The Lost Stories

by John Flanagan

  Halt raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure we’ll find out in the next few days. There are always people waiting to take advantage of our being absent.”

  As the affair with the pirates was an internal Redmont Fief matter, they hadn’t bothered to ask Gilan to fill in for them. But Halt had been a Ranger long enough to know that even a peaceful village like Wensley had its share of petty thieves, gamblers and confidence tricksters who would be ever ready to take advantage of his and Will’s absence.

  They reached the turnoff to the little cabin in the trees and Will nodded toward the castle, dominating the landscape on the hill above them.

  “Are you heading up to the castle straightaway?”

  Halt hesitated, looked at the sun and saw there were still several hours of daylight left. “No. I’ll come to the cabin. I can get started on my report for Crowley.”

  “Better you than me,” Will said cheerfully. There were some advantages to being the junior Ranger, he thought. Halt turned an unsmiling gaze on him for several seconds. Will shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. It was never a good sign when Halt looked at him like that.

  “On second thought,” the older Ranger said, “I might sit in the sun on the porch and let you write the report. I’ll sign it—after I’ve made numerous corrections.”

  “It might not need any corrections,” Will suggested tentatively, and Halt smiled at him.

  “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find lots of them.”

  Will was about to answer when they heard the sound of galloping hoofbeats behind them. They both turned to see Alyss about a hundred meters away, coming from the village and closing on them fast.

  “Someone’s glad you’re home early,” Halt observed, a slight smile touching the corner of his mouth. He liked Alyss and he was delighted with the relationship that had grown between her and Will.

  Will smiled too at the sight of her. She sat on a horse beautifully, he thought, and her long blond hair streamed out behind her in a most attractive way. Then, as she grew closer, he could see no sign of a welcoming wave or smile, and the smile on his own face faded.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said. Halt had come to the same conclusion. They stopped and turned their horses back to face her as she slid her white mare to a stop.

  “Will!” she cried, her voice anguished. “I’m so sorry! Ebony’s missing!”

  3

  “MISSING? WHAT DO YOU MEAN MISSING?” WILL ASKED. EVEN AS he said the words, he realized how ridiculous they were. There could only be one meaning to Alyss’s statement.

  “She’s gone. Three days ago. I left her by the cabin while I went to a meeting in the castle. I’m so sorry, Will. I should have taken her with me! But I thought . . .”

  Will reached out and touched her hand to calm her. She was on the verge of tears, he could see.

  “No reason why you should have,” he said. “I often leave her on her own at the cabin.”

  When he and Halt had left to pursue the pirates, Alyss had moved to the cabin temporarily to keep the young dog company and to feed and water her each day. But of course, Will had known Alyss would have duties that would take her to the castle. Ebony wasn’t a puppy. She would have appreciated Alyss’s company, but she could be trusted to stay close to the cabin if Alyss was called away for an hour or two.

  “Maybe she wandered off into the forest,” Halt suggested. But Will shook his head.

  “She wouldn’t do that. She’s trained to stay where she’s told.” He looked at Alyss again. “When did you last see her?”

  “Three days ago, as I said. I’d given her her morning feed and walked her down to the village. Then I had a message that I was needed at the castle. I left her on the porch and told her to stay. I came back two hours later and she was gone. I thought at first that she might have chased something into the forest, so I went looking for her, calling her. But there was no sign of her.”

  “What about the village?” Will asked. “Did anyone there see her?” If there was any chance that Ebony had wandered, she would have gone no farther than Wensley. She was a popular dog with the villagers and on a few occasions she had sought out their company.

  Alyss shook her head. “I asked, but nobody had seen her. I’m so sorry!”

  Now an insidious worm of concern began gnawing at Will. Initially, he had thought there would be some simple explanation for the dog’s absence. But Alyss’s agitated state was contagious. Alyss was usually calm and in control, even in the worst crisis. He was beginning to think there was more to this matter than he had heard so far—that there was something Alyss was yet to tell him.

