The Lost Stories (15 page)

Roamers originated on the continent, to the southeast of Toscana. But over the centuries, they had spread across the western-world and developed a cyclical pattern of travel. They would appear, stay a few days, move on and not be seen for several years. Then, one day, they would return. They were a close-knit, mysterious group. Black-haired and swarthy of skin, their younger women were often remarkably beautiful and their men were hotheaded and argumentative—among themselves and with outsiders.

There was another thing Will remembered about Roamers. They were known to have a strong bond with their animals—horses, mules and dogs—although, paradoxically, they often mistreated them. If Ebony had been taken by a band of Roamers, it would be best if he got her back as soon as possible.

“I'm going after them,” Will said decisively. “They won't move fast and I should be able to catch them in a day or so.”

He began to swing Tug's head around, but Halt reached out and took hold of his bridle.

“Just hold on a moment,” he said. “If she has been taken by Roamers, the last thing you'll want to do is go charging in demanding that they hand her over.”

“What are you talking about, Halt? I want her back and I want her back now.”

But Halt was shaking his head. “Roamers are difficult people to deal with,” he said. “They resent outsiders and they're very clever at covering their tracks. They're nearly as good at staying concealed as we are. If they decide to keep her hidden, you'll be hard-pressed to find her. And if they realize they've stolen a Ranger's dog, she'll be in danger.”

“Danger? What sort of danger?” Will asked.

“Chances are they'll kill her to get rid of the evidence,” Halt told him.

Will sat back in his saddle, openmouthed. “Kill her?” he repeated.

Halt nodded. “Rightly or wrongly, Roamers have been badly treated for many centuries. They've developed a highly defensive frame of mind. If they realize they have a stolen dog, and she's the property of a Ranger, they'll assume that the law will come down heavily on them—”

“And I will!” Will said hotly. But Halt put up a hand to calm him down.

“If you can find her. And the safest way for them will be to get rid of her. Kill her and bury her. Or drop her in the river. Anything to make sure you don't find her in their possession. You simply can't risk that.”

“You're saying I should just let them get away with it?” Will asked uncertainly.

“Not at all. Go after her. But do it carefully. Be subtle. Don't let them know you're a Ranger, and don't let them know you're looking for a lost dog.”

Will sat, thinking over Halt's words, a troubled look on his face. After a little while, Alyss spoke up.

“I'll go with you.”

Automatically, Will shook his head. “No, you won't.”

Her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Will, I feel responsible for this. I want to help.”

“I think it might be a good idea,” Halt said, and they both looked at him, Will in surprise and Alyss with gratitude. He continued. “They might be less suspicious of a young girl than they would of a fit young man of military age. They may be cunning, but they do have one weakness, which is that they regard women as second-class citizens, and they don't have any idea of how capable and how dangerous a Courier can be. I think Alyss might stand a better chance of finding out where the dog is.”

“Won't she be in their camp?” Alyss asked.

Halt pursed his lips. “Possibly. But they've got a stolen dog. She's valuable and they may well expect her owner to turn up, looking for her. My bet is they'll keep her hidden somewhere close by their camp until they're well and truly away from the district. If you try to track them, Will, and find out where they're keeping her, there's a very good chance they'll spot you. They'll be on the alert while they're still close to Redmont. On the other hand, I doubt they'd be concerned about Alyss. As I said, they have little regard for women.”

There was another point that Halt was reluctant to raise. Will was already sufficiently concerned. But the more Halt thought about it, the surer he was that he had to mention it.

“There's something else you should know about Roamers,” he said. “They often train dogs for fighting.”

“Fighting?” Will said, his voice almost a whisper. “What do you mean?”

“They train them to fight other dogs—then they stage fights and people bet on them. Or they meet up with other Roamer bands and pit their champions against each other. It's vicious and cruel and it's highly illegal, of course, which is another reason why they'll be keeping the dogs out of sight.”

“That's horrible,” Alyss said. Her face was white.

Halt nodded. “I know. It's hard to understand, given their reputation for loving animals. But it's a fact.”

Will had been thinking over what Halt said and now he shook his head.

“There's no point in them taking Ebony, Halt. She's not very big and she's definitely not aggressive. They'd never manage to turn her into a fighting dog.”

Halt took a deep breath. But he thought Will should know the worst. “Even the best dog can turn savage if it's treated badly, Will. That's why it's important that you find her as quickly as possible.”

IT WAS A GRIM-FACED PAIR WHO SET OUT TWO HOURS LATER.

On Halt's advice, Will had taken off the green-and-gray cloak that marked him as a Ranger. It was concealed inside his blanket roll. He kept his longbow and arrows in a canvas bow case slung from Tug's saddle.

Similarly, Alyss had changed from her distinctive white Courier's robe. Instead, she wore a plain green dress of homespun fabric and a brown woolen cloak. The choice of colors was intentional. They would help her blend in to the woodland background in which they'd be traveling.

Inquiries at the village and some of the outlying farms told them that the Roamers had moved off to the south. They were traveling in a convoy of five caravans, with an accompanying assortment of horses, dogs and goats. None of the locals who had seen them on the road had noticed a black-and-white border shepherd among the dogs. Nor had they noticed anything that might pass for a fighting dog, but that was hardly surprising.

“Dogfighting being illegal,” Will said to Alyss, “they'd keep any fighting dogs hidden from view. And of course, Ebony was stolen. They'd keep her hidden too.”

Even though the Roamers had a three-day lead—and the best part of a fourth day as well—he had expected to catch up to them quickly. After all, whenever he'd seen Roamers on the move, they had traveled at little more than walking pace. However, by the end of the second day, he inquired at a farm and found that the caravans had passed through two days prior. He was puzzled by this and mentioned the fact to Alyss.

“I asked Lady Pauline about Roamers when I went to the castle to fetch my traveling gear,” she said. “She's had a bit to do with them over the years. She told me it's normal practice for them when they move on to really push the pace for the first few days, particularly if they've stolen something. That way, they're well out of the district by the time the theft is discovered.”

“Makes sense,” Will said. He looked up at the sky. The sun was almost setting and there was only half an hour of daylight left.

“Do you mind if we push on after dark for a few hours? We'll try to find a farm to put us up for the night, rather than set up camp in the dark.”

“Fine by me,” Alyss said. She shared Will's anxiousness to catch up with the band. The fear that Ebony could be pitted against a vicious fighting dog any day was now uppermost in both their minds.

The moon rose shortly after dark, bathing the countryside around them in a pale blue light. They rode on in silence until, around nine that evening, they saw a lighted window in a small farmhouse.

“Better stop here,” Alyss advised. “Farmers go to bed early. If we wait any longer, we'll be waking them up. Chances are, they won't like that.”

She proved to be right. When they approached the farmhouse, to the accompaniment of the furious barking of a pair of farