowman and the other two men could hear him. “If you or your people do not wish to become citizens, we will discuss your leaving Bretonia when I return from avenging my father and mother's deaths. Please, discuss it with your people, but know that you are welcome to remain.” He walked back to his horse, climbing into the saddle before turning to the men again. “I hope you'll stay. It's a good land.” He turned his horse and trotted back to the main group.

  I caught the glint of silver out of the corner of my eye as I turned, a blink of color flashing as Saleene and Bree dropped back over the wall and disappeared toward the tree line.

  The smile froze to my face, however, when I saw the pinched lips and slitted eyes on Three Fingers, a look that would make a lot of men flinch from an impending punch. I also noticed the knuckles on his good hand, white from the strength from which he gripped his sword hilt.

  Chapter 18

  The murmur rippled through the Horde the rest of the morning and on into the afternoon. It rose and ebbed, threatening to break over the top of an unseen dam but never quite breaching its walls. The sound flowed around me, bringing on a sweat with each mumble. But part of me hoped it continued because I believed its stopping would signal a new turn, a turn that meant trouble.

  For some reason, I found comfort in riding near Spoon's wagon. He kept up a steady stream of words, most of them of no consequence, that helped the day's travel feel closer to every other day. But the tickle at the back of my neck never stopped warning me of what lie just over the border of my sight.

  We made camp that evening in the shadow of the White Mountains. There was no clearing where we stopped, only a thinning of the trees for which I was glad. Spoon claimed the largest open area for his fire and cook pot, a parcel of ground only ten paces across, but he made do, and soon filled the woods with the smells of roasting meat and biscuits. The Horde spread out where they could, putting up tents where there was room and simply hanging a blanket over a rope strung between trees where there was not. A few even resorted to hammocks with no cover at all.

  The sun had fully set behind the treetops, and the shadows had all merged into one another for a solid curtain of black by the time Spoon ran his namesake through the metal triangle announcing the evening meal. My stomach grumbled in response, but still I hung back, nagging uncertainty clinging to my thoughts.

  I was not the only one who did not eat with the other men. Saleene and Bree never showed as well, not even appearing long enough to grab food and escape. Once I thought I caught a glimpse of moonlight reflected in silver deeper in the trees, but a group of the Horde walked past me, laughing and talking in a near shout, and the moment passed. The flash did not show itself again.

  Eventually, crickets rubbed wings together and their chirping filled the night. Birds sang and bats swooped near the fires, catching their prey in the air above the flames. More importantly, the players dropped off, one by one, and their avatars became lifeless hunks.

  I eased into the light of Spoon's fire, my head moving back and forth in constant vigil.

  “Ah, I wondered where you got off to, Wolf,” Spoon said. “Don't you worry. I'm sure we can rustle you up something to eat.” He swung his spoon at the nearest helper. “Get him some food, Roz. Can't you see a hungry warrior waiting to eat?”

  I leaned against the rear gate of Spoon's wagon, partly to take the pressure off my feet and partly to have as much of a solid wall to my back as I could find. The old guardsman nodded, but when he opened his mouth to talk again, his words had nothing to do with where I had positioned myself.

  “Wolf, have I ever told you about the battle horse I once owned?” he asked.

  I blinked in surprise. With so much happening on the surface, and even more taking place where no one could see, the old guardsman had resorted to telling me stories of his younger days.

  “No,” I answered along with a shake of my head. “Were you a guardsman then?”

  “Barely,” he said, chuckling at the thought. “I had been a member of the wall guard for about a year then. Hadn't even earned the right to be in the keep proper yet. That year during the Harvest Moon Fest, a horse trainer brought his stock to Breton to sell. A huge crowd gathered because Old Duff was known throughout the kingdom for raising the finest horses and training them to a fine edge. Young lords, merchant guards, even the old duke's stable master bought from the randy old bastard.

