Efrain was instantly alert. "The entire town? Any survivors?" Geordie shook his head.
"Two." Geordie was grim. "And the littles are missing. About twenty of them."
"There were over a hundred people there." Efrain wondered if what he felt was shock or merely sorrow. It shouldn't be shock. He just hadn't expected things like this to happen in such an isolated, peaceful area. More surprising was the sudden, instant rage he felt. But... even though the children were missing, it didn't mean what he thought it did...
"Aye. Everyone's a bit shook up. Wonderin' if they'll hit us next." Geordie set a mug down a little too hard. "Wonderin' what we should do when they didn't have any trouble taking out a hundred folks. Wonderin' where they came from."
"We've had trouble from bandits before." A man next to Efrain said. "We've handled it then." His eyes twinkled with excitement. Geordie gave him a stone glance.
"These obviously ain't no ordinary robbers, Miles. These aren't the same as those other bits of riffraff." He set his last clean mug down, then moved the crate off the top of the counter.
"You think they're organized." Efrain swallowed some of his ale. They were being listened to by the people around them. Geordie thought they were organized. Efrain knew it.
"Aye. That and there's got to be plenty of them." Geordie's craggy face grew grimmer.
"What's your guess?"
"Over seventy. Under a hundred-fifty." A gasp went up from around them.
"Preposterous!" The mayor said, pushing his way up to the bar. "Don't you go fear-mongering, Geord, don't you do it! You have no way of knowing that! Those numbers are larger than most of the villages around here!"
"Red Oak Falls fell fast and hard, without any warning. And you know the folks up at Red Oaks. They weren't the type to lay down for just anyone. They would have fought, given a chance." Someone else muttered.
"The bandits just took them by surprise, that's all! We'll be ready for them the way they weren't!" Miles said enthusiastically.
"Has anyone been to Red Oak Falls?" Efrain asked. Silence fell across the crowd. He looked at Geordie, who shrugged. "Who brought the news, then?" He turned. No one met his eyes except the mayor, who turned red.
"It was a messenger from the post station fifteen miles up the road. He was going to get reinforcements from Waterford. Stopped here to change horses, took one of my best. Before he left, I got a bit out of him."
Efrain nodded. The messenger obviously hadn't given the mayor a lot of the details. Probably, he didn't have many. Efrain doubted the regiments of the city of Waterford would send any people based on so little. Right now, it was only gossip. No one would know what really happened to Red Oak Falls. Not unless someone actually went there.
"How far is it to Red Oak Falls?" He asked Geordie. The tavern-keeper crossed his arms.
"It's about fifty miles." He frowned. "A day on a fast horse, two on a slow one. Provided you take the road."
"Which villages are around there?" Efrain asked.
"Hm. There's Riverwalk, Bends, and Hamlet Idin. They're closer than we are. Red Oak Falls is just over the border to the mountains, so the bandits would strike there first, probably."
"Do you think one of them are next?" The cobbler said.
"We'll hear if they are." Miles was far too excited about the prospect in Efrain's eyes. He noted
Geordie's face was tightening as well. Then again, for all that Miles was thirty or so years in age, he'd never seen real fighting.
"I doubt they're bandits." Efrain drained the rest of his ale. Miles glared at him.
"What would you know?" He challenged. Efrain dusted his hat off and set it back on his head. He'd gotten what information he could from the village. He'd have to trust Sam to learn what the local kjell had to say.
"I didn't hear anything about them taking anything before they burned Red Oaks. Going in fast and coming out fast doesn't allow time for any plundering. So if they had a reason to do that to Red Oaks, it wasn't theft." His words had an unpleasant effect on the rest of the people in the tavern. Efrain stood and was about to leave.
"Why would they do that then?" The mayor's voice was plaintive. Efrain shook his head and ducked outside.
"I don't know." Lie. He did know, or he could hazard a guess. Behind him, the tavern exploded into renewed gabble.
He unhitched his plow-horse, the sun still sitting above the trees. It wasn't even nightfall yet; the summer day was long.
"Where are you going?" It was Miles, who had followed him outside. Two other men were with him. Their faces were full of suspicion. Efrain debated what he should tell them. He opted for the truth.
"I'm going to Red Oak Falls." He said, and pulled himself ungracefully up onto the saddle.
"On that old nag? It would take you five days to get there!" Efrain almost laughed at the note of indignation in Miles' voice. The horse shifted and sighed. The man had a point. Efrain would definitely have to find some other mount. "When are you going?"
"Now." Efrain said, and nudged his horse into a walk. Miles and his friends went to the front of the horse and blocked it. Efrain didn't even have to urge his horse to stop. "What?" He couldn't help but be curt.
"Shouldn't you wait until morning?" One of the other men asked.
"And other people should go with you." The other said. Upon a closer look, Efrain could see that they were clearly related.
"Besides, you don't even know how to get to Red Oaks. We're local. We know all the short cuts and trails. It will save time." Miles said, his voice persuasive. The mayor spoke up from behind Efrain's nag.
"That is right. We should send a party to Red Oak Falls. They might need our aid." People were spilling out of the tavern into the square.
"That's a right idea! In the morning, we should go to Red Oaks, to do what we can." Another enthusiastic volunteer said. Efrain rolled his eyes as the people began to plan. When they started talking about arming their party, and the volunteers numbered more than thirty, he decided to put a stop to it.
"Listen up." He said, and was surprised when they actually did. Of course, he was sitting above the rest on his horse. "You've misunderstood me. I'm going there to get information. The numbers, the survivors, what direction the bandits went in. That's what I want to know. I'm not going there to help anyone. It's not burial detail, or some kind of war party. If you want to ride out to the rescue, feel free. If I were you, I'd reconsider going. Who is going to protect the village if a third of the menfolk are gone?" The villagers began to mutter among themselves.
