The Betrayed Read online

  Even without the view, he had a reasonable idea where he was from both the maps he had studied and what Tienna had told him. He was along the strip of land running east and west between the Aënport trade road and the cliffs that bounded the southern edge of the Plains, about a third of the way from Citadel to the coast, several miles east of the Glögg Falls, one of the Southland’s great wonders. Though only a dozen miles wide in places, the space between the trade road and the bluffs was a wild wood in the midst of low rugged hills. Nobody lived there, and Citadel largely ignored the area.

  Thimeon turned and looked back at the falls from which he had emerged. There were signs of the course of an older waterfall higher up and further left. At some point the river had changed course. Or its course had been changed. Had the Plainsfolk done it to defend a way into their land? And who had been the first to discover that peculiar way down the cliff? There was no going back the way he had come. As Tienna had said, it was a safe route down but not up. Not without a rope, at least. So the companions he had left behind were now beyond the reach of his care. He could only entrust them to the All-Maker.

  Or, perhaps, the All-Maker had put them more in Thimeon’s care than ever before. If he could find something in Citadel, some knowledge of the Daegmon and where it came from, that knowledge might be what saved them. What saved all of Gondisle. It was a big if. And yet it seemed to him to provide a better hope than pursuing a creature they had not yet learned how to defeat. Or, rather, a creature they had seemingly defeated, only to discover it had risen back to life.

  And if he failed? And his former companions failed? He didn’t want to think about it. He turned his eyes away from the cliffs and looked back southward, imagining from the hints he caught of it the line of road that led to Citadel. According to Lluach, troops did not patrol the road much better than they did the woods. In any case, only Golach’s men were likely to recognize him or have any reason to waylay him, and Golach’s company was probably well on its way north or west into the Plains already.

  Pursuing his companions.

  Again his thoughts returned to them. To Elynna. To his nephew Theo. Especially to Tienna.

  Again, Thimeon sought to put his fears from his mind. He was soaked and beginning to chill. Given both the remoteness of the land and his reasoning about Golach, he deemed that a small fire would not pose a great risk.

  He descended the slope into a sheltered hollow by the stream and gathered wood. He had no tinder box, but was able to get a blaze going with a flint. He opened his pack and spread out his wet clothing and gear on branches to dry by the fire—everything except the clothes he was wearing. By then, his hunger had caught up with him. Of the food he had brought with him when he’d departed from the company, only two meals’ supply of dried meat and a small block of cheese remained. Hoping to save these for the morrow, when he would have another long day of travel and would not want to rest, he set out to gather what meal he could from the woods while his gear dried.

  There were several varieties of wild mushrooms growing in different places near the mist of the falls. Most of them he either thought poisonous or simply didn’t recognize well enough to trust, but he did find a large edible one the size of his hand on an oak tree near the pool. Fortunately, a few of the herbs he had learned about in the mountains also grew in the Southland. He found some wild mint by the streambed and a patch of leeks on the edge of a meadow. As he picked the leeks, a large rabbit stepped out of the trees thirty feet away and nibbled on some clover, unaware of or unbothered by his presence. He reached down slowly and picked up a palm-sized stone. Uttering a silent prayer, but with little hope of success—and wishing he had his bow instead—he hurled it.

  To his surprise, his throw proved true. The rabbit fell dead. Thanking both the animal and its maker, Thimeon cleaned it with his knife, stuffed it with leeks and mushroom, and cooked it over his fire on a makeshift spit. It was a messy task, and by the time he finished cooking and eating, the late autumn sun had long since set. He felt his blanket. It was still damp, but the fire had helped somewhat. And he knew also that the woolen fibers, even when wet, would help conserve his heat. He threw a few smaller branches on the fire, then placed on it the two large logs he had found to burn through the night. He then removed his wet clothes and laid them out by the fire. Nourished by the meal and tired from the climb down, he wrapped himself in his warm damp blanket and went to sleep beneath a tree.

  6

  OUTLAW

  Thimeon awoke the following morning as the first hint of light seeped over the hills to the east. Only a few visible coals remained in the half-burned logs, but the ground and rocks still radiated heat from the fire. He found that his clothes had dried well. He dressed, drank from the pool, and nibbled on the last of the leeks he had gathered the previous evening along with one small piece of dried meat. Then he climbed a short way back up the hill to take one more look over the land.

  Thimeon had put off as long as possible his decision of how he would travel once he reached the bottom, but now he was forced to choose. He could try to sneak all the way back to Citadel, which would entail traveling at dusk and dawn and keeping to the trees to avoid patrols. He would have to skirt around one or two farms and also cross a narrow stretch of open land to reach Ravenwood, the King’s Forest. Still, traveling alone and with great caution, he might make it unseen as far as the bridge across the Dagger River on the west side of Citadel at the southeastern corner of the forest. From there, he might even be able to swim the river back in the other direction and reenter through the tunnels. This was the plan Tienna had recommended. Both she and Thimeon had noticed, during their escape, that the cliffs on the west side of Citadel were not sheer at the bottom. Though even a good climber would be hard-pressed to make it all the way up to the base of the city wall without ropes, it would not be a great chore to scale the cliffs at least as far as the secret tunnel, the hidden location of which he’d had the foresight to memorize the evening they escaped.