  “Anyway, this year his boys were putting the stock through their paces and this young stud colt catches my eye. You should've seen him, Wolf. Midnight from head to hoof except for one white stocking on his right rear. Deep chest and firm through his neck. Battle trained to ignore the melee and push against the enemy's mount and give his rider the upper hand. But he wasn't just muscled to push through. He floated through his trot, hooves lifting on the promise of air and just touching the dirt before rising again. But when he galloped, his hooves beat the ground and put fear into the hearts of the other horses with his thunder. I knew from the first moment I had to have him for my own.

  “So, I went to Old Duff and asked him his price. I almost choked when he told me. Remember, my uniform was still crisp around the edges, and I might as well have walked through the guardhouse with a permanent salute because everyone had served longer than me. The only two things I owned of any value were my sword and the mare that I'd been given by my grandfather on my manhood day.

  “So, I went back to the stables and brought her to Old Duff and asked how much she would be worth to him. Some of the other guardsmen laughed and called me a fool. But the horse trainer took me serious. He ran his hands over every inch of her body. Checked her teeth, down her legs, under her belly—everywhere. And when he was done, he asked me a thousand questions. How was her disposition around the other horses? How did she act when she was saddled? How often had she come up lame? How was her breathing? Did she shy around noise or was she calm under the bit? Did she give a good, reliable effort? A thousand questions at least, and I answered them all.

  “When he finally stopped asking, Old Duff stared at her for a long while, and then told me he would sell me the colt I liked for the mare and three months’ salary. I agreed without even thinking, wanting him to hear the 'yes' as soon as I could say it.”

  Spoon stopped to stir the cooking pot and add more wood to the fire. When he was done, he dug through the boxes on the side of the wagon and poured some powder into whatever he was making.

  I chewed on my dinner while he worked, only glancing at him while keeping most of my attention on the area where the Horde were sleeping.

  “Did you end up buying him?” I asked after a few minutes.

  Spoon jumped, his eyes wide at the question. “Huh? What?”

  “Your horse, the black stud. Did you save your money and buy him?”

  “Of course. I saved every bit of my pay, and at the end of three months, I took the mare and the gold to Old Duff and bought the horse I had dreamed about every night since I saw him.”

  I took another bite. “Was he everything you thought he would be?”

  Spoon laughed so hard he leaned against the side of the wagon.

  “The first time I climbed in the saddle, he bucked me off into a fence, and I broke my arm. The last thing I saw of him was his white stocking as he galloped away. Damn near killed me. Never laid eyes on that horse again. Probably ran straight back to Duff, and the bastard most likely sold him to someone else and made twice the money.” He stopped laughing long enough to shake his head. “I heard he loved my mare so much he trained her for his daughter and she became one of his best brood mares.”

  We both laughed at the stor
y, and for a moment, I forgot about the near fight at Bear Run and the danger lying in the Horde.

  “So, don't ever forget that lesson, Wolf.” Spoon turned to walk away.

  My last laugh caught in my throat, and I coughed. “What lesson?”

  Spoon stopped and turned to stare at me. The grin was gone from his face and his forehead was creased.

  “Sometimes, your wildest dreams aren't what you really need to come true. Sometimes, what you needed was right in front of you all along.” He stopped and glanced toward DeBrest's campsite. “Some people forget that and it becomes their end.”

  I watched Spoon grab a bucket and walk toward the stream.

  “And sometimes that lesson kills everyone around it.”

  This time I did jump sideways. With everything else that had happened, Trellac's surprise appearances were even worse than normal.

  “Damn you, Trellac! One of these times I'm going to punch you in the throat when you startle me.”

  He smiled, but the humor never reached his eyes.

  “You'd have to know where I was at before you could hit me, Wolf. Kind of like most of our friends in the Horde.”

  My cheeks were still hot from a combination of anger and embarrassment, but a chill ran up my back at the words. Just like with Spoon, I realized I was about to hear something else that was more than I expected.

  “What do you mean?”

  He stared at me for a moment before looking in the direction of the Horde's tents.

  “How many men are in the Horde?” he asked.

  “I don't know. I never counted them. Maybe one hundred and fifty.”

  Trellac snorted. “Maybe this morning there were that many. There's no more than fifty or sixty over there right now.”