"You seem very well organized," Ashlord commented.
"That's Martin's doings. He don't like movin' so many men away from town without proper precautions. Always been that way. Cautious. But ye won't find one bolder, neither, when it comes to it."
"Town?"
"Oh, yes, we have a town of sorts. It don't have no proper name or nuthin', so we just call it Hill Town. Nuthin' special, but it is defensible, an' we've got a few shops, cottages, an' smithies, an' spinners, like most little towns. So we manage to make it a home. Some of us have learned to hunt, others to farm, but we are not averse to takin' a toll on the roads, an' makin' passin' purses lighter."
"Do you call him 'Captain' because he's your leader?" Robby asked.
"Well, yes an' no. His right name is Martin Makeig, Captain of the Tracian Royal Navy, commissioned by Prince Lantos his own self, brother to the Ruling Prince Lewtrah. It's a long tale, an' the short of it is that there was a takeover, an' the Captain stayed loyal. He lost his lands an' all his family to the rebels while he was at sea. Whilst tryin' to get Prince Lantos an' family away to Glareth, he lost his own ship to the pursuin' Redvests. A mighty sea battle that was, so I hear, and the Golden Swallow, Martin's ship, made the difference. The way his men tell it, Martin saved the Prince, who got clean away. Martin made it off his sinkin' ship with many of his crew, an' they had to scramble an' fight their way through Tracia, losin' a bunch of men along the way. That was about fourteen years ago, I guess. So he an' twenty or so of his men what made it away from Tracia come into the mountains where they fell in with the rest of us. I think they were meanin' to get to Glareth, but got pushed the long way 'round, so to speak. Anyway, when he showed up we were starvin' an' quarrelin' amongst ourselves, an' losin' a man a week to raiders, too. In no time at all, he got us all shipped up, as he puts it, an' most of us soon realized we were better off with him puttin' things together. Some calls him a warlord, but that ain't right. There are a bunch of them warlord-types in the mountains, took up there when the trolls left. Captain Makeig's pretty much held them off our territory, the warlords, I mean, though their raidin' parties are everywhere. He's got a head for fightin' an' battle an' such, an' we ain't lost a soul in nearly a year."
"Where did everyone else come from?" Robby asked
"Most of us came up from Tracia, being mostly Loyalists, but some from Masurthia an' a few from westward parts."
"And what about the warlords? What do you know of them?"
"Well there's 'bout six or seven of 'em now, dependin' on who's killed off who, lately. The most dangerous one's are up northwest an' down southwest of here. Them two's got castles an' keeps an' thousands of soldiers. An' they both claim rights over the other. Luckily for us they're too busy with each other, an' a mite too far off to bother much with us on this side of the range. If they ever join forces, though, we'd be all in a heap!"
"You must be talking about the Galinots and the Damar," Ashlord said. "I've had some dealings with them both."
"That's right, the Galinots up on the northwest parts of the range, the Damar southwest of here."
"My understanding is that the Damar have ties with Tracia." Ashlord added.
"Maybe so. I wouldn't doubt it."
"It's hard to keep it all straight," Robby shook his head.
"Aye, it's a mess," Lantin agreed, chewing on a piece of venison.
"Tell me," Ashlord asked, drawing on his pipe and leaning back. "What are your plans?"
"Plans? About what?"
"About the war?"
"War? I don't rightly know. I guess it is comin', though."
"It is here."
"Maybe. Well, the Capt'n is a deep one for thinkin' on such things, an' not much takes him unawares. He openly longs for a deck under his feet, as do many of his men, an' he often talks of goin' back to sea. 'A fish out of water,' he calls hisself, though ye'd never know it by his skill as a highwayman. Natural-born leader, too. My guess is if he figures a way to hit back at them rebel upstarts what got rid of the Prince, why it'd be the last these mountains saw of Martin Makeig."
"Hm."
"I don't know what the rest of us would do without him, though. We ain't all made of fighting stuff, ye know, an' I ain't just talkin' 'bout the women an' children. Look at me, for one: I can't hardly see without these spectacles. Lotta good I'd do in a battle! But, ol' Martin! Why, when I think on it, I'm kinda surprised he's stayed on this long. Ye done got me worried, now. I imagine he'd leave if he saw a way, particularly if it had to do with puttin' out to sea."
