The Wheelwright's Apprentice (27 page)

42

Art walked along, carefully looking for signs of his fellows, and ensuring no one ran into him by mistake while he was invisible. Soon it was crystal clear. Someone had planned meticulously. The troops in green had waited until the company was in the middle of the defile, and then loosed a small volley of arrows from both sides. They had had no choice but to surrender immediately.

There was a pile of weapons, presumably taken from his friends, and then, further on in a culvert, there they were, still in the process of being tied up. It was all very organized. Who on earth had arranged this, and more importantly, why?

He looked around for the Captain, as he didn’t seem to be with the rest. A knot of green caught his eye, and there he was, in the middle of it. Art edged over as close as he could safely get, and listened. “... pays a fair rate and we are prepared to contract you for the full year.”

“You know that the Earl has us on retainer.”

“The Earl isn’t going to last a month, you’d be foolish to even consider him.” This came from an older man whose smart and well tailored uniform suggested a position of leadership.

“Let’s say I agree. How could you be sure of our loyalty? Once a mercenary has turned, what’s to prevent him from turning again?”

“A fair question. You would all swear in front of a truthreader. The ones who aren’t sincere...” His words stopped. There was no need to finish; they both knew what would happen.

“This is something I’ll need to discuss with my officers and men. Breaking a hire is a pretty drastic step for us.”

“We can make the decision a lot easier for you. Anyone who isn’t interested will be made prisoner until the conflict is over. The conditions won’t be nice.” This extracted a few ominous dry chuckles from his subordinates.

Things were getting a lot clearer. Somebody was trying to augment his army, as well as wanting to starve the other side of reinforcements. Whoever he was, he was arrayed against The Earl of the Eastern Riding, the man who held their retainer. He had to be Willed, or at least have someone with the Will working with him. Truthreading was a skill exclusive to the Willed.

“What is this conflict, and who is the enemy, apart from our Earl?”

“That’s something you’ll discover once you’re sworn.” Art didn’t like the sound of that, and, judging by the expression on the Captain’s face, neither did he.

“I’ll be given time to speak to my men?”

“You’ve got ‘til sunup. We’re stopping here as the truthreader is coming at dawn. Make the right decision.”

Art watched as the Captain was escorted back to his men. He wouldn’t have an opportunity to talk to the Captain without anyone hearing for some time, so he went back to the wagon to tell Davi what was going on. Davi was sitting in the driver’s seat, ostentatiously gnawing on a chicken leg.

Keeping himself invisible, Art quickly explained the situation, and then said, “ƀDavi, you and the wagon most likely have been seen. I haven’t. I would like you to drive on in and get captured. Tell the Captain that I’m going to scout around while there is still some light, and that I won’t do anything before I talk to him. I am very worried about this truthreader. The involvement of a Will adept suggests that this isn’t just a local disturbance but something much bigger. If the greencoats wonder why you were alone, you can wave some of the bandits’ arrows and tell them you had a companion who got hit and fell off while you were being chased.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

He conjured up the most reassuring smile he could, and then realized that Davi couldn’t see it. “Not really, but I am trying to stay alive and this seems the best way.”

“You live an interesting life.”

“You have no idea. Now get going and be careful.”

Art moved swiftly as the wagon lurched into motion. He was looking for a place that the other Will adept would have imprinted as a place to flit into. He knew exactly what he was looking for. It would be easily memorable and not easily accessible. He climbed up to the top of one side of the defile and started casting around.

It was a little past midnight when the Captain felt a light tap on his shoulder and a finger touching his lips. “Art?”

“Yes, who else?” It was a whisper. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I need you to listen. I think I owe you a big apology, although it really should come from my dad. The involvement of a truthreader, who naturally has to be a Will adept, has set off all sorts of alarm bells for me. By the way, I was listening when they offered to recruit you. It’s clear that there is a lot going on here and you knew nothing. I believe it was my dad’s doing that you were kept in the dark. He has a habit of making things as difficult as possible for me. You see, with his contacts, there is no way he wouldn’t have known about this little war we seem to have stumbled into.”

“Go on.”

“I’m sure he wants me to grow and have a wonderful learning experience, so I’m not going to run away and leave you hanging. My honourable statement that I would only use my Will for healing has been rather nullified by the interference of opposing Will adepts. That’s plural. I’m sure there are more and I have a good idea why.”

“I suspected something, but you seem to think this is a lot bigger than I did.”

“You don’t have the advantage of thinking like we do. Will adepts can expect several hundred years of enjoyable life. Getting involved in a war where you may have to face other Will adepts means you have a significant chance of getting killed. This tends to limit one’s participation unless the issue is really momentous.”

“We decided by a small majority to accept their terms. Big Davi is the only one who said he wouldn’t swear. I think he trusts you a great deal.”