  No matter how careful Thimeon was, however, that plan still held a risk of capture once he got close to Citadel, especially if the patrols were still thick. And he would have to make his ascent up the exposed cliffs in the dark. Of equal concern was that such a secretive journey, even if successful, would be slow.

  Another option, one a little more daring, would be to travel the trade road openly, hoping that soldiers from Citadel, if they were still searching in the south at all, would be looking for a band of twenty and not a lone traveler. In the Plainsfolk attire he now wore, he doubted that even Golach’s men would recognize him. And they were unlikely to be in the city now and would have no particular reason to expect him. He did not have to worry about the Daegmon sensing his presence as it did those of the gifted. And a traveler on the road might even find a ride with a merchant on route from Aënport to Citadel, saving a day of travel.

  Fearing for the inhabitants of Gondisle—and especially for his companions, if he could not soon find something in Citadel’s hidden treasure chambers to bring them aid—Thimeon chose the second option. By the middle of the third hour of the day, he had found his way south through the woods and wandered onto the western trade road—a long band of grass, and dirt marred with a mix of wagon ruts and hoof prints, but not so heavily traveled that there were no weeds. The road was wide enough that two wagons could pass in opposite directions if they were careful—if neither driver tried to claim the center. Trees, mostly old hardwoods, crowded in on both sides, draping their branches across the top to form a canopy over the road. But only a few brown and brittle leaves still clung to the branches, and plenty of cheery sunlight streamed down to brighten the way.

  Thimeon rested long enough for a drink of water and his last bite of old cheese before turning east and beginning his walk—a walk he hoped would end in a ride in a wagon and not a voyage by foot all the way to the capital city.

  He had been on the road an hour when he heard the
first sounds of life—the creaks and clopping hooves of a horse-drawn wagon. The hope of a ride to Citadel outweighed any fear of recognition, so he stayed on the road. Only a few seconds passed, however, before he realized the sound came from in front of him, someone traveling west, in the opposite direction he wanted to go. A minute later a small wagon drawn by a single horse slowly passed. A farm wagon, perhaps belonging to the farm he had seen to the south. He exchanged greetings with the driver and continued on. Another half hour passed and a second caravan of traders approached, also traveling west. Finally a merchant came east. He had two wagons with a driver for each and was accompanied by four armed men on horseback. Though the guards were suspicious, the driver of the lead wagon responded to Thimeon’s greeting with a friendly word. Unfortunately, he could not offer a ride as his wagons were already over full with cargo. “Most traveling this way in late autumn will be full,” he warned as his wagon rolled past. “Though, if you’re willing to part with a few coins, you might be lucky enough to find a ride before the day is out.”

  Thimeon frowned. Golach’s men had taken his money pouch many days ago. The only thing he had of value was the sword he’d found in Citadel. Sometime later he was still contemplating whether he could afford to exchange it for passage when he heard riders approaching from behind. He turned to see a small band of well-armed men moving swiftly along the road on horseback. Remembering Lluach’s warning about thieves and ruffians inhabiting that region, he gave them greeting as they passed but kept out of their way and said nothing of his destination. For the moment he was glad he didn’t have anything of value that might have attracted their attention. Even his sword was hidden, slung over his back behind his old and half-empty pack.

  They made a few rude comments about his garments as they passed but kept on their way. Thimeon stood atop a hill watching them ride down the road. About two-thirds of a mile ahead, the road wound out of sight. The riders followed the road and disappeared with it. Further away the road reappeared for a short distance as it climbed up the next hill. Thimeon kept his eyes fixed there for several minutes. The riders never showed up.

  Late morning had come. Guessing what the band might be up to, Thimeon formed a quick plan. Marking in his mind the spot where the riders had disappeared, he stopped to await the next traveler. Half an hour later two wagons made their way up the hill from the west. Two men of about thirty-five years of age sat in the front wagon, and two male youths who might have been in their middle or late teens took up the rear wagon. All were dark-haired and round-faced, like most Southlanders. The older men looked stern and serious but not unkind. They were well dressed and stout, and had short beards starting to gray. Almost certainly merchants of some sort, Thimeon thought. The two older men and one of the youths looked similar enough to be related, and they reminded Thimeon of somebody else, though he couldn’t quite place whom. He took his chance and hailed them.

  “Greetings.”

  In an instant one of the two men had drawn a bow and was pointing an arrow at Thimeon. Surprised, Thimeon stepped back and lifted his hands to show they were empty. “Hold,” said the wagon driver to the one holding the bow. “Put that weapon down. He is alone.”

  “Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t,” the other replied. “Either way, I don’t like men hiding and jumping out at me.”

  “I share your sentiment,” Thimeon called out. “I wasn’t hiding. I was sitting upon this rock all the while as you approached.”

  “You sit very still, my friend,” the driver replied in a friendly voice. “And your cloak blends well with your surroundings. We didn’t see you until we were almost beside you.”

