Magistrate of the Dark Land

Part Eight

by G. Lawrence

A desperate escape

This is a fantasy novel providing high adventure and romance, but there are no dragons or wizards. All characters are over 18 years old.

Recap; having freed a hundred slaves in a series of spectacular raids, Owen is now tending the wounded Rotanna until they can find a safe way to leave the city.

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Chapter Nine

VARIED SHADES OF DEATH

I missed Suzie and the Farina during the next week more than I expected. I even missed Golan, as obnoxious as the swaggering braggart could be. Rotanna was not good company. She gradually regained consciousness but rarely spoke, choosing to glare at me with unrelenting enmity. Farina are not generally well disposed to city males even in the best of circumstances, so it was no surprise that her treatment by the slavers would leave her embittered.

For an hour each day, a young stable boy named Carbo came to sit with Rotanna while I bought food and medicines. Doctor Hartmeyer visited, treating Rotanna's sensitive female injuries. The warrior stared at him in a cold rage. Had the First Sword not been weak as a newborn, she would have killed us all and sought death in a spree of dark vengeance. I made sure no weapons were ever within her reach.

The city was in a mild uproar over the raids on the slave pens. The common sort could not decide if they were outraged by the theft or in awe of the thieves' audacity. The better citizens claimed not to know the extent of the slave trade, though the account books I'd sent to Arbor told a different tale. The authorities officially disclaimed the illicit trafficking but could not approve the murders of the poor innocent slavers without due process of law. A point of view I once subscribed to. Rumors generally agreed that fifty slavers had been killed in fierce fighting. I only knew of fourteen.

By the seventh day I'd heard bounty hunters had been dispatched to track down the murderers and recover the stolen women. If my writs for freeing the slaves had been discovered by Judge Branch, nothing was being said. Whether the local constables would support the bounty hunters or look the other way was impossible to say.

Rotanna had finally started to talk, mostly quietly whispered threats, and soon she would be strong enough to move. I would not be sad to leave Kannae, though I was yet to decide how. I much preferred to escape by boat, but as the story of the Belly Beast had quickly become known, I was afraid the docks might be watched. Rotanna would be able to survive a wagon trek in another two weeks or sit a horse in three. I'd kept two gold robbins and enough silver to reach Barlington if necessary. There I would find friends. I only had a few friends in Kannae, and one of those soon saved my life. But first there was devastating news.

On one of my afternoon outings, I made another trip to the Copper Kettle searching for the elusive Stolmeister. The bartender recognized me from previous inquiries, and for three copper rounds, guided me to a private room off the dining hall. Stolmeister wasn't just a hunchback, but an evilly deformed toad with a curled right arm and mangled hand. A black patch covered his right eye. The bend of his legs hinted at a pronounced limp.

"What would you have from poor old Stolly?" he asked in a low, mild voice. He accent was neither north nor south. He may not even have been from Northwaye at all, though he expressed himself well.

"Young women," I answered, taking a seat opposite him at a round table.

The drab room was heavily hung with curtains to prevent eavesdropping. A decanter of cheap wine sat between us. The slave broker poured himself a cup but left mine empty. Only one oil lamp lit the murky chamber.

"Not a good time for young women. Bad business, some say," Stolmeister said.

"Bad for some, not so bad for others. I seek two in particular. About eighteen years old. The daughter of a knight and a farm girl."

He stared at me with suspicion. The man was always suspicious, of course. It was part and parcel of his profession. This was something different.

"What would your interest be in such product?" he asked.

"Their fathers paid me to get them back," I honestly answered. Almost honestly.

"They tell me you've been asking around, so you know they're gone from the city."

"Yes, but I don't know where."

"That's a very difficult question, sir. Very difficult indeed."

"Would a silver circle make it less difficult?"

"No amount of silver will make it less difficult, but gold might explain why," he answered, emptying his cup and pouring another. This time he filled my cup, too.

"Young women without special skills are rarely worth gold," I objected.

"These were."

"I hear you broker for a few select clients."

"That's true."

I was hoping he might elaborate. Perhaps offer a clue. He seemed to be waiting for me to reveal more of my ambitions, putting his crippled arm on the table and patiently sipping his wine. I considered leaving, but knew if I did, the question of the lost daughters might never be answered. He was well aware of my dilemma.

"What would gold buy me?" I asked.

"The end of your quest, Magistrate."

Revealing his knowledge of my identity had the desired effect. Unlike the bureaucrats in Kannae, Stolmeister appeared well traveled and knew the value of information. I had seriously underestimated him.

"How much silence will the gold buy?" I was forced to ask.

"Have no fear on that score, sir. You are good for business. Less product means higher prices, and for those who may acquire product at will, supply is not an issue. The low trades surely hate you with a passion, I do not."

"You're quite the rogue, aren't you?" I needed to say.

"Like you, I'm skilled in my profession. Though not inclined to so much violence."

I reached for the decanter and topped off my cup, taking a long thoughtful sip. For cheap wine it wasn't bad. Then I reached into my belt and dug out a gold robbin, sliding it across the table.

"We seem to understand each other," I said.

He left the glistening coin on the table for the moment.

"The women were young. Pretty. Smart," he said.

"No doubt that made them good product," I agreed, wondering what point he was making.

"The women were virgins," he continued.

I still didn't understand. A thirst for virgins was well known among the perverse sort who bought young women. Stolmeister saw my confusion.

"It's time to be plain, sir. I have customers to the west with special needs. Ones who pay a high premium for just the right qualities. They live in a remote fastness where the laws of man and god are unknown."

"No. No, you didn't," I muttered in disbelief.

"You were told I deal with a select clientele. Had you no expectation?"

"Never," I said, barely able to contain my horror.

Stolmeister put the gold robbin in his pocket and finished his wine. The conversation was over. I left without further comment, for there was nothing more to say. The lost daughters had been sent to the Arkland, a sacrifice to unspeakable practices by the evil cults said to live there. They were gone forever, and I had failed more darkly and completely than I ever imagined.

