by Colt, K. J.
Much as I regretted the necessity, we had to leave the rest of our men where they lay. There wasn’t time to deal with any kind of burial. I still had no way of knowing whether it was a live prisoner or a cold corpse I was chasing after, but as long as there was any hope for Brig, I couldn’t give up. We pushed on through the wood, making for the shortcut through Heeflin’s Bog. I had to catch the Fists before Selbius. Once Brig was within the city walls, there would be little chance of getting him back.
We were weary and wet to the waist from our trudge through the bog when we came again onto the path the Fists took to Selbius. I was as dejected as I was exhausted for I knew too much time had been wasted in the crossing of the marsh and I feared we couldn’t hope to catch our quarry, let alone cut them off before they reached this point. But I wouldn’t admit this to Terrac, nor would I give in to his continual requests to turn back. We pushed on, following in the tracks of the company that had already passed this way.
It was past sundown when we approached a cluster of buildings looming ahead out of the darkness. We were still within Dimming’s borders, but only just, and I recognized the ramshackle buildings set a little aside from the road as one of the abandoned woods-folk farms. Thunder rumbled overhead, and a few cold sprinkles began to fall as the holding came into view.
The last of the Fist’s tracks were being washed from the road but not before I saw their horses had turned off the way, veering into the direction of the abandoned hold buildings. I caught the dim glow of light filtering out the shuttered windows of the hold house and felt a surge of hope. If the Fists had stopped here to take shelter from the storm…
Terrac was less pleased than I to have caught up to our enemies, but I wouldn’t hear his warnings. I struck off for the hold buildings, and he reluctantly followed. I shushed his protests as we neared, and we made several careful, silent circuits around the property, wary of sentries. When I was satisfied our enemies were oblivious to our approach, we crept closer. The rain and the dark were our allies, shielding us from unfriendly eyes.
We moved in as near as we dared, then dropped to our bellies in a little stand of weeds on a gentle rise overlooking the hold house. My heart was beating fast, and I expected discovery at any moment. Terrac parted the grasses and peered ahead. Seconds passed before I felt him stiffen beside me.
He said, “There’s a man circling the outer sheds. He doesn’t stop to look around, just keeps his head down and moves with purpose. Nothing else stirs.”
“Is he one of the Praetor’s men?” I whispered.
“Now how can I know that?”
I craned my neck, but Terrac was slightly ahead of me and I couldn’t see past him without the commotion of rearranging myself.
I said, “Does he look like a fighting man? Is he armed? Outfitted in the Praetor’s colors? A Fist would have a bear’s head worked into his breastplate.”
“At this distance do you think I can see a breastplate, let alone a bear’s head on it? It’s too dark even to make out his colors. Besides, he’s gone now, disappeared into the barn.”
I sighed and risked repositioning myself for a clearer view. My movements made the tall grass rustle, and I hoped no one was near enough to notice. I now had a good look at the hold house and its dilapidated outbuildings. I could see no movement below. No men, no sign of horses. The only evidence anyone was down there at all was Terrac’s claim to have seen someone—that and the spill of light issuing from the open doorway and windows.
I located the barn, an old leaning structure beyond the house. I waited and was at length rewarded when a lone figure wandered out its doors. I couldn’t make out any particulars about him. I followed his progress as he ducked his head against the falling rain and hastened to the dry shelter of the hold house. Not a sentry, then, just a man checking on his horse. For a moment he was outlined in the doorway as he stepped into the house, and I caught the glint of light falling across the steel at his hip and a quick glimpse of black leather over scarlet.
“A Praetor’s man, all right,” I whispered to Terrac. “There must be more of them inside the house or in the outbuildings.”
A plan began to take shape in my head as I scanned the shadowy rooftops.
“And how are we to discover whether Brig is with them?” Terrac asked.
I pushed aside my qualms. I would do whatever I must to get Brig back, and if that meant using Terrac as unwitting bait, so be it.
