The Bellringer

by William Timothy Murray

  "Won't you come with us to Passdale?" Robby pleaded. "My parents will want to thank you in person, and, anyway, I need your guidance. What will become of me? What of the Bell and the traitor of Tulith Attis?"

  "Be alert to all things, but do not worry too much, yet," Ashlord reassured him, falling back into the Common Speech, putting his hand on Robby's shoulder. "I will strive to learn more, and then I will come to see you after a while. Meanwhile, keep these things to yourself as best as you can."

  "I will," Robby said.

  "Get yourself home safe. You have a long, soggy road ahead, yet! So be careful!"

  Robby thanked Ashlord again and again shook his hand. Ashlord smiled, then turned away and quickly strode back into the wood the way they had come, soon lost to sight.

  "Well!" Billy said. "He's gonna miss out on some fine victuals in Boskland, is all I can say!"

  "I wish he was coming with us," Robby said. "I know my parents would like to thank him for all he's done."

  "Come on, let's go," Sheila said, already moving off down the road.

  • • •

  They had not gone two miles when the road became soggy, then muddy, and then covered with a few inches of standing water as it panned flat through the woods. They sloshed through that for about a mile before the road became dry again along a gentle rise where they stopped and surveyed the way ahead. Before them the road sank below slow-moving water, emerging about forty yards farther on before curving up and out of sight around a bend.

  "Looks like it's gone down a bit, Ibin," Billy said.

  "Yeah, it'sgone, it'sgonedownalittle."

  "This is whar we gave up our ponies," Billy explained. "It was up to thar bellies, an' they wouldn't budge after goin' halfway in."

  "Doesn't look too deep, now," Robby suggested. "Nor too swift."

  "Naw, probably only a foot at the very most, now," Billy agreed.

  Just then, they heard the thunder of approaching hooves.

  "Riders coming on the road!" Sheila exclaimed. "Let's move out of sight until we make out who they are."

  "Bosklanders, most likely," Billy said, reluctantly following Sheila's instructions and moving off the road and ducking down behind thick brush. Sheila notched an arrow, keeping her bow low as they watched the bend. Suddenly, four horsemen appeared, cloaked in brown and black, wearing black iron helmets and with swords on their saddles, galloping hard into the water toward them. The blast of a horn drew their attention back to the bend where, a mere moment later, came twelve other horsemen, wearing the gold and green colors of Boskland. The four riders drew up sharply and stopped right in front of their hiding place, then three of them reined their horses around as the fourth continued on faster than ever. Robby could hear the ring of steel as they drew their swords and spurred their mounts back at their coming pursuers. In the middle of the stream the two groups met, geysers of water splashing up around the melee while sparks flew from steel meeting steel. The three made it all the way through the Bosklanders, felling two of Billy's kithmen, then wheeled around at the far side to come again, the Bosklanders pulling at their reins in confusion and dismay. Just as they met again, Sheila stood and let fly her arrow, striking the lead horseman in the neck. But the other two came on, and another Bosklander was unhorsed as they swept through. Sheila and Billy dashed out into the road as the two horsemen bore down on them at a gallop. Sheila gave one an arrow in the chest and then rolled out of the way as he passed, while Billy struck the other from his mount with his staff. Struggling to get back up, Billy struck him again on the side of his helmet, splintering his staff in two, then Ibin walked up, as calm as ever, and put his foot on the culprit's chest, pinning him down as the Bosklanders surrounded them. The man under Ibin's foot produced a dagger to strike Ibin's leg, but Billy kicked it away. The other horseman, whose mount had come to a halt several yards away, fell sideways out of his saddle onto the roadway and lay still.

  "Billy Bosk!" cried one of the men in gold and green as he rode up. It was Billy's father, who dismounted to give his son a hug. He was barely taller than Robby, and built like a stockade, thick and strong, but with the same nose and red hair as his wiry son. "We whar comin' for ye, but got a bit distracted by these raiders. Son, are ye all right?"

  "Yessir, Pop!" Billy nodded. "Nuthin' a little head bashin' don't cure!"

  Billy grinned as Mr. Bosk looked down at their prisoner.

  "Good work!" he said. "An' well, if yer archer ain't none other than Sheila Pradkin!"

  "Yup," Billy said. "Fine shootin', don't ye think?"

