The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library

by Frederick Kirchhoff

  “Just look at them—the Chosen organize themselves like a chessboard while the Brotherhood are all tumbled together.”

  “That’s the difference between them, isn’t it? But the disorder of the Brotherhood is to our advantage, and so is the fact that they’ve camped on the edge of the forest. But we need to find out if anyone is guarding the lower pass,” Jon added. “I want to pretend to have come that way, but no one will believe me if there’s a force blocking the entrance.”

  “Why would they block the entrance?”

  “To prevent us from raiding their camp.”

  “Is that what they’re afraid of?” Alf asked.

  “It’s what they should be afraid of if they have any sense. On the other hand, if they think there’s no chance of it, they may have left the way open.”

  “From here, it doesn’t look like there’s anyone on the road.”

  Saash had given Jon a picture of the route down the mountain. It was obvious why no one approaching from the North would have seen it, especially because the forest hid its lower segment. To reach the valley floor, however, they’d have to climb down a long, bare ridge that was plainly visible from the camp. This was why they’d planned to make the last stage of the journey at sunset, when shadows are in constant change.

  Keeping low, they crept across the exposed section of the ridge. A Forester would have picked up their movement, but no one in the encampment appeared to notice them. Once they’d reached the forest, Jon and Alf made their way silently toward the tents of the Brotherhood. It wasn’t long before they began to hear shouting and laughter. The Brotherhood must have been at their evening meal. Jon shuddered, recalling his last night in their midst.

  “You wait here,” Alf said. “I know these people, you don’t. I want to look for a familiar face—someone I can trust.”

  “Won’t they recognize you?”

  “Probably not—they see many boys, and the men I’ll be looking for have little to do with the new recruits.”

  “But your red hair. They can’t see many boys with red hair.”

  “At night it looks brown unless you stand next to a light, and I can make sure not to do that.”

  Jon was prepared to wait for a long time, but Alf was back soon.

  “I’ve found someone. Follow me.”

  Someone turned out to be two men of early middle age sitting together by a small fire near the eaves of the forest.

  “Gavin,” Alf called out in a low voice.

  “Who’s that?” one of the men asked.

  “It’s me, Alf. Remember, the boy you hid once when the captains were looking for him.”

  “I’ve hidden many boys from the captains.”

  The other man laughed quietly.

  “You shouldn’t say things like that aloud, Gavin. What if the wrong person heard you?”

  “Bedamned if the wrong person hears me. Come here, kiddo—into the light, where I can look at you. Ah, there are two of you. Why didn’t you say that in the first place, Alf? You see, I remember your name. But if you’re looking for dinner, you’re out of luck. Mess is over for the night and there were no leftovers.”

  “There are never any leftovers,” his companion noted.

  “Well, it’s a fact that we don’t eat as well as the Chosen, Percy.”

  “I wouldn’t touch their food,” Percy replied.

  “You see how it is, Alf. We live off their leavings, but disdain to sit at table with them.”

  “Not all of us.”

  “Oh, no, not all of us. The big men feast there every night.”

  “They don’t call it feasting; they call it holding meetings—like the meeting when they decided it would be our honor to make the first try at the pass. And you know what happened then.”

  “Only five casualties.”

  “One of them was my buddy, don’t forget that.”

  “We didn’t come for food,” Alf told him. “We came to bring you information.”

  “Information about what?” Gavin asked, suddenly interested.

  “And how did you get here, anyway?”

  “My question first, Percy.”

  “Information about the Emperor.”

  “The Emperor? The Chosen tell us the Emperor is dead—put to the torch somewhere up north. And lucky for him I’d say, if the alternative was being taken captive by our friends in white. They know how to make a man do what they want, no doubt about that.”

  “He’s not dead,” Jon said. “That was a ruse to put them off his track. The Emperor is here—across the Boundary Mountain at Bent Lake—and he has an army with him—not a big army, but large enough to hold out against anyone who attempts the pass.”

  “The Emperor and an army?” Gavin asked in wonderment. “That’s not possible. Where’d you get such a cockamamie idea?”

  “It was all part of a plan. When they thought they could no longer defend themselves in the Imperial City, the Emperor sent a corps of his best men here—fighters from Tarnak—and on the way they picked up reinforcements from some of the towns along the river.”

  It annoyed Jon to have to lie to these men, who appeared honest, but he saw no other way to stir them to action—and there was a germ of truth in what he was telling them—although not in the fighters from Tarnak part.

  “We never heard any of this.”

  “We never hear anything but what they want to tell us, Gavin.”

  “They traveled by night to avoid being seen. They’re here to set a trap for the Chosen.”

  “More power to the Emperor. I’d like to set a trap for the Chosen.”

  “What kind of trap?” Percy asked.

  “They’re going to lure the army of the Chosen into the valley and then fall on them from all sides. That’s why they put up such a weak defense—to make the Chosen believe they can break through it easily.”

  “It didn’t seem so weak to me.”

  “But he’s right, Gavin. There were only a few archers, as far as I could see. They were well positioned, that’s all. And once the armor arrives, we’ll be able to get past them with no trouble.”

  “The armor?” Jon asked.