That night I got so drunk it was difficult to climb the stairs to my room. Rotanna needed watching and care, but I was unable to provide it. For hours at a time during the next few days I'd abandon her for a bottle, returning at dusk to pass out on the floor. Had Rotanna any strength at all, she'd have been able to cut my throat and escape. It did not concern me. Nothing concerned me, until I stumbled into Saint Luke's on the following Sabbath and nearly knocked the pastor down.

"Don't be in such a hurry, my son. God isn't going anywhere," Father John said, an older man with wavy white hair. His vestments indicated many years of service.

"It hardly matters if you can't find Him," I said, being in an angry mood.

"Then perhaps He'll find you," Father John said.

"He'd better not wait too long."

"Is that for you to decide?" he asked.

"No," I was forced to agree.

"Take a seat here, my son. Beside the pulpit near the candles. Take your time, I promise God will hear what you have to say."

An hour at prayer can be a healing thing. Not for me. Not at this time, but it did remind me of my responsibilities. I put the bottle aside and determined to stay sober until Rotanna was returned to her sisters and my warrants confirmed under the magistrate's seal at Arbor. After that my life would be my own again without disgrace to my faith and the memory of my dead family.

Ten days after the Belly Beast had disappeared into the river fog, there was a late-night knock on the door. I was awake, reading a new pamphlet by Hogarth acquired at the bookshop. Entitled Rights & Responsibilities, the tome speculated that royal authority was a creation of man, not God, and therefore men are responsible for upholding that which a king would otherwise do. In my younger days I would have found such speculation heresy, and in many respects, I still did. But I had seen so much misery go unchallenged since the death of King Tarten that I had to wonder if Hogarth might contain a small element of truth.

The candlelight was not bright, the wick burned low. As the years went by, I noticed my eyes no longer saw the print so clearly. I would need spectacles if I lived long enough.

A soft tapping at the door broke my concentration.

"Magistrate, this is Carbo. I must speak with you," the youngster whispered. I slowly let the door creep open.

"What is it at so late an hour?" I asked.

"Men are coming for you. Bounty hunters," he said in dread. "They want the woman back, too."

I looked at Rotanna tucked snugly in the bed. As I had earlier suspected, she was thirty-five years of age. Her dull red hair curled easily, and she had a ruddier complexion than most Farina. She was slightly taller than Jalana and a bit broader in the shoulders. At full weight she probably carried a hundred and forty pounds. I doubted she now weighed even a hundred. She was watching us, though I couldn't tell how much she understood.

"When will they be here?" I asked.

"They're on Carpet Row now. Five minutes. Ten at most," he reported.

There was no time to pack and get downstairs. I grabbed my sleeping roll, the shoulder bag with the money and medicines, and Sir John's sword. We'd go out the window into the alley and run for Wall's End. There was no other choice.

"Thank you, Carbo," I said, generously rewarding him with a silver circle. The boy left and I went to bundle Rotanna.

"Leave me be, male," she whispered.

"First Sword, we are in great danger. We must leave immediately," I urged, sounding as frightened as I truly felt.

"You have sword and dagger. The stairs are narrow. Take a stand and fight if you have the stomach," she dared.

"I don't and won't," I answered, wrapping her in a heavy fur coat.

She started to resist. There was no time for temperamental displays. I reached into the shoulder bag for the jar of wring weed and put a saturated cloth over her nose. She didn't lose consciousness completely, but the resistance ended. I dropped our travel gear into the alley, strapped Rotanna to my back with leather belts, and climbed down the fire ladder.

Carbo guessed the mob's approach well. We had barely left the alley and turned down East Gate when the inn was surrounded by a dozen rough men bearing torches. They moved silently hoping to take their prey by surprise. My sense of panic was mixed with anger that the city constables would allow such an outrage.

Wall's End had dried out since the rain, leaving hardened mud and splattered grime. I carried Rotanna into the barn next to my old rooming house, hiding behind hay bales far in the rear. I wondered about borrowing a horse but knew the south gate would be guarded. The road to Crowley, hugging parts of the river, would be the easiest route to safety. It would also be heavily patrolled. Even sneaking out through the East Gate in a wagon sounded difficult if word spread of a reward.

A pervasive sense of foreboding set in as I cowered in the dark corner. I considered leaving Rotanna. She was too much trouble and always unpleasant, but I couldn't. How would I ever face Jalana again? I thought the slavers would assume everyone had escaped south in the Belly Beast, and once again, I had been wrong.

I looked for a horse in the stable, one whose disappearance might not cause too much trouble. I found an older mare that looked gentle. Shaggy but clean and compliant. I threw my sleeping roll over her back for a saddle, fitted her tack, and strapped my shoulder bag and sword belt together, hanging them over the horse's neck. A hay bale acted as a stool to help Rotanna mount.

"What are you doing?" someone asked, scaring me half to death. It was a teenager, tall as me but thin and gangly. He looked mad.

"Riding to Crowley," I said, trying to hide my shock.

"Not on Mabel. That's Mrs. Shirley's horse," the young man said.

"I rented her. It's only for a week," I lied, not very convincingly.

I put Rotanna on the horse and climbed up behind her, tying a rope around us to keep her seated.

"Please get down, sir," the lad demanded, coming close.

"Look, I have the rental receipt right here," I said, reaching into my belt.

The naïve boy seemed surprised and came up beside me. I struck him on the head with the butt of my dagger and kicked him as he went down. Then I booted Mabel through the open barn door riding slowly up Wall's End. I felt badly to have assaulted the youngster who was only doing his duty, but not so badly that I wouldn't do it again.

Much to my distress, the East Gate was closed. Mabel hesitated, a strange smell swelling her nostrils. There were men hiding in the shadows up ahead. I suspected there would be no escape through any of the gates and that I'd stolen a horse for nothing. Mistake upon mistake. There was a stable to my left, an old man cleaning the stalls by lantern light.

"Give me your sword, male. I'll fight them," Rotanna said, so weak I could hardly hear her. I guided Mabel into the stable and dismounted, drawing Rotanna down to the floor. Her heavy coat disguised the disabling injuries.

"Good sir, may I board my noble steed here for a few days?" I humbly requested.

"Two coppers a day. Three for fresh hay," he grouchily answered. Shoveling manure in the pre-dawn hours was no pleasant job.