  “I can sit still when the need arises,” Thimeon answered. “At present I would rather be moving at a faster rate than I am.”

  “Listen to the accent,” the other said in a distrustful voice. He still held his bow. “He isn’t from around here.”

  “No,” Thimeon replied. The longer he looked at the driver, the more familiar he appeared, but still he couldn’t place why. And he was too preoccupied with the possibility of a ride to think more about it. The men seemed distrustful. How could he ease their fear? Show that he had nothing to hide perhaps? “I come from Aeti in the mountains.”

  “Highlander, eh?” the driver replied suspiciously. “You’re far from home.

  “I am. However, I have heard that the folk of Aënport are hospitable.”

  “They are indeed, but we are many miles from there and in wilder country. You might find that the few inhabitants of these hills are less inclined toward hospitality.”

  So there was a reason for the man’s distrust, Thimeon thought. If he could not ease their fears, he might make use of them. “So I guessed,” he said in as casual and friendly of a voice as he could muster, despite his anxiety over finding a faster way to Citadel. “A group of men disappeared into the woods down the road about as far as you can see. And I thought, ‘Those men look none too hospitable.’ So it is that I am still sitting on this rock beside the road.”

  At this, both men in the wagon raised their eyebrows and looked down the road with nervous expressions.

  Seeing his news elicit the desired reaction, Thimeon continued. “I see you are interested in what I have told you. These riders went past me less than an hour ago, traveled over the first ridge up ahead, and never appeared on the farther stretch of road. I would guess that they are not far into the woods on one side or another, and that their intentions are not friendly.”

  “How many were there?” the driver asked in a sharp voice.

  “Seven,” Thimeon answered.

  “You’re sure of that? No more?”

  Thimeon nodded. “No more. They rode right past me, and I got a good view of them. Though seven is enough to attack two wagons, I wager.”

  The driver with the familiar face shook his head. “A bigger band than I expected. It never used to be like that.”

  “And we are only four,” the man with the bow commented.

  Thimeon lowered his voice. “Five, if you take me with you.”

  The two young men from the back wagon hopped down and approached. “We should have hired the armed escort,” one of them said as he approached. “Or a few more of my friends. Several of them would have come to Citadel for free.”

  The driver stifled a laugh. “The armed escort, maybe. But that would be like advertising that we are worth robbing. And if eight of us came on this trip, maybe the robbers would have numbered ten or twelve.” He thought for a moment and then turned back toward Thimeon. “Do you have a sword?”

  In answer to the question, Thimeon dropped his pack and cloak and pulled out his scabbard and blade. “I don’t like to use it,” he answered. “I’d rather wield a hoe and spade on garden soil than a sword on men. Nonetheless, if pressed to fight I can defend myself.”

  “I like your answer, friend,” the driver replied. “Though, of course, I’d like it better if I could be a little more sure that you weren’t one of them.”

  “I understand,” Thimeon replied. He made an understanding gesture with his open palms. “These are uncertain times. Not that it gives you any reason to trust me, but I am named Thimeon.”

  “And I am Lluanthro. This is my brother Augnoustico. We call him Augs. Do you have a bow also?”

  “I have brought down game with a bow, but I don’t like to shoot at men any more than to swing a sword at them. I have no experience doing either. In any case, I don’t have my bow with me. It was taken from me many days ago.”

  The other man—the one named Augnoustico—was still suspicious. “I’ll ask you again what my brother only hinted it. How do we know that there aren’t eight robbers and that you are not one of them?”

  Thimeon pondered a moment what argument or proof he might give them. “I suppose if I were one of the robbers, and I planned to help with some ambush, I might try to gain a ride with you.” Augnous
tico nodded, as though he had proved his point, but Thimeon went on almost at once. “I suspect, though, that if I were one of the robbers I’d offer to purchase a ride, not beg for one, just to make sure I got into your wagon. After all, any money I gave you I’d be getting right back anyway. Moreover, if I were one of the robbers, I would not be warning you that my comrades were waiting for you. No, I think the real danger for you, if I am not speaking the truth, is that I am a poor beggar lying to frighten you so you will give me a ride. I admit, I’m desperate enough that such a thought might have crossed my mind. Even then, I suppose, it still might benefit you to have an extra person with you just in case there were robbers.” He paused. A gamble popped into his mind, and he played it. “If it turns out I am lying, you could always toss me off your wagon after we get to the second hill.”

  Augs paused for a moment in contemplation, then set his bow down on his lap. “Five may be better than four,” he acknowledged. “I can see already that my brother trusts you, so there’s no reason to start an argument I’ll lose.” Reaching into the wagon behind him, he produced another bow like the one he held and handed it to Thimeon along with a string. “Show me what you can do with this.”

  Thimeon took the bow and looked it over. It was long in the custom of the Southland, well made, and intended for a strong man. But he strung it easily with the skill of much practice, drew it to full draw, and then slowly unbent it.

  “I see you know how to string and draw a bow,” Lluanthro said appreciatively. “Can you shoot it as well?” Reached behind him, he tossed an arrow down to Thimeon.