  Unless some accident had befallen Ebony, there was really only one reason for her continued absence.

  “Someone must have taken her,” he said. One look at Alyss’s face told him that this was what she feared. “What is it?”

  Tears began to flow down her cheeks as she answered. “There was a band of travelers who came through the district—”

  “Travelers?” Will interrupted. “What sort of travelers?” Although he had a suspicion that he already knew. Alyss’s next words confirmed it.

  “Roamers. They camped outside Wensley for a night, then moved on. I didn’t even know they were there until I started asking about Ebony. They were here the day she disappeared.”

  Roamers were itinerant travelers who made their way about the country in horse-drawn caravans. They had no permanent home but would camp for a day or two near villages, until such time as the village people moved them on. Roamers usually traveled in extended family groups—mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts and children roaming together. They were musicians and performers and would entertain villagers and farmers to earn their money. Usually, they seemed to be charming and romantic folk. And usually, when they were in an area for more than a day or two, things began to go missing—clothing, small valuables, the occasional chicken or duck.

  Roamers originated on the continent, to the southeast of Toscana. But over the centuries, they had spread across the western-world and developed a cyclical pattern of travel. They would appear, stay a few days, move on and not be seen for several years. Then, one day, they would return. They were a close-knit, mysterious group. Black-haired and swarthy of skin, their younger women were often remarkably beautiful and their men were hotheaded and argumentative—among themselves and with outsiders.

  There was another thing Will remembered about Roamers. They were known to have a strong bond with their animals—horses, mules and dogs—although, paradoxically, they often mistreated them. If Ebony had been taken by a band of Roamers, it would be best if he got her back as soon as possible.

  “I’m going after them,” Will said decisively. “They won’t move fast and I should be able to catch them in a day or so.”

  He began to swing Tug’s head around, but Halt reached out and took hold of his bridle.

  “Just hold on a moment,” he said. “If she has been taken by Roamers, the last thing you’ll want to do is go charging in demanding that they hand her over.”

  “What are you talking about, Halt? I want her back and I want her back now.”

  But Halt was shaking his head. “Roamers are difficult people to deal with,” he said. “They resent outsiders and they’re very clever at covering their tracks. They’re nearly as good at staying concealed as we are. If they decide to keep her hidden, you’ll be hard-pressed to find her. And if they realize they’ve stolen a Ranger’s dog, she’ll be in danger.”

  “Danger? What sort of danger?” Will asked.

  “Chances are they’ll kill her to get rid of the evidence,” Halt told him.

  Will sat back in his saddle, openmouthed. “Kill her?” he repeated.

  Halt nodded. “Rightly or wrongly, Roamers have been badly treated for many centuries. They’ve developed a highly defensive frame of mind. If they realize they have a stolen dog, and she’s the property of a Ranger, they’ll assume that the law will come down heavily on them—”

  “And I will!” Will
said hotly. But Halt put up a hand to calm him down.

  “If you can find her. And the safest way for them will be to get rid of her. Kill her and bury her. Or drop her in the river. Anything to make sure you don’t find her in their possession. You simply can’t risk that.”

  “You’re saying I should just let them get away with it?” Will asked uncertainly.

  “Not at all. Go after her. But do it carefully. Be subtle. Don’t let them know you’re a Ranger, and don’t let them know you’re looking for a lost dog.”

  Will sat, thinking over Halt’s words, a troubled look on his face. After a little while, Alyss spoke up.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Automatically, Will shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

  Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Will, I feel responsible for this. I want to help.”

  “I think it might be a good idea,” Halt said, and they both looked at him, Will in surprise and Alyss with gratitude. He continued. “They might be less suspicious of a young girl than they would of a fit young man of military age. They may be cunning, but they do have one weakness, which is that they regard women as second-class citizens, and they don’t have any idea of how capable and how dangerous a Courier can be. I think Alyss might stand a better chance of finding out where the dog is.”