"I'll pay four if you give her extra water. My wife and I have come far. Our brave Chestnut deserves the best attention," I said, handing him a half-silver flat. He bit down on the coin to make sure it was real and took Mabel to the rear of the barn.

"Stupid male, why not sell the beast?" Rotanna asked.

"Because I'm not stupid. I told the stable boy we were riding for Crowley. The bounty hunters will search for us on the River Road thinking us mounted. If I sell the horse, the stable master will have it up for auction by noon. The real owner could recognize it and tell the bounty hunters we're not mounted after all."

"Hiding among the hovels will avail you naught. The cursed males know the city as Farina know the forest."

"I realize this better than you," I agreed, hoisting Rotanna on my back again. I picked up our gear and grabbed a long length of rope off the barn wall before going outside.

It was still dark, only the old man's lantern providing any light. I crept across the street to the saddler opposite the stable, went down the alley, and found a stone staircase leading to the top of the city wall. I was winded by the time I reached the battlement.

"It's a twenty-foot drop. Are we to fly from this place?" Rotanna asked as I set her down on the cold catwalk.

"Not unless you of the Red Leather have magic powers. Do you have magic powers?"

"If I did, you and every accursed male of this Goddess forsaken land would dwell in shadows," she spat.

"We'll have to use the rope instead. We've got twenty feet. I think."

"Leave me here. Give me the sword and leave or I swear you'll regret it."

"I already regret it," I replied, tying the rope under her arms.

She started to resist again. Our scuffling was loud enough to be heard on the street below if anyone was listening.

"I'll drug you if you don't stop that," I warned. Not that she could put up much of a fight, but we didn't need to be attracting attention from the guard tower only a hundred feet away.

"I will demand a price," Rotanna said.

"Demand it later, woman, the sun rises," I desperately protested.

I dropped the bags over the wall to a grass embankment, being careful to miss the moat. Then I lowered Rotanna, gripping the bristled rope hard while bracing my feet against the rampart. At first there was no trouble, but soon the rope began to burn my hands and I felt a painful tug in my side where I'd been wounded several months before. I paused to catch my breath, the first glimmer of the new day bursting over the mountains. The pain got worse, rising to a sharp stab. I couldn't drop Rotanna, as much as I wanted to, so I worked faster to get her down. The rope finally slackened but the short end was now difficult to hold. To my left, I saw a stirring in the gate tower as the day watch reported for duty. It suddenly occurred to me there was not enough rope to tie off, nor could I leave a dangling line as evidence of our escape. Asking Rotanna to untie herself and let the rope back up was pointless. Why hadn't I considered this problem before?

A window on the tower opened in my direction, the smell of morning coffee drifting through. Cursing myself for a fool, I let the rope go and looked down. It was a long fall. Probably too long. But I had no choice. Just as a young guard appeared in the window of the watch tower, I dropped over the side, trying to land on my feet and roll. I hit the ground hard and tumbled backward into the black murky water.

I was hurt and knew it, acknowledging myself a wet, stupid idiot. I grabbed Rotanna and our gear, limped to the southeast corner of the town wall, and swam across the moat to an overgrown patch of swamp at the mouth of a creek. The forest lay two hundred yards away, though at the moment, it looked like two hundred miles. I heard voices. Teamsters from the wagon camp were nearby, probably fishing for breakfast or relieving themselves. We hid among the willows, staying low and wading upstream. It took an hour to reach the trees.

"You are not one with the forest," Rotanna chided.

I was too tired to care. I lifted her on my back and wandered a good half mile into the woods, stopping near a shaded glen within sight of a pond. There I cut a lean-to and made a small fire to dry out. Pieces of rope were used to make rabbit snares. Praise God we had escaped the city, now we needed to survive.

The next few days were unending torment. It need not have been so. I caught a rabbit, and with a sharp spear I had fashioned, managed to take a few fish. There seemed to be no pursuit, either due to my cleverness or simply that the roads were easier for the lazy sons of bitches to patrol. Nevertheless, I sought to take no chances, going east into the foothills before turning south. The weather held, at first, and then darkened with early signs of a harsh winter. The kingdom's third early winter in a row. Had Good King Tarten known what miseries he was leaving behind, I like to think he wouldn't have died.

Rotanna was a constant aggravation, always complaining, criticizing, and hinting at some dark fate that only a fool such as myself would take no heed of. On this particular point she proved correct. Ten days from Kannae, on a windy night that had us trapped in a damp cave, she finally made her intentions known.

"What did you do with my sisters? Tell the truth this time," she said, the deep growl of her taunting voice irritating me to no end.

"As I explained yesterday and the day before, they went to Arbor. They are staying at Watchman's Point until we rejoin them in a few weeks."

"I do not believe you. Nor do I believe you mean any Farina well. This is a trick of males to capture servants of the Dread Goddess."

"It's not a trick. You'll be healthy soon and return to your forest. I pray for it daily."

"You but fatten the calf for the slaughter," she argued, dark red brow bent in hate. "Do not think yourself sly, creature. You thought me sleeping, but I heard you raped Jalana. You used medicines to heal the mercenary who enslaved her. I have no doubt Mapps and Fuschia reside in chains, and you use me as bait to capture more sisters. For this you will die by my hand, but do not expect a quick death. Much will be your suffering."

I tried to reason with her, but Rotanna was bitter. Her pride stripped away by vicious acts. That I needed to continue treating her injuries with ointments provided by Doctor Hartmeyer only deepened her anger. I understood the hatred she felt for all men but was deeply troubled to find myself the focus of her ire. In time I was sure she would see the truth, but until then, I needed to be extra careful. She was First Sword of the Red Leather, a greater warrior on her worse day than I on my best.

The next morning, we woke to snow flurries. Our clothing was adequate for cold but not a snowstorm. There was no alternative but to locate the nearest village for shelter, the effort taking most of the day. What we found were the remains of Shalsborough, once a thriving hamlet between Kannae and Trodden. Half the village was burned down, including the blacksmith and mercantile. The church had collapsed. Even the tavern was ashes. The horses and cattle that once filled the pastures were gone. Raiders from the north, I assumed, probably less than a fortnight before. Apparently Baron Lackston and Lord Kirkon were yet to resolve their differences.