"What're ye goin' on about," said Makeig coming up suddenly and straddling a bench. He put down his second plate of food and a tankard and took his hat off, revealing a receding hairline below his long shaggy black hair and gray locks. "Who's goin' where?"
"Yer the one, if ye could get a ship under ye!" said Lantin.
"Aye," Makeig nodded. "That's sure enough. Only there ain't much chance of that!"
Ashlord puffed a little cloud and said nothing until Makeig asked the mystic how he got caught up in Barley. Ashlord deftly avoided the question by turning the conversation back to Makeig's mountain home. Robby listened, stifling several yawns, slowly slumping lower and lower. At last, Makeig nodded at Robby to Lantin Rose, and the elder man put a hand on Robby's shoulder.
"Why don't ye come with me, an' I'll point out where ye can sleep."
• • •
Clouds raced across an orange sky. Robby shielded his eyes, looking at dunes as far as he could see. A moment later, his arms and legs sank into the hot sand as he struggled up a slippery dune gracefully rippled with rows of small ridges. His hands and feet blistered with heat and his whole body felt afire. The scorching wind stung his face with grit, and he felt as if his mouth would crack and break away if he swallowed another grain, so dry and parched it was. Just as he neared the summit, he saw a lone figure, standing above him at the crest of the dune with a dark robe wrapped around him, flapping in the wind. The sun beat down over the figure's shoulder into Robby's squinting eyes. Burnished copper armor glinted from under his robes and a long, thin sword hung at his side. His helmeted head was wrapped in a black turban crossing his face like a mask. Terror gripped Robby as he realized he was at the feet of a Dragonkind warrior, and as he stared at the copper-sheathed leggings of the creature, he lost his balance and began slipping backwards. Suddenly, a thin hand gripped his wrist, pulling him up to the top. Robby looked up, trying to catch his breath, blinking against the sun, as the warrior stooped and looked down at him. All Robby could make out in the shadow of the black turban were two golden-yellow eyes, and he was drawn into them. Another cloud passed the sun, and the burning day turned to cool night and the sun into moon. The clouds of dust became motionless stars, the golden eyes seemed like mysterious lamps, and Robby realized the creature meant him no harm. And, though a warrior, doubtless fierce and resolute, the realization settled on him that it was a Dragonkind woman who gazed at him.
• • •
"Wake up, Robby!"
Robby stirred and then sat up, suddenly fully alert.
"What is it?" he asked Ashlord, who was bending over him.
"It is an hour after sunrise. We must go."
Robby kicked off the blankets and scrambled to his feet. He was still dressed in the borrowed clothes, but found beside his sleeping place his cleaned surcoat. Looking around, he saw that the camp was broken, the wagons gone, and many of the men already on horseback, apparently waiting for him.
"We let you sleep as long as we could," Ashlord explained, helping him roll up his things and tie them onto a waiting mount. "But we must get moving."
"Of course," Robby said. "You should have gotten me up earlier."
"You needed rest," Ashlord said, getting onto his assigned horse. "No one was against letting you sleep."
"Where are we going?"
"To Janhaven. And we must hurry!"
He packed quickly, and as soon as he had his things stuffed into the saddlebag, t
hey rode, and rode hard. There was little talk, and Robby felt the urgency around him. His anxiety about his family and friends grew with every mile, yet he had no notion of how far they had traveled, or how far that remained to go. He and Ashlord rode at the rear of twenty other riders, all following Captain Makeig along a narrow track; the others of the camp had gone with the women and wagons back to Hill Town. Robby saw how the faces around him now were businesslike and expressionless as they concentrated on guiding their horses through narrow passes and across rocky hillsides. Whenever there was open ground, they urged their mounts into easy gallops, but these were few, and the farther north they went the harder the way became. Soon their path led alongside the steep hills that formed part of the same ridge through which, many miles behind them, tunneled the troll cave where Robby had first met Makeig.
"It just occurred to me to ask where Ibin and Sheila were taking Billy," Robby asked Ashlord during a stretch where they could ride side by side.
"Northward to the west road," Ashlord said. "There to meet with the train of people coming from Passdale to Janhaven."
"And did you get a chance to take a look at Billy?"
"Yes. He will be fine, I think, if well-tended for a few days, and if he goes easy on himself for some while. Two of his ribs were cracked, I think, and he was bruised very badly. I don't think his nose was broken. He had a nasty cut on his left temple, too. All in all, considering the treatment he apparently received, I think it's a wonder he isn't worse off. I think you may have gotten to him just in time."
"I hope so," Robby said thoughtfully. "I regret I wasn't in Passdale."
"I'm sure Billy will regret that, too," Ashlord nodded. "I don't think you two would have made any difference in the end. As it was, you did the right thing going after Billy, and I have no doubt that you saved his life. Quite a brave thing to do. Given the tide of battle at Passdale, it may have saved your life, too."
Robby nodded, "Maybe. Still!"
"I know. But Bailorg had to be stopped. And now with war upon us, it will be more difficult to avoid any future emissaries of Bailorg's master."
"How do you mean?"
"I mean all is in confusion amongst the people, and strangers are mixed with strangers. Who can say which is friend and which is foe? Look about you at these men. Two days ago, could you have imagined that the Thunder Mountain Band would be helping you?"
"I would have thought the idea farfetched."
"Just so." Ashlord reined his horse around a tree and fell in behind Robby as the path narrowed again, saying, "I only wish I knew what we will find in Janhaven. I know that many escaped, but I have no reckoning of how many."
"Where is Certina, by the way?" Robby asked, twisting around on his saddle to face Ashlord. "I got your message, I guess you know."
"Yes, and glad of it. She is off on another errand."
"More messages?"
"In a manner of speaking. And to have a look around."
"I see. And Flitter? What became of him?"
"I wish I knew," Ashlord sighed. "I last saw him at Tulith Attis, scrambling up a tree. He has his own business, I'm sure, and cares little for our troubles. Still, I miss the little fellow. It is true that sometimes it is in the smallest things that one finds the most comfort, and that one misses the most. You know, like a pipe in the evening, or a favorite pair of socks, or even a little squirrel."
Robby smiled. It was odd to hear Ashlord talk this way, and Robby detected a note of weariness in his tone. Glancing back at him, it seemed that Ashlord looked very old, even though at other times he appeared hardly older than Ullin.
The track rose higher and steeper and narrower as they went, winding through stands of pine that cracked tall and straight through the rocky slopes. Abruptly, they emerged onto a wide flat-topped summit above the treetops, and they gathered around on their horses to look about. The north path dropped sharply away to be lost in the trees below, and they could see, here and there, down into the gap before them, the pale line of the West Road far below as it made its way through the forest. To their left, westward, a long line of shapes moved slowly: people on foot, some pulling little carts, others in wagons pulled by oxen, the trailing end of those that were fleeing to Janhaven. Poor and ragged they looked to Robby, and though he strained to see, they were too far away for him to recognize any of the individuals. He estimated there were at least three or four hundred within sight, with doubtless many more on ahead hidden from view.
"That looks to be the tail end of the train," said Makeig.
The road bent around far below and not too far in front of them, was obscured as it passed through a narrow gap, then reappeared to their right leading off east and southeast toward Passdale.
"There!" cried a man to Robby's right, standing in his stirrups and pointing. The others turned, and Makeig eased his horse through next to him. A thin cloud of dust was all Robby could make out at first, then he saw a flash of red. A moment later, red-cloaked horsemen appeared along a portion of the road open to view and then disappeared again into the trees.
"How many, d'ye think?" Makeig asked.
"By their ranks, I'd make about eighty, maybe a hunnerd riders. Movin' purty fast, Capt'n."
"Aye," Makeig nudged his horse back to the precipice and surveyed the refugees who were apparently innocent of the approaching threat. Just over a mile separated the two groups and the distance narrowed with each passing moment.
"There! Look there!" Winterford exclaimed, pointing excitedly down the other way. "Along the Narrows!"
