The Prisoner of Carronne - 20. Chapter 20

-- Chapter Twenty --

The land grew harder as they rode on. It wasn’t hostile, just less . . . forgiving. As they reached higher country, drawing closer and closer to Highshaw, the nights cooled and the ground offered fewer easy camps. As the roads narrowed, turning to tracks in places, it demanded more attention from the riders, and in ways it hadn’t previously.

It was Enoch who remarked on it first.

‘This is where missions stop being stories, and become journeys that will be remembered,’ he said one evening, as they made camp amongst scattered stone and scrub.

‘And not always for the right reasons,’ added Marin.

Jamal thought about that for a moment, and soon felt the truth of it settle among them.

The knights had been watching their young charges carefully on this journey, just as the lads had been watching the knights. The young can always learn from their older companions, but it can often come as a surprise when the older companions find themselves learning from the young.

For Whip, the journey was changing him, just as it was changing them all, yet he was still able to laugh. Perhaps not quite as often, and perhaps not as freely, but his disposition was still light of heart for the most part, and serious only when it needed to be.

Jamal noticed how he now checked the straps on his saddle before mounting, how he scanned the horizon while riding, and how he no longer sang without first making sure the land was empty enough to carry sound. He was a young man growing up in a hurry, which was by necessity.

One night, as Whip checked the horses, Jamal joined him.

‘You alright?’ Jamal asked.

Whip shrugged.

‘Yeah. Just . . . thinking, I guess,’ he answered, then added, ‘I keep wondering what it’ll be like to go back.’

‘To the village?’

Whip nodded. ‘Yeah. It feels like if I do, it won’t fit the same. Something like boots you’ve worn too long on the wrong road. Changed.’

‘I think I know what you mean,’ Jamal replied, but unsure himself if he really meant it, or even understood it. There was little other comfort he could offer.

Later, Whip sat apart from the fire, still whittling away at his bow, but his eyes were flitting from one person to the next, studying them. He was a thinker, Jamal decided, and to get by in this world a young man needed to be.

By contrast, Deven grew quieter still. He had always been the quiet type, but on this journey, he had turned more inward.

He took the late watch without complaint, then rose before dawn, walking the perimeter while the others slept. And when Marin sparred with Ansel, Deven watched closely, absorbing angles and footwork without ever asking to try.

One earlier evening, Jamal had found him standing alone, gazing out over a shallow valley washed in moonlight.

‘You don’t have to keep proving yourself,’ Jamal said gently.

Deven shook his head. ‘I’m not. I’m just . . . doing what I know, while I’m deciding.’

‘About what?’

Deven’s fingers curled slightly, then relaxed. ‘About whether I can go back to only being what I was.’

The words were plain. The weight behind them was not. And now that he thought about it, Jamal could easily see why the road had changed them, just as all these years on the road, with Luther, had changed him also.

For Jamal, the path had come differently, but the result was the same. He remembered being the street urchin from Xant who had been saved by Luther, and the journeys they had undertaken, which had opened his eyes to the world.

On this journey – a journey with a mission attached – he was also thinking deeply. He slept less . . . not from fear, but from the weight of the trust placed in him, from awareness, and from the constant reckoning of paths taken and paths not. Each decision he made felt heavier now, not because it was harder to make, but because it shaped others as well as himself.

He had begun to notice when Whip held back, when Deven stepped forward.

He had begun to measure silence.

And sometimes, in the moments just before sleep, he felt the ghostly weight of the men he had killed – not as guilt exactly, but as consequence. As a line drawn across his life that now could not be erased, only carried.

The knights too, saw all of this, but they knew from experience exactly what was happening, as they watched them all with a veteran’s eye.

‘The road is claiming them,’ Ansel said quietly to Marin one night, not bothering to lower his voice. ‘Just as it claimed us.’

Marin snorted softly. ‘One’ll lose his light. One’ll gain a spine. And the lad with the amulet . . .’

She glanced toward Jamal, who sat alone, quietly sharpening a blade that did not strictly need sharpening.

‘. . . he’ll stop being able to pretend this ends cleanly, and realise this is just the beginning of what is to follow.’

Ansel nodded. ‘That’s how it always goes,’ he replied.