  “Yes, there’s a wagon train of armor on its way by the River Road. It should reach here any day. That’s why we’re waiting like this.”

  “But armor won’t help you fighting men on horseback.”

  “The Emperor has horses?”

  “At least a thousand of them.”

  “And the Chosen know nothing about this?”

  “We don’t think so.”

  “And are you going to tell them?” Percy asked.

  “We came to tell you,” Jon replied. “We thought the Brotherhood should know about the danger they were in—if they’re expected to lead the army into the valley. We come from the Valley of Women, and we know you’re our fathers. We don’t want this to happen to you.”

  Gavin was evidently moved.

  “You know we’re your fathers? No one from the Valley of Women has ever said that to any of us—at least as far as I know. We don’t say it among ourselves—not openly, that is. But we know you’re our children. That’s why what happens to the boys is so terrible. When men do things to them, it could be to their own sons, and there’s no way to know.”

  “But what good does your information do anyone?” Percy asked. “If he’s there, like you say, the Emperor won’t care that we’re your fathers. If we march into the valley with the army of the Chosen and fall into his trap, we’ll be killed the same way they will.”

  “Not if you leave the Chosen,” Jon said.

  “Are you telling us we should run away? Don’t think I haven’t contemplated that possibility —but where would we go? The Chosen control the roads.”

  “Not the road to Bent Lake.”

  Percy laughed quietly.

  “So you noticed that. Those bastards are so sure they’re in control they don’t even bother to guard the entrance to the pass. But of course any of us who tried to reach Bent Lake
that way would meet up with our old friends the archers, and they’d make short work of us.”

  “Not if Alf and I were with you,” Jon said. “The women guarding the pass know us by sight.”

  “Then one or two of us might be able to sneak into Bent Lake that way, but not many. Even though the entrance to the pass isn’t guarded, a contingent of men heading off in that direction would be noticed.”

  “But there’s another trail across the mountain. If you return with us, we’ll take that route to the Emperor. Then, if you wish to fight on his side, you can. Or if you simply wish to live in peace in the valley, that, too, would be possible. There’s land there for the asking—and a need for men with skills. The Emperor is building a new city on the banks of Bent Lake.”

  “I’d fight for the Emperor if I believed it would bring peace,” Gavin said.

  “Amen.”

  “And we’ve both seen Bent Lake. It’s a beautiful place.”

  “And there are others like you—there must be others,” Alf said.

  “Yes—more than half the troop, I’d wager. But most would be afraid to leave the Brotherhood, even though it’s what they long for. Yet I know at least three dozen men who’d jump at the chance you’re offering.”

  “Is there a way we could talk to them?”

  “A whole group of men at one time? That would be difficult.”

  “He means it would arouse suspicion,” Percy pointed out. “It’s better to speak by twos and threes—the way you’re speaking to us now. If Gavin went with Alf and I went with—I’m sorry, I never caught your name.”

  “Jon.”

  “If I went with you, Jon, we could begin speaking to them tonight. It’ll be dangerous, but I’m not afraid of danger. Like you said, we’re your fathers, and fathers must take risks if they’re to defend their sons.”

  ▲

  That night they managed to gain fourteen converts. The next morning, it was agreed that Jon and Alf would keep out of sight and leave the recruiting to Gavin and Percy, who knew the men they could trust and were used to communicating in ways that avoided the leaders’ attention. Everything was casual—soldiers passing the time in idle conversation—even though the message was in dead earnest.

  By the end of the second day, the total had risen to sixty-seven. But by the end of that day, too, the armor had arrived, and men from the Chosen came through the camp of the Brotherhood telling the men to report to the roadside to be fitted with helmets and breastplates.

  This couldn’t be better, Jon thought. We’ll be bringing the Emperor’s army sixty-seven men in new armor.

  Their plan was the leave the camp at first light the next morning. The deserters would move their gear to the edge of the forest after nightfall. This was Percy’s idea. That way, he explained, if anyone saw them walking through the camp before dawn they could explain that they were answering a call of nature.

  But that night Gavin decided there was one more man he wanted to talk to. He was an old friend, but he’d been forced to share a tent with a person Gavin distrusted. However this tent mate spent the better part of the evening with other friends and seldom returned until he was drunk and ready for sleep, so Gavin had reason to believe it would be safe.

  He asked Alf to go with him.

  “He may remember you,” he said.

  Left to himself, Jon decided to follow them, largely out of restlessness, since he’d spent the daylight hours in hiding. He enjoyed the thought of being able to slip through the camp without being noticed. He’d learned a lot from living with the Foresters and the tritargon gave him a new awareness of people. He could feel the presence of human emotions even when their source was hidden.

  It wasn’t difficult to find Gavin and Alf. Standing in the shadows outside the tent, he listened to Gavin’s conversation with his friend. Neither Gavin nor Alf could answer all his questions, and that inability raised doubts in the friend’s mind. Yet, at the same time, he was clearly sympathetic. He wanted to believe what they were telling him; he just lacked enough proof for certainty.

  Engrossed in this talk, Jon didn’t hear footsteps approaching until someone walked up from the other direction and flung open the tent flap.

