Shadow Over Avalon (18 page)

When the messenger moaned, stirring, Shadow sent a sleep command deep in his brain, simultaneously releasing the one in Ector’s consciousness. The Submariner shook off all traces of compulsion. He sat up, delving inward.

“Very neat. Just a faint taste of wood smoke and a sense of warmth. I wouldn’t have guessed intrusion if I didn’t suspect you. Why?” Ector said, frowning.

“Only one sentry needed.”

Ector’s mouth tightened at the corners. “This was not a decision I made.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“I’m well aware of that. No more independent decisions. Is that clear?”

Shadow smiled, knowing how much her silence infuriated him. No independent decision? Her mission demanded free thought. Let him assume obedience.

“Got a status report on our ‘guest’?”

“Made sleep. Ready when his eyes can’t see you.” Shadow felt his will pressing against her mind, and let him enjoy her sensations of morning coming alive.

“I’m not an enemy to be deceived. I wondered if you’re ready for the danger ahead.”

“Brethren’s fate—no more than expected.” Shadow had images of Brethren’s treatment. Terrans did not like Outcasts.

“We can abort this mission right now if you have any doubts.”

“Nestines must die. Shadow fights.”

“I want you back. No suicide runs for petty victory,” Ector said. “Avoid priests. Any attempt to probe you now will detonate the power pack in your arm.”

“Shredded priest,” Shadow remarked, enjoying the thought. She had worried she would be too slow dying if captured.

“Head due south and you’ll come to the trail. Luck.”

Ector vanished into the bushes concealing the tunnel entrance.

Shadow kicked dirt over the remains of her fire and woke the messenger, Erwin. She closed off her ears to his whining complaints as she boosted him onto his saddle. An animal with a sprain should not carry anyone, but Erwin insisted. He gave directions to Grimes Fort, hanging on while Shadow led the horse through dew-drenched grass.

Erwin had recovered enough by midmorning to unpack food. Shadow glanced back when she heard him stirring, but he did not offer her any provisions or drink. She didn’t bother telling him the consequences of eating after a bump on the head. He found out for himself. Since he had declined to share, she didn’t turn at the sounds of retching.

Midday sun sucked at grass and dirt, leeching away moisture. Insects blundered overhead with that sleepy clumsiness a cold night in fall created. A cloud of dust swirled on the trail ahead. A party of about twenty horsemen rode into view. She couldn’t make out tabards yet, except that they wore brown. Erwin spotted the riders and waved until his face turned white and he hunched over, moaning. The patrol split in two as it approached, circling the pair. A stern-faced man with light brown hair, a Silver Band, brought his mount to a halt in their path.

“Save me from this Outcast!” Erwin cried. “I’m Erwin, Alsar’s messenger, attacked in transit, bearing news for Grimes Fort.”

The stranger regarded Erwin, one eyebrow raised at the hysterical plea. He turned his gaze on Shadow. “Nothing to say, Outcast?”

Shadow looked back at Erwin with an expression of extreme disgust. Anger stole away her tongue.

“See? No denial. A vicious assault and I’m wounded,” Erwin said.

The soldier spurred his horse to move round Erwin, inspecting him and his mount. “I see no sword cuts,” he remarked. “I can see a man still mounted on a lame horse. This one is leading you to Grimes Fort, not an aggressive action. I don’t believe you.”

“It startled my mount, or I wouldn’t have fallen off. A deliberate act,” Erwin insisted, looking round for support.

“Did you?” the soldier asked.

Shadow shook her head, again giving Erwin a sour look.

“It lies,” Erwin said.

“Was he conscious when you found him?” the soldier asked her, ignoring Erwin.

“Hurt,” Shadow managed to say.

“Did someone hire you to prevent his message getting through?”

Shadow shook her head.

“Where’s your horse?” The soldier scanned the tree line too intently for his relaxed pose.

“Attack . . . gone,” Shadow replied with truth. The saurian attack had robbed her of the copper mare.