We skirted the main road until finding a barn sturdy enough to resist the wind. There was room enough to make a fire, and with so many toppled buildings to choose from, firewood wasn't a problem. We weren't so lucky with food, having only a few strips of dried rabbit left. Several villagers had watched us approach but kept a wary distance. As I wore a sword, one could hardly blame them.

Rotanna and I exchanged few words after her announced intention to murder me, but there was no mistaking the mutual animosity between us. The only saving grace was that she refused to cut my throat while I slept, thinking it too swift a death.

"Do you understand the meaning of blood challenge, male?" she suddenly asked, staring at me while chewing her food.

We sat in a corner of the old barn, hay bales insulating us from the wind blowing through the wooden planks.

"You're not the first to want my blood, woman," I dismissed, shaking snow from my coat and trying to unlace my frozen boots.

"Ignorant fool. I speak of Farina blood challenge. I make such challenge now, and by the laws of my people, none may interfere until retribution is taken."

"I know of your blood challenge, and I refuse," I was quick to answer. The rules of such a challenge were clear. One or both of the combatants usually died.

"Do not expect me to call you coward. I know better. I have seen your moments of courage when you think me unaware. Pretending to be faint of heart is all part of your scheme, but you'll not have your way. We will meet sword to sword, I swear it," she declared.

"Take the mending kit. Sew the hole in your coat. We have many miles of bad weather ahead," I insisted, throwing the shoulder bag at her.

I shouldn't have done it. She was still too weak to react quickly, and the bag hit her in the face. I felt embarrassed but refused to apologize.

We had hardly rested an hour by our blessed fire when I heard shuffling outside the barn. Feet scraping on the ground. Someone was coming toward the door. I picked up my sword. Rotanna, with more strength than I expected, drew the dagger from my bag. We waited in hushed silence until hearing a soft knock. I opened the door.

"My mommy is dead," a little girl said.

Not more than five, she was a poorly bundled waif with bare feet. Rotanna showed no reaction. No woman's heart beat within her icy breast. I took the little girl in my arms. She felt warm. Feverish.

"Tell me what happened, sweetheart?" I said.

"They're sick. First my Poppy and my brothers. Mommy tried to make them better, but she got sick, too. Their faces are red and have spots. My mommy stopped breathing," she explained, tears running down her face.

"How long ago? When did the breathing stop?" I asked.

"Just now. No one will help," she whimpered. I grabbed the medical bag from my backpack and jumped up.

"Magistrate, no. They have fevers. The pox," Rotanna protested, reaching to grab my arm. I ignored her.

"Take me to your family, sweetie. Hurry," I urged, leaving so quickly I forgot my coat.

We walked through light snow to the main road. Many villagers were watching. A few were crowded around a quaint cottage reminiscent of the one Martha and I had shared. I stopped in the doorway. The little girl's father and two young brothers lay moaning near the fireplace wrapped in woolen blankets. They were nearly senseless, unaware how closely death stalked the room. A brutish villager tried to stop me from entering.

"It's the red plague, stranger. We must burn the Proctor's house before it spreads," the scruffy man said, his face half-covered by a brown hood.

"You don't know that," I disagreed.

"We can't take the chance. We're going to burn it," he threatened.

Glancing backward, I saw Rotanna watching from the barn, her eyes squinting in a disapproving frown. As a cold wind surged up from the nearby creek, I shivered, but not in fear. I was too angry for that.

"Burn this house and I'll take fire and sword to what's left of your town," I growled, a hand on Sir John's loyal blade. "Have you no doctor?"

"He died in the raid," a woman said.

"I'm trained in the healing arts. Gather your sick and bring them here," I ordered. "Find your doctor's medicine bag and all his cures. Fetch clean water and make soup. You, lad, gather your fellows and build a bonfire that we might beg God's intercession in this tragic hour."

The villagers rushed to do my bidding, for I was accustomed to being obeyed in such circumstances. I entered the cottage to kneel at the mother's side. As I suspected, she wasn't dead, but close to it, her body burning with fever. Poxes brought on by bad waters or impure airs rarely kill with swiftness. There was no evidence of the red plague, as I knew there wouldn't be. It's a pestilence of the summer, not of frost and snow. I leaned over, held her nose closed, and breathed air into her lungs. There was a gasp of astonishment from the doorway. The villagers did not think me a wizard breathing her back to life. Anyone who has pulled a drowning victim from the river knows of resuscitation. It was the contact with one so sick that drew their awe. Fortunately, I had contracted the more common poxes in my youth and doubted God had saved a new one just for me.

There was no central authority in the village. Their sheriff had been killed by marauders but two weeks before, a band calling themselves the Brothers of the Blue Eagle. A noble name for an ignoble group. Proctor John Williams, who lay sick at my feet, was the only remaining leader. His wife, Maryanne, had struggled to save her family until fever and exhaustion brought her down. And they weren't the only ones in the village falling ill, only the first to be noticed. I rolled up my sleeves and prepared to fight a foe that all the swords ever made were useless against.

The battle raged for five days. Fourteen of the fifty-six remaining villagers showed symptoms. The challenge was to control the fevers, allow those who were well to tend the sick, and keep up everyone's spirits. The cottage was kept heated with a large fire while blankets were used to cover the door, keeping out the draft. I had pox root with me but not enough, so I watered it down and mixed it with sulfur to stretch the supply. It helped that the deceased doctor had an adequate locker of potions.

At first a few threats were needed to keep the healthy from abandoning the village, as dozens had already done. One villager in particular, a large farmer, seemed intent on questioning my decisions. I finally put a hand on my sword, pretending to be a man accustomed to using it. Gradually the objections faded. For those who were afraid but willing, I had them make soup and maintain heat in the hearths. The panic subsided.

The deceased doctor had been fond of playing the mandolin, which I was familiar with. My singing voice couldn't be described as pleasant, but I sang nightly ballads and songs of faith. When a village drover was well enough to take the mandolin from me, I returned to the pleasures of my flute. Twice each day I gathered the villagers in prayer with an oath to rebuild their church.

