The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library

by Frederick Kirchhoff

  “I’m sorry,” Alf said. “I was only trying to explain. But, yes, I found him. It took time, but I think Jon will be safe for a while. They have other matters on their minds right now. Tomorrow they hold a ceremony on the River Road with the Chosen. That’s what everyone’s talking about.”

  “Then we have to be there before them,” Zoë said. “And if they’re not leaving until morning, the road will be safe for an hour or more.”

  She had to rescue Jon, and now this new boy, Alf, was also in her care. All three boys were now her charge. Yet that thought, somehow, gave her courage.

  “Are you up to it, Alf?” she asked. “You’re banged up and you haven’t had a wink of sleep.”

  “Now that I’m free, I could do anything. I don’t know who you are, but I know I can trust you.”

  Yes, he can trust me, Zoë thought. That’s what I am—a woman who can be trusted. And I’ll use my strength to make them strong as well.

  Following Zoë’s plan, they circled the camp and took the road west. By now it was light enough to see the way, and they hurried along knowing that this predawn sprint was their chance to outdistance the enemy. If the Brotherhood traveled as a group, they could go no faster than the boys on foot, but if the horsemen rode ahead, then Zoë and her companions might be forced to leave the road before it reached the ford and find another place to cross the river. That meant delay, and they had no time to waste.

  As the hills lowered, the road began passing through brush and small trees. Zoë had come this way only days before, and the landmarks told her they were near the river. The sun had risen now, and Zoë was beginning to think they’d make it across without incident, but then they heard horses behind them. Darting into a clump of small trees, they crouched and waited to see who was coming. It turned out to be only five men—an advance party of some kind. Once the riders had disappeared, Zoë and her companions returned to the road.

  “There’s the river,” Zoë said, as they turned a corner and began their descent to the ford. They saw no sign of the five horsemen—only a stretch of open grassland between them and the water and, on the west bank, the mass of trees along the far side of the River Road.

  “Hurry,” she said, setting off at a near run.

  Yet when she reached the water she stopped and waited for Klei and Alf to catch up.

  “Let me wash you,” she said to Alf.

  He knelt down and she used her cupped hands to pour water over his head and shoulders, carefully washing the dried blood from his cuts. He winced at the chill water, but gritted his teeth and made no sound.

  “We should fill our water bottles here, too.”

  “With my blood in the water?” Alf asked.

  “It’s long gone. See how fast the current flows. Further down, the river’s not so clean, but here it’s good to drink.”

  Zoë realized she should have given John’s bottle to Alf, instead of burying it with John’s gear, but it was too late now. Once across, they found themselves at the junction where the South Road met the River Road. Here, Zoë led them to a clearing in the forest and said it was time for a rest.

  “No one will look for us here,” she said. “But we’re close enough to be aware of anyone who passes. We’re all three exhausted, and who knows what lies ahead? I don’t think I can sleep, but you two should at least try. The bulk of the Brotherhood are two hours behind us, but one hour’s rest should be enough for our purposes. And then we’ll set out for the encampment Alf told us about.”

  “I want to go on,” Alf said.

  “No—you need sleep.”

  Like Alf, Klei wanted to keep going, but Zoë’s advice could only be good. In these last hours he’d found himself believing in her in a new way. Unexpectedly, her words brought calm.

  ▲

  Strange, how quickly both Alf and Klei had fallen asleep. Watching them, Zoë reviewed the last twenty-four hours: their journey over the river, their night in the hills, the turn to the south, the final moments of her brother’s life. And now it was up to her to save Jon. He’d been foolish but he’d also been brave. It was easy to blame him for John’s death, but John himself wouldn’t have blamed him. She was sure of that. And she was equally sure that John would have expected her to rescue Jon. So what she was about to do was as much for one as for the other.

  Surely this was the test her mother had described—but she’d had no idea it would be like this. She’d imagined some glorious opportunity, but this desperate, grief-stricken effort was nothing like that.