“Outcasts don’t lie, unlike others, who should know better.” The soldier sent a withering glance at Erwin.

“I shall complain to your king.” Erwin threatened.

“Do so. He’ll be as unamused by your excuses for carelessness as I am.” The soldier looked at his troops. “One of you, take the messenger double, and another ride with the Outcast.”

Several came forward to help Erwin transfer, but none went near Shadow. The grim-faced soldier frowned.

“You, Outcast. Come here.” He freed one foot from his stirrup.

Shadow approached, accepting his outstretched hand, and the free stirrup. She swung up behind him.

“Torvic, take over patrol. Herral, you’re leading the lame horse, and Sander, keep pace with him. We don’t want our ‘esteemed’ messenger to suffer. Carry on, men.” The soldier turned his mount to set a swift pace back along the trail.

Ten minutes later, they galloped through the gates of a palisade into a very flat area. He skidded to a halt, and turned, but Shadow slid down, not wanting his aid. He dismounted, handing his sweating horse to a stableman.

Shadow marveled at this place with workshops above ground, yet no other visible structures. The soldier marched to the center of the compound where all became clear: an underground fort. The entrance had wooden sides coated with some sort of resin. Stairs led down three levels. At the fourth and fifth, the dull thunk of wood was replaced by the silence of stone. At this point the soldier stopped, turning to her.

“Our king, Sigurd, is expecting very important messages. Did you chance to see that whining bastard’s sticks?”

Shadow had seen him trying to look at the sticks and Erwin shielding them from view. She nodded.

“Understand any of the messages?”

“Little.”

“Damn it, can’t any of you talk straight?”

“High Fort . . . trade.” A buzzing in her ears had increased as they neared Grimes Fort, making speech difficult. She wanted to tell him, had the words in her mind, but they would not come.

“I can’t tell my king that. There is more?” The soldier glanced down a corridor, grabbed her arm to propel her into a large room, a mess hall deserted at this hour except for one server. He pushed her to a seat while he went over to a service station to collect two beverages. Shadow accepted the pewter mug he offered. She tasted it, recognizing strong liquor and pushed it aside.

“Drink, curse you. Your sort speaks clearer in liquor.” An odd, angry expression clouded the soldier’s face.

“No . . . eat.” The potent brew surged through her system already.

“How long since your last meal?”

Shadow held up two fingers to indicate two days.

“I can justify enough food to keep you from falling flat. The drink after?”

“Yes.” Shadow had to tell her side before Erwin arrived with his lies. She’d swallow this burning liquor for her chance.

The soldier collected a chunk of bread and a wedge of cheese that he thrust at her. He sat fidgeting while she ate. Shadow took slow sips of liquor, hating the dizzy feeling it gave her.

“The message?”

“Gold cross hatches . . . not understood.”

“On a green chevron with red bars?”

Shadow nodded.

“Thank the Harvesters. There’s work for your sort. Can you still stand?”

Shadow stood up, swayed as the room tilted, and crashed back into her chair. He hauled her up, dragging her out along the corridor to a door guarded by two other soldiers. They announced entry, standing aside to give passage.

Shadow fought waves of dizziness. She was in a small room where a muscular man, running to fat, sat behind a desk. The individual pushed curling gray hair aside as he looked up. So luxuriant did his beard grow, his face resembled a sheep’s fleece with two brown eyes staring out.

“An Outcast, Thor? Found on patrol?” the large man asked.

“Escorting a wounded messenger,” Thor reported.

“Wounded—how?” Eyes narrowed, the ruler of Grimes assessed Thor’s find with a swift glance.

“He says the attack came from this one, but his story didn’t match his appearance, more an excuse to explain negligence on duty, to my mind. This one says it found him already hurt, Sire.”

“The message?” the King said.

“Green chevrons with red bars, overlaid with a gold cross hatch, the Outcast says,” Thor reported, still holding Shadow upright.

“This creature is more than half drunk, nearer legless. Even I can see that. Is the information reliable, or merely what I want to hear?”

