Terry W. Ervin (34 page)

A few more campfires had sprung up in the distance. We sat around our fire, silent while Lilly prepared the frog legs for cooking.

I poked at the fire with a stick, trying to think of something to say. I decided to get a few of my questions answered. “Roos, you asked if I rode dragons. Why?”

Roos put a few larger sticks on the fire. “It came to me in a dream,” he said, smoothing his mustache with a finger. “I served in the last campaign against the Corpse Lord. Ye have another name for him. The Corpse Lord employed poison artillery against us, driving us back to the sea. The men of my company were among the last to depart the shore with a score of heathen brute longships aiming to cut off our retreat. And would have if one of the serpent riders had not broken from his company. He called down in the language of sailors, and threw us a rope so that we might battle the Corpse Lord, our common foe, another day.”

“Road Toad,” I whispered. “That serpent cavalryman was Major Jadd.”

Roos paused and nodded with eyebrow raised. He gestured for Lilly to finish preparing the frog legs. “I swore an oath to return and fight the common foe and repay that serpent rider, praying every night since for the Lord to guide me.” He rubbed his chin. “I learned thy language and studied the tactics of the Corpse Lord’s hosts, as well as the beasts that inhabit these lands.”

He set a pair of sticks thick as my forearm on fire. “Twenty days ago a vision answered my prayer. In it, I threw a line back up to the serpent rider who saved my men so long ago. He passed it back to the rider behind him. In my vision, I stood, holding the line at the crossroads where I met ye both.”

“That serpent cavalryman,” I said, “serves Prince Reveron, but as a mercenary.” I told Road Toad’s version of the rescue, and what Crown Prince Halgadin did to him for disobeying orders.

Roos again nodded. “The serpent rider who ye name Jadd, is familiar to me.” He pointed to Lilly. “Are the frog legs ready, one named Lilly by Hawk?”

“My father named me Lilly.” She thrust a stick with five skewered frog legs in front of me.

I took the stick of roasted legs and passed it to Roos. Before tempers flared, I asked, “Why can’t you simply call Lilly by her name?” I shifted my gaze between the two. “It appears we’re destined to be companions for some time.”

Roos nodded sagely. “Some day I may tell ye of a second vision, about facing thy enemy emerging from rising smoke and flame.”

“Okay,” I said, when the Crusader said nothing further. I pulled out the map and showed Roos and Lilly before explaining what little I knew of the mission Prince Reveron passed onto me.

When I finished, Roos sat back in thought. Lilly said, “Thank you, Flank Hawk.”

I rolled the map back up. “For what?”

“For accepting me for who I am.” She shot a glance at Roos. “And for allowing me to travel with you.”

“I haven’t told everything,” I said.

“The rest ye desires to tell must wait,” said Roos. “Tonight, Friend Hawk, ye sleep while Lilly and I share watch.”

“I feel fine,” I said. “And you’ve been carrying me.”

Roos checked his rifle. “Tomorrow, ye will have to travel to Sint Malo and seek the one named Belinda the Cursed.” He shook his head. “A Crusader entering that city would draw too much attention. Whether ye take thy friend, is up to ye.”

After ten minutes of debate, it was decided that I would venture alone into the open city in search of Belinda the Cursed. Lilly and Roos would remain near our camp, holding the Blood-Sword for me. The chance of it being detected by enchanters, goblin shamen, or even Corradin the Conjurer himself was too great. Having once endured the Blood-Sword’s domination, even if danger should befall me, drawing it didn’t seem wise. Cold shivers ran down my spine when I thought about holding the evil sword in my hand.

Lilly volunteered for the first watch, so Roos and I bedded down after his prayer ritual. She scanned the half dozen campfires now burning down to glowing coals like ours. Lilly said to Roos, “I hope your plan of hiding in plain sight works. It didn’t for my family.”

“Heathen brutes and lesser imps, what ye and Hawk name goblins, are not clever as men.” Roos pulled his blanket up to his chin and rolled onto his side, facing the fire. “Losing thy family is a difficult hardship to bear.”

I’d almost dozed off when I heard Lilly whisper to the Crusader, “Thank you for calling me Lilly earlier.”