  "Young lady," Bosk said, "ye've more spunk in ye than half the men in Barley! I thanks ye for yer help!"

  Mr. Bosk put his hands on his hips and looked at the whole group, now that Robby had emerged from the bushes.

  "I should of known ye'd be together," he said shaking his head and smiling. "Master Ribbon! If ye can only know the trouble ye've put me. Me wife half out of her wits with worry first 'bout ye then 'bout Billy an' Ibin. An' yer own folks probl'y done lost thar minds with fret!"

  "I'm truly sorry, sir," Robby said, turning red at the scolding. "But at least for my part, it couldn't be helped."

  One of Bosk's men came up and interrupted.

  "Branard an' Terrent're fine," he said. "Just got the wind kicked out of 'em. Geever's been slashed fairly bad, but'll live if we get him back home an' to some care."

  "One of 'em got away," another man said to Bosk.

  "I know," he said, looking down the road. "Ringalf! Lessicks! The two of ye track that rider. Catch him if ye can. Kill him if ye must. Go no farther than the day will allow. I don't want ye out after dark."

  Immediately the two were mounted and riding away hard in pursuit of the escapee.

  "Oakson!"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Ride back to Boskland with word to prepare for wounded. Tell the lady 'bout Billy an' the others here. An' send someone back with more mounts. Get ye somethin' to eat an' a fresh mount for yerself. I want ye to ride to Passdale an' let folks thar know 'bout things this way. Be sure an' see Mr. Ribbon an' tell him his son's comin' home!"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Wait," Robby cried, fumbling in his shoulder bag. "Give my dad this, if you will. And this."

  He hurriedly pulled his order book out and tore a page out of it and scribbled a note saying:

  Father and Mother,

  I am well, though tired and a little sore. I will be home before nightfall. Sheila Pradkin is coming with me. She and Ashlord have taken care of me these past days. Sheila will need a place to stay for a while in Passdale. Will you please make a place for her with us?

  I hope you are well. I love you!

  Robby

  Oh yes, please treat the carrier of this note kindly, for he has had a long and rough day.

  Robby folded and tucked it under the string that bound the packet from Ashlord and handed them to the rider.

  "Thank you very much!" Robby said and watched the rider gallop off.

  "Now," Mr. Bosk said, turning to the prisoner. "Let's see what we've caught."

  Leaning over, Bosk made sure no weapons were still on the now-passive intruder. Robby saw that he wore a heavy black leather doublet, brown wrist braces and gloves, and heavy riding boots and a black cloak, muddy and torn. Bosk reached for the man's helmet and pulled it off. Upon seeing the face, they all stepped back aghast. Instead of a nose, he had two small holes above his lipless mouth, his skin was leathery gray, and his yellow eyes had vertical slits for pupils. He had no facial hair and only a thin mat of silver threads that dropped down over the ridges of his forehead.

  "A Dragonkind!" one of the men gasped as everyone made ready their swords.

  "An' he's got the sickness," said another, backing away a step.

  "What's he doin' in these parts?"

  The Dragonkind hissed an unintelligible curse at the group and slowly stood. He was thin as a rail yet taller than anyone present by a head, except Ibin. His eyes had a look of fiery con
tempt, and the worst of his glares he sent at Sheila who, though trembling at the sight of the creature, had a notched arrow pointed at his head.

  "S-s-s-silly Northmen peepleses," he hissed. "I eats you gutses, I shall, yessss, I shall tear out you bowels and gnaw as you watches me eats you!"

  "Quick! Bind his legs!" Sheila cried. "Get a rope on him!"

  But before Sheila could make herself understood, the Dragonkind whirled on one leg and with the other kicked Mr. Bosk square in the chest, knocking him away. With a speed unimaginable, he dodged Sheila's arrow and the two swords that swung at him. He grabbed one man by the throat while slamming his other hand straight into the face of another man who fell stunned to the ground. Using the first man as a shield, blocking Sheila's attempts to find a target, he crashed through the others. Suddenly, Ibin ran past Sheila with arms outstretched and tackled both the hapless shield and the Dragonkind, twisting around and pulling the both of them down on top of himself. Sheila's arrow struck the Dragonkind's back but barely penetrated his thick doublet. He squirmed away from Ibin and sprang back up on his feet as Mr. Bosk hacked at him with a sword, nearly severing his right arm, but still he fought on, kicking one man in the head so hard his helmet flew off, while at the same time striking another in the chest with his good arm, in a strangely graceful, if fierce, movement. Another of Sheila's arrows found its mark in the Dragonkind's side, but it, too, had little effect, and in spite of his wounds, he kicked away another man, and scratched the face of a third with his claw-like fingers.