  “Won’t she be in their camp?” Alyss asked.

  Halt pursed his lips. “Possibly. But they’ve got a stolen dog. She’s valuable and they may well expect her owner to turn up, looking for her. My bet is they’ll keep her hidden somewhere close by their camp until they’re well and truly away from the district. If you try to track them, Will, and find out where they’re keeping her, there’s a very good chance they’ll spot you. They’ll be on the alert while they’re still close to Redmont. On the other hand, I doubt they’d be concerned about Alyss. As I said, they have little regard for women.”

  There was another point that Halt was reluctant to raise. Will was already sufficiently concerned. But the more Halt thought about it, the surer he was that he had to mention it.

  “There’s something else you should know about Roamers,” he said. “They often train dogs for fighting.”

  “Fighting?” Will said, his voice almost a whisper. “What do you mean?”

  “They train them to fight other dogs—then they stage fights and people bet on them. Or they meet up with other Roamer bands and pit their champions against each other. It’s vicious and cruel and it’s highly illegal, of course, which is another reason why they’ll be keeping the dogs out of sight.”

  “That’s horrible,” Alyss said. Her face was white.

  Halt nodded. “I know. It’s hard to understand, given their reputation for loving animals. But it’s a fact.”

  Will had been thinking over what Halt said and now he shook his head.

  “There’s no point in them taking Ebony, Halt. She’s not very big and she’s definitely not aggressive. They’d never manage to turn her into a fighting dog.”

  Halt took a deep breath. But he thought Will should know the worst. “Even the best dog can turn savage if it’s treated badly, Will. That’s why it’s important that you find her as quickly as possible.”

  4

  IT WAS A GRIM-FACED PAIR WHO SET OUT TWO HOURS LATER.

  On Halt’s advice, Will had taken off the green-and-gray cloak that marked him as a Ranger. It was concealed inside his blanket roll. He kept his longbow and arrows in a canvas bow case slung from Tug’s saddle.

  Similarly, Alyss had changed from her distinctive white Courier’s robe. Instead, she wore a plain green dress of homespun fabric and a brown woolen cloak. The choice of colors was intentional. They would help her blend in to the woodland background in which they’d be traveling.

  Inquiries at the village and some of the outlying farms told them that the Roamers had moved off to the south. They were traveling in a convoy of five caravans, with an accompanying assortment of horses, dogs and goats. None of the locals who had seen them on the road had noticed a black-and-white border shepherd among the dogs. Nor had they noticed anything that might pass for a fighting dog, but that was hardly surprising.

  “Dogfighting being illegal,” Will said to Alyss, “they’d keep any fighting dogs hidden from view. And of course, Ebony was stolen. They’d keep her hidden too.”

  Even though the Roamers had a three-day lead—and the best part of a fourth day as well—he had expected to catch up to them quickly. After all, whenever he’d seen Roamers on the move, they had traveled at little more than walking pace. However, by the end of the second day, he inquired at a farm and found that the caravans had passed through two days prior. He was puzzled by this and mentioned the fact to Alyss.

  “I asked Lady Pauline about Roamers when I went to the castle to fetch my traveling gear,” she said. “She’s had a bit to do with them over the years. She told me it’s normal practice for them when they move on to really push the pace for the first few days, particularly if they’ve stolen something. That way, they’re well out of the district by the time the theft is discovered.”

  “Makes sense,” Will said. He looked up at the sky. The sun was almost setting and there was only half an hour of daylight left.

  “Do you mind if we push on after dark for a few hours? We’ll try to find a farm to put us up for the night, rather than set up camp in the dark.”

  “Fine by me,” Alyss said. She shared Will’s anxiousness to catch up with the band. The fear that Ebony could be pitted against a vicious fighting dog any day was now uppermost in both their minds.