“Hawk names thee a friend. That is sufficient.” I heard Roos rustle under his blanket before grumbling, “My bones ache. Let me sleep.”

2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

The click signaled Dr. Jackson’s secretary had made the transfer. He didn’t bother with polite formalities. “Governor, you need to call out the National Guard and contact the Department of Homeland Security.”

The bluntness took the elected official aback. “Well, Dr. Jackson, while I have the authority—”

“Governor,” interrupted Dr. Jackson, “I’ve been in contact with the CDC and seeking verification from University Hospital, but it might already be too late. All evidence indicates we’re dealing with an outbreak of Ebola hemorrhagic fever. I hope I am wrong, but I’m not.”

Miss Gonzalez burst into Dr. Jackson’s office with a look of terror on her face. He took it to be confirmation of three cases of hemorrhagic fever. Although he’d correctly diagnosed the disease even now spreading within the city, he’d guessed wrong as to the root of the secretary’s fear.

She blurted out, “Someone just blew up a nuclear bomb over Atlanta!”

That answered the CDC problem, thought Dr. Jackson, once again shifting into a disconnected, academic mode.

The line with the governor went dead and the office lights flickered as the cascading effects of the three nuclear blasts brought down the nation’s communication network and power grids. Trinity Hospital’s backup generators kicked on automatically. It was one of the few emergency contingencies nationwide that worked as intended.

Lilly and I sat around the rekindled fire, preparing to share a cup of hot tea. Roos even added a little sugar to the minty brew. He used the steel cup for everything, including cooking. Lilly said the tea was good—she and Roos had shared some while I was unconscious. Lilly’s assertion sounded like she wanted me to know that Roos had drank from the same cup as her, so it was okay for me to do the same.

The risen sun’s rays were only minutes old. I tried not to stare at Lilly as we drank and ate hardtack from Roos’ haversack. At first I thought the rock-hard square of bread might crack my teeth. Roos suggested dipping it in the tea.

As I chewed the tasteless bread, I snuck a glance at Lilly and wondered. I’d never seen a werebeast—at least not in its animal form. How would she look and act? Would I be safe around her? If she attacked me, could I kill her?

Roos didn’t seem concerned, but he carried a saint-blessed saber and all I had was Guzzy’s silver-bladed dirk. Did Roos know something I didn’t, and that was why he’d referred to Lilly as it instead of her?

The Crusader finished oiling his rifle, set it aside, and drew his saber. Lilly watched him warily as he inspected the blade.

“Last time I saw your saber,” I said, “it glittered like the noon sun reflecting off of it.”

“It wasn’t ye seeing it, but the demon using thine eyes.”

I wanted to ask Lilly how Roos’ saber looked to her, but thought it wasn’t a good idea. Instead I asked Roos, “When you came at me with your saber, your voice sounded like thunder. Was that the demon too?”

Roos nodded. “I was quoting scripture. Sixty-eighth Psalm.” He smiled. “I imagine it made thy sword’s demon uncomfortable.”

Road Toad told me about the Crusader holy book, what they called scripture. It surprised me that the religious writings were available to all worshippers, not just the priests.

“Again,” I said to Roos, “thank you for helping me.”

“I could see ye had not succumbed, and were yet battling the wickedness.” He slid his saber into its scabbard. “Ye are strong, Hawk. For what ye did, I think I could not.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, before finishing off the last corner of hardtack. Lilly handed me the cup.

“I do,” Roos assured me. “Ye may want to bring back food.” Lilly nodded in agreement.

I stood and stretched. “Food, I will. How far is it to the city?”

“Sint Malo is on the coast,” said Roos. “Follow this ditch to the main road, take it west. Leaving now, ye should make it by noon.”

I checked my gear. “I’ll leave my spear,” I said, figuring it would prove difficult to carry through crowds, and into shops and taverns in search of Belinda the Cursed. “Wish me luck.”

“I will offer ye a prayer,” said Roos.

Lilly rolled her eyes in annoyance as the Crusader placed his hand upon the wooden cross he wore beneath his linen shirt. He called upon his God’s son to walk with me on my journey, provide guidance and wisdom, and a safe return.