  Looking east, she saw a cloud of dust rising from the hills. She must have miscalculated. The Brotherhood would be here sooner than she’d expected. She woke Klei and Alf, in the gentle way a mother might touch a sleeping child. Klei opened his eyes first.

  “Was I sleeping?” he asked, looking up.

  She nodded yes.

  “I didn’t mean to do more than close my eyes.”

  But Alf was already up.

  “I’m ready,” he said. Klei could see that he was far from ready, but what else was there to do?

  And so they resumed their journey, following the road but with the safety of the forest at hand. It was nearly midday when they started north. By late afternoon, they had yet to catch sight of the Brotherhood. Klei wondered how much further they’d have to go. It was obvious Alf was on the verge of collapse.

  Suddenly Zoë stopped in her tracks.

  “I see them,” she whispered.

  Far ahead, human figures were standing on the road; then they disappeared among the trees between the road and the river.

  “Follow me,” Zoë said, entering the forest. “And try to be as quiet as you can, Alf. Klei knows the technique. Watch him.”

  Moving among the trees, she led them on a track parallel to the road. It wasn’t long before they heard men’s voices, and soon they had them in plain view. At a spot where the road ran close to the river, an encampment had been set up on a stretch of open ground—land probably under water when the river was high but now covered in coarse grass. Here, white tents stood in a semicircle. A red-and-white flag flew over the largest tent, and in the center a pavilion had been erected, with a platform at one side, holding a small table. The five horsemen who’d passed them that morning, were standing near this platform, facing a group of men in white tunics with red sashes.

  “I wish we could catch what they’re saying,” Zoë said quietly. “But we can’t lose our cover. Besides, we’re not here to spy on the Brotherhood; we’re here for Jon. Nothing we do should jeopardize his rescue, so for now we’ll wait and watch.”

  On the far side of the tents, the Chosen had lit fires, next to which some women were broiling meat on long spits, while others were patting out rounds of flatbread, which they baked on stones banked against the flames. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, making Klei realize how hungry he was. But he forgot his appetite when the main body of the Brotherhood arrived, the riders first, followed by the boys on foot.

  Klei touched Zoë’s arm and pointed. Just as yesterday, a rider was leading Jon by a rope. Haggard and deathly pale, he staggered into the midst of the company.

  “Yes, there he is. But where will they take him?”

  A crowd of men and boys soon hid Jon from view, as they began setting up their camp in the space between the white tents and the road. Suddenly a group broke away and headed toward where Zoë and her companions were hiding. The three quickly slipped back among the trees. As they watched, the men began gathering firewood. Fortunately there were plenty of fallen branches along the edge of the forest. Once they returned to camp, Zoë, Klei and Alf moved back to where they could observe what was happening.

  Most of the Brotherhood and all of the men in white were clustered near the pavilion, and soon the men who’d been preparing the campsite joined them. Then one of the men in white climbed to the platform and began addressing the group. Shouts rose in response to whatever he said, first from the other men in white and then from the Brotherhood, who w
ere obviously taking their cue from the Chosen. Curious as she was about his words, Zoë reminded herself that they had nothing to do with Jon.

  “Stay here,” she said. “It’s my turn.”

  Dusk had fallen; moving stealthily, Zoë made herself invisible to the casual eye. From childhood she’d been trained in this skill, and, to her advantage, the commotion by the pavilion was growing louder. No one would be looking in her direction. Could they have been careless enough to leave Jon unattended? It was too much to hope for.