  "Give him room!" Bosk cried out to his men who then backed away. Surrounded, the Dragonkind flew into a frenzy, one arm dangling useless at his side, yet the other suddenly wielding a sword that he had taken from someone. At no time did he cry out in pain, and though he staggered, he did not seem to care about his wounds. Suddenly the place grew quiet, save for the rasping heave of the creature's breath and the buzz of late summer locusts high in the trees. Gathering himself for one last bout, the creature lurched forward at Bosk but had gone no more than a step when a third arrow struck him through his right eye, and he fell dead.

  "Great stars!" Billy uttered. "What is that thing?"

  "He was once a Dragonkind feller," said one of the men.

  "But he's had the desert sickness a long time, I'd say. By the looks of him," said another.

  "Purty far gone, I'd say," said one of the older men.

  For a few moments, everyone simply stood around and stared at the body in disbelief. Then Mr. Bosk's voice shook them all from their gaze.

  "Look at the others!" he shouted as he made his way up the road toward the riderless horse.

  Some of the men splashed into the water to drag one of the intruders onto the bank while others went with Bosk to look at the man that lay on the road. One or two of the Boskmen, wounded and in great pain, stood near the last of the three bodies or sat down on the ground. Sheila was already trying to tend to the worst of them and called out for Robby's help. Ibin stood up and watched, not knowing what to do, while Billy trailed along behind his father.

  "How did you know we should tie his feet?" Robby asked Sheila as he helped her remove the leggings from a wounded man.

  "Ashlord told me about a battle he was in, long ago. He mentioned how the Dragon People can fight with their feet, just as the Elifaen can do."

  "I never—"

  "This one's a man!" called out someone looking at the body they had dragged from the water.

  "This one, too!" cried another after turning over the body in the road. Billy and his father looked at the dead man's face carefully.

  "D'ye recognize him, son?"

  "No, sir, I don't believe so."

  "Me, neither. I reckon he's not from these parts," Bosk concluded. He went to examine the horse.

  "Whoa, easy thar, boy. I'll not hurt ye," he coaxed the horse gently until he could take the reins. Looking the horse over, he saw it bore many spur scars and was bleeding on the flanks, while his legs were scratched and cut from rough riding. He looked over the saddle, paying attention to the leatherwork and the metal buckles, then pulled open the flap of a saddlebag, but found nothing but stale salt meat and moldy cheese. In the other pouch was only a whetstone and some heavy twine. The saddle was old and worn but had been recently repaired in one or two places. Pulling up the horse's flank coat, he looked over the brand.

  "Here," he said, handing Billy the reins. "Bring him along."

  He strode back to the bank to look over the other body. No one recognized this man, either, and his pockets contained nothing of worth or importance. One of the Boskmen came wading through the stream, leading the two other horses of the dead men.

  "I think I recognize that horse!" Robby said.

  "If I ain't mistaken," Bosk nodded as it was led toward them, "that's Bob Starhart's mount."

  "Yes, sir, I believe it is," Robby nodded. "The only horse I've ever seen with a white mask."

  Robby referred to an odd white mark that ran up the horse's snout and spread out around his eyes.

  "Bandit, Bob calls him," Robby said, reaching out for the reins. "And look!"

  Still on Bandit's back was the post rider's saddle, clearly embossed with the King's Post insignia. But, instead of the post bags, black leather saddlebags were tied on. Inside one pouch was flint and steel, some punk wrapped in parchment, and a whetstone. In the other pouch was more rotted food, a small tin flask with Bob Starhart's initials engraved on the side of it, and some odd bits of flat, square metal, about two fingers wide, thinner than a knife blade, each with a round hole through its center. On either side, strange shapes were stamped.

  "What are these?" Robby asked.

  "Coins," Bosk said. "Dragonkind coins. They ain't got no value in these parts, 'cept maybe for the copper. Keep 'em. Maybe yer dad can make somethin' with 'em."

  "But, Pop, what's all this about?" asked Billy. "Who're these men?"

  "I'll tell ye all 'bout it on the way back," Mr. Bosk said as he walked to where Sheila was tending the wounded.

  "How's young Geever doin', Miss Sheila?" he asked, bending over the pale young man in her care.

  "Pretty banged up besides a nasty gash on his ribs here," Sheila said putting the final wrapping on him. "Seems I've been doin' a lot of bandaging, lately."

  "Huh?"

  "Never mind," Sheila shook her head. "But we'd better get this fellow back. I don't trust that wound to stop bleeding until a proper poultice can be made for it. I'd rather not move him, but I think he'd be better off indoors where he can be properly looked after."

  "Can he ride?"

  "I can still ride," winced the young man. "I ain't so bad off as all that."

  "Rubbish," Sheila scoffed. "But I suppose you'd better make a try of it."

  "Ibin!" Mr. Bosk called. Ibin was still standing with a blank expression, but he now smiled and trotted over.

  "Yessir?"

  "Why don't ye help Sheila get this feller into a saddle. Be easy with him!"

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Bosk."

  While Ibin did as he was told, Bosk waved over a couple of his men, and, pointing at the woods gave them some orders. They left and came back shortly with three long poles cut from saplings and sharpened at the tips. One by one, Bosk held the dead men up by the hair and with one blow each, cut off their heads. He then mounted his grisly trophies on the poles and gave them to three of his men.

  "Carry these afore us, an' put 'em over the gates of Boskland as a sign for any to see what may happen to them what come lootin' an' pillagin' in our lands," he ordered. "Have thar carcasses dragged behind to be burned. I'll not leave 'em to foul the road."

  Soon they were all mounted, with Billy and Ibin sharing one of the larger captured horses, riding alongside Mr. Bosk. Sheila and Robby had a horse each to themselves, Robby on Bandit riding just behind Billy and Ibin. Up ahead went three riders carrying the poles, and at the rear of the group rode three more, dragging the bodies of the dead by rope tied about their feet. Robby thought that if
he had not already been so tired and hurt, he would surely be sick at the sight. He could not bear to look at the severed heads before them, and he thought the gesture ghastly. But he did not protest and would not question the Master of Bosk Hall. He knew the Bosks to be tough and hearty folk, with a long tradition of protecting this part of Barley against thieves and intruders. Bosk Hall was the only place in Barley that kept arms, partly because the Bosk family was charged with enforcing the King's rule in these parts, and partly because they had always done so, probably even before there was a King. There was seldom any trouble in these lands and rarely did the Boskmen ever have need of their arms. Occasionally, a gang of thieves would come out of the Boggy Wood, or down from the mountains, but the last time there had been any serious trouble was long before Robby was born. Still, whenever there was any need of organizing a defense, people in Barley looked to Boskmen to see it done. That, and the fact that Bosk Hall was on high ground, was probably why the people on this side of the county sought out Boskland as a place to take refuge from the floods. Robby kept his gaze from straying too far ahead of his horse's ears, and he was thankful for the clopping hooves that muffled the sound of the bodies being dragged behind them.

  "So, what's all this about?" Billy asked again.

  "Early this mornin'," his father began, "we got word that looters whar seen over at ol' man Packlin's place. So I called the men to arms, an' we went out lookin' for 'em. Meanwhiles, they must've finished up at Packlin's place an' headed our way. We caught 'em down at Sam Goodwin's place, goin' through his house an' barn. Thar was a fight, apparently, an' I'm afraid Sam got run through by one of these bastards. Anyhow, by the time we got down thar, they was slicin' up one of Sam's pigs. They took off when we come over the hill. I broke the men up, some to see to Sam, an' some to go to Packlin's to look in on things out thar. The rest of us lit out in chase. The ground out thar's fairly high, but the roads're soggy, an' so they headed north 'cross the fields. Somehow they got 'round us by cuttin' east an' back toward Boskland. They didn't know the land, though, an' we made up for our mistakes by takin' a side lane. An' we nearly caught 'em as they rode onto Bosk Manor grounds. We would've caught 'em, too, but for the almighty commotions, what with all the people an' carts an' panickin' as they rode through, wavin' swords an' yellin' an' such. They rode right through, right out on to the Line Road, like they suddenly knew whar they was goin'. They got a good lead on us, but we narrowed it 'til they turned on us back at the stream."