"He's right." Geordie stood in the tavern doors. "We've got to make ready, in case the bastards try for us." There was a murmur of assent.
"Even so, Efrain should not go by himself." Miles insisted. "Surely a few men wouldn't be missed." He drew himself up. "I will go. I know the trails, since I've hunted on them."
"We'll go." His friends spoke as one, and exchanged a glance. Efrain pegged them as brothers.
"We're hunters. We should be able to read the bandits' tracks." The taller one continued.
"I'll go." It was the blacksmith's son. His father was a huge man, and the son was even larger. He was a quiet lad, ten years younger than Efrain's 28, and was known to be a steady sort. Efrain eyed his muscles and decided not to object. At least he looked intimidating, even if Efrain doubted that anybody besides Geordie had the ability to fight in this place.
"I'm leaving in less than an hour." Efrain said. "I'm going to the mercantile. Will it be open?" A man nodded and pushed his way back into the tavern. The crowd let him through, then closed back on itself. The debate was continuing to go on, only this time it was whether or not to call a council to discuss defending the village. At least they were doing something constructive, rather than merely gabbling as they had been before. The thought seemed a little harsh, after all they'd never had to deal with this before, but he felt a little raw. He didn't want to think about why.
He considered the four men who would be traveling with him to Red Oak Falls. Of them, Miles was the oldest, but his age of 32 said nothing about his maturity. He was visibly eager, too eager, and given to impulse as was proven by his method of volunteering. Efrain wondered if he'd have to rein Miles in, then dismissed the idea. What trouble could the man be, on such a short journey? As for Larkin and Jarvis Hunter, the brothers, they followed Miles' example. It was understandable. They were in their mid-twenties, with Jarvis being the elder by two years, and two years younger than Efrain. They, too, seemed excited by the prospect of fighting. It made them seem like children, for all they were of an age with him. The most dependable person appeared to be the blacksmith's son, Tarrant, and he the youngest barely into adulthood. As soon as Efrain had mentioned the time of their departure, the lad had set out for the smithy with his father. He was the type to get things done, Efrain reflected. Smiths often bred hardy souls.
One of the most persistent people who wanted to kill him was a former blacksmith.
Efrain nudged Buttercup into motion. Miles got out of the way, finally, though he eyed the plowhorse disdainfully.
"Do you mean to travel on... this?" His tone was less than respectful. Efrain kept his face straight only through the effort of constant practice. People might call him emotionless, but it actually took a great deal of effort to appear that way when people were so... them.
"While Buttercup is a fine example of a horse," Efrain said, trying not to let his lips twitch into a smile at the dubious look on Miles' face at that description, "I believe I'll use my time to find another horse. I'll meet you back here in a little less than an hour." Buttercup ambled out of the village square. Efrain let him go at a slow pace, if only to irritate Miles more. The small joys in life were not to be taken for granted.
The noise of the gathering faded. When he was a way down the road, beyond the sight and sound of any, and sure enough that there were no nosy pursuers, he urged Buttercup off the beaten path and into the trees. The trees grew close together, but finally they broke through to a small clearing. There he dismounted and pulled a strangely shaped whistle from around his neck. As he blew it there didn't appear to be an actual sound, though Buttercup's ears pricked up and he snorted. Then Efrain waited.
He didn't have to wait long. The sound of a beast running came to his ears clearly enough after a few minutes, and the underbrush rustled. A large black wolf burst into view, his eyes that strange shade Sam's eyes usually were. Not quite amber, not quite yellow, and though Sam could change the color if he chose, he didn't. They were a sign, Sam said, of the promise between them. Efrain could have minded, but he chose not to. It was important to Sam, for some reason.
The wolf, spotting Efrain, slowed to a jog then sat before him, his tongue lolling out in panting breaths. That coat had to be hot in the summer.
"Change of plans." Efrain said. The wolf cocked his head.
"What happened?" He asked, his voice the timber of a growl. Any other horse besides Buttercup would have started. Hell, they would have run the instant a wolf appeared.
"I learned that Red Oak Falls has been massacred by a large number of bandits. It was put to the torch, and the children are missing." Efrain tried to calm the hair rising at the back of his neck. "I'll be going to check it out." He crossed his arms and shifted his weight. "The village decided to send people along with me."
"Hm." Sam managed to look thoughtful despite his panting. "Didn't like that, did you? Well, why would they trust a near stranger to such an important task?"
"We've lived here a year." Efrain scowled, and tried to make his shoulders less tense.
"You've got to get over this fear of yours, Avel." Sam said. Efrain glared at him. "And people have better instincts than they know. They can tell what you are, even if they don't have a name for it. And because you refuse to get near people, they can only know what their instincts and suspicions say over a mere year of time that you've spent around this place."
"Don't call it fear." Efrain muttered.
"Then what would you call it? If you could learn to lie better, then maybe you wouldn't be so terrified of people finding out what you are." Sam was unconcerned.
"I could lie like a salesman and still I would look the same. The missing eye and scars are pretty distinctive." Efrain was failing in the battle to relax.
"Stop pouting." Sam said. "Sorry I brought it up, alright? Look, I'll go with you to Red Oak Falls. The kjell around here are nervous. They say the weather's not natural. They say it's possible an inder stronger than they are is keeping the rain and clouds away."
"You think it's related."
"The village was torched, right? Dry thatch burns easier." Sam scratched his neck with a hind leg. Efrain bent down and helped him out. "I'll speak to the inder at Red Oaks, if they're still around. Maybe."
"There's no time to get the weapons at the farm...as little as I want to use them." Efrain brushed off his pants as he straightened.
"You've got your regulars, right? I doubt you'll need the others. We probably won't run into anything besides humans if we're just scouting." Sam said. He shifted, his fur sliding back into his body until it was short. White bloomed in the black, and his head became narrower, with larger floppy ears. His tail became whip lean, and his legs longer. What remained was a very large spotted hound with black patches. "This shape will be better for your companions, I suppose." Efrain nodded his thanks.