I said, “I see no sign of a watch, meaning either they haven’t set any or their sentries are too well hidden to be seen. The first, I think, for I’ve pretty good night vision and I can’t make out anyone hiding in the shadows.” I tried to sound confident because I didn’t want him turning tail right when I had use for him. “But we won’t risk everything on that supposition. We’ll go down just as if there were lookouts.”
Here was where I must slip in the crucial point and pray I could convince him of it. “You’ll go first,” I said. “One is less conspicuous than two. Slip down to the house and try to get close enough for a look in the windows. Don’t come back until you can tell me how many Fists there are and if Brig is among them. I think it would be best if I wait here for you.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do,” Terrac said, frowning. “How is it I’m the one handling the dangerous part when this was your idea in the first place?”
How, indeed? I scrambled for a plausible excuse. “Because you’re the quicker of us and have the best chance of slipping back and forth unseen.”
His expression showed he wasn’t buying that horse, so I struck out with a better lie. “And because I’m, um, afraid.”
“Afraid?” The mingled surprise and disbelief in his voice made me wish I had thought of something better.
I hurried to elaborate. “I mean, I’m afraid for Brig. You know how close we were, and you’ve seen what the Fists do to their enemies. I’m afraid of what we could find down there and of how I’ll react. I might go mad and do something foolish to get us captured or killed.”
I inwardly blessed his gullibility as I saw the disbelief fade from his face. He nodded and said, “I suppose there is sense in what you say. Maybe it would be for the best if I’m the one to go. I'll bring the news back to you, whether good or bad.”
Suffering an unexpected stab of remorse, I caught his arm as he started to turn away. I opened my mouth to confess, but what came out instead was, “You’re a good would-be priest, Terrac. An honest man. You can tell that to anyone.”
I couldn’t be sure if he detected the instruction behind my words, but he seemed to catch the seriousness of my tone. “I don’t know how good I am, but I think any friend would do as much. Now I’d best do this thing quickly if I’m going to do it at all.”
A part of me felt relief that he hadn’t understood. “Yes, of course,” I said. “Thank you, Terrac.”
He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and then he was away. I kept my head low, watching his awkward progress as he moved off. Slithering down the hillock on his stomach and scrambling to his feet at the bottom, he ran doubled over in the direction of the hold house in the clumsiest stealth approach I’d ever seen.
I returned my gaze to the sentry I had previously observed lurking beneath the shadowed eaves of the house. I could only hope he would take my friend in for questioning, rather than killing him on the spot, but there was little I could do to ensure that, and my conscience smote me. Terrac was my friend, and here I was betraying him for my own schemes. But when I thought of Brig, my guilt was instantly silenced. For me, Brig came ahead of any other, and this was the only way I could think to keep the Fists busy while I searched for him.
From here on out, speed was important. I slithered quickly through the grass until I made it down the brow of the hill and then kept low to the earth as I circled to the back of the hold yard. The looming shadow of the barn was my goal because, if Brig was dead, I imagined the Fists would have stowed his corpse in just such a place. I had to cancel out that horrible poss
ibility before I could lay any rescue plans. I reached the barn without being seen and kept to the shadows, creeping around to the front entrance. The door was rotten and protested softly when I tried it so that I hesitated to test it further.
Abruptly, a strangled cry rang out across the yard. Although I’d been expecting it, I started anyway. The shout was immediately followed by sounds of a struggle, and I dropped flat to the ground, training my gaze on the house. I made out two dark silhouettes scuffling in the shadows. The smaller of the two was actually giving a fair account of himself, but inevitably, his larger opponent soon drew something from his belt, possibly a knife. I was too far away to be certain. He hooked his arm around Terrac from behind, pressed the object against the boy’s throat and Terrac immediately stiffened and fell still. I held my breath, praying he would have the sense to heed the Fist’s orders. Apparently he did, and I watched as he cooperatively allowed the knife man to drag him backwards toward the entrance of the house.