  She peered into the nearest of the tents the Brotherhood had erected. It was empty save for a few saddlebags, and the next was the same. Now that she was drawing closer to the crowd, she found it impossible to resist the urge to watch, if only for a moment. It appeared to be some kind of initiation. One by one, the Brothers climbed the platform, knelt, and kissed a book lying on the table, after which a man she took as one of the teachers laid his hands on their heads and spoke a few sentences. Each time someone completed this routine a cry would go up—a single word from the Chosen, but a confusion of sounds from the Brotherhood. They’d shout and bang on whatever was handy—shields, pans, anything that would make a raucous sound. Did they realize how absurd they appeared? Zoë suspected that even the Chosen found them ridiculous. It was hard to believe men skillful enough to defeat the Emperor would ally themselves with such idiots. There must be more to this than Alf thinks. Still, as long as the ritual held their attention, she’d be safe—but the book-kissing wouldn’t last forever. The better part of the men had already passed through the line. How many were left? No more than twenty. And the boys were standing off to one side. She doubted they’d be taking part in the ceremony.

  She was now at the largest tent. It must have been the one Alf had talked about, where they’d tied Jon last night. He had to be there now. No other possibility remained. She slid along the side of the tent to the front, where an open flap faced the crowd at the pavilion. If only they’d simply tied him up and left no one to watch.

  “Who the fuck are you?” It was a man speaking to her—no, not a man—one of the boys. They’d left a guard after all. They were stupid, but not that stupid.

  “Just a girl,” she replied meekly.

  “A girl? Come here, thlet me thee you.” There was something funny about the way he talked—as if he had trouble getting his tongue around certain words.

  Zoë moved a few steps toward him and lowered her head, trying to appear both bashful and less tall.

  “I’m just a servant girl of the Chosen. I’m not allowed to take part in the ceremonies.”

  “Thervant girl, what’s your name?”

  Zoë sensed his desire. He’d be easy to handle.

  “Amara. My name is Amara,” she said, twisting her body slightly as she spoke. She wanted to appear seductive, but worried she might be overdoing it. Seduction was not included in the Foresters’ training. Moreover she wasn’t dressed like the women doing the cooking. Surely he’d notice that.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Zandor. I’m called Zandor. Come closer, Amara. In here, where no one can thee uth.”

  That invitation meant the guard must have seen nothing suspicious.

  Appearing to pay attention only to Zandor but glancing into the darkness of the tent, Zoë saw a figure on the ground next to the center pole. It had to be Jon and if he was conscious he must have seen her. She felt for her dagger.

  “How about a kith, Amara? You’d like a kith, wouldn’t you? A pretty girl alwayth likth a kith. I won’t tell anybody.”

  Zoë made a small sound she hoped would be taken for a giggle.

  “Not here,” she said. “We’re still where we can be seen. They’d beat me if they found out I’d kissed a man. The Chosen are very strict.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t want that to happen, would we? It would be a thame to beat thuch a pretty girl—a real thame.”

  From the tone of his words, Zoë realized that he found the idea of beating her attractive. What a creep.

  Zandor backed further into the tent, and Zoë followed.

  “There’s nobody else here is there?” she asked. “I don’t want anyone to see me.”

  “Nobody but an old friend of mine, but you don’t have to worry about him. He won’t be telling anything to anyone.”

  What did he mean?

  “Look. I have his knife. They let me have it while I’m guarding him.”

  Zandor held up Jon’s knife, turning it so the blade caught a faint glint of light.

  “He must be dangerous. And you must be very brave to guard such a dangerous person. Brave and very strong. You look like you have a very strong body. I’ve never seen such big arms.”

  “I’m strong all right. And brave to. You want to thee how brave I am? I’ll give him a prick with his own knife. A prick for a prick.”

  “No, no, put that away,” she told him. “I’m frightened of knives. I once saw a man hurt very badly with a knife. They used it to cut his skin and there was blood. I hate the sight of blood. It makes me sick. Please put your knife away—over there on the table. I wouldn’t want to touch a man who was holding a knife.”

  “But you want me to touch you, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I want you to touch me very much—you’re very handsome—but not when there’s a knife in your hand. A knife frightens me.”

  “Pretty girls like you are easily scared.”

  He laughed as he walked over to the table and laid down the knife.

  “Now I’m ready,” he said, opening his arms to Zoë.

  “Close your eyes. A kiss is always better when you close your eyes.”

