Valdemar Anthology - [Tales of Valdemar 02] - Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar (17 page)

“How long do you figure it takes to get to Haven?” she asked.

Ernie shrugged. “Ridin' hard, eight, me'be nine days.”

“Less if she could get a boat down the Terilee River.”

“Yep.”

“How long to raise a relief force?”

“Dunno. Depends.”

“A couple of weeks?”

“More like a couple of months, me'be.”

With a scowl, Norma peered up at the tiny line of enemy troops bringing supplies over the mountains. With the harsh northern winter just past, Trance Tower's own stores were low. If it took another month, it wouldn't matter if Bess had gotten through or not. The garrison would be out of food.

“You'd think there'd have been a paymaster or a supply wagon or somethin' come from Haven before now, anyway,” she snarled.

“Me'be there has been,” Ernie answered in an ominous voice.

As one, they glanced toward the main gate. Neither could se the dark, fly-covered bloodstains from where they stood but that didn't stop them from looking.

“How long before they'd be due back do you figure someone might go lookin' for them?”

“Dunno. A while, I guess.”

Returning her attention to the force below, Norma shook her head. “With a friggin' army that big,” she muttered, “you'd think somebody would've noticed it by now.”

Ernie just shrugged.

The sound of shouting pulled their attention back inside the garrison.

“What the . . . ?”

From their vantage point they could see a knot of people behind the west barracks, shouting at—cheering on—Norma amended, two struggling figures. There was a glint of golden hair as one had his head knocked back from a well-placed blow, and Ernie swore.

“Garet!”

“Blast! You know that means Andy.”

Ernie was already halfway to the stairs.

“Little . . . I told him . . . come on,” he puffed angrily.

 

Andy ducked a wild swing, drove his fists into the other youth's unprotected right side in a quick flurry of blows, then danced back with a tight smile. Although Garet was older and larger than he, no one at Trance Tower was faster. Around him, the growing crowd began to chant his name, and the smile snapped off. Time to finish this before the noise drew the wrath of the sergeant-at-arms down on them. He pressed forward.

Sixteen-year-old Ander Harrow had been born in the garrison. His mother had died in childbirth and his father and three others had been caught in a rockslide when he was nine. Jem and Karl Harrow's remaining squad-mates had raised the boy together, bringing him into the Guard at twelve, protecting him, teaching him, but mostly just trying to keep him out of trouble.

Garet Barns had joined the garrison two years before, and although they were not friends, at eighteen he was the closest to Andy's own age, which meant that when Andy was bored or just itching to cause mischief he either sought Garet out to manipulate him into some scheme, or goad him into a fight. Garet had a quick temper that could always be counted on to flare up with the right words and Andy always knew the right words.

Now, his blue eyes narrowed, Garet watched the other youth weave back and forth in a parody of feints and counter feints, then struck out. His fist connected right where he planned. Andy went flying into the crowd.

The blood on his face gleaming as brightly as his dark eyes, Andy showed his teeth to his opponent in recognition of the blow, then leaped up, only to be jerked off his feet once again.

“What the blue blazes do you think you're playin' at!”

Her fist wrapped in the back of his shirt, Norma shook him like a dog with a rat in its teeth.

“Haven't we told you half a hundred times, no more fightin'?”

Behind them, Ernie stepped in front of Garet, who simply wiped the blood from his nose with an even expression. Andy gave Norma a disarming smile.

“It was just a boxing match.'

“Bollocks!”

“Really. Something to pass the time and keep fit, right Garet?”

Andy turned his wide-eyed gaze on the other youth who just shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

“I'll show you fit, I'll toss you off the north wall. Then we'll see how bloody fit you are with half them bastards out there chasin' you.”

“Now there's an idea.”

All eyes turned to see the sergeant-at-arms leaning against the barracks, his expression dark. “Don't you lot have somewhere else to be?” he asked with dangerous politeness.

The area was suddenly empty of spectators.

He turned back to the two combatants. “Barns, K.P. Harrow, latrines. Don't,” he held up one thick finger as Andy made to protest, “even think about speakin', just git.”

When the two youths were out of earshot, Norma gave the sergeant a sideways glance.

“That was kinda lenient for you, wasn't it, Lorn?”

He shrugged. “There's little enough to keep up morale these days, might as well make use of what distractions we've got. Keep him outta my sight for a while, though, I might have a change of heart.”

“We'll put him on night watch,” Ernie answered. “That should tire him out some.”

“Good idea. Barns can take a turn as well.”

 

That night Andy stood on the north wall staring out at the nearly full moon. The afternoon had been a partial success, he'd blown off some steam, satisfied himself that Garet was no better a fighter than he, and stirred up everyone's blood a bit. Since the enemy had bottled up Trance Tower, the entire garrison was walking around like they'd already lost. The air of doom and gloom was getting thick enough to cut with a knife. Eyes narrowed, he glared down at the surrounding campfires. So they were temporarily cut off from the rest of Valdemar, so supplies were tight. Bessie would be back any day with an army at her back and then they'd send this lot packing back over the mountains double quick.

His stomach growled, and he rubbed it in rueful acknowledgment of its point. All right, so they were in a tight spot—the quartermaster already had them down to half rations—but they weren't beat yet, not by a long shot. The enemy wasn't so tough. If they were, they'd have taken Trance Tower already instead of just sitting out there with their thumbs up . . . a movement below the wall made him stiffen. He stared into the darkness for a long time, but eventually relaxed. It was probably just a night-bird. He returned his attention to the enemy.