“This is what I’m going to do. It’s a war between adepts. I’ve been in one, and all of five adepts were killed along with over fifteen thousand others. Eliminating the adepts tends to end things faster and keep innocent casualties down. That’s why I’m going to try and intercept and kill the truthreader at his most vulnerable, when he flits in. If he shows up tomorrow and I don’t, best swear as you’ve planned, and tell Davi I said he should as well. If he doesn’t, you’ll have about sixty prisoners to give the Earl.”ˀ the Ear

“I thought you didn’t like killing.”

“When it’s me or them, I don’t have a problem, and that’s the way it is. If he found out about me, he would have to come after me. Since he’s a truthreader he’s bound to find out. I’m better off trying to take him out before he even knows I’m his enemy. I need every advantage I can get.”

“What do you think of your chances?”

“No idea. I’ve faced several adepts before and I’m still here. Anyway I’ve got a few ideas so I might surprise you. If he doesn’t flit in at the spot I expect, it’ll be a lot harder.”

“How will you manage to stay awake?”

Art had to smother a huge laugh at that one. It took him a bit to calm down. “What do you think? I’m going to fight someone who could kill me and you ask me how I’m going to stay awake? My girl will keep me awake. All night!”

Captain Hanna suppressed a cough. “We tend to overlook some of what you can do.”

Art momentarily became visible, patted the Captain on the shoulder and said, “Wish me luck.” With that he flitted away.

Several hours later, Art flitted back to the spot he thought the enemy adept was most likely to use. It, like two others he had marked as possible, were all relatively flat areas of smooth stone high up on the rocks overlooking the defile. He carved a thin but deep “X” in the middle of the spot, and then forced the lips of rock apart slightly. He then did the same with the others. He wasn’t sure what would happen, but the idea seemed to have promise. He went back, stood near his first choice, and waited.

Dawn came, and nothing happened. Art looked into the distance in case the truthreader had chosen to come normally, but even after over an hour there was still no sign of him. He looked down at the soldiers. Their leader was pacing up and down impatiently. He guessed he had rendered the arrival points useless. It was not as good as he had hoped; ideally the adept would have arrived carved into pieces by the thin lines he had made. For all practical purposes no adept was as nearly as good as a dead adept. In either case he wouldn’t have to fight. He scrambled down, put on his handsome face, and adjusted the impressive set of clothes he had picked up while flitting to and from visiting Ellary. It was time to make an entrance.

He chose to make himself visible a mere fifty yards from their leader, and walked normally towards him. He called out a cheery “Good morning!” to several men, ensuring he got everyone’s attention.

Their well dressed leader raised an arm in greeting and then froze. “You’re not Saran?”

Art affected a drawl, “Fraid not, he doesn’t seem to be able to make it today.” He waved his arms theatrically. “I wonder why?” He looked around, and then loftily back at the leader. “I think I noticed some prisoners. Release them and tell them to tie you up instead. I haven’t got all day you know.”

The leader summoned up a bit of gumption and asked, “Why should I?”

“Because your truthreader didn’t make it.” When the man made no move to comply, Art sighed. “Oh how boring! You want me to prove I have the Will. Which arm don’t you need?”

After that, things went pretty quickly.

* * *

In a comfortable dining room, over a hundred miles away, three men were having a late breakfast and were lingering. Their host, a charismatic man of middle years observed, “Saran is late.”

The second, a much older man, noted, “He’s
normally so reliable,” as he reached for his teacup with a hand that shook. “I hope nothing has gone wrong. Those mercenaries could make the all difference to that bastard Earl. We need to crush him first.”

Their host smiled reassuringly, “Even if those mercenaries get to him, he will lose, and it’ll simply take a little longer. It won’t even affect our timetable.”

The older man still wasn’t happy. “I don’t like it. I hate unexpected events, and even more so if I have to worry about a Willed ally.”

There was silence for several minutes while servants came in, refreshed their cups and cleared away their plates. Eventually the third man broke the silence. He was by far the most imposing of the three. He was a young looking man, seemingly in the prime of his life, handsome, but with a piercing gaze that brooked no disagreement. “You have to consider that he may be dead. If so, then it would undoubtedly be at the hands of an adept. That means we have a bigger problem.” He pinned the older man with his eyes, “You will find that it’s a great deal more nerve wracking to have to worry about a Willed enemy.” He slowly finished his cup. “Not to mention having to worry about our esteemed Emperor Draman.” His companions blanched.

43

An hour later, with their roles reversed, the two troops set out to the Earl’s castle. Art, wearing more suitable clothing, and showing his normal face, had rejoined the column. He had been given one of several captured horses as he knew how to ride, something not all the men could do. It also allowed the Captain to speak to him more easily in private.