"Try to keep your shifting to a minimum around them, though. They might notice."
"Ha. Don't tell an ancient dog how to do his tricks, human. I've been fooling people before you were even the merest speck in your great-great-grandaddy's eye."
"Now all I have to do is find a different horse. Buttercup probably can't keep up with the others."
Sam looked at Buttercup, then nodded.
"As sensible a horse as this one is, he won't do."
"That practically sounds as though you like him." Efrain said in mild surprise. Sam glared at him, though it was difficult to take it seriously with his floppy ears dangling.
"Keep it up, and I won't call another horse for you." Sam said, then scented the air. "There's a herd nearby. One of them is wearing iron, so it's domesticated. And it's male. It should be good enough." He lifted his muzzle to the air and let out a sound.
It wasn't a dog sound. In fact, it wasn't a sound any earthly creature could make. Buttercup actually trembled, and Efrain was hard put not to do the same even though he'd expected it.
A few short moments later there was a crashing through the underbrush. A chestnut stallion appeared, a white sock on his right foreleg. He rolled his eyes wildly, and flashed his hooves in the air, his tangled mane and tail whipping about. His coat was muddied and shaggy. It had obviously not seen a comb in some time. Sam said something in horse, and the stallion stood still, trembling, while Efrain examined him. The horse was younger, about six or seven years, and in a prime condition despite his ragged appearance. The horse examined Sam distrustfully, but nudged Efrain with his nose hopefully.
"I promised him an apple. Give him one when we get into town." Sam rolled his eyes. "Horses. They're so stupidly easy to bribe."
"That's a good thing, right?" Efrain said absent-mindedly. "He's shod, and they appear sound. There's no time for a re-shoeing in any case. And it's pretty clear he's been broken." He patted the horse's back. The stallion was more concerned with sidling around Buttercup, who was taking the opportunity to chew some grass, his manner blatantly unconcerned. "His lines are pretty good. I wonder why he was roaming around in a wild herd?" Sam stood.
"Who cares? Let's get going. You've still got supplies to get. I want jerked beef, or pork." He licked his chops. Little speckles of drool flew. Efrain shook his head and mounted Buttercup after putting a lead on the stallion. Soon they were all back on the road, and going into the village. It was simple enough to tie the horses next to the mercantile. Sam trotted up the wooden porch of the store and laid down next to the door. Efrain entered and blinked against the darkness.
Hiram, the store keeper, was there, speaking quietly and seriously with Tarrant. They stopped their discussion when Efrain came in and nodded to him. He nodded back and decided to leave them to their conversation. It probably involved him in some way. The dried foods were in barrels along the farther side of the store. Items hung suspended from hooks or string along the way. A likely looking satchel caught his eye, and he pulled it down. He had satchels at home, but it never hurt to purchase an extra. This one had sturdy stitch-work and was made of water-sealed leather. There were several pockets, some cleverly hidden. He took it with him to the barrels and began to fill it with the food he'd need. Several apples, for him and horse, went into the bag. Hard-tack biscuits, just for him, joined them. Jerked beef that he'd have to share with Sam, and a small jug of distilled liquor were added to the pile. He took it to the counter and left it next to the blacksmith's son's purchases. None of them included food, but then again, his mother probably sent him with bread and cheese. Efrain wondered if he could trade during the journey for some of that. The bread he made was always either flat or as hard as a rock and just as tasty. Good thing he was a farmer rather than a baker.
A canteen that matched the satchel joined the stacked items. So did a long length of rope, a grappling hook, a roll of bandages, and a set of tinder stones. He ignored the selection of cloaks, though he considered some gloves before deciding to get one pair. His other work gloves made of leather with re-enforced palms were wearing out anyway. Thinking of the arsenal he usually carried, he thought of what he was missing. It was mostly knives, a pouch he was never without, and a needle in the collar of his shirt. That should be all he needed, though he felt naked lacking at least one of the weapons he had stashed beneath his house.
Hiram tallied his purchases, glancing him curiously. Efrain self-consciously wondered what was wrong. He was in a rough linen shirt, suitable for a farmer, with a leather vest, and worn heavy-woven pants. His boots were of a good make, but the dirt and dust hid that fairly well. His clothes were baggy, to conceal the knives, of course, but it wasn't noteworthy. And he was still wearing that broad-rimmed sun-hat. Oh.
He took the hat off and left it on the counter.
"Could you keep that for me until I get back?" He asked. Hiram's eyes slid away from the eyepatch to the hat.
"Of course." He said, his voice too smooth. He was a fat, round balding man with extremely thick dark eyebrows above round black eyes. Hiram glanced at Tarrant's packs, plural, that held a change of clothes and a bedroll among many other things. Efrain was looking at the assortment of fishing rods above the door with a wistful expression. "Is this all you're taking with you?" The shop keeper asked. Efrain absentmindedly answered.
"Hm? Yes." He stopped imagining sitting by a riverbank with nothing to do and sleeping in the shade. "It'll be a short trip." His gaze was drawn out the door. The square was now filled with the people who had been in the tavern. The sun was almost completely set, casting shadows and orange light everywhere.
"What about weapons?" Tarrant asked. Efrain glanced at the lad's gear and noted the sword, the crossbow and bolts, and the pike leaning against the wall. They were serviceable, well-made weapons for three different ranges of combat. Not bad.
"I expect that you will all bring enough." Efrain replied. Hiram snorted, then turned away wrap the biscuits and jerky in wax paper. Tarrant flushed and frowned, obviously wondering if he was being made fun of, but not unduly upset. Efrain told himself to bite his tongue. He'd been to long with only Sam for company. Sam's sarcasm was apparently rubbing off.