Nobody knew who they were. The standards and banners they carried were unfamiliar and the language their single envoy had spoken was gibberish even to the commander; although the body he'd brought with him had spoken his message clearly enough: surrender Trance Tower.

Andy spat over the wall in unconscious imitation of Norma. Not in this lifetime or any other, he swore silently. His parents had died for this garrison and no bunch of pike-wielding sons of whoevers were going to defile their memories. They could sit out there until moss grew over them. Trance Tower would never surrender no matter how hungry they got.

His stomach rumbled mournfully.

“Aw, shut up.”

Leaning against the parapet, he stared out past the dark bulk of the surrounding army. The moon was low in the sky, shining down on the lightly wooded foothills. He'd hunted rabbits in those hills with Phen Royn and Harn Anzie every year since he was ten years old. They should have been out half a dozen times already this spring instead of standing on the walls watching the enemy move about like they owned the place. Andy grimaced. Their hunters had probably already stripped the hills of rabbits. They were probably sitting around their campfires right now eating roast rabbit and rabbit stew and rabbit pie and . . .

Something white flashed in the distant trees.

He frowned.

Ground lightning?

It flashed again and, risking arrow-shot from below, he leaned forward. Something was moving in the hills beyond the enemy, moving fast.

He saw it again some twenty yards west of where he'd spotted it the first time. Then again a few moments later farther still. It sparkled in the moonlight for just an instant., its half hidden form vaguely familiar, then it disappeared again.

“What'cha you doin', boy?”

He jumped. Spinning about, he shot a glare at Phen, who held out his canteen with a chuckle.

“Lookin' at somethin',” he growled back.

“What? Someone takin' a piss?” Phen risked a glance over the edge.

“No. Somethin' strange. There.” He pointed.

“Where?”

“Past the troops to the west. Somethin's movin' out there like it's circlin' around us.”

Phen peered into the darkness.

“I don't see nothin'.” He turned with a grin. “You imaginin' mountain cats again?”

Three years ago Andy had been certain there'd been a mountain cat stalking the garrison flocks. He'd even found tracks, but they'd turned out to belong to a particularly big jackrabbit. Phen had never let him forget it. Of course, now the enemy had the flocks as well.

“This was no mountain cat,” Andy replied hotly. “It was white.”

“Late snow drift.”

“Snow drifts don't move. There, in the underbrush. Tell me you didn't see that?”

Phen leaned forward again. “Maybe.” He shook his head. “It was probably just an owl or somethin'. Anyway you're relieved, go get some sleep.”

“Shouldn't I report it?”

Phen shrugged. “Go ahead, if you want everyone to say you're seein' giant, sheep killin', jackrabbit mountain cats again.”

“Drop dead.”

“Just givin' you a friendly warning.”

“Yeah, sure.” With some reluctance, Andy turned away but, as he did, the flash of white caught his eyes again, another twenty yards to the west. Something was out there, it was circling them, and it wasn't no owl.

 

He spotted it again the next night, this time to the east. Throughout his shift he watched it wink in and out of the trees, moving incredibly quickly, east to west and back again. Then, just before Phen relieved him, it crested the top of a small hill, rose up, and pawed the air with its forelegs, silver hooves gleaming in the moonlight.

 

“It's a horse.”

Andy made his announcement to Phen as they lined up for chow the next morning.

“Not a mountain cat, then.”

“I said it's a horse.”

“Probably one of theirs set out on a hobble to eat grass.”

“It wasn't hobbled.”

“Maybe it escaped, then.”

“I don't think so.”

“Then I guess it musta been a ghost horse.”

“Aw, shut up, Phen.”

 

Ernie was no more help when he told him that afternoon.

“Mountain pony,” he pronounced.

“Aren't they usually brown?”

“Yep.”

“Have you ever seen a white mountain pony?”

“Nope.”

“Then it can't be a mountain pony.”

“Must be a ghost horse, then. Or me'be a mountain cat, eh?”

Andy gave up.

He watched the horse pace back and forth from west to east for another full shift, then finally reported it to the sergeant-at-arms.

 

The older man frowned thoughtfully.

“How long you been seein' it?”

“Three nights now.”

“And you're sure it's a horse?”

Andy clamped his mouth closed on an imprudent reply. “Yes, Sarge.”

“Hm. Garet Barns thought he saw somethin' white to the east last night as well.”

“Garet?”

“Yeah. Your fightin' partner's been on the south wall these last three nights now.” He stood. “Well, there's nothin' for it. I'd better go see for myself. You're sure it's not a mountain cat this time?”

Andy snapped his teeth together. “No, Sarge.”

 

That night the sergeant stood watch beside him as the white horse flashed between the trees. Finally it crested the hill again, pawing the air in agitation before disappearing once again.

“It‘s so fast,” Andy whispered in awe. “I've never seen anything move so fast.”

“Hm. Funny how the enemy hasn't spotted it,” the older man mused.

“You don't figure it's really a ghost horse, do you, Sarge?” Andy asked, trying to mask the uneasiness in his voice.

“No.”

“So, it wouldn't be there to . . .” He trailed off.

“To what?”

“Well . . . my da, he died in the mountains. Maybe it . . . you know.”