Just ahead of the Redvests by about a half-mile, they could see stirrings along the road. A flash of steel glinted here and there, and Robby could make out men taking up positions on either side of the roadway, along a chokepoint where the gap was most narrow.
"They will not be stopped at the gap," Ashlord muttered as the two forces met. They could see little of the skirmish, and could hear nothing, though their ears imagined now and then the ring of metal and the cry of battle on the air. A moment later, the Redvests reappeared, hardly diminished in numbers, sweeping through the gap.
Makeig craned his head, standing in his stirrups to look the other way at the retreating refugees. Then he took off his hat and clutched it and his reins together, his long hair blowing wildly about his head.
"We just might make it!" he cried. "Let's go, boys!"
With that, he plunged his horse over the side and disappeared. Before Robby knew it, all the others followed, and he found himself clinging desperately to his mount as it, too, lunged fearlessly over the edge. It was a reckless plunge, and the sound of crashing hooves, cracking rocks, breaking branches, and crunching earth echoed from slope to slope. Makeig and his men whooped and yelled as they went, shouting encouragement to their mounts and to each other. Terrified enough by the headlong plummet, and fearful that his horse would stumble and flip hind over head, Robby caught a glimpse of those men around him. The gleam in their eyes and the eagerness in their grins frightened him even more. Down, down they careened, leaning this way and jerking that way around the sudden appearance of tree trunks and boulders. They were no longer in a single file, now spread out in a broad avalanche of sheer madness made of horseflesh, men, and flying debris. Yet, no horse stumbled, no man fell, and Robby managed to hang on, following closely behind Winterford. Winterford suddenly slipped over to hang precariously on his horse's side with a foot in the stirrup and a leg over the saddle. Robby saw the thick low branch that missed Winterford, and he slung himself over just in time to duck it, too. Still they hung on. As Robby clambered to get upright into the saddle, the ground leveled somewhat. Flung on by their momentum, they broke into a gallop one and all through a thinly treed wood, breaking low branches as they went, heedless of the cuts they sustained, dodging tree trunks and spilling down and up shallow gullies. Ahead, through distant gaps in the trees, flashes of red blinked, and, several moments after the Redvests had passed by, the Band burst onto the roadway and turned to follow. Robby now unde
rstood the reason for the madness and urged his horse faster and faster, standing in the stirrups and leaning low over the horse's neck, moving through the others until he was near the front of the company. Makeig was several horse-lengths ahead of all, whipping his mount with left and right sweeps of the reins. They rounded a bend, and the Redvests were suddenly before them, unaware of the peril that swept up from behind. To Robby, they looked grand in their red cloaks and in their orderly formations, now eight horses wide on the broadened roadway. Going at an easy pace, the Redvest mounts had come a long way without rest, and the Thunder Mountain Band quickly gained on them. It seemed to Robby that his own mount, seeing those ahead, kicked on with even greater speed and urgency, each man and horse going even faster than before, and it was as if the oblivious Redvests hardly moved at all. At forty paces, Makeig drew his sword, and from his men came the answering refrain of steel-unsheathed. Ashlord passed by, his long black hair flying, making it up alongside Makeig. Robby gripped Swyncraff. It instantly undid itself from his waist and straightened to a long iron-hard staff, one end curling around Robby's wrist and gripping him as tightly as he gripped it.
Twenty-one swords slashed into the rear of the unsuspecting Redvests, and twenty-one heads flew from red-shouldered riders. Robby smashed a soldier cruelly on the back of the neck, unhorsing him, as the middle ranks of the enemy horsemen, reacting to the confusion at their rear, drew their weapons and turned on them. The forward ranks, confident of their rear, charged on, for their quarry was now within sight. Seeing them come, panic ran up the line of refugees ahead.
Chapter 22
The Name of the King
Day 83
162 Days Remaining
Mirabella heard the thundering of hooves against the wall of hills and turned from the mule she was trying to move out of the way of an oxcart of children. She knew what the sound meant, and she walked steadily, pushing through the panicked crowds and making her way quickly against their frightened current.
The Bellringer Page 56