“It would not surprise me if the Earl’s castle is besieged. That would explain why they ambushed us. To make sure we couldn’t help relieve them. I’ve sent several scouts ahead.” The Captain was a lot more wary now. “I’d like to know what sort of help you are prepared to give us if we run into opposition.”

“I’m not really sure. I won’t do anything obvious to let on that I have the Will unless we meet another adept. I can heal of course, scout invisibly and probably make sure most of the arrows shot our way miss. Perhaps a couple of other small things, that’ll be it.”

The Captain nodded. “I expected as much.” Before Art could reply, a galloping horseman came into view, heading straight for them.

He slowed, and reined in his horse in beside them. “It’s exactly as you expected, Captain. The Earl appears to be bottled up. I saw his pennant flying from the castle, and I saw several other pennants arrayed outside. I didn’t get an exact count of the enemy, Erid stayed to do that, but I reckon they have around twice as many men as we do.”

Captain Hanna was quiet for a moment, and then nodded. “Well done. Take a break for a bit and catch up when your horse has rested.” When the rider was safely out of earshot, the Captain asked, “Art, can you get a message to the Earl in the castle?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll be happy to try. I have never been in the castle, so I have nowhere memorized to flit to. I can’t fly eit΀Lher. I don’t think walking up to the gate will do much good as they are not going to open up to someone they can’t see. Especially when they are besieged. I will have to get in without anyone, including the people inside, knowing.” He waited for Captain Hanna to comment, but as nothing was said, Art went on speaking, “I’ll go, but I have no idea how to get in right now, so it might take a little time. Is that alright?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Three hours later, Art stood on a rise overlooking the castle. From nearly two miles away, the castle, stark and utilitarian, dominated the landscape. The besieging forces were neatly out of bowshot, and looked well established. It all seemed almost picturesque from a distance. He knew that impression would fade as he got closer. He assumed his mantle of invisibility and started walking and thinking. Ideas often came as he walked, and he hoped that inspiration would strike.

A quarter mile farther on he saw a small troop of about a dozen men riding towards him. They were the first people of any sort, other than those bandits, that he had seen using the road all the way from the border. This was something to make him think. He stepped off the road as they passed. Why check out the road only now? They hadn’t bothered before. What had happened? It didn’t take long to work out. The truthreader called Saran had either turned up at last or had been missed for long enough to create considerable concern. Either way the besiegers now knew that there was a force at their back. That wasn’t all either. It would have taken a second adept to alert the force in front of the castle. The situation was looking more and more complicated.

Treading carefully, Art came to the enemy encampment half an hour later. It was a very organized camp, much better than the one he had seen months earlier. It was still twilight, and he didn’t want to try to get in until full dark. To fill the time, he decided to poke around a little and see if he could discover anything useful. The biggest tent seemed the best place to start, especially as it was the only one with guards outside. Gathering his Will, he slipped in and looked around. There were several men inside.

“...an adept get lost.”

Art edged sideways until he was in a corner and had a good view. “They don’t get lost.” The only seated man observed. He was powerful looking and showed the authority and poise that Art knew was one of the characteristics of the Willed. He had to be extra careful. “He’s dead.” His eyes cast around but no one disagreed. “We have a troop of mercenaries coming this way. The patrol will simply confirm it.” The other men in the room were definitely overawed. Art was now certain the other man was Willed, and didn’t want to be anywhere near him. He retreated as gracefully and as silently as he could, almost tripping over one of the guards as his attention was on the adept. He wanted, no, he needed, to put a fair distance between the two of them as expeditiously as possible. It was an effort not to run.

The only idea that had come to him while he had been walking was simply climbing the wall, creating hand holds whenever necessary. It wasn’t exactly a perfect plan, but it was a plan and time was getting shorter. He went around to the side away from the main encampment and with fewer people nearby. Once the light had faded, he chose a starting point shadowed from the early moonlight, and looked up. It was sixty feet or so to the battlements. Taking a deep breath, he cut a couple of hand holds and found that the wall was wet, slick and slimy. He resolved to be careful. Progress was necessarily slow as he not only had to cut his hand holds, but also had to reinӀo had tostate them behind him. He didn’t want anyone to notice a trail leading upwards, even if they couldn’t see him.

Before long, some seldom used muscles started protesting, and he paused to concentrate on Willing the pain away. While his attention was focused on making things more tolerable, some sort of creature flew into his face, pecking wildly. He lost his grip and fell backwards thinking, “I must work out a way to fly.” He landed with a loud thump and everything went black.

* * *

He woke up looking into the face of the adept he had been trying to avoid. It was a cold gaze. “Good, now you’re with us you will answer some questions.” Art’s brain snapped into gear. He was going to be truthread. He relaxed, remembering the previous time he had been questioned by an adept. Simply telling the truth was the answer. It was all in the way he phrased things.

