Tales of Downfall and Rebirth (11 page)

Call her black witch?
Colin wasn't sure which noun offended him more and opened his mouth to protest and shut it. Aisha was in a trance and Colin had seen Belle at Selmac Lake go into a trance and prophesy truly; he went very still and shuddered a bit.

I didn't know Aisha tranced.

Rory held Aisha's shoulders gently and pressed; the black woman collapsed to her knees, folding gracefully, arms wrapped around her forehead resting on her thighs. She rocked slowly and Colin heard her words, whispered to the floor.

“They argue; they argue. Their leader is gone. They are splintering, splintering, splintering . . .” Aisha reared up, her eyes wide and blank. “They will destroy my new home, before it is even offered to me . . .”

She fell over and Rory scooped her up.

Colin made a move and then held back. Rory nodded at him.

“Not too useful, the now. But she did that for Susan months ago. And what she said was true. I'll put her to bed with Tracey and Danetta. And you're damn well leaving at dawn! The both of you; clearly they'll attack! Even if they break into splinter groups, splinters kin be deadly.”

Colin paced around the refectory for a few minutes more. Aisha's words itched at him, and the missing shepherd and his sheep. Finally he found the outer door and walked into the silent night. Silver moonlight poured down, the small bright disk high in the night sky. There were meadows across the river and both up and down the river where the animals might have wandered, Colin turned and turned.

It was late; he was tired and if there were men hiding in the trees around the commons and by the other cots across the river and up and down the trail, he couldn't see them and finding them would be impossible. A huge yawn cracked his head open, straining his jaw joints. Llama-Dama and Dali-Llama were at pasture at the edge of the trees. He curled up against Llama-Dama and fell asleep. Even for the son of Hamish McClintock, it had been a long day. His last thought was to wonder if Robin had made it back to Stronghold and Hamish was mustering the rescue.

*   *   *

The night was bright with moonlight, but the corridors of the outer keep, inky black. Late as it was, no light gleamed out of the narrow windows above. Sean felt a faint movement of air on his cheek. He moved his hand abruptly and the hulking shadow paused.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Bloody if I know! Why the hell didn't you just kill her on the trail?”

“Couldn't get close enough to her, damn it!”

“Things going bollocks-up real fast. Is it worth it to stay?”

“You can't; that boy—Derek—he's dead as a doornail. You just had to kill! We needed you in the muster—and now you'll be hanged at dawn before ever himself leaves with his kilted clowns. I must stay, or give up the whole plan. And I won't! Stronghold is mine!”

The angry swearing of the man hidden in the shadows grew in volume. “Can it, Malc—Quiet! You don't want anybody finding you. I'll try to distract the guard and you sneak out. Get over toward Mickleson's as fast as possible; moon's up. The boys'll be camped out 'bout a league short, where the trail cuts narrow over the Illinois River. I don't know who's in charge. Rick bought it at RoeDell and Andy sent for Dubya and his guys and Warren and his'n were scouting south of the Illinois River.”

One soft, heartfelt curse answered him.

Sean walked out into the practice ground, through the forest of pells and targets and on over to the great gate and lounged against the postern, fumbling behind his back.

“What's up, Teach?” asked the on-duty McClintock.

“Nothing much, Sam, nothing much. Been looking for young Robin MacRoe. I was out most of the day, but there's a note on my desk saying she wants to talk with me.”

“Haven't seen her since she left with the boy midmorning.”

The deadbolt moved smoothly back; the postern door wanted to swing open. Sean stilled it and then walked forward, still talking, talking, talking—distracting the guard, listening for Malc's heavy tread and the sound of the postern door swinging open and shut.

He never saw the fist shoot out of the darkness—only felt the star-spangled pain as it slammed into his temple.

*   *   *

In the brisk chill of the predawn Colin came suddenly awake as Llama-Dama surged to her feet and gave the gargling, squeaky attack scream of her kind. Colin could see the mountain silhouettes to the east; the sky above pale with the approaching dawn. He screamed as hard as he could as the mountainside was suddenly alive with the disciplined movement of camouflaged men.