Proctor Williams and his sons were on their feet by the fourth day. His wife would take a few days longer. I can't say that I was feeling very well, either. I'd had little sleep and an annoying ache in my side had continued ever since leaving Kannae. And an infant had died from the pox, too young to resist the fever. I had tried everything to keep life in that precious body but ultimately failed. The death toll could easily have been higher, so I should not have felt so badly, but the loss reminded me of little Samuel's death in Freehold a lifetime ago. On the sixth night, I lost myself in a bottle of wine while sitting at the bonfire. Someone dragged me indoors before I froze.

On the morning of the seventh day, Proctor Williams held a special prayer service to give thanks. The village celebrated by clearing debris from the site of the collapsed church in preparation of new construction. I laid the cornerstone with the help of two strapping young farmers, unable to lift the stone myself.

I had been sleeping in Williams' house, safe from Rotanna, but now I prepared to leave. The First Sword was feeling well again, gaining weight and strength. She even appropriated a bow to go hunting. Had we not been in a land totally strange to her, I'd have sent her away without me. Only my promise to Jalana stopped me.

As word spread that there was no red plague in Shalsborough, people started returning from the countryside. Food hidden from the Blue Eagles began to reappear along with the cows and chickens. I sent a dispatch to Barlington requesting the loan of draught horses and cattle, enough to get them through the winter. Though I had no standing in Barlington, my name would be recognized from years past. Hopefully it would be enough. Shalsborough still had a timber mill, a thick forest to harvest, and a coal mine upstream. They would be able to reimburse Barlington when spring trading began.

Though it was none of my affair, I also took depositions on the raid, adding the Blue Eagle marauders to a lengthening list of villains requiring apprehension. The deprivations of such bands, and the manner in which they operated so freely, was a true disgrace. In times of royal authority, every one of them would have found quick justice at the end of a rope. As it stood, there was little I could do but record their activities in preparation for better days.

I thought it time to move on. Rotanna and I had no horses, but she was strong enough to walk. We still had a long journey to Trodden, and then a decision to proceed on to Barlington or go downriver to Crowley. Crowley would be quicker, and I desperately wanted to rid myself of the First Sword, but Barlington would be safer. I considered myself extremely lucky we had come so far without trouble. Little did I know how my luck was about to change.

Just before noon on the day of our departure, riders came down the road from the north. I went to find Rotanna before she let arrows loose on the armed men, for there were fifteen of them. She was walking back from the woods carrying several quail, armed with a longbow and dagger.

"We must hide," I said, pulling her into the barn where our packs were stored. She tried to fight me off.

"I need not hide from males. Let them come against a warrior born," she angrily protested.

"We can't fight so many," I said, peeking out the door.

The riders stopped in the middle of the village before the church. They flew the flag of a free company, an orange banner emblazoned with a one-legged crow.

"Fear not, peasant scum, we search for a criminal. He travels with a woman. Maybe several women. He is wanted for murder," the leader announced. "Speak truly and you will not be harmed. Speak falsely and we will fire your village."

The man's horse shifted in agitation, sweat on its flanks. The band had been riding hard. His fellows looked ready for battle. All were strong, lean and watchful. It seemed a good time to slip out the back way and make a run for the woods. Rotanna stopped me.

"Where do you flee, hero of the people?" she scornfully asked.

"Any place but here," I whispered.

Proctor Williams came forward followed by a few villagers. They held no weapons.

"We've seen no strangers, good lord," Williams foolishly said. "We've had sickness here for many days. None will come this way."

"Is this so? On your life? On the lives of your people?" the leader asked.

"It is my answer, by the love I bear my family and people," Proctor Williams answered. He stood firm, looking sincere. An ability common to many lay preachers. The villagers standing with him did not look so bold or robust to risk a lie. I thought them extraordinarily brave.

"The fools. Now they will all die," Rotanna sneered.

"No, I think the bounty hunters will leave them alone," I hopefully guessed.

"Not after I lay into them with blade and arrow," Rotanna said, suddenly producing an old sword from the hay bales.

"Don't be stupid, woman. Is this how you want to die?"

"These horse-mounters reek with arrogance. I may slay several of them with ease and retreat in the confusion," she said, holding the sword like one born to it.

"Rotanna, you can't. They would massacre the village," I objected, stepping up to stop her.

"I can and I will, unless you accept my blood challenge."

She stared at me with a fiery hatred. I found it incomprehensible she would sacrifice the villagers in her thirst for revenge.

"You can't be so evil," I sputtered.

"The forest knows naught of evil. In the forest there is only the strong and weak. The fortunate and the unfortunate."

"Trust me in this if nothing else, I know evil. This will destroy your soul."

"Evil is a creation of city males. Do not attribute the whims of your false gods upon a true warrior. Do you accept my challenge?"

I looked at the village. The armed horsemen demanding answers. The defenseless townspeople. It wasn't hard to imagine the carnage that would ensue if Rotanna suddenly appeared in their midst.

"I accept," I regretfully complied.

"You have two children, a daughter and a son," she said, catching me off-guard. I guessed she had heard me speaking of them with Khanadia, though I had given few details for fear of distressing her.

"That is true," I said.

"Then swear by the souls of your children," she insisted.

"I would rather not," I objected, unsure what the ramifications could be.

"You will give oath, or I will wage war on these vermin."

It was not an easy decision to make, but Rotanna knew I had no choice. It her own soul she needed to care for, her mind warped by hatred.

"I swear by the souls of my children," I said, crossing my heart.

"Knowing all?"

"Knowing all, but there will be no challenge until you are safely delivered to Jalana, for my oath to her takes precedence," I demanded.

"Such is the custom of my people," Rotanna agreed, holding the sword ready should battle with the bounty hunters prove necessary.

We subsided into silence. I truly never wished to speak with the foul bitch again. After ten minutes, the horsemen rode south. I gathered our packs and went to say goodbye. Many villagers were still standing by the road.

"That was unwise, sir, but I thank you," I offered, shaking Proctor Williams' hand. His grip was still weak but wouldn't be much longer.

"Our church is in ashes, not our faith," he answered, looking me in the eye.

"We know you are the one they sought. The Magistrate who wages holy war on slavers. We will never betray you," a big farmer said, one I had once threatened with a sword.