I wasn’t the only one to hear the struggle. A handful of Fists came rushing to fill the open doorway of the house. Apparently caught sleeping, no one had taken the time to throw clothing on, and they stood in various stages of undress, many of them barefoot, but all with swords in hand. A few stepped out to help their comrade with his captive while others cast wary gazes out into the wet night, probably wondering whether they could expect more intruders to descend at any moment.
Everything was in Terrac’s hands now. I could only hope whatever he told our enemies would dissuade them from searching the yard for his companions. I couldn’t afford to linger any longer and used my enemies’ brief distraction to try the barn door again. I winced at its muffled groan but didn’t hesitate this time, slipping through the doorway and into the building. The blackness within was even deeper than that outside, and I stood, disoriented, just inside the door. I allowed my eyes time to adjust to the dimness before beginning a swift search of the interior from top to bottom.
It was as I was giving up a hasty exploration of the hayloft that I made a peculiar discovery. My foot scuffed against something hidden beneath the thin layer of moldy straw on the floor and hurried though I was, instinct made me kneel to uncover the object. Certainly I had no time for distractions, but the thing had an odd shape, and for a moment curiosity took over so that I quickly dusted aside the straw to pick it up. In the darkness it was difficult to discern what it was, and I nearly cast it aside as a crooked bit of wood with a string tied to it. Then, recognizing its feel, I took a closer look and realized I was holding a bow.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THIS SEEMS AN UNLIKELY PLACE to find such a weapon, I thought, turning it around in my hands and noting how light and sturdy it felt. From the little I knew of bows, I judged this to be a good one. In the darkness, my fingers traced a line of carvings spiraling down the wooden arms. I’d never heard of anyone putting such detailed effort into the making of a bow, and I thought I would like to see it in better lighting.
I had no sooner had the thought than the weapon warmed beneath my touch and glowed with a faint orangey light. What evil magic was this? Startled, I threw the weapon away from me, and it sailed over the edge of the loft. After a moment’s hesitation, I worked up the courage to clamber down the rope ladder after it and found it lying in a pile of straw.
When I dared to reach out and tentatively take the bow into my hands again, I was relieved to find it cold once more. The glow was gone too. Had I only imagined it before? Yes, that must be it. Impulsively I slung the bow over my shoulder and returned to my search.
I made a hasty exploration of the rest of the interior, disturbing the Fist’s horses as I went so that they began whickering loudly and shifting in their stalls. Fearful lest anyone come to investigate the noise, I abandoned the barn and moved on to the outbuildings. I crept from one building to the next, heart sinking as I failed to find Brig locked away in any of them. I told myself this was a hopeful sign. If he wasn’t out here, he must be under guard in the house, and that at least meant he was alive. What was happening inside the hold house now? What were they doing to Terrac, and what was he telling them? I quickened my search.
The next shed I poked my head into was a privy, and the one after that appeared to be a place for storing herbs. Dark shapes hung from the ceiling, and it took me a moment to realize they were bunches of dried plants suspended upside down. The pungent scents of thickleaf and ravenspoison were heavy in the air. There was a low worktable scattered with cracked earthenware pottery and the rotting remnants of more clusters of weeds and leaves.
The shed held the bitter smell of decay, and I lingered only long enough to determine Brig wasn’t there. Backing out of the building, I pulled the door to and, turning away, stumbled over something. A stick of wood? No, it was a man’s outstretched arm. In the shadows I could barely make out his still form lying in a heap against the side of the shed. His shaven head was tilted at a side angle, his bearded face half buried in the dirt. Large crimson blotches darkened the back of his tunic. My stomach clenched, and with a strangled cry I dropped to my knees and flipped the body over.
I knew Brig was dead even as I felt for a heartbeat. Always before, when he was near, I could sense the life burning within him. But now I felt nothing from him, not even the barest tendril of warmth. He had been dead a while, and mingled grief and fury coursed through me as I saw evidence of torture. Despite what I felt, I couldn’t seem to shed tears. My throat hurt, but my eyes were drier than sand. I bent over him, gathering his still form in my arms as best I was able. He had always been a heavy man, and in death his body had grown rigid, resisting my efforts. I huddled over his form, cradling it protectively as he had sheltered me when I was small. My teeth were clenched so hard my jaw ached, and I welcomed the pain, wishing for more.