"That your hound and horse?" The shop keeper asked, flicking a look at Sam, sprawled out on the wood of the porch, and the shaggy stallion shaking his tangled mane.
"The dog, yes." Efrain said. "The horse I found today on the way into town. He was roaming wild in the woods, despite the fact that he's been broken. I kept him picketed out in a field, but Buttercup isn't up for a journey like the one I'm taking. So I'll borrow him and return him to the woods later."
"Not the owner?" Hiram held up a tally sheet. "That's a silver and thirty-four coppers for the lot." Efrain nodded, knowing it was the satchel and the grappling hook that were the bulk of that price. He fished out two silvers from inside his vest. The shop keeper blinked, obviously wondering what a farmer was doing carrying around silvers. He had probably expected Efrain to start a tab. "Sixteen coppers back then." He muttered, and counted them out.
"There might be trouble." Tarrant said, nodding toward the door. The mayor was striding angrily toward the stallion. "Thought I recognized the horse. Usually he's flashier, when I'd seen him." The blacksmith's son turned to Hiram and said, "Firefoot." They both chuckled. Efrain watched as the mayor stomped up to the horse and began to examine him all over. His inspection was punctuated by curses that Efrain could clearly hear, and laughter from the people around him.
"Firefoot?" He kept his tone to mild interest.
Tarrant hefted his bags, grabbing the pike next to the door. "Settle with Father, will you, Hiram? Firefoot's the stallion. A few years ago Mayor Patek decided to start a breeding farm. He needed studs, so he shelled out for a pair of stallions. Only he bought them on the word of a friend of his in Waterford. One of the stallions couldn't drop foals, it turned out, and the other, Firefoot, could escape from anywhere. He's made enclosures and pens trying to keep that bit locked up. Last pen he made was 9 feet tall with iron bolts. So the last time Firefoot escaped, the mayor swore he'd been stolen. But we all knew that Firefoot had just gone after those wild mares again."
"I see." Efrain did see. He wondered if Sam could have found him a horse with a less problematic past. He glared at the dog, who ignored him completely. Tarrant exited the shop, going to greet the blacksmith, his father, who led a saddled black horse who towered over the stallion Firefoot. They chatted, and began to load his purchases on his mount while the mayor began to grow a little shriller in his exclamations. Efrain sighed, thanked Hiram and hoisted his new gear over his shoulder. Sam thumped his tail as Efrain passed, lolling his tongue in silent laughter.
"This isn't funny." Efrain told him. Sam wagged his tail harder. Efrain approached the mayor and the horses hitched to the post. Buttercup was placidly ripping grass from a clump growing close to the post. Firefoot was dancing on the end of his lead, disliking being close to the shrill and voluble man.
As soon as the mayor spotted Efrain, he zeroed in on a new target. "Where did you get this horse?!" He demanded to know. His scowl deepened at Efrain's obvious calm and the gathering audience. Efrain ignored the accusation implicit in the rotund man's tone and began to remove Buttercup's tack. It needed to be wiped off, and Buttercup's hair had matted with sweat.
"I found him in the woods on my way into town. Does anyone have a curry comb?"
"I'll fetch one!" A young stable lad about twelve years old said and darted across the square to the tavern.
"You FOUND him? YOU found him." The repetition grated on Efrain's nerves. This was why he didn't like people. This whole situation irritated him. All he had wanted to do was see what the hell was going on in this place and at Red Oak Falls, and now he was the main source of entertainment and saddled with nuisances.
"Why do you ask?" His tone was a little too even. It went unnoticed.
The mayor spluttered. "Because that's preposterous! I've been searching for that stallion for weeks now! He's my prize stud! He wouldn't be caught that easily!"
"Perhaps not. But he's obviously been living rough in the wild. I found him, which was fortunate, since I need a faster horse to travel with."
"Too fortunate! How do I know you weren't keeping him somewhere out in the forest? If you hadn't been hiding him, my trackers would have found him for me!" The mayor's face was going redder by the moment. Efrain had to keep a grip on his own temper.
"I'm sure you didn't mean to accuse me of horse thieving." Efrain said in a mild voice, but his eye was cold. The crowd shifted uneasily. The mayor's gaze slid away from Efrain's face, trying too obviously not to dwell on the scars and eyepatch. Efrain could see the moment the mayor began to recall how little he knew of this stranger to town.
"Well..." the man went from red to pale, "This is my horse. I demand you return him to me."
"I shall." Efrain seemed agreeable. "After I borrow him for a few days." He went to Firefoot's head. The horse tossed a bit, then looked eagerly at the apple in the farmer's hand. The stallion stretched his neck and snatched it with every sign of enjoyment.
"Borrow?! Borrow!" The mayor squeaked, outraged.
"Buttercup's a good horse, but he's not the swiftest." Efrain spoke as he might to a small child having difficulty understanding. The mayor stiffened, affronted, but before he could vent his anger, someone called out,
"Leave off, Patek." The weaver approached, a no-nonsense woman with a hunched back from sitting at her loom and hands made of gnarled iron. She was many years older than the mayor, and spoke with the authority of familiarity. "It's your own fault you lost the blasted nag. Everyone in town knows how often he's escaped you. By his own rights, and the laws of this land, Farmer Efrain here could keep the wretched beast and no one but you would argue." The crowd laughed, the tension eased.
Mayor Patek flushed. Efrain kept his face carefully blank. The stable lad came back with a full complement of brushes and combs in a bucket.
"Thank you, lad." The boy nodded, and took out a comb for Firefoot, leaving Efrain to brush out Buttercup. The plow-horse stood contentedly nipping at the remains of the grass, his eyelids at half mast. The task of grooming him was swiftly finished, so Efrain joined the stable lad in removing the rough patches, mud, and twigs from the chestnut's coat, mane, and tail. It was also a good thorough once over to see that there was no damage to the mayor's prized stud. When Efrain tried to give the comb back to the boy, he shook his head.