“Who are you and what were you doing?”

“My name is Art, and I was sent to get a message to the Earl in the castle.”

“Who sent you?”

“I was sent by Captain Hanna.” It was time for a little bit of misdirection. He needed to forestall a question he couldn’t avoid. “I’ve only been with his company for a few days, so I think he was giving me a chance to show what I could do.”

The face laughed dryly. “Not much.” Art waited. The less said the better. “What was the message?”

“I was to tell the Earl that we had been attacked on the way, but had won through. He has our retainer, so we were to wait to see what he wanted. If he wanted us to attack you, he was to give us a time.”

The adept paused and seemed to be thinking. Given this short respite, Art struggled to sit up. He was alone in the tent with the adept. There was little furniture, the pallet he was sitting on, a pair of folding chairs and a chest. There was a plate with a few bones, the remnants of a meal.

“How were you to get the message back?”

“I wasn’t going to climb down the wall. I am sure the Earl would have let me use a rope.” Of course he was going to flit back to a certain spot he had memorized, so he had to tell some truth. Art waited to see if his statement was accepted.

“What happened when your company was attacked?”

“It was all over in seconds. There was one volley of arrows and the Captain surrendered almost at once. Caught in a defile, there wasn’t any real choice.” So far so good. His training as a healer allowed him not to show any signs of panic like an increased heartbeat, sweating or heavy breathing.

“So why are they free now?”

“There was supposed to be a truthreader coming in the morning to take our oaths, but he never showed up. Eventually someone else showed up. It was a very handsome man who said that since someone called Saran hadn’t turned up, they should let my troop go and become our prisoners instead. That’s what happened.”

Art waited a long time for the next question. “They simply obeyed him?”

“Yes.”

“He didn’t demonstrate any Willpower?”

“The word was that he offered our captor’s leader a choice of which arm he wanted him to cut off. Since he stiӀ Since hll has both arms, I’d say he declined the offer.” All correct if a bit misleading.

“What happened to this handsome man?”

“He left after everything had sorted itself out. He didn’t tell me where he was going.” That to prevent him being asked if he knew where this adept was now. Of course he didn’t need to tell himself where he was going so he wasn’t lying.

The tent flap was thrust aside and another man entered. He immediately said, “No one knows where that blasted Saran has gone, Boban, it’s as if he vanished completely.”

Art’s captor, now named, replied, “This kid told me that he never turned up this morning to take the oaths of those captured troops.” He laughed. “Fell off the wall trying to climb it! He was unconscious for almost an hour.”

It looked as if Boban suspected nothing...yet. He glanced at his friend. “Anything you want to ask this merc?” The entrance of this second man, who was almost certainly an adept as well, had changed the dynamics of the situation. Two adepts nearly always defeated one, and the loser virtually always died. Art debated whether to flit out right away or to wait a bit longer. Meanwhile he cast around for options, being careful to look like the innocent hick.

“If you’ve got all you need, I won’t need any more. Dispose of...” Both their heads exploded like squashed watermelons. Art had taken a calculated gamble that their defenses were down as they were not being threatened. He had used a stratagem he had taught himself, moving a stone into a tree trunk at head height. This time the only available small objects had been chicken bones. They had worked fine. He cleaned the odd bits of bodily detritus from his clothes and flitted away. He had done quite enough for one evening, and wasn’t in any mood to do anything other than throw up. It had all been too much of a gamble.

* * *

As soon as Art reported back to Captain Hanna, all he could say was, “I’m going to be violently sick, can you wait...” He ran off into the bushes accompanied by sounds best left undescribed.

A couple of minutes later, he noticed Davi standing beside him, looking anxious and holding a rag. It was newly dipped in fresh water. “Any better now?”

Art rolled over and sat up, wiped his face and wrapped the rag around his neck, “That should be it.” He crawled away from the site of his stomach’s weakness, and lay back down amidst some ferns.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’d like you to if you can.” It was Captain Hanna.

Art accepted the inevitable. “I didn’t get the message across, but it wasn’t a wasted trip.” He took a deep breath. “I killed a couple of people.” There was a silence. “Willed people. I was very lucky.”

“What happened?”

Art managed to sit up and gave them a brief outline of what had happened. “The Earl must have one or two Willed allies or they would have knocked the castle gate open ages ago.”

“The Earl himself is Willed.” Captain Hanna had been keeping that to himself.

“That explains a lot.”

“What I don’t understand,” the Captain said, with an edge to his voice, “is if you could move a chicken bone into someone’s head, why couldn’Ӏwhy coult you move a message to the other side of the gate?”

Art sputtered, “Sorry, I never thought of that.”

“I’ll write the message, and I’ll let you have another attempt.” He stretched out his hand to Art to haul him to his feet. “Don’t worry about making mistakes, as long as you learn from them.”