“If ye do not return two hours past noon tomorrow, friend Hawk, one of us will seek for ye.”

“I will,” said Lilly. “Better I should go with you now.”

“We already discussed it. The enemy seeks the Blood-Sword, not me.”

“It’s not safe to go into that city alone.” She interposed herself between me and the direction of Sint Malo, staring at me and the sun over my shoulder.

“It isn’t safe remaining outside the city either,” I replied.

“Thy friend Hawk has made his decisions, friend Lilly. Let him be on his way.”

The words ‘friend Lilly’ didn’t roll smoothly off Roos’ tongue, but they got her attention. “Good luck,” she said, giving me a hug despite my armor, slung crossbow, and other gear.

I hugged her back, embarrassed that I’d stiffened and delayed for a second. Roos kicked dirt onto the fire. “I’ll be back soon,” I promised her.

I wiped my brow and frowned. With no clouds in the sky, it was going to be a warm day. I undid a few of my padded armor’s buttons. I spent the first half of my trip to Sint Malo wondering what Lilly and Roos would talk about and decided they’d probably ignore each other.

A lot of traffic traveled the packed-gravel road—so much I constantly looked over my shoulder and listened for wagons and horses. Most traffic traveled west, and the closer I got to Sint Malo, the more refugees I saw clustered around shanties and makeshift tents. Mounted patrols wearing the city’s colors, orange and brown, kept the road clear of beggars and refugees away from the planted fields. Even worse, wooden stocks held the head and arms of offenders locked in place as they repeated with parched voices to each passerby, “Stay off the Lord of Sint Malo’s fields.” Servants wearing brown and orange tunics sat in the shade of the offenders, waving off flies and hoping they’d have an excuse to use their leather whips.

I scratched my cheek, deciding the last minute decision to keep the stitches in was a good one. I walked straight, focused on projecting the image of a confident predator rather than prey. I added my best version of Road Toad’s intimidating glare whenever anyone except a soldier or mercenary crossed my path. To them I displayed an alert but emotionless face. Soldiers don’t like to pick fights with mercenaries unless they have orders, or a reason. Most mercenaries don’t prey upon each other, and if they do, only when they’re sure of emerging unscathed. I hoped my battle-worn armor and rough look said messing with me would be like swatting a hornet nest. It was more than a bluff. Road Toad taught me the mercenary ropes, and Sint Malo was sure to be filled with pickpockets and cutthroats. To me, they were the enemy. Every step I took toward the gray-walled city added to my determination.

The road widened until eight cavalrymen could ride abreast. Smaller roads branched off, leading to villages. I kept my eye on the distant city.

Sint Malo looked smaller than the King’s City. Sooty smoke rose from behind the thirty-foot outer wall. At a crossroads about three hundred yards from the main gate, a company of soldiers screened travelers. They turned away peasants, women and children. Ahead of me they allowed an artisan and his son to pass after examining their mule bearing a dozen colorfully woven rugs. I met the gaze of the brown-eyed captain. He let me pass without challenge, and instead barked orders for his men to intercept the rabble behind me. I didn’t turn around, ignoring the shouts and ruckus.

The harsh, militant tactics kept the grounds around the city’s wall clear. I kept walking, following the rug peddlers. The breeze off the ocean carried the stench from the sewage-filled moat that ran along the wall’s base. The city’s main drawbridge was down, and both the inner and outer portcullises were up.

Standing between the battlement’s crenels, crossbowmen watched the traffic. Four soldiers armed with shields and spears stood within the shade of the passage through the wall into the city, while four others were posted at a station beyond the lip of the lowered bridge. One, an officer, sat at a stout table near the moat. Behind him stood a hulking guard leaning on his halberd, one which showed obvious signs of use. The two less muscular guards stood ready, blocking the path to the bridge ten yards in front of the officer.

The two forward guards allowed the rug peddlers to pass before stepping together, blocking my path. “Wait,” one of them grumbled. Sweat ran down his brow, the same as me. His chain armor and the padding beneath had to be hotter than mine.