“Rory! Rory! Turn out the guard!” His voice cracked.

Curses; he could hear curses from the slopes and more from the cots around the commons. Dali-Llama butted him in the chest and he fell over onto the hay they'd been sleeping in. Even as he struggled up, Llama-Dama stepped backward and put one leg and all her weight on his breastbone.

Doors banged—torches flared—the Dell's adults poured out, armed and ready . . . Colin turned his head and caught a glimpse of the men coming into the Dell. He reached up, trying to shift the llama's foot off his chest. Something was off; if only he could see! Or move!

The clash of weapons, scurrilous yells, a few screams of fear or agony. Colin pounded on the llama's leg. Suddenly Llama-Dama moved forward and let him up. He grabbed her around the neck, hanging on and gasping in deep breaths. The commons were crowded with men and women, weapons waving, ropes being tied . . . Colin counted and then looked again. He'd gotten a fairly close look at the men who'd marched past him on the trail, yesterday.

These weren't them and they'd come from the west, not the east where he'd seen the smoke plumes last night.

Splintered . . . she said they were splintered,
he thought.
Only eight of them, and the camo is hunting camo, not the battle camo from yesterday.
He backed up, toward the trees, hoping Rory wouldn't see him and order him down. He was only a few trees in when he heard a chant, “Chop! Chop! Chop!” and on the heels of the chant the meaty whack of an ax landing.

Rory Mickleson wasn't one to waste any time on judging bandits.

Now does that help them or hurt them?
he wondered.
It's May; river might be deep enough to toss them in and expect it to take them to sea by Gold Beach. If they keep the bodies and the rest o' them come late today . . .

He bit his lip, scanning the steep hillside, wondering where he could hide for the day—or should he go back and remind Rory that the danger was to the east? It was all very well to say any decision was better than none, but this time . . . he worked his way east, slowly, hoping to get a better idea of what was waiting for the Dell.

Hours later he'd worked his way several miles east, without ever staying on the road for many steps. He bitterly regretted the lack of a proper breakfast. The jerky and hardtack and cheese in his pack had mostly been eaten the day before, and the leftovers hadn't made a dent in his aching hunger.

He finally found the perch he wanted. If there were more men coming in from the west, they were going to follow the road until they could spread out near the settlement. From here he could see the southwest road for nearly a mile; more than enough warning.

He glanced back toward Mickleson's and froze. Aisha was walking down the road, leading her llamas. He looked forward—saw movement, men marching, and felt
Rock! Hard place!
He waited, the hardest thing he could do, trying to come up with a strategy that would leave Aisha alive.

Me a hero would be a great bonus, but not necessary at all, at all.

The next twenty minutes felt like an hour. He couldn't stop Aisha without the Sherries seeing them. The most he could hope for was that she knew they were there and this was a deliberate strategy to smoke them out.

He looked and judged and looked and judged until he was sure he would be right above the meeting ground. He set about gathering pine mast and broken branches, building a little fire up against one of the trees that had burned halfway and died in the Change year.

He was some yards west of the meeting when it happened a little later. There were almost thirty men, double what he'd seen the previous day. They surrounded the slender black woman and her llamas, shouting and shoving. Aisha stood with a llama on either side and they bobbed their heads, punching two of the men in the chest. Colin grinned fiercely . . .
Go kill a couple for me, Llama-Dama!
he cheered silently.

Two men waved back the rest and walked up to her. Colin strained his ears. “Too bad for you, girlie! Wrong place wrong time, lots of wrong men. And we've a few hours to kill, anyway . . .”

“Andy, just 'cause Rick nivir attacked in the day, dun't mean we can't. We should just take this piece of ass with us and use it there. We're almost there.”

“Dubya, we still alive and a gang 'cause Rick knew his business.”

“He isn't alive anymore and it was one of these critters killed him . . .”

“Shut it!”

Colin gasped. It wasn't Sean; the hair was too long and redder than the teacher-accountant's, but the resemblance . . . From the distance he could see the shock hit Aisha, too. “We can go on nibbling at the edges, but we need to get into Stronghold if we mean to live much longer. Rick and Sean made the plan and we're following it.”

“Alasdair, you're a dummy. Sean's not here and Rick's dead and I want this piece of ass!”

The one called Dubya leered at Aisha. “You are black, but comely, O ye daughter of Jerusalem . . .”

Colin wasn't aware of thinking . . . of planning, of deciding as he set fire to the grass rope he'd laid to reach the pile of dry tinder; then he was swinging down the scree, recklessly letting the rope run through his hand, the palms of his climbing gloves heating up fast. He landed on the road behind the group of men and dropped the line, stripped off the gloves and ran, full tilt forward.

“Alasdair! Alasdair!” he yelled.

The men spun around, reforming in front of Aisha, swords, crossbows, clubs out and ready. He skidded to a halt, panting harshly.

“Where's Alasdair? Sean sent me!” He looked up and down the road and complained, “Any road, you aren't supposed to be here. It's not noon yet and you'n's supposed to wait till three to get into position! I been running and running, trying to find you!”

He made his voice petulant and whining. He grabbed a stone up from the ground and tossed it up. Caught it, tossed it, caught it, and waited, waited, waited for the baited hook to catch.

“Alasdair! Sean sent me!”

“How'd he know your name?”

That was the one called Andy, sullen, angry and suspicious. Then Dubya's voice said, “Sean said the brat was fighting his da a lot. He thought maybe he could get the kid to open the doors when the time was right. I heard him telling Rick and Al.”

“That's Alasdair to you! Let the boy through, maybe he is going to help us, and if he isn't, more pain to him.”

Colin gulped and grabbed another stone and lofted it up and began to juggle as he walked forward. Close up Alasdair didn't look that much like Sean, after all. He was older, a lot older, and a deep knotted scar cut across his left cheek. Colin snatched up two more stones, bending his juggling wheel from horizontal to vertical and back again.

“Sean said you were an idiot with those stones and joking around. Put 'em down.”

Colin snatched them out of the air, and carefully piled them up on Llama-Dama's pack and bowed extravagantly, left hand on his homespun linen shirt, right hand waving in a complicated pattern before coming to rest on the short-sword hilt by his side.

Then he laughed, happy, and a little cruelly. “You've got Aisha! Good for you! She is mine, you know.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” said Alasdair, his ice-blue eyes narrowing.

“That was my price.” Colin stepped around Llama-Dama, grabbed Aisha and kissed her soundly, holding on and grabbing her breast. Her first startled stillness gave way to angry shoves and a clout on the head.

He laughed again, meeting her eyes. “Give over. Me da dun want you and I do. You'll be my little slave girl and happy for it, too, if you want Dhugal to survive!”

He bent back fast away from the second blow and snapped up and hopped back, landing on Alasdair's boot with all his weight. “Sorry, sorry!” he gasped, leaping back and jostling Dali-Llama who promptly put his ears back, crouched and spat, spraying indiscriminately as usual. The Sherries yelped and scattered. Colin turned, looking completely aghast. And noted that Aisha had moved the rocks off Llama-Dama's back to the back fold of her kilt.

Alasdair grabbed him, yanking him around, and put a fine-bladed knife right under his eye. “What's this about Sean?” he asked. “He was supposed to go back to the hold and convince the McClintock to ask for help from the Rogue River Valley levees, not come out and attack right away.”

Colin looked at the knife, going cross-eyed trying to see nearer and his hands made an aborted movement to toss a stone up.

“Shut it!” ordered Alasdair. “No more jokes.”

Colin nodded and let a little whimper escape, leaving his eyes crossed as he looked up.

“Sean got back yesterday and got caught coming in. He had a bloody knife on him and he said it was a dog he'd killed up trail. M' da did'n believe him, but he had to go see to Derek . . . Robson done kilt the boy; he just took a few hours at dyin', and Sean went to let Malc go and the McClintock caught him and . . . kilt him, him and Malc both.”

Alasdair frowned. “So why you coming to me now? Just lay low and yer da'll nivir know you'd thought o' taking his place.”

Colin grabbed up a stone and tossed it in the air. Alasdair batted it out of his reach.

“Answer!”