The Journey to Karrith Read online

  “Because it’s too obvious,” Val said, drawing his sword and riding out to the front of the line as if he spied enemies waiting in the rocks and grasses. Cody copied suit, drawing his own blade and taking a position at the rear. Haille looked back and forth from the closing riders, the twisting cables—thick as mooring lines—and the inviting sight of clear road on the far side of the bridge. Nothing seemed right. Had not Val just had a spell of madness himself, an episode of panic and indecision that was as unwelcome as it was ill-timed? Could his judgment be trusted? Katlyn’s face was blanched, her breath coming hard as she held tight to the elk’s mane. Even the elk looked ready to flee, with or without permission.

  The riders disappeared behind a grassy hillock only to reemerge at the end of the bridge. To Haille’s surprise they pulled back on their reins and came to a stop just short of the bridge’s tower.

  Curious.

  Val watched them, a sneer on his face, his cloak thrown wide open to allow his arms freedom of movement, the balls of his feet balanced in his stirrups. He was ready for a fight, yet they were waiting on unfavorable ground, in the center of the bridge. Just when Haille was ready to conclude that their leader had lost his mind, a voice rang out over the falls and echoed in the gorge.

  “Well played, Mandaly. Well played.”

  A tall man emerged from the rocks that shielded either side of the path on the far end of the bridge. He stood over their escape, their path to safety, wearing no cloak but instead was wrapped in boiled leathers and furs. His sword was long and slender, the sheath that held it reaching down past his knees even to his ankles. He had wide-set eyes and smooth blond hair that hung down the sides of his face in a way that was not unhandsome. A thin beard grew on a face that was likely shaved often, accompanied by a thick mustache that was not. He smiled as he spoke and used such a tone of familiarity, Haille at first thought him an old friend of Val’s, at least until Cody cursed.

  “Damnation.”

  Val sucked in a long breath through his nose before speaking. “Victor Twenge, it’s been some time.”

  “It has,” the man said from the rocks. He genuflected, his forearms resting across his knee. “Your trail had gone cold for quite a while but I heard about a rakish rogue by the name of Youngblood who had deflowered a maiden in Kinth. The sheriff there was more than happy to offer a description of the ungodly woman that came to his aid. Sounded like you, but really Val, dressing like a woman? I thought such lengths would be beneath you.”

  The men on the far side of the gorge laughed. One of them whistled a cat-call, the sound echoing between the hillsides. The smile on the man called Victor Twenge grew wider. “The game is up. It’s time to stop running.”

  Val made no response although his horse shifted beneath as if sensing his rider’s unease. Twenge shook his head and made a sweeping motion with his left hand. At his signal a dozen men emerged from behind rocks and out of crevices where they had been hiding on the far side of the gorge, their hands clutching all varieties of snares, nets, and lassos.

  Val’s hunch had been right.

  “Don’t resist Val. I promise, there are brothers waiting for you, other Knights of Oban whom I have captured. You will at least have friends in prison.”

  “You know I will never let you put me in a cell,” Val said.

  “Strong words, for a man sworn to protect life. Or did you foreswear that oath when you turned against the High Council?”

  “Ours was the righteous choice,” Val said through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t be mistaken, I’m not afraid to kill you. There are brothers waiting for you on the other side of death as well. I’d just hate to slaughter you in front of these children.”

  “You’re a bastard,” Cody said.

  “And you’re an outlaw,” Twenge said. “I’m empowered to be your executioner if I see fit. Such are the rewards of honoring vows.”

  “You know nothing of honor,” Val said.

  Twenge’s mouth twisted into a frown and he tossed a pebble down into the gorge. “Execution it shall be then.”

  The bridge shook as the riders at the rear moved their horses forward, their hooves clomping onto the planks. The men who had been waiting in ambush dropped their snares and nets and drew swords, hammers, and clubs. They formed a line, six across and two men deep, spanning the width of the bridge and moving forward in lock step, a show of order that Haille had not expected from such a wild looking lot.