That night, Jamal lay awake listening to the sounds of camp – the breathing of men and horses, the soft crack of the fire settling, and somewhere, out in the darkness there was the sound of a fox barking.

He understood now the true purpose of this journey. It would not take the same thing from each of them, or give them the same thing.

Jamal closed his eyes and let the knowledge sit; heavy and honest. The road was not cruel. But it was exacting.

And it would have its due.

*   *   *

As they climbed higher into the mountains, the road to Highshaw wound upward, like a scar across the granite face of the range. It was narrow, rocky, and unforgiving, and forced the riders into single file most of the time. They had set off early on this day, with the morning light slanting through the pines, painting long shadows across the path. The air had grown sharper with every league, carrying the scent of resin, and even the changing of the seasons.

Jamal rode near the front, his cloak dusted with trail grit, the medallion of Chandar still tucked safely inside his shirt. Behind him came his two companions – Whip and Deven – never far from reach. They rode with a comfort and a confidence that only comes with time spent on roads and trails. Each had grown so much on this journey, and Jamal was proud of them both.

The three knights followed in loose formation, with Enoch leading them, as he often seemed to. Tall and silver-haired, he rode a scarred warhorse the colour of storm clouds. His face was calm, but his eyes missed nothing. Ansel rode beside him – younger than Enoch, his hair silvered at the temples, his body hardened by years of work and training. Marin the Grey brought up the rear, her short dark hair tousled by the wind, one hand resting casually on the hilt of the longsword at her hip. She had said the least since she had joined the party, but her words often spoke loudest, and sharpest.

The remaining members of their party, knights and mercenaries alike, strung out behind them on the narrow trail.

When they crested the third major pass, and they came to an open area off to the side of the road, Jamal reined his horse in and glanced back at Enoch, then waited for the knight to join him, so that he could take guidance.

‘The pass should be clear the rest of the way,’ Enoch said, pitching his voice just loud enough to carry over the wind. ‘If Luther was successful in his mission, then Septimus and his men would be aware the knights may be gathering. I suspect that his agents would be feeding him information no matter how trivial, and given its history, Highshaw would no doubt be a place of interest. There is every chance the trails are being watched.’

Ansel agreed with his comrade, while his gaze was fixed on the jagged peaks ahead.

‘If there are scouts ahead, then we will need to evade them, lest they despatch a message back to their leader. If there is a legion ahead of us, then we could not hope to take them on. A handful of knights cannot turn the tide alone for what Chandar feels is coming, but if the Order answers, then it is imperative as many knights as possible are able to gather . . .’ he added.

‘Then evade them we must,’ Enoch responded. ‘Highshaw has always been a symbol, even if now in ruins. The old stones remember what we were. Maybe that’s enough to remind the others.’

Marin’s snort was soft but audible. ‘Symbols won’t stop the Dark Lord’s war-machine. Only steel will do that. And numbers enough to block them.’

Jamal glanced back at her. ‘That’s why the call went out. Every sworn blade that still lives is being summoned. The Dragon Order. The free companies. Even the mountain clans, whose men have been hiding and training, are set to come.’

A silence settled over the group again, broken only by the clop of hooves on stone as the final riders pulled to a stop, and above them all, the distant cry of a mountain eagle.

One of the newcomer knights who had joined them, Tomas, cleared his throat after a while. ‘We saw signs on the eastern road before we found you. Burned villages. Tracks too large for wolves or bears. The enemy is already moving.’

Enoch’s jaw tightened. ‘Then we ride harder. Highshaw must stand before the main host arrives,’ he said, before kicking his horse and moving on.

Ahead of them lay a high meadow, which they crossed easily, then the mountain trail narrowed to a knife-edge ledge where a forest of thick pine fell away sharply on the left and a treacherous scree of rock climbed the mountain on the right. The riders moved in a tight single file, hooves scraping stone.

Jamal rode second, just behind Enoch.

A low whistle from Marin – three short notes – stopped them all.

‘Smoke,’ she said quietly, pointing downslope.

Thin grey threads rose from the trees below the trail, maybe two hundred yards ahead where the path curved around a shoulder of granite. The wind carried the smell of burning pitch to them.