  “What are you doing in here, Gavin?” he demanded. “And what are you doing with one of the boys? Come out here so I can see you better.”

  In an instant he’d pulled Alf out of the tent and dragged him to where a small fire was burning.

  “Wait a minute. I know you. I remember your red hair. And I bet you remember me. We had some good times together, you and me.”

  Jon felt Alf’s terror.

  “Oh, you remember all right. You ran away that day we killed the fucking Forester, but you must have missed me. That’s why you came back, isn’t it? Come on—say you’re sorry you ran away.”

  The man pulled Alf’s arm behind his back and held it tight.

  “You think this hurts, boy? Well think again. I’ve just started having fun with you. It’ll be just like old times.”

  He pulled Alf’s arm further back with a quick jerk. Alf let out a cry of pain.

  “That wasn’t much of a sound, boy. I know how to make you scream real good.”

  Jon had to do something. So far he didn’t think anyone had heard anything, beyond himself and Gavin and his friend, who were staring at what was happening, but appeared incapable of stopping it.

  Pulling his knife from his belt, Jon ran up to the man holding Alf and stabbed him in the back. The man let out an angry grunt, released Alf and turned on Jon, raising his fist to strike him in the face. The knife was still in his back. At that moment Gavin and his friend ran over and pulled the man down, pushing his face into the ground so that he could make no sound. Jon removed his knife from the man’s back; then Gavin and his friend rolled him over, holding his mouth closed.

  “You have to kill him,” the friend whispered. “It’s the only way.”

  Jon plunged his knife into the man’s neck, and blood spurted everywhere. The man struggled for a while, and then was silent.

  “What are we going to do with the body?” Jon asked.

  “We’ll put it in the tent. No one will see this blood until morning—unless they slip in it. We’ll have to cover it with some sand so that doesn’t happen. Hurry, let’s move the body.”

  It had all been done in an instant, almost as if they’d planned every detail. So that’s what it’s like to kill a man, Jon thought. To his surprise, he felt giddy with elation. Had Zoë experienced similar feelings when she’d killed Piers? Telling his first big lie had been one thing, but this excitement was a magnitude larger. He felt like running in circles and laughing hysterically, but he had to conceal these impulses from the two men.

  “Don’t worry,” Gavin’s friend told him. “He deserved it. He’s done far worse before—and to innocent men.”

  Alf walked up to Jon and hugged him. Jon felt him shaking with fear.

  “It was as if I’d never left,” Alf said in a whisper.

  “I know—but it’s over now.”

  “We’d better get back to my tent,” Gavin said.

  ▲

  Jon had trouble sleeping. He dozed off after a few hours, but was wide-awake again before dawn, listening to Percy’s intermittent snoring. Moving as quietly as he could, he left the tent and walked to the edge of the camp. He could hear the rustle of a bird on the forest floor, scratching at the dry leaves. Night watchers, Peter called them—fat brown birds that hunted worms and small insects in the darkness. “A Forester must learn to recognize all the sounds of nature,” Peter had told him. Well, at least he’d learned to recognize a few of them.

  High above, the stars of the Great Bow glittered in the black sky. “The lower end of the bow always points south.” That, too, had been one of Peter’s lessons. Jon wondered if he’d have occasion to use it again. Even though the sky was clear, the air had a damp smell like the sea. Was Saash going to take Klei to the islands? That was his luck, wasn’t it—to mi
ss the one thing he most desired. The Emperor had called him Grand Duke of the Islands or something ridiculous like that. But now he’d never see them. What did it matter? What did anything matter? When he’d asked himself that question before, the answer had been Nothing. And Nothing it remained. Was it the presence of the Brotherhood that brought back the memory of those first hours after John’s death?

  Well, it was time to wake the others.

  When he whispered their names, Percy answered immediately, speaking in a low voice.

  “I’m here. I’ve been awake for hours. I heard you leave the tent a while ago. But it’s still dark yet, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it will be light in a few minutes.”

  Jon had to shake Alf to rouse him from sleep.

  “I was just dreaming a wonderful dream,” Alf told him. “I’ll have to tell you about it someday.”

  “Later,” Jon told him. “It’s time to leave.”

  They moved silently to where the deserters had agreed to meet. At least a dozen men were already there. To the East, Jon could see the faintest suggestion of dawn. One after another, more men appeared from the darkness. Gavin was counting them as they arrived.

  “Fifty six, fifty seven, fifty eight—ten more to come.”

  As the last stragglers arrived, the line of red over the hills grew brighter.

  “Is everyone here?” Jon asked.

  “All but one.”

  “We can’t wait.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could he have changed his mind?”

  And then the remaining Brother hurried up.

  “I was stopped by a sentry,” he whispered. “He wanted to know where I was going? ‘To the latrine,’ I told him. But then he said I was going in the wrong direction.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I told him I was confused—I’d had a bit to drink last night. It sometimes affected me this way—I lose my sense of direction. I thanked him for his help and went in the way he pointed out, and then I had to circle all the way around the rest of the camp to get here.”

  There was muted laughter at his story, and it broke the mood of tension among the men. They’d been frightened at the thought of what they were doing, but now they were at ease with their decision.