  The elk let out a long hiss between his teeth and scraped at the planks with a hoof.

  “Easy there elk,” Val said.

  “Captain, do you have a plan?” Cody asked.

  “I’m afraid I’m bereft, save for jumping.”

  “Into the water? You can’t be serious. Who is this man?” Haille said.

  “A bounty hunter, hired by the High Council of Carasans to track down the last of the Order of Oban.”

  “Then tell him who I am and of our mission,” Haille said.

  “Even if he believed you, that would still mean no escape for us. We’re oath breakers as far as the High Council is concerned.”

  It was ridiculous, foolish, this confrontation. Haille spun his horse and moved alongside Val. He opened his mouth to speak, to summon his courage as best he could, righting himself in his saddle to appear as royal as the circumstances would allow. But just as he began to speak, his breath was arrested as Val took hold of him by the collar and flung him through the ropes of the bridge. He could hear the jays protesting as they scattered from the elk’s antlers and dove downward alongside him. The air roared up around his ears as he began to fall, the water’s swiftly moving surface sweeping along below him. The river hit him with an impact like a bull ramming its head into his midsection. Two more splashes exploded to either side of him before he surfaced, followed by two more. The current swirled around him in a cold rush. The bridge, the rocks of the gorge, and the men were sliding away. A few bounty hunters clambered over rocks up and down the ridge, but the terrain was too uneven, too steep for them to follow. Amid the chaos, the splashes, the heavy and wild paddling to stay afloat, Haille looked up to see the figure of Victor Twenge standing still, his fists clenched, his eyes amber fire until he too was eclipsed by an outcropping of stone.

  Chapter 3

  Old Enemies, Old Friends

  The elk had made the jump off the bridge, but not their horses. The four of them swam to him and held onto his body to stay afloat. He proved an able swimmer, kicking his legs beneath the water and sending them tearing down the river with the aid of the swift current. It was the cold that forced them to shore for before long, all of them were shivering, their lips turning a shade of blue. The elk pulled them into shallow water from where they could wade ashore and collapse on a rocky beach. Haille was sapped of all strength and lay on his side, curled into a ball, shaking. Val was quicker to his feet, checking his sheath to make sure his weapon was still there. Haille put his hand to his own only to find his sword had slipped out somewhere in the river. He sat up, checked the shore, but there was no sign of it. It was lost.

  He cursed, his syllables choppy from his chattering teeth. The elk shook himself out like a dog, his skin twisting. Val was already climbing up the side of the gorge as if the riders and their leader, Victor Twenge, were still in close pursuit.

  “Come on, we need to move to keep warm,” Katlyn said, following the elk who was already catching up to Val.

  Haille tipped onto his knees but was still weak. Cody sat up beside him, coughing up river water. Like Val, he checked his sheath and sighed with relief to find his sword. So far everyone was having better luck than Haille.

  “Cody, what happened back there?”

  “Old Victor Twenge, one of the craftiest bounty hunters out there. Not good to have him on our trail now. He is relentless.”

  “No, I mean Val. Why did he freeze like that when he thought Katlyn was struck? It was like you had to wake him up out of a trance.”

  “Aye, tha
t . . . .”

  “Yes, that. Is he all right?”

  Cody squeezed water from his cloak, twisting it into a dripping rope. “No one survives a war unscathed. Val’s the best man I’ve ever met, but if he has any weakness it’s only that he cares, perhaps too much. Towards the end of the Izlay War, as we were losing more men each day, the loss, the losses, became too much for him to bear. He would sometimes, well, freeze up, like you saw. It was eventually why he abandoned his command.”

  “He deserted?”

  “Hardly could be called deserting when your forces have been declared a rebellion and the High Council has put a bounty on your head. Disbanded is the better word. The whole order, disbanded.”

  “But you still call him ‘Captain’.”

  “He’ll always be my commander, as well as friend.”

  Haille blinked water out of his eyes, unsure what to say next. Cody gave his cloak a shake, snapping it in the air, then clapped a hand down on Haille’s shoulder. “Come on Prince, let’s march.”

  The jays found them in the late afternoon, descending upon them in a flurry of chirps and tweets. The others mostly ignored the three birds, Azure, Sapphire, and their brother Cyan. Even the elk who had welcomed them into the branches of his antlers so often over the past days kept his head drooping low. Tired, cold, and hungry—their food had been in the saddle bags of their abandoned horses—none of them made for welcoming company.

  Haille let Azure alight on his shoulder. The big sister of the trio, he did not put it past her to sense their low spirits. Cyan and Sapphire, on the other hand, swooped from rock to rock, branch to branch, singing like fledglings in springtime.

  “Can we eat them if they don’t shut up?” Cody asked.

  “They are more helpful alive,” Haille protested.

  Val kept moving. He had not said a word since they had started out from the river, except to say he did not like the terrain. It was not favorable to a party on the run. The trees of the highlands had thinned and they were left with rocky moors, thick with knee-high heather and boggy ground that made it impossible to move quickly or to cover their tracks. The only advantage they had was that the ground made for difficult riding, which would slow their pursuers if they came across their trail.

  They pressed south, but where exactly Haille didn’t know. He was afraid to ask for fear of learning—with certainty—that there was no longer any real plan. He knew they were supposed to head south. His father had a great lead on them and Haille had heard Yana and Val speak of taking a forest road. He could only assume that meant traveling through Sidon, the great band of woods that bisected the realm of Anthor, separating the northern kingdom of Antas from the southern kingdom of Karrith. His father was headed to battle invading tribes, taking the trade road east around the woods. By cutting through the forest they could negate the lead he and the army had on them.

  If they survived the woods.

  And if Haille’s father survived battle. Lorna’s vague prophecy that his father was in great danger and that Haille must travel south to “save” him still hung over him and haunted all his waking moments, like the memory of a bad dream. Their plans to brave the woods was as good a plan as any, Haille imagined, when they had horses, provisions, and were not being hunted. Of course he had tried to ignore the legends that reported no person had ever stepped foot in Sidon and returned alive. As long as he had been with Val and Cody, he had trusted they knew what they were doing.

  Now all that was in question.

  The day grew late. The moorland gave way to rolling fields of grass and wild flowers. The elk tore at the plants and chewed, Haille watching with envy as his own stomach growled. Val stopped, scanned the horizon, and kicked the earth. “Of all the times for that bastard to come upon us.”

  “Bad luck never has good timing, that is why it’s bad luck,” Cody said.

  “Val,” Katlyn said, her arms wrapped about her chest, her face pale. “What do we do? We’ll freeze out here after sundown.”

  “Only if we stop moving,” he said. “We’ve got to find a homestead, a farm, a town, something.”

  “Farms are plentiful in the south. People are not,” Cody said.

  “We haven’t seen a farm all day,” Haille said.

  “That’s because we were in the bad lands. Nothing grows well in that soil. But these fields of grass are a good sign. We’re more likely to come upon a farm here than in the moors.”

  “Long as we don’t wander into Night’s Reach,” Cody said.

  “Night’s Reach, what is that?” Katlyn asked.

  Val shot Cody a disapproving glare. “We’ll worry about that later. Katlyn is right, we’re more likely to die of cold. Let’s move.”

  It was the jays, to Haille’s great satisfaction, that raised the alarm that there was hope. They came whistling out of the sky as the four of them tramped through another field of long prairie grasses and tall autumnal weeds. The elk huffed at their shrill calls, twin clouds of breath feathering out from his snout. Cody swatted at Cyan who swooped a bit too close.

  “Can I eat one now?”

  “No,” Haille said. “I think they have found something.”

  The elk was the first to break from the desultory line and leap into the tall grasses to follow Azure and Sapphire who disappeared into the gathering dark. Val shrugged and followed, pushing a path through the growth, checking over his shoulder to the north and east for any sign of pursuit. It wasn’t long before the sound of the elk’s hoof beats returned, seed pods, grass stems, and briars stuck in his fur, but his head was up, his eyes bright, and he stamped the ground.

  “By the stars, they might be on to something,” Val said.

  It was dark, the moon high overhead when the jays finally led them to a farmhouse, its windows alight with a welcoming amber glow. They trudged faster, making their way through fields scattered with the remains of the harvest: trampled stalks and stray blades of wheat. As tired and weary as they were, no one hesitated to ask if they should approach or wonder aloud if the host would be friendly to a group of disheveled travelers. Night, with its descending cold, made it a matter of life and death, their very mission in the balance.

  The elk hung back in the fields. Only when they found themselves on the front gallery of the farmhouse did they pause, a silent debate working among them as they looked to one another, as if to ask who should knock on the door. Impatience won out in the end and Haille pushed forward past Katlyn and Val and pounded—harder than he meant to—on the front door. He could hear Katlyn’s teeth clacking together in the silence that followed. Before long, there were footsteps on the far side, the movement of lantern light, and the door swung open. A woman stood there with her white hair wrapped in neat braids around the crown of her head. In the soft glow of the lantern she appeared to be surrounded in warmth and light. Her eyes were dark with concern as they darted back and forth among the four of them.

  “Good eve,” Val said. “We are forlorn travelers, in desperate need of any hospitality you might offer.”

  “Indeed,” the woman said, then called to her husband. “Pathus, we have visitors.”

  An older man of medium height with a head of white hair to match his wife’s stepped into the entryway. He put a wide hand on his wife’s shoulder while his gaze roved over the four of them. His expression was guarded, until his eyes fell on Haille. His face softened.

  “Friends,” he said. “You are welcome here.”

  Chapter 4

  The Ruined Font

  Vondales knocked the arrow aside and so it lodged in the girl’s—Katlyn’s—neck. A flash of red bloomed on her collar. She was sliding down the rock wall, halfway to the ground, bubbles on her lips before anyone even noticed.

  Gail noticed. She had missed. She hated missing.

  Now madness ensued as her father’s men attacked those of Vondales. It crossed her mind to lodge an arrow in her father’s neck like she had the girl, she even reached back for one of the arrows in her quiver when he
r father swept into view. He was “leading” the attack from the rear, calling out orders, and sending his men to do his fighting for him. On either side of him were his two best fighters, protecting him. They’d better be good, for already it looked like Vondales’ men were better trained, and there were more of her father’s men fallen down, wounded, than their opponents.

  Best not to kill him now. She didn’t want the attention of his two guards when, after all, her objective was to reach the font. And now that the door had opened only to shut just behind Sade and Derrick, that would be difficult.

  To gain the boy’s trust, Sade had posed as a prisoner himself. Interesting. She wished she knew his game. She wished she was behind that door. She didn’t know who or what Vondales and Sade were, but she sensed they were a breed apart, cunning, powerful, and her father was overmatched.

  She had sensed as much when she’d made the deal to return the mercenaries, the girl, and the elk to them. Something about them seemed ruthless. She knew if she had not exchanged the prisoners on the terms offered, there would be no second offer. She would have only ended up dead.

  She ducked back into the dark of the mineshaft and ran along its length until she found the shaft slanting downward. She slid on her backend, leapt up when she hit the level floor, and crossed to the far side, her hand on her sword, just in case there was company.

  But all the men were still fighting, the clash of steel and the cries of the wounded echoed in the chamber as if right next to her ears. She nocked an arrow back and stared down its length. The doorway to the font was just coming into view.

  The mercenaries, Val and Cody, were bent over the girl as she breathed her last. Then there was a flash of light, like the sun reflecting off a polished mirror that blinded her for a moment. Gail blinked the afterimage away and couldn’t believe her good fortune: the door to the passageway way to the font was reopening. She started forward then stopped in her tracks. She couldn’t understand what she saw: the girl, Katlyn. She was up again, her clothes still stained with fresh blood, but the wound was gone, the arrow lying harmlessly on the ground as if it had never struck her.