"I thank you, friends. Nevertheless, the woman and I will go back into the woods. I won't say where. God be with you."

"I love you, Magistrate," the Proctor's young daughter said, clutching my leg.

I patted her on the head, accepted a sack of cornbread, and shook a few hands before taking our leave. Rotanna and I traveled east into the forest and then turned south until catching up with Schuyler Creek. Each of us had a sword, a longbow, and a full quiver of arrows. If the bounty hunters tried to capture us among the trees, the effort would be costly.

We could have made better time going by water if we had a canoe, but stretching hides over a wooden frame wasn't one of my skills, and besides, the water was icy cold. Rotanna showed no interest in building a canoe, either. For several days we hunted and camped, always staying far enough from the creek to avoid being surprised.

As we approached the Farris River, we saw a small town appear on a flat plain. The road was lined with tall leafy trees grown as windbreakers for the nearby farms, but the land lay fallow, ready for planting come spring. Trodden Castle once guarded the border between the lands of Duke Rykar in the north, as administered by Baron Lackston of Drew, and the lands of Earl Robert, who ruled from his capital at Barlington. With Earl Robert in exile, Rykar now claimed all lands as far south as the Moth, placing Trodden thirty miles back of the border. Having lost its strategic importance, Trodden Town had fallen on lean times. The river wasn't deep enough for barges and the Barlington Road was rarely traveled in troubled times. The land was good for cattle, however, so I expected to encounter a bustling population. Again, I was wrong.

The village was abandoned. Fences were broken in several places, as if herds of cattle had been driven out in a hurry. Otherwise, all seemed peaceful. The constable's office, tavern, and blacksmith looked well except for their bolted doors. The mercantile had not been looted. Thirty cottages sat empty. I drew the bow off my shoulder and nocked an arrow. Rotanna did the same.

"Will you win false friends by rescuing this city, too?" Rotanna asked, the first words I'd heard from her all day.

"I don't see anyone to rescue," I responded.

I guessed the people had left just a few days before but couldn't imagine why. The Old Church, made of ancient white stone stood in the middle of town, the doors closed but not locked. It is an elegantly impressive building with a tall steeple that had been there as long as anyone could remember. In the town square, a massive oak cross was mounted on a circular stone foundation three steps high. Twelve feet tall, the Salisbury Cross had long been the most famous landmark in the county. Farther down the road, on the far side of the river, we saw the gray remains of Trodden Castle.

Schuyler Creek emptied into the Farris just above the castle, creating a swampy moat filled with reeds and lily pads. I hoped we might find a flatboat tied to the small dock.

"What now? Have you no brilliant scheme to rebuild the city and populate it with deluded followers?" Rotanna sneered.

I swear by the gods I wanted to smack her, but she probably would have gutted me rather than await her intended revenge.

After a brief inspection I was more confused than ever. It was clear the population had evacuated quickly, possibly under duress, for many items of value remained. Yet I saw no evidence of pestilence, nor was the ground decorated with the grit of battle. There were no bodies or fresh graves in the graveyard. It looked like the townspeople had simply gathered up what they could and left.

"Cowards," Rotanna said, spitting as we walked among the headstones in the cemetery behind the church.

"What? Who's a coward?" I asked.

"The city dwellers, fleeing their land without a fight," she explained, heading for the south end of town where Trodden Bridge spanned the river.

"I don't understand."

"Are you blind?" Rotanna said, thinking I must be feigning ignorance. "Horsemen came from the east, forty of them. Twenty more came from the south, forming a line to block escape over the creek. Ten more approached from beyond the fields to the west, coming in small packs. They surrounded the town before holding their positions. Only a hand of riders entered, stopping before the church where many people gathered in a circle."

As she spoke, Rotanna pointed to footprints in the dusty town square, broken corn stalks, and hoof prints in the mud.

"The city dwellers loaded wagons, took cattle from the pens, and left on the road west, traveling in long lines. They've been gone three days. It's all here. Even a child can see it."

It did seem true, for everything she said fit the available facts.

"I still don't see why. This town had one or two hundred people. Bounty hunters travel in groups of ten or twenty. They never travel in such large companies. And if they did, we would have heard of it while in Shalsborough."

"Can it be a surprise that males gather in large numbers to rape and kill?" Rotanna scornfully asked.

"There's no sign here of raping or killing. Trodden is a good town, unfriendly to lawbreakers. Justice Mansfield is a fine magistrate."

"As if any male knows the true meaning of justice. We of the forest know you for what you are. Our mothers and their mothers were seized, abused, and made slave in the dungeons of the Crookback. For this reason we learn our arms from girlhood, defend our lands, and kill those who tread upon our honor. The Dread Goddess watches over her daughters, and those who find grace in her eyes are privileged to die in her service."

"I pray you find grace in her eyes soon," I said, tired of Rotanna's preaching.

"You may accept my blood challenge now, for I grow strong even as you grow weak. On this day we are evenly matched. Such may not be the case tomorrow," she mysteriously said.

Or perhaps not so mysteriously. Ever since lowering her on the rope at Kannae, I'd felt the subtle ache in my gut. Something had torn, and forced to flee, there had not been time to let it heal. Each day the pain grew worse, and the morning before, I'd noticed blood while relieving myself. It made me think that Crowley would be a better destination than Barlington, for Crowley was well known for its medicines. Barlington was known for its taverns. I'd thought myself clever hiding the condition from Rotanna, but she proved more observant than I expected.

"I'll accept your challenge when we find Jalana, and not before," I answered.

We crossed the bridge over the Farris River, a forty-foot wooden span just high enough to let a flatboat float underneath if it wasn't too heavily loaded. The castle was fifty yards to our left, the Barlington Road directly ahead. A thick forest hugged the river to our right. Trodden had not been a large fortress even in its prime, and its prime was long since passed.

The drawbridge creaked as we walked over it, the chains broken so it could no longer be raised. Two modest fifteen-foot towers guarded the splintered gate. The north wall overlooking the river was in rubble, but the countryside could still be seen from the crenellated ramparts on the south side. Set around the weed covered courtyard were rooms for barracks, a kitchen, a blacksmith, and a stable. Empty animal pens had once held chickens and pigs. A covered well provided fresh drinking water. In quieter days, the garrison had rarely numbered more than twenty, and those only to guard supplies. I assumed the supplies were gone.