  “But I want to look at you.”

  “No, you mustn’t do that. Not at first, I mean. Close your eyes at first, and then, after we’ve kissed you can open them. It’s best that way.”

  “You seem to know a lot about kissing.”

  “Only what I’ve heard from the older girls. They say it’s always better if you close your eyes at first.”

  “They’re closed.”

  I have to do this exactly right, Zoë told herself. It won’t work unless it’s done exactly right.

  Pulling the dagger from her shirt, Zoë took three quick steps forward and, stopping his mouth with her free hand, used her momentum to stab him in the chest with a powerful thrust. He made an odd sound—half cry and half gurgle—then slumped to the ground, quivering spasmodically. But at that moment had come one of the great shouts from the pavilion followed by the usual clangor. No one could have heard him. She knelt beside the fallen body, her hand still covering his mouth, waiting for all movement to cease.

  “Jon, are you awake?” she asked in a whisper.

  He made no reply.

  “Jon!” she repeated slightly louder. The figure in the darkness moved his head, then pulled himself up from the ground.

  “Zoë, why are you here?” He sounded confused, as if only half-conscious of his surroundings.

  “I’m here to save you.”

  With a quick jerk, she pulled her dagger from Zandor’s chest and wiped the blood on his tunic. Back on her feet, she went over to Jon and cut his bonds.

  “Follow me,” she said, helping him to his feet. “But don’t run. It will only attract attention. Move like one of the shadows.”

  “Wait. I want to get my knife. They gave it to him. Maybe it’s on his body somewhere.”

  “No, it’s not on his body, but I know where it is.”

  She went to where Zandor had left Jon’s knife and picked it up. Then she returned to Jon.

  “Remember, like one of the shadows,” she repeated as she led him into the open. Beyond the firelight, it was dark now, so there was less danger of being seen. Slowly, they made their way, passing from one tent to the next, then crossing the road to where Klei and Alf waited among the trees. The land rose here, and Zoë knew that above them a Forester trail paralleled the road. If they could reach it, they’d be safe. Another shout came from the cro
wd. Surely the Brotherhood would soon run out of initiates. But Jon could barely move. He’d been dragged all day, and now Zoë was dragging him still further.

  “Klei, help me,” she said. She put one of Jon’s arms over her should and Klei did likewise, but when they tried to move forward, Jon was dead weight.

  “You have to try, Jon. You have to help us. At least until we get farther from the camp. Do it for my brother. Do it for John.”

  They tried again. This time, Jon was able to move forward with them, but it was slow going, for the woods were dark and they stumbled against fallen trees and caught their skin and clothing in shrubs.

  “Damned holly,” Zoë muttered.

  No one would be able to locate them in this darkness, but unless they were far enough from the camp when dawn came, they risked discovery, since with Jon in this shape they’d never be able to travel quickly. And the new boy, Alf, was lagging. Had she forgotten that he’d been hurt, too?

  The shouts from the men below had continued, gradually growing fainter, but then she heard a new sound—not a cry of exultation but a shout of rage. The Brotherhood had discovered that Jon was gone. She had to lead her three boys further before they could stop to rest.

  But now Jon had fallen again, almost pulling her down with him. Would they ever be able to make it up the hillside?

  Suddenly Zoë sensed the presence of other beings around her in the darkness. Strange hands lifted Jon and carried him through the trees.

  “Who are you?” she asked as she scrambled up the hill behind them. Already they were far ahead of her. How could anyone climb so fast? And she couldn’t leave Alf and Klei behind.

  And yet there had been a reply of a sort when she’d asked who they were. Not words, but a thought that seemed to rise from within her own body. She was sure it had to do with the strangers who’d taken Jon, but it was nothing she could comprehend.

  In a few moments she’d reached the path she’d been seeking, Alf and Klei following closely behind her. She almost stumbled on Jon, who was lying on the ground. Whoever had brought him here had disappeared.

  “Who were they?” Alf asked.