"You might need it later." The lad mumbled, his ears red.
"Thank you." Efrain said with scrupulous courtesy. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness." He ignored the sparkling gaze of hero worship the lad cast at him as he stowed the comb away in his gear. Of course, the lad thought that Efrain had captured a wild stallion bare-handed... well, he had, but it was really Sam... and he had scars and was going on a dangerous mission... Efrain could hardly tell the youth that all his imaginings were so much horse crap. There was time enough later for his naivete to be removed through experience.
The other three members of the party approached on steeds that seemed fast enough. The brothers had a pair of long-legged rangers, which were probably related as well. Miles rode a sturdy gelding built for endurance, broad of chest and large of head. It was clearly from the band of wild horses that the stallion had run with. It had markings of chestnut patches on a white coat. It was truly an interesting beast, though Efrain knew little enough about horses since Sam didn't care for them at all. Tarrant's horse, and the apple of his eye if the way he spoke sweetly to it was any indication, was a beautiful even shade of shining black. There was a white blaze on it's face, which had large intelligent eyes and a broad nose. It was a mare, and far larger than any of the other horses. There was probably destrier or dray horse in it's stock, and there needed to be, if it was to carry the outsized blacksmith's son. The lad was enormous. A smaller horse and Tarrant's legs would drag on the ground. Firefoot seemed to be showing off a bit for the mare. The stallion was nothing if not ambitious, Efrain supposed, though he hoped the stallion would behave himself for the duration of the trip.
"Are you ready?" Miles asked as he came up. Efrain nodded and studied Miles' horse. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short, and his mustache was long. He had dressed in leather armor and had two short swords strapped to his saddle. There was also a bow and quiver on his packs. Jarvis and Larkin had a crossbow each, respectable skinning knives strapped to their waists, and one carried a stout staff, the other an axe. It was clearly made for chopping wood, but the dark stains on the handle meant it had probably seen some use in the brothers' profession. Not that Efrain minded, despite the considerable stash of weaponry he had hidden away. He was a great proficient in extemporization. When conventional steel and the more exotic weaponry failed, whatever came to hand was good enough, as long as death was warded off once more.
Still, he saw the glances that the newcomers gave his sparse gear, and he saw Tarrant try to control a strange smile at the war-like bristling of their own packs. Indeed, in comparison he looked very poorly prepared with no bedroll, and no sign of armament. The very picture of a rube farmer with the least knowledge of violence. Except for his missing eye and scars, of course. Though appearances weren't conclusive. It wasn't unusual for a victim of violence to abhor it to the point of swinging to the other extreme.
That wasn't true in Efrain's case.
Jarvis and Larkin were difficult to tell apart. Their hair was the same shade of brown streaked with sun blonde. Their builds were similar and dressed in light cotton under leather vests, with Larkin only being slightly taller than his brother. They both sported facial hair in the form of a moustache and goatee, but Jarvis's beard was darker. Still, Efrain found it difficult to tell them apart. Not that he particularly cared if he did. But they might take offense. Possibly.
At the moment, they were exclaiming over Firefoot, and joking with the other villagers, complete with slaps on the back and well wishes. Tarrant was receiving advice from his father and mother, if the resigned nods were indicating. Miles was boasting loudly in a circle of older men, and they were nodding and exchanging glances with each other. The younger bucks who weren't leaving were practically green with envy. The stable lad was one of them, his young face alight with a peculiar mixture. Efrain caught his eye and gestured him close.
"Can you house Buttercup for me until I get back? Then I'll pay you for the keeping. If I don't come back in a week, you may sell him." He slipped the lad a couple of coppers. The lad clutched them close to his chest and bobbed up and down. He walked over to Buttercup, who was now only adorned in a hackamore and led the dappled gray plow horse away. Efrain watched him go and sighed. He really did like that horse. Firefoot wouldn't be nearly as easy-going.
"Only one week?" Miles swaggered over as Efrain gave his new mount the final once over. "Is it wise to have so little time before they sell him?"
Efrain's hair was sticking to the back of his neck with sweat. Efficiently, he removed his tie then retied his hair into a club. It was time to cut it, he knew, but Sam was ridiculously bad at such a simple task, and it was only marginally better when he did it to himself. And he didn't trust anyone else with a blade so close to his head.
"You think we won't be back by then?" Efrain asked mildly. Miles scowled. Efrain ignored his pettish expression and gave a short, sharp whistle. Sam yawned and stretched, then shook the fine layer of dust from his black and white coat and trotted over, wagging his long whip-like tail. Efrain kept himself from rolling his eyes at Sam's showmanship. He simply couldn't be stealthy when there was a chance to be loud and dramatic. It was in his nature. Even his "faithful hound" form was showy.
Standing, he was large, wolf-hound size and lean, though his ears were long and floppy and his markings were the black speckles of a hunting hound. The villagers, not noticing his recumbent form on the porch, were now paying a great deal of wary attention. Miles' scowl deepened.
"That your dog?" He said.
"Yes." Efrain mounted Firefoot.
"You're bringing him along?" The older man's tone was annoyed. Efrain gave his swords a very obvious look, then turned to Sam, who grinned up at him and beat the dirt with his tail.
"Yup." Efrain said, the very picture of nonchalance. The Hunters eyed Sam with greedy eyes.
"His lines are really good. I've never seen his like in these parts. Have you had him long?" Larkin asked.
"Long enough." He didn't want to encourage further conversation on that topic, but some people were bad at getting hints.
"Would you consider breeding him with our hunting hounds?" Larkin continued. "His features are perfect for hunting, especially with bigger game. Hey, Jarvis, wouldn't he make a great deerhound?"
Jarvis grunted. "We'd have to feed a dog that size twice as much, though."
"But it would be worth it! If we had an entire pack, elk hunting would be a breeze! And those pelts are well worth it! And wolf hunting would be a snap... not to mention boar..." Larkin cocked his head. "Do you have him breeding with other hounds?"
"No." The reply was terse for a reason. Sam must have heard the tremulo of laughter beneath the word, for he curled his lip at his partner, revealing a long white fang. Efrain shrugged one shoulder slightly in helplessness. Sam turned away in disgust, standing straight in offended dignity. Efrain turned his horse to see Tarrant watching him with a carefully neutral expression. He wondered how much the lad saw of that exchange.
Meanwhile, the brothers were bickering about trying to breed larger dogs. Miles broke into the quarrel with impatience.
"Enough! We should head out. It's near dark." He shook a few last hands, then mounted with flair. Jarvis, Larkin and Tarrant followed suit. They waved and yelled farewells until they were west out of the village, and on the main road heading towards the mountain pass. Efrain let the others all pass him by, and brought up the rear. Miles took the lead, and made much of being overly serious in scolding the brothers, who were still arguing. Tarrant was quiet, but Efrain caught the lad sneaking him a few glances as they rode. He tried not to seem as though he noticed. Instead, he peered around at the underbrush next to the road.
After a few ells, Miles halted the group with an imperious hand. It would have worked better if anyone was paying attention. They weren't, so they trickled to a halt alongside or passing by Miles. He cleared his throat.
"Here's the trail that we'll follow to Red Oak Falls. It goes straight to Moon Gorge, and that leads out just a few ells from Red Oaks. Just be careful where your mount steps. The ground shifts a lot in this area." He urged his horse forward, making sure to take the lead again. Sam whuffled his amusement from the ground. Firefoot sidestepped nervously toward's Tarrant's mare. The mare gave the restive stallion an eye, but otherwise remained placid. Efrain settled Firefoot while Tarrant watched.
"You don't ride much, do you." The blacksmith's son stated.
"Nope." Efrain patted Firefoot's neck. The stallion snorted, but stopped dancing.
"Will he be too much for you?" Tarrant said, discomfort in his voice. It was obvious he'd wanted to be delicate, but didn't know how to soothe an older man's pride.
"Probably." The lad's expression was relieved when Efrain didn't take offense. "I'm no good with horses to start with, so the ones that I have ridden have been like Buttercup. You know. Comatose."
Tarrant strangled on a guffaw. It took him by surprise. He coughed a bit to recover. After a brief period of awkward silence, he said,
"Stella's like that." He patted his mare's neck. "Calm, I mean. She's got a bit of war horse in her, on her father's side, and a bit of ranger, but her mother was a dray horse and she takes after her ma."
"Hm." Efrain looked over the mare in the little light the night provided. "She seems like a very good horse. Too sturdy for the Freys, but nobles like to ride horses whose ankles snap like twigs. A ranger or palfrey would probably break in two if you rode it." Efrain could practically feel the young man's flush.
"Ehem. My da's a big man, and I'm in the family business."
"I saw. Blacksmith, right? Those weapons some of your work?" He asked casually. Tarrant shook his head.
"My da made the pike, but the sword and the crossbow are from Waterford. I mostly work on nails and hoes and shovels and ploughshares." Tarrant tried to erase the dissatisfaction from his voice, but couldn't quite manage. Efrain smiled a little. Typical kid.
"So do you want to make weapons?" He asked. Tarrant shrugged a little too obviously.
"It would break up the boredom of making farm equipment." They rode on in silence for a little bit. Efrain found himself biting his tongue, and opening his mouth several times. It wasn't his place to school the lad. He'd never given advice before, well, to anyone except Sam. Maybe Tarrant wouldn't want to hear it. But after he stifled his words a fifth time, he decided he might as well.
"What do you think is the most important thing for a weapon-smith to do?" He asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer. Tarrant blinked in the moonlight.
"I don't know. I've never thought of it before." He rode a little further, guiding is mare around a small depression in the dirt. "Well, the more expensive ones have a lot of fancy work and detailing. Then again, I've heard of swords-masters who fold the steel to give it strength. So I guess beauty and strength."
"That's not a bad answer." Efrain said. "But you'd be wrong."
"How is it wrong?" Tarrant asked with a little indignation. "I've been to the weapon-smith in Waterford, and his best pieces have hilts chased in gold and silver with patterns and sculptures and stuff."
"Really?" Efrain said. "Are those really his best pieces, or are they simply the most expensive? Myself, I don't think I'd want a sculptured hilt on a sword I used to fight with. It would be uncomfortable, and probably cost me my life."
"Oh." Tarrant fell into thought. Then he said, "What do you think a weapon-smith needs the most?" Efrain grinned.
"Dependability." Tarrant turned in his saddle to look at him. "For instance, if I'm in the field and my plow breaks, it's inconvenient, but it's not going to kill me. But if I'm fighting and my sword breaks, then there's serious doubt as to my survival. Most people think of swords as something that kills. But it also defends the wielder's life." Efrain nodded at the three riding ahead. "Look at Miles. He's got two short swords. Both of them with pretty handles. If the steel's just as pretty, then it will probably fail him at exactly the wrong moment. The only thing he's got right is that he has two, so when one breaks he can use the other."
"Um..." Tarrant's eyes were large. "Should you be saying that so loudly?"
"It wouldn't hurt him to hear it. Now the hunters, their knives are almost as long as a sword, and probably stronger. The knives are made for serious business, and it reflects in the workmanship." Efrain gestured ahead. "I'd trust those knives over Miles' fancy swords."
"Really?" Tarrant looked at his sword. "I thought mine was a little plain."
"The hilt, yes. But what is the blade like? Is it flawed? Is it whole? Are there nicks in it, or has it been sharpened well? Is it strong or is it brittle?"