Enoch lifted a hand, then everyone dismounted without a word. They led the horses into the pines, tying them to low branches out of sight. Ansel drew his longbow and had an arrow nocked even before a sword could be drawn. Marin slid her sword half-free.

In a flash, even before he could be stopped, Whip said, ‘Let me check,’ then set off quickly through the trees, though treading quietly.

Marin cursed, then set off after him, while the others waited.

Jamal crouched beside Enoch at the tree line and waited. Then just a few minutes later, Marin and Whip returned.

‘How many?’ asked Jamal.

‘Enough to block the road,’ Marin murmured. ‘Six, maybe seven. The Dark Lord’s outriders – black surcoats, no banners. They’re just watching the trails and waiting. This trail runs straight past them. We outnumber them, but they still have the advantage.’

‘So, what do we do? How do we pass them?’ asked Deven. The eyes of Ansel, Enoch and Marin all turned towards Jamal, who looked around him at everyone who was watching him and waiting for an answer. When his eyes settled on one of the farmers who had joined their group, inspiration found him.

‘We need a diversion,’ Jamal replied, as he pointed to the farmer. ‘You . . . can you ride up to them? Surely, they won’t see a single rider as a threat. Engage them in conversation, tell them you’re exploring, tell some jokes, anything to distract them . . . then the rest of us can sneak through the forest below them, out of sight.’

Enoch nodded. ‘That may just work. Though I suggest he not be armed, other than perhaps a dagger, which any farmer or man of the mountains would need.’

‘What is your name,’ Jamal asked.

‘Luca, Sire,’ the farmer answered.

‘We thank you. You will be fine. This will work.’

‘And if it doesn’t work?’ Marin asked.

‘Then we will have to make our presence known,’ Ansel answered. ‘Some of us will stay close by.’

‘And if I am turned back?’ the farmer asked.

‘Ride back until out of sight, then wait amongst the pines until nightfall. Then one of us will come and search for you, to guide you through the pines,’ Jamal suggested.

Luca didn’t look entirely convinced, but still he agreed. He handed over his sword to one of his companions and was soon ready.

‘Just remember, you are simply exploring the mountains, following the roads to wherever they take you’ Enoch said. ‘Don’t mention Highshaw, or that you even know of that place if you are asked.’

‘And the rest of you,’ Ansel ordered, ‘follow me.’

Quietly, Ansel and most of their band led their horses down the slope and away from the road, deep into the pines, while Enoch, Marin and Jamal stayed with Luca.

‘Luca,’ Enoch said. ‘First, quietly ride a distance back along the path we came, and then after you’ve given us time to get into position, come at a canter, so that they hear you coming. They will step out in front of you, so don’t be too surprised.’

‘Right.’

‘We’ll see you soon,’ Jamal said, while placing a hand on the man’s shoulder as he did so.

 *   *   *

The soldiers came into view as Luca rounded the bend at a canter: seven men in black surcoats, just as Marin had mentioned, two carrying short spears, the rest armed with recurved bows and longswords. One man wore a spiked helmet with a red plume – their leader. They had set up a camp where the trail widened slightly, clearly expecting someone to come along.

After helping secure their horses, Jamal and his three knights, along with Deven and Whip had crept back closer and taken up a position behind a fallen tree, not too far away from the soldiers.

‘They knew we were coming,’ Ansel whispered, voice tight, from where he and his fellow knights were taking cover in the pines. ‘Or they guessed.’

Marin’s mouth thinned. ‘Doesn’t matter. We can’t fight them all on open ground. Not with our horses back in the pines.’

The sound of hoofbeats could be heard and a shout rose from the soldiers as Luca approached, with the leader pointing his spear straight at the rider.

Luca reined in and came to a stop directly in front of him.

‘State your business,’ the leader’s voice boomed. The knights were close enough to hear what was being said at least.

‘What? What business? I’m just a traveller,’ they heard Luca reply.

‘Travelling where?’ the leader demanded to know.

‘Wherever the road takes me,’ Luca answered. ‘Camping out wherever I find myself at sunset.’

‘Do you have any weapons?’

‘Only my knife. I have no need for anything else.’

The soldiers looked at each other, apparently confused by what the rider had said. This wasn’t who they had been expecting. They had been expecting knights of the Order.