  The moon rose shortly after dark, bathing the countryside around them in a pale blue light. They rode on in silence until, around nine that evening, they saw a lighted window in a small farmhouse.

  “Better stop here,” Alyss advised. “Farmers go to bed early. If we wait any longer, we’ll be waking them up. Chances are, they won’t like that.”

  She proved to be right. When they approached the farmhouse, to the accompaniment of the furious barking of a pair of farm dogs, they were greeted by a farmer who appeared at the door, a lantern in his hand. He was already dressed in a nightshirt and it was clear that he was about to retire for the night.

  “What do you want?” he called suspiciously. Mindful of the dogs, which seemed eager to get at them, Will and Alyss had stayed outside the fenced-off farmhouse yard.

  “We’re travelers,” Will called in reply. “My sister and I are looking for lodging for the night. We’re happy to pay you for your trouble.”

  The farmer paused. The idea of payment was obviously attractive to him.

  “Dismount and come here. Let’s have a look at you,” he said.

  Will dismounted, Alyss following him. He stopped with his hand on the gate latch, nodding to the two dogs.

  “Are those dogs all right?” he asked.

  The man nodded. “They are, unless I tell ’em otherwise. Down, you two! Shut your noise!” he shouted suddenly at the dogs, and they sat instantly. The barking ceased, but they continued to whine softly, as if seeking permission to tear these interlopers apart.

  Will and Alyss advanced slowly into the farmyard. Will noted with some slight amusement that Alyss managed to keep him between her and the dogs. The dogs shifted, their bodies quivering with tension as the two strangers came closer. But the farmer’s control over them was total.

  The farmer held the lantern higher as they approached. When they were three meters away, he called for them to stop.

  “Far enough,” he said. He studied them for several minutes. Will noticed that he held the lantern in his left hand. His right, which he kept by his side, held a heavy, spiked club. Behind him, Will saw someone else moving inside the farm, heard a male voice ask a question. A brother, perhaps, or an older son.

  “They look all right,” the farmer replied over his shoulder. “Just a pair of youngsters. They look harmless enough.”

  Alyss smiled at the words. Will did have a youthful, innocent-looking
face. But to describe him as harmless was so far off the mark as to be laughable. He could well be the most dangerous person this farmer had ever laid eyes on.

  “We can’t fit you in the house,” the farmer said. “There’s six of us here.”

  “The barn would be fine,” Will replied. “We just want a roof over our heads. It looks like rain.”

  The farmer glanced up at the sky and sniffed the air experimentally. “Aye,” he said, “there’ll be rain before sunrise, sure enough. I’ll want seven coppers from you for the lodging. And we’ve no food for you,” he added quickly. “We’ve already eaten and the fire’s banked for the night.”

  “That’s fine. We have our own food.” Will undid his belt purse and fumbled in it. “I’m short of coppers. I’ve give you one silver crown instead.”

  The crown was worth ten coppers, but he was happy to pay the extra if it meant he and Alyss could spend the night under shelter. The farmer set the lantern on the ground and held out his hand, snapping his thumb and forefinger together.

  “A silver crown it is then,” he said.

  Will stepped forward. One of the dogs, a heavyset brindle, quivered and whined as he came closer. He noticed that even though it was supposedly sitting, its muscles were tensed so that its backside hovered several centimeters from the ground. It peeled back its lips in a snarl as he handed the coin over. The farmer inspected the coin and nodded, satisfied.

  “All right then. My wife will give you breakfast in the morning—cover the three extra coppers. And no fire in the barn. No candle and no fire. There’s a lantern inside the door, but leave it where it is. That’ll be enough light.”

  “Thanks,” Will said. Then one of his constant needs asserted itself. “All right if I light a fire in the yard there? I’d like to make coffee.”

  The farmer grunted assent. “Keep it well away from the barn. And remember, the dogs will be inside this yard all night. Try to approach the house and they’ll have you.”