Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

At Bayne’s shout, Gabrielle and her workers dove for cover while the six guardsmen and three Goshon answered the hail of arrow fire with a volley of their own.

They’d been traveling for two days down the center of the river and in the last few hours had fought off three attacks from the southern bank. One of the masons had taken an arrow through the arm and another had caught a graze across the cheek before the barge captain had pulled him to safety. Everyone had gotten much faster at reacting but, as Trey made his cautious way to Bayne’s side, he knew it wasn’t going to last. Sooner or later they were going to suffer a real casualty.

His brother shot him a swift glance before rising slightly to send a shaft of his own streaking towards the trees. The answering volley showed plainly that the enemy had not yet broken off the attack. “It’s a good thing they don’t have any boats of their own or we’d be in real trouble,” he declared.

“They likely do. They’re just softening us up first, seeing if they can take out a few of our combatants before they make their primary attack.”

“And thank you for that, my ray of sunshine. Do something, then. Dream us out of this.”

“I have.”

“What?” Bayne’s head snapped around. “When?”

“Last night, but you won’t like it, neither will Captain Danel. There’s going to be a fog. We can either use it to slip past them or . . .”

An enemy arrow cracked the stone block just above Bayne’s head and he turned an exasperated look in Trey’s direction as he ducked instinctively. “Or what?” he demanded.

“Or they’ll use it to mount an attack against us and, warned, we can set an ambush. Either way, we risk injuries and deaths.”

“If it’s either way, I’m all for an ambush myself.”

“As am I, but there’s a problem.”

“What?”

“The fog won’t be for two days.”

“Will they wait that long, do you think?”

Trey gave the southern bank a narrow-eyed glare. “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

That night, huddled beside the ponies tethered in the center of the barge, Trey struggled to sink down into sleep, but the unfamiliar movement of the deck beneath him and the faint sounds of guards maintaining a constant watch all around him kept jerking him back to wakefulness. With a growl of frustration, he pulled the blanket over his head. Everything he’d seen or dreamed and every decision he’d made since leaving the vale seemed to hinge on this one final night and it looked as if he were going to spend it fighting his own restless fears. In his mind’s eyes the blue coat seemed to shimmer with life, hovering just out of reach, its silver trim sparkling in the pale moonlight almost menacingly.

“You may have to dig that coat up and put it back on; make it a man’s coat instead of a boy’s coat and make it your own.”

“Yes, I know Bayne,” he said wearily. “I’m trying.” Using the soft, familiar scents of fleece and hide and ponies, he forced himself to relax. “We’ll face it together like a family just as you said. But what if I see your death, or Kellisin’s? There’s been too many good-byes already. I can’t face another one.” He closed his eyes. “I can’t.”

Two days later in the early hours of the morning, three small boats carrying half a dozen bandits in each pulled up alongside the first barge in the covering fog. They swarmed over the low sides only to be met by total, empty silence. Padding cautiously between the great stone blocks, their leader made to signal that the barge had been deserted when a frightful apparition, dressed in hides and furs, rose up to catch his arm. A piercing whistle filled the air and suddenly the deck was alive with people. The apparition struck the leader down and violence erupted across the barge.

When the fog finally burned off in the wake of the morning sun, the fight was nearly over. Taken completely by surprise, the remaining bandits either surrendered or fled back to their own boats only to be shot down by a hail of arrow fire from the Valdemar guardsmen. Their bodies, floating just above the surface, bobbed against the barge side, and Trey stared down at them for a long time before turning away.

On the deck, the captain was kneeling before the body of one of his younger guardsmen. The boy had taken a knife slash to the neck and had died instantly. He glanced up as Trey approached.

“Your kin are all unharmed?” he asked, his voice thick.

Trey nodded. “Kellisin has a nasty cut in the left shoulder, but Gabrielle’s bound it up. He should be fine.”

“That’s good.” The Valdemar man stared out at the water. “The barge captain tells me that we should make the village of Deedun by late tomorrow,” he said. “We can prepare Marik’s body there and send it home to his family by road.”

“He fought bravely,” Trey offered.

“Yes, that will comfort his father.” The other man sighed. “But not his wife.”

“No.”