‘What’s in the pack?’ one of the soldiers asked, pointing at the pack slung over Luca’s shoulder.

‘Just food and clothes. I travel light.’

‘Show us!’ their leader demanded.

Reluctantly, Luca took his pack from his shoulder and opened it, allowing the soldiers to look inside.

It was just at this moment that Luca’s horse whinnied, which was answered by a call from one of the knight’s horses deep in the pines.

The soldiers spun and stared into the forest, then acting on instinct alone, Luca dug his heels into the sides of his gelding, snatching his pack from their leader and setting off as fast as he could in the direction of Highshaw, before anyone could even draw a weapon. Obviously, a single, unarmed rider hadn’t been seen as a threat, otherwise their weapons would have already been at hand.

Amidst the noise and confusion, Ansel noticed one of the soldiers knock an arrow and take aim at Luca, but Ansel was quicker, he stood and fired his own arrow at the archer, finding his mark quickly and felling the man, before knocking another and firing at their leader. The second arrow struck that man in the throat, sending him staggering backwards, his hands wrapped around the shaft, as his lifeblood seeped out over his knuckles. A gurgling sound came from his throat, but then he staggered and dropped to his knees, before falling backwards onto the ground.

There were now five soldiers left, and instantly Jamal and his band clambered over the log and ran towards the soldiers, while Whip also managed to cut the picket line to which their horses were tied, as they ran past.

Amidst the chaos that ensued, with the forest filled with yells and the sound of galloping hoofbeats, another soldier was felled by an Ansel arrow, then Enoch and Marin both engaged others in spirited swordfights; and while a third advanced upon Jamal, the final man faced up to Deven and Whip.

The sound of steel on steel echoed through the trees, accompanied by that of the horses galloping, racing away from the melee. Marin made short work of her opponent, who fell to the side, then Enoch triumphed also, in a short and sharp duel.

The original seven soldiers were now just two.

Marin looked across to find Jamal and another facing off, sparring with each other, but not yet engaged. There was something familiar in the lad’s stance and movement, and she knew that this foot-soldier would stand no chance against a trained swordsman of the Order. The only question in her mind was whether the lad had it in him to take down another man.

‘What do you say, boy?’ the soldier snarled.

‘I say you should stand down and turn tail, or meet the same fate as your companions,’ Jamal calmly replied.

The soldier simply spat on the ground in front of Jamal, and then stepped forward, thrusting towards his opponent with his sword, which was easily parried, and then countered with a sharp riposte.

Facing both Whip and Deven, the other soldier had soon backed away. He knew how this was going to end, and would rather take his chances alone in the forest, than face a certain death at the hands of these rebels.

Jamal and his soldier were now engaged in a battle, with the air quickly filled with the ringing sound of steel on steel. The soldier was game, but Jamal’s training quickly shone through.

‘I don’t want to kill you,’ Jamal said to the soldier, when they came together, their swords locked together at the guards. But then, when the soldier pushed Jamal away and sent the lad sprawling on the ground, yet with sword still in hand, the soldier thought he saw his chance.

Raising his sword, with the aim to bring it down and impale Jamal upon it, he left himself wide open, however. Quickly realising this, Jamal rolled to one side, then thrust his sword upwards, with enough force to cleanly enter the man’s body and pass out the other side, before just as quickly withdrawing the blade and then rolling away, then rising onto one knee and leaning upon his sword.

For what seemed like a long time, the man stood there, clutching at his abdomen, a look of disbelief on his face, which soon turned to a grimace of pain. His sword toppled from his hand and then the man sank to his knees, before eventually he toppled sideways. Dead.

Jamal looked at the lifeless body of the man, then simply closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. It was no easy thing to take the life of another, and this made three lives he had taken on this journey alone. It saddened him to think that this would not be the last.

It wasn’t until he felt a warm hand on his shoulder that Jamal looked up, finding the kind eyes of Enoch looking down upon him.

‘You did only what you had to do, lad,’ the elder knight said to him.

‘But still, knowing that doesn’t make it any easier,’ Jamal replied.

‘No. It doesn’t,’ Enoch replied, before holding out his arm for Jamal, which was accepted, and then he was pulled to his feet.