I sat there for an age, drowning in grief and anger and forgetting all sense of time or purpose. Eventually I became aware of the weight of my new bow slung across my back, and strangely this brought me back to myself. I remembered I had a task before me, and my heart hardened with resolve. I remembered how Rideon said they would display Brig’s remains as a gruesome spectacle in Selbius. I thought of the sons Brig rarely spoke of, probably young men by now, and wondered what was the likelihood they would ever visit the city, see their father strung up in that way, and know him? I thought of Netta, who had left him for his thieving ways, and wondered whether she would be pleased or sorry to see him come to such an end. Whatever she felt, I knew Brig would have hated her to see him so.
I shook the thought from my mind. If I wanted to spare my old friend that fate, I needed to keep my head clear. It was past time I took all of us away from this place—Terrac too, if I could manage it. The plan I formed was not a clear one and certainly not brilliant, but it was all that came to me just then. I had no time to dwell on the particulars or the many possible failings.
I forced myself to abandon Brig’s lifeless body and ducked back into the herb shed where I collected all the crushed ravenspoison I could find. It was dark, and I had to identify the vials of dried herbs by smell rather than sight. I mentally thanked Javen for teaching me all he knew of herbal concoctions and remedies. I worked quickly, stuffing my pockets full of vials, mindful my presence could be discovered at any moment. Then I hurried back to the barn, moving stealthily along the edges of the yard. I managed not to attract the attention of the sentries, if there were still any around, and slipped back into the relative safety of the shadowed building where I emptied the vials entirely into the drinking water of the Fist’s horses. I spared only one mount, a strong-looking gray I had need of.
I also found the Fists’ waterskins hung up alongside the riding gear, and I tipped a little herbal powder into these as well. I had no real expectation of anyone drinking enough to do them harm, since the taste should quickly warn the drinker against further sampling. Still, I thought it worth a try. Several of the horses were dipping their noses into their water buckets even as I left. I felt bad ab
out the animals but reminded myself ravenspoison wasn’t fatal, only sickening enough to put a man—or a horse—off his feet for a day or two.
Outside I found a battered old onion cart. Its sides were rotten, but the bed and wheels might be sturdy enough for my purpose. I slipped back into the barn for horse and harness, which I brought out by way of a narrow back door I discovered in my earlier search. Even with the use of this concealed exit, I couldn’t imagine how my movements had thus far failed to capture my enemies’ attention. I could only be grateful for whatever Terrac was doing in there to keep them occupied. If only he could buy me a few more minutes... I longed for something to happen, anything, to keep all eyes away from me a little longer.
A shout went up in the distance. “Fire!”
That would do. I didn’t have time to wonder who raised the cry or what sparked it. I could only be grateful for the sudden commotion that erupted as other shouts joined the first, followed by the echoing bang of the farmhouse door being flung open and the thundering of many feet pounding outdoors.
I led the horse forward and the rickety cart followed, wheels creaking and wobbling as if it would collapse into pieces at any moment. We kept to the outer ring of the holding, immersing ourselves among the deepest shadows. I could see the hold house now, one wall burning and greedy tongues of flame licking up to the wood-shingled roof. Fists poured out windows and doorways, scrambling to remove themselves and their gear from the path of the flames. The lightly falling rain did little to dampen the blaze, and the winds of the storm spread the flames all the swifter.
A new shout rose up in the distance. “This is the boy’s work! Find him and bring him back!”
No one paid heed to the order.
I almost smiled to myself. It appeared Terrac was a little cleverer than I’d thought him. I only hoped he had the sense to put this place behind him. When I reached the shed, I left my cart in the shadows. Stooping over Brig’s motionless form, I took hold of his shoulders and attempted to lift him from the ground. He was heavier than I expected, and I grunted with the effort. I realized my back suddenly felt strangely warm. Was that the bow again, radiating heat through my tunic? I hesitated in confusion.