The massive keep at the rear of the courtyard stood thirty feet high but was tilting to one side, probably dangerous to enter. It would seem someone had fired the timbers, but the solid granite blocks were strong enough to keep the structure standing. There were several small windows on the second and third floors, though the ground floor was solid stone. The keep could be a safe place to hide during an attack if it didn't topple over first.

"Perhaps now we will find answers to your questions, Magistrate," Rotanna said after climbing a steep staircase to the top of the keep.

"How would you know that? Have you learned to read signs in the clouds?" I asked.

"I read the clouds of dust coming down the north road."

I climbed up the stone staircase, pausing on what remained of the north battlement above the river. Rotanna came down from the keep to stand at my right. Horsemen were approaching, the dust visible from miles away. But they were not miles away. In minutes they would be upon us.

"There's at least a dozen," I said.

"Three dozen," Rotanna counted.

The soldiers wore leather vests and steel helmets. Most carried long lances. Three yellow swallowtail flags flew from the head of their column.

"We don't have time to run. Maybe we can hide," I suggested.

"Spineless guppy. Think they did not see me on the tower?" Rotanna said.

I looked for places of concealment, but the rundown fortress wasn't large enough for many secrets. My best hope was to hold the wall. Well-managed archery might make us unworthy of their effort.

"Not running?" Rotanna asked.

"Afraid you'll be cheated of your revenge?"

"The Dread Goddess will not let you escape so easily."

I wondered if I might avoid the wrath of the horsemen by offering Rotanna as tribute.

The column came straight through town and stopped on the other side of the river. The bridge was accessible to their right, a sturdy stone structure wide enough for wagons, but they declined to cross, no doubt suspecting Rotanna and I had it covered with our bows. It was a scout in force, capable of moving fast while staying in contact with a larger army. By the banners and insignia, I knew the soldiers were not of my kingdom. They were invaders from the east, most likely Lydia. It surprised me, for Lydia had always been a peaceful neighbor. As Magistrate of Freehold, I had frequent contact with my counterparts across the border, enforcing the law and keeping track of villains who thought to defy our jurisdictions.

"Those who hold the castle, I am Sir Philip of Roxbury, commander of the Yellow Banner. Surrender at our mercy," their captain shouted, a virile man in his late thirties with all the confidence of a veteran knight.

"Take the wall, male, if you can. Rotanna, First Sword of the Red Leather, shall meet you in hell," Rotanna yelled down at him.

She started to let loose an arrow, but I slapped it aside. Rotanna reached for her dagger. I reached for mine. We stood toe to toe on the verge of cutting each other's throats. All was seen from the ground below. A bugle sounded, the blaring summons crisp in the dry afternoon air.

"A parley. A parley is called," one of the flag bearers requested.

The horsemen shifted position, most dismounting. No weapons were drawn.

"We accept," I called down, happy to frustrate Rotanna.

I descended the stone steps, crossed the drawbridge, and walked slowly along the edge of the river to Trodden Bridge. Tall green reeds and willow grass grew heavily on the steep embankment. Two frogs watched as I passed, one jumping into the water. A hand was on the hilt of my sword as if I'd have the courage to draw it, my bow slung over my shoulder. The horse captain came forward on foot to meet me with only one aide-de-camp at his side. And a girl at that, hardly eighteen years old. A charming blonde with big blue eyes. The leather outfit and steel helmet gave her a distinctly seductive look. She smiled, possibly thinking me brave to defy so many.

"I am Sir Philip of Roxbury, liegeman to King Jared of Lydia. This is my daughter, Rowena of Roxbury. Why do you defend this castle after agreeing to leave? How many break the solemn word of your leader?"

"We break no word. I travel south with the woman on the wall. We are not citizens of Trodden, nor have we knowledge of why the people fled. We want no trouble with King Jared or any of his people," I sincerely replied. The knight was surprised. For whatever reason, he expected a different response.

"King Jared grows angry at the deprivations arising from Northwaye. Our borders are raided. Women stolen. Boys put to slave labor. We are prepared for war. This incursion is meant to show the seriousness of our wrongs," he answered, the accent crisp. He was an educated man. Perhaps one of substance.

"My name is Owen Vander, once Magistrate of Arthur County. I have also been struggling against these marauders," I responded.

I reached into the leather shoulder bag and produced the depositions from Shalsborough, handing the documents to Sir Philip. He glanced at the leather-bound folder before passing it to Rowena.

"We recently freed some captives from Kannae," I said. "They are sent downriver to Arbor where the citizens stand against this injustice. If any of your people are among the fortunate, they will be returned with all possible speed."

"Kannae is a powerful stronghold," Sir Philip said, wondering if I was lying.

"Father, the man speaks truly. He's a judge," Rowena said.

"How would you know that, daughter?" he asked.

"No villain would bother writing legal briefs in such detail. Here's information about the band we've been following," she said, showing him the pages about the Brothers of the Blue Eagles. The last paragraph was a sentencing recommendation graphic enough to make her blush.

"Maybe he stole the book?" Sir Philip asked.

"Of all the things a man might steal, why would he keep this?" she asked.

"I wish Pharmer were here. He once rode the border crossing. He would know if this man is truthful," Sir Philip said.

"How fares the Old Chucker?" I asked.

"Many know the constable's nickname, stranger. And he fares well, anxious to join us in war against despicable enemies," Sir Philip answered. "As there are only two of you, I see little danger in letting you remain. Tell your woman if she raises an arrow against the Yellow Banner again, it will mean death."

Sir Philip strode back to his horse and mounted. Rowena returned my writs and followed, offering a final smile. A few minutes later they were riding east, hopefully back to Lydia. Our land had enough problems already.

"Did you scare them away with the fierceness of your sword?" Rotanna asked, coming down from the wall.

"No, I offered you as bed-slave. They ran like blind rabbits," I answered.

"I'll not suffer your insolence much longer," Rotanna declared, ready to draw her knife. I ignored her, returning to the castle. A search of the pantry turned up some week-old bread and cheese not yet moldered. A cabinet held plenty of dried jerky. There were even several bottles of local wine left behind by the garrison.