Jamal looked around him at the results of this short battle. Six dead. One more could be seen running away through the forest, and his companions all looking towards him with nothing but compassion.

‘Just who is your Master?’ Marin ventured to ask.

‘That would be Luther of Triellium,’ Jamal replied.

‘That figures. I thought I recognised the stance,’ Marin replied.

‘Better he learn from Luther than Garrett,’ Ansel added. ‘That knight’s stance will be the downfall of him if he’s not careful.’

‘Agreed,’ Jamal answered. ‘I saw him felled by a boy with a wooden sword in the Valley of the Ancients just recently.’

‘Old habits die hard,’ Ansel replied. ‘You should note that as a lesson, my lad.’

Jamal then turned towards Whip and Deven – his constant companions, his confidantes, his lovers – whose expressions were like those of the lost; unsure of what comes next. He walked towards them, after taking just a moment to clean his sword by wiping it on the body of the man he had just killed, then stood in front of his friends, holding his arms out slightly. The two boys came to him, embracing him, each kissing his cheek in a sign of love rarely exhibited in the open, then they hugged him close.

Even the hardest of knights wouldn’t fail to be moved by this sight, and presently the three knights accompanying them turned away, giving them the lads their moment.

‘That bond will take them a long way,’ Ansel said, as he joined the others.

‘Or see them all killed,’ Marin replied.

‘I would back them to succeed,’ Enoch added. ‘They shall be a force to be reckoned with in time.’

‘An unholy trinity, more like it,’ said Marin.

‘More holy than unholy, I suspect,' said Ansel.

‘Hmmmmm . . .’ Enoch murmured, which gained the attention of the other two.

‘What say you?’ Marin enquired.

‘Judging by their camp, I fear there may be others in this party, so we must move quickly and quietly and leave this place. I suggest we stay in the pines as long as we can, lest we may be facing another battle today.’

As he said this, Jamal and the others also joined the knights.

‘Should we not bury them first?’ Deven enquired.

‘We’ll leave that to their companions,’ Enoch answered. ‘These seven were about half their brigade, I am guessing, and they will be back soon enough. We need to move quickly. I see you lads are light on equipment,’ he added, then looking at Deven and Whip. ‘If you need anything . . . a sword or a bow, a quiver of arrows, then I suggest you take this chance.’

‘I agree with Enoch. We need to leave this place as soon as possible. We still have a distance to travel.

*   *   *

They slipped deeper into the pines, leading the horses by hand along a game trail that angled downward and west. The ground was treacherous – loose scree and roots – but it kept the trees between them and the road. Far behind them, they heard shouts, as the remainder of the company of soldiers returned to their campsite to discover their companions dead.

‘Keep moving,’ Jamal said quietly, but firmly. ‘But let’s go a little faster, shall we? Mount up!’

They all mounted, and then Jamal set off at a trot. The path ahead of them levelled out, then climbed steeply before soon dropping quickly into a shallow gully choked with ferns and fallen logs. Ahead, the gully opened onto a sheer drop of thirty feet to a fast mountain stream, though a path – most likely used by mountain goats – could be seen skirting the edge of the steep slope that led down to the water below.

Enoch stopped at the edge. ‘Down there. The stream bed. It runs west, below the line of the road and comes out below the next ridge. They won’t follow the horses down that.’

Whip, being ever impetuous, pushed forward and went first. His horse snorted but obeyed. Marin went next, then Ansel. Jamal followed, heart hammering as loose rock rattled down the slope.

They hit the stream bed hard. Cold water, girth deep, surged around their boots. The horses splashed and blew, but the high banks hid them from the road above. Enoch motioned them forward, single file again, moving as quietly as this number of horses and armed people could do so, but at least the sound of the running water seemed to be covering any noise they made.

The stream curved sharply left, then after another hundred yards the banks lowered and the water shallowed. Enoch led them out onto a gravel bar screened by willows. They paused only long enough to allow their horses a quick drink, and to check all was well with their small brigade.

Jamal wiped sweat from his eyes and looked around him at his companions. ‘You know this country. How far away are we now?’ he asked Ansel.

‘We will reach the edge of the valley by nightfall,’ the knight replied.

Jamal touched the medallion against his chest. His mission was almost done.

To be continued . . .