"My da sharpened it recently. He said it was solid... since it used to be Geordie's."
"Then you can bet that the sword was made to be functional, not to be attractive. Since Geordie was a mercenary, he needed something that would keep him alive long enough to collect his pay." Efrain thought about a few of the battles he'd been in. "Some of the best swords I've ever seen, by the masters or no, were in mercenary hands."
"Oh." They rode on in silence. Ahead of them, the three friends were bickering in a way that indicated long acquaintance. Efrain continued to turn his attention to the area around them, though Sam would alert them if anything was wrong. He wondered how Sam was taking this conversation he was having with the youth.
"It's a lot of responsibility, isn't it." Tarrant said suddenly.
"Yes." Efrain understood what the lad was trying to say. Having the life of a man depend entirely on whether or not you've done good work was most certainly a great deal of responsibility. The weapon-smith who didn't worry about the quality of his creations on the battlefield could be seen as little more than a murderer.
With those thoughts in mind, they didn't speak again until a few hours from dawn.
The group traveled along a trail that seemed broader and wider than something game could create. It showed evidence of wagons using it, from the space as it cut through the trees to the flat stones placed in the dirt at regular intervals. One of the brothers noticed the same, and asked Miles,
"Isn't this a road, rather than a trail?"
"It used to be." Miles said. "My granda was a smuggler some fifty years back. The Frey decided to levy a tax on the main roads, so a group of merchants decided to make a road of their own, straight through the Crescent Moon Gorge. The worst part of it they had was clearing boulders from that route, and the trees in these parts are pretty far spaced. But they avoided taxes on the roads and at the borders, until about twenty years ago when the tollways were replaced with outrider stations."
They passed along the beaten road swiftly, with light from the nearly full moon to guide them. It was only a couple of hours before the mountains and cliff that lead to the Gorge rose before them. There was a clear break in the cliff that showed the entrance to the Gorge. Efrain saw how a few huge boulders had tumbled down, and hoped they would not fall victim to that end. No wonder not many people knew about the smuggler's road, if it was so dangerous.
When they finally reached the very entrance, Miles paused.
"It hasn't rained lately, so we should be safe from rock slides. Still, keep quiet, lest some noise from us shakes some boulders loose." Everyone nodded. From then on for the next few hours, no other noise besides the horses' passage could be heard. Inside the gorge it was black as pitch. Miles pulled two oil lamps from his baggage and lit them, handing one to Efrain at the rear. Even with the lamps casting a small circle of light to guide the horses' hooves, it was slow and meticulous going.
The Crescent Moon Gorge was shaped just as it was named. There were only two points that were entrances, and they were narrower than the main portion of the gorge. It cut through the main plateau that comprised the mountain ridge between Lindford and the border where Red Oak Falls sat. The falls the village was named after came down from a small lake that collected on top of the plateau, and became a small tributary of the river that ran the course around the edge of the mountains all the way down to Waterford. The main highway followed the river to some extent, even though it was several ells longer than cutting through the plateau. That was why only the local people even knew of the Moon Gorge's existence.
The deeper the party went into the gorge, the higher and farther apart the walls grew. As the moon reached it's zenith, they made it into the widest portion of the gorge. A small waterfall, probably an offshoot stream from the lake on the plateau, fell into a pool which led to another stream. Greenery, trees and brush grew in this oasis isolated in the rock. The group stopped their mounts and allowed them to rest for a few moments. The horses and humans both drank a little. In the brief pause, Miles drew the others into a strategy session. Efrain nodded and grunted whenever necessary, but managed to separate himself by saying he needed to go take a leak. Sam, who was sitting at his heels, followed.
"Can you smell anything?" Efrain asked quietly. Sam cocked his head.
"Just a tinge of smoke. No living humans. But we're still ells away from the village." He wagged his tail. "I always enjoy being a hound. If only their image as a loyal and faithful dog wasn't so...distasteful." Efrain stretched his arms above his head.
"So the raiders took a route which probably follows the main roads. That's good... for us." He winced as something in his back popped.
"This place almost draws the air like a chimney. I would smell if there was an ambush waiting in either side of the gorge, though I can't guarantee they aren't above us."
"Hm. I thought of that, but the escarpment up the plateau is almost impossible to climb, much less ride horses up. Since we're watching out for falling rock anyway..."
"Yes, De Avel." Sam's tone was ironic. Efrain scowled. De was the form of address the traveling Gitano people used to designate a teacher.
"Not funny." He sounded more like a growling dog than his partner, who was actually in dog form.
"Come now. I thought your conversation with the young pup was hilarious. Imagine, the Destroyer of Faith, the Assassin of Hope, the Immortal Death giving a lecture on the nature of smithing. I'm sure if any of your old acquaintances heard, they'd find it amusing as well." The hound had a wicked glint in his liquid gold eyes. Efrain's temper frayed.
"Leave it alone, already." He stomped back towards the others. Sam followed along, practically prancing. Efrain had always known the shape-shifter's nature was perverse. It was only a measure of how much he liked someone when he teased them constantly. Sometimes Efrain wished that Sam would like him less. Of course, most of the time he was pretty indifferent, so it made Sam even happier when his teasing succeeded in destroying Efrain's calm. Like now. In revenge, Efrain stooped and picked up a small branch. He waved it a few times in front of Sam's nose, then threw it a great distance away. Caught by the instinct of his form, Sam shot after the branch.
The others looked up when he rejoined them, then went back to the map that Miles was drawing in the dirt.
"This is, or was, the general layout of Red Oak Falls the last time I was there." Miles said, his tone filled with grave importance. Efrain leaned over the kneeling brothers and looked a little dubiously at the squares and wriggling lines. If one squinted, they could possibly seem like structures and streets. "The town center was here, and there were stores here and here, with house spread about like so..." If the town truly was built that way, there had a been a lack of organization on the builder's part, Efrain thought. The village had been completely defenseless. No wonder it had been over-run so quickly.
As Miles droned on, soliciting little remarks and assents from the others, Efrain stood straight and tuned the conversation out. There was little point in going extensively over the structure of the village. According to the gossip, most of it had burned anyway, the structures too badly damaged to provide cover. If the raiders had left behind spies, then they would have probably stopped the messenger from going onwards to Waterford and the Frey's garrison. They would have also killed off any remaining witnesses, but the gossip said that at least two men were alive. Further, if the spies were still at Red Oak Falls, then they'd probably spot this parcel of amateur warriors far before they could hide and scout out the village. But there was no reason, in Efrain's mind, why the raiders WOULD leave behind a man or two. Red Oak Falls, despite the swiftness and savagery with which it was destroyed, seemed of little importance to the raiders. Otherwise there would have been looting, rapine, slave-takers.
Efrain wondered if it was wrong to hope that he would come across evidence of greed and lust. If he did, then they would be a regular bandit tribe. If he didn't, then the raiders had different motives rather than riches.
A motive like faith.
If Efrain was a praying man, he might have asked the kjell to erase that thought from his mind. No need borrowing religious trouble. But Efrain didn't pray, and there was no kjell in the area with the abilities to remove Efrain's thoughts. So he was stuck with the feeling of dread, the nagging worry that had accompanied him since he'd first talked with Geordie in the tavern.
Sam had come back from chasing the stick, and was laying down gnawing on it. When Miles showed no signs of stopping his pontification, Sam ruined the crude map by dropping the slobber-covered stick dead in the center of the drawn village. At this, Miles insisted that everyone mount up again and head out further into the Gorge. It was four harrowing hours, traveling through rock walls that gradually curved and narrowed. When only one horse could walk abreast, and the rocks above them leaned on each other for support, Miles finally led everyone out of the pitch-dark Gorge and into the soft gray light of the false dawn. Sunrise was only an hour or less away. The sun would rise early in the day, and no doubt the fellow travelers would use this time to rest.
"We'll camp here, just outside the Gorge." Miles proclaimed. Nobody disputed. Within minutes, the horses were stripped of gear and staked next to a generous meadow of grass. Bedrolls were unfurled, and packs were made into pillows. Weary from over nine hours of travel, the others fell asleep quickly. Efrain moved apart from them a small ways, and set himself to stand guard.
Nothing had shown their inexperience with violence and war more than the swift peace with which they'd gone to sleep. They hadn't even thought it was necessary to post a person to watch. Efrain knew better. Until you knew where the enemy was, you did not rest before it's eyes. That was a surefire way to die ignobly. Efrain leaned back against the rock, with Sam crowding up against him. He spoke just under his breath, knowing Sam would hear what he said with his large floppy ears.
"The air feels different here." He said.
"Hm." Sam grunted.
"The Breath isn't stirring at all, which means there are no survivors to believe." Efrain sighed, trying not to think of the wasted lives.
"Hm." Sam said again, whuffling a little. "That's not right. The kjell here shouldn't be gone yet. If it was just their believers deaths, their presence should linger, like a fog or miasma. But there is no such lingering."
"Were they killed, then?" Efrain asked. "If so, then..."
"No." Sam said. "The violent death of a kjell, even without it's believers, always stirs the Breath. It would be whipping about right now, and we'd feel it."
"It's too calm. It's been too calm for a while." That was very wrong. There wasn't much that could oppress or silence the Breath. They looked at each other with resignation. "So it's big, then." Efrain rubbed the temple next to his missing eye. It was beginning to ache.
"I better go on ahead." Sam said. "I need to find traces of the kjell. From here, there's nothing, and there should be. It's almost like their presence has been ripped out, without leaving any belief behind for the Breath to feast on." His thin whipcord body shivered. Efrain restrained himself from petting his partner. He wasn't really a dog, after all.
"Be careful, then." He took out a thin leather strap, and tied it around Sam's neck. He left a dangling end that Sam could use to jerk the leather from around his neck. Where it dropped, Efrain would be able to track. They'd used such methods before when stealth was required, and Sam didn't have time to backtrack.
"Don't be fussy, Avel." Sam said. "I'll be back before dawn." Efrain grunted.
"You have a bad habit of arrogance." He muttered. Someone stirred on their bedroll. "I guess you'd better get to it, before one of them wakes."
"They're rather trusting." Sam looked at the sleeping men, a gleam in his eye.
"It's not like they've had to be any other way." Efrain said quietly. The brief flash of sympathy on Sam's face was so swift it could not have even existed.
"No regrets, Avel." His tone was, for a moment, stern and reminiscent. Efrain froze, then bowed his head formally.
"None." He smiled, and if it was a little grim, then Sam could forgive it. Even had their paths not crossed so many years ago, Avel would never have been able to truly become an Efrain, a small village farmer with a normal, sedentary life. If the presence of these men, in all their simplicity, recalled Avel's lost innocence and pain, then Avel would have to deal with it. His path, for all their sweet detour this past year, was implacable. And Sam could not soften that truth, since he was largely responsible for it. But that life carved Avel's features into harsh lines.
Sam nudged Avel's leg, and the man's face rearranged. He became Efrain again, the man who was at peace with himself, who grew roots and crops. He would never admit it out loud, but Sam preferred that look to the other. But instead of saying it, he shook out his coat.
"Well, lad, I'm off to search for the vanished kjell." He trotted out of the rift and into the darkened woods.
Efrain tried to relax against his stone support. He ignored the prickling in the depths of his gut, the unease crawling in his mind. Sam would be okay. He'd always been okay. Now if only he could believe it, Efrain thought, then set himself to wait for the sun.
Three hours later, the sun arrived.
Sam did not.