“Tell my King how much you understand of the message,” Thor instructed, nudging Shadow in the ribs to get her attention.

“High wants trade,” she slurred.

The fat man relaxed to the extent that even his folds seemed to flow together.

“It speaks the truth about the messenger?” King Sigurd said, in a more normal tone.

“Why else would it lead him here when there was a horse waiting to be stolen?”

“Did you attack to get an easy entrance here?” Sigurd said.

“Not know of . . . Grimes.” Shadow’s head spun.

“Take this creature someplace where it can’t create a disturbance. If it speaks truthfully, and there is no attack, I have a use for it. Dismissed, Captain.”

Thor hauled Shadow along passages, up some stairs, and into a small room where he heaved her into one corner and threw her a blanket from the bed.

“Sleep there,” he commanded. “Don’t stir. I don’t want my whole room infested with fleas. I’m posting a guard outside, in case you were thinking of sneaking off.”

Shadow stumbled to the covering, collapsing onto it. She wanted sleep too much to care what he did. Much later she became aware of a return of light and faint noises. A pair of boots thumping by her head and a man’s voice snapped her awake to grab for a sword. Empty sheaths for both sword and belt knife met her hand.

“Easy, dark one. You slept deeply enough to disarm. Brethren aren’t permitted weapons in Grimes,” the captain said.

“Not . . . lie.” Shadow struggled with a distinct block in her mind. A sound scrambled pathways in her speech center.

“No, you didn’t. The priest caught out Erwin when he went for treatment. Seems his horse startled when he forded a river, he didn’t want to admit he fouled up, so he blamed you.” The man paused, watching her for a few moments. “Since you’re here, King Sigurd wants an outrider for a bridal party to High Fort. The trade offered is a horse and your keep from now until arrival.” The captain now had a grim line around his mouth. He looked uncomfortable enough to give Shadow a clue.

“Mean,” she said.

“My King knows he has the upper hand. He says you’re welcome to walk away. I tried for clothes, not a chance. Sorry.”

“Kind . . . why?”

“Brethren are hardier than fort people, living outside most of the year, I suppose, but having a cloak to keep off the weather is better for work performance. I’ll trade my spare for your services as animal healer during transit since I’ve noticed Brethren are very skilled with their own beasts. Agreed?”

Shadow nodded. She could pick out stones and make poultices as well as any other, the knowledge was somehow there in her mind, but the trade had no meaning, given her own plans.

“I’ll throw in that blanket, as I don’t think it will stand a boiling. We’ve just time for breakfast before we leave if we take our kit with us.”

Leaving now? The high-pitched buzzing noise in her ears ruined concentration. She couldn’t contact Ector, not here. Thor didn’t intend to return her weapons until departure. She couldn’t walk off, not when she had agreed to trade. Backtracking under cover of darkness became an option. Ector would not be pleased that they needed to start again in a different location. She rolled up the blanket, acting out her unwanted role.

Thor tucked a neat bundle under his arm, slung her weapons belt over his shoulder and headed off at a brisk pace with Shadow following. The soldiers’ mess was crowded with half the men having had a neatly rolled bundle by their feet and a cloak over the back of their chairs. A sudden hush marked her entry. All eyes turned to her in mass loathing mixed with unease. Thor stalked across to a corner table, dumping down his kit.

“Stay put while I get our food,” he said.

Shadow sat with her back to the wall, watching him join a long line in a room heavy with the greasy scent of fried bacon and a tang of peat fuel on the fire. The atmosphere thickened with tension, the hostile stares grew hard . . . assessing. They had seen one of the Brethren they thought they could take, one without weapons, and undersized. Three men at the next table stopped their game of dice to mutter and glare in her direction.

The sound of hawking and a gobbet of spit landing on her boot from the opposite side made her turn. These men were ready for light entertainment. Chairs scraping back brought her about. The gamblers stood in a semicircle to her front. They looked set to fight. Shadow sighed, rocking her chair back against the wall, bringing her feet up to the table, braced.