"We'll stay the night before heading west," I said when Rotanna joined me.

"I thought you intended to go south. Do slavers not ply the river roads?"

"Crowley is a good town. We can take ship for Arbor from there."

"You seek to trick me, but it will not work. When the time comes, I will be ready," she said, returning to the roof of the keep.

I found the lieutenant's lodgings in the barracks, the inside wall partially torn down but the outer wall still firm. A feather mattress and fireplace insured a comfortable refuge. Rotanna and I had been traveling for several weeks now and I was tired. I needed rest but wasn't going to get it.

"Riders. Riders from the south," Rotanna called out just before sunset.

Half-asleep from a bottle of wine, I scrambled to the rampart on the south side of the castle. Horses were raising a dust cloud. I couldn't tell how many.

"Four, you fool," Rotanna said, anticipating my question. "Now is the time to hide. We'll kill them and take their horses."

"We're not murdering anyone. If they have extra mounts, we have silver to buy them," I said, squinting against the dimming light.

"We will have horses, make no mistake," Rotanna insisted.

The riders came closer, deliberately heading straight for the castle. They did not ride like the soldiers of the Yellow Banner. More fluid. No heavy arms to slow them down. The manner was familiar.

"You're the fool, First Sword. Will you now slay your own sisters?" I said in excitement.

"By the Dread Goddess, it's Jalana," Rotanna realized, rushing down the staircase to the drawbridge.

I remained on the wall to watch. It was indeed Jalana. I also recognized Cathe, Obina, and Yana. I hoped it did not bode ill that Dalena was not with them.

They dismounted outside the gate, embracing Rotanna with joy. They looked strong and healthy, especially Jalana, who had a bright look in her black eyes. The horses had been ridden long but not hard, only slight traces of sweat on their flanks. The castle stable would welcome them for the night. Jalana looked up to see me on the wall.

"Owen, praise the Dread Goddess you are well," she said, running across the drawbridge. I walked down the stairs where she hugged me with true strength. Cathe and Yana quickly followed her example while Obina put the horses in the stalls. Then she came forward to greet me, too. Rotanna frowned with displeasure.

"How have you come to Trodden? You're supposed to wait for us at Watchman's Point," I asked. The women looked embarrassed.

"Many stories come from the land of barbarian males since you stole their slaves," Jalana reported. "The one called Lord Kirkon is much angered. Arbor prepares for battle, as do other towns."

"All traffic on the river above Arbor is stopped. We knew you must come south by land. Captain Toban said you would pass through Crowley or Barlington," Yana said.

"Dalena takes Mapps to the city of healers, for she is still weak. We traveled to Barlington, and when you were not there, came north looking for you," Cathe explained.

"Where else to look for Magistrate but where danger is greatest?" Obina said in good humor.

"Fuschia said Rotanna was too weak to move. She feared you would leave her behind, but I knew you would not," Jalana said, taking Rotanna's hand with more than sisterly affection. I wondered if they were related. Cousins, perhaps, for Rotanna bore a resemblance to Cathe.

"We have goose for supper and ale in our pack," Yana said, holding up the fresh kills.

An hour after sunset we sat together in the castle kitchen cooking and sharing the ale. The long oak table had benches set to either side. Jalana sat to my right, Yana on the left. The room was made of stone but decorated with cooking utensils and a few cheap tapestries. I could not eat my fill, my insides churning. Rotanna knew the reason for my discomfort but was yet to say anything.

"Your sisters are finally found, war captain. With luck you'll be back in your forest before the snows set in," I said.

"What of the lost daughters?" Jalana asked.

"They are beyond God's reach. My quest has been a failure," I regretfully said.

"None can say you didn't try," Cathe consoled.

"Trying does not restore Sir John's daughter, or young Katie to Sam Lolling," I said, gulping the ale and adding a wine chaser. Jalana and Cathe glanced at each other with concern.

"Perhaps you may return to the forest with us? High honor awaits you," Obina suggested.

"No," I said.

"You must return with us. If for no other reason than to resolve your conscience," Jalana said, turning my wrist over to reveal the scratch marks. "My queen will help ease your soul of this affliction. Is she not fit to be your judge?"

"Your queen would be the perfect judge, but I will not be visiting your forest," I said, trying not to sound harsh.

"The male will go nowhere but the graveyard across the river, and only there if I feel merciful, for he is better fit for the scavengers," Rotanna suddenly announced. "I invoke my right, Magistrate. Tomorrow morning, when the sun comes over the rock wall."

I had expected as much. Rotanna was delivered to Jalana in accordance with my oath. She was now free to demand her payment.

"I find no humor in this teasing," Jalana said.

"Death is naught to tease of," Rotanna replied.

"Of what do you speak?" Cathe asked in confusion.

"You may be fooled by this creature, but I am not. We will not find our sisters in this place called Crowley, for they are now prisoners of slavers. Just as you will be if we follow this deceiver to our doom."

"You speak nonsense, Rotanna," Yana protested. "Our sisters abide in safety, surrounded by many friends. Owen has been true to us always."

"Such delusions show how deeply he has bewitched you, but the spell will not last. I have offered blood challenge. Tomorrow he will face me with swords," Rotanna said.

"He does not accept your challenge," Jalana denied in alarm. "He has committed no offense, nor is he a match for your blade. The challenge is not permitted."

"It is not for you to say, cousin. Blood challenge was offered and accepted. By the laws of the forest, none may interfere," Rotanna said, unmoved by their outrage.

"You lie. Owen would never accept such a challenge from you," Yana protested.

Rotanna put a hand on her dagger looking at Yana with rage. She did not like being called a liar.

"You may have challenge when the male lies dead," Rotanna replied.

"Peace, sisters, the First Sword speaks true. Blood challenge was offered and I accepted," I interrupted before the argument went too far.

"But why? Why would you do such a thing?" Jalana asked.

"It matters not. I've given my word," I said, getting up from the table. "Tomorrow the First Sword and I will meet. God must decide who has the right."

* * * * * *

To be continued in part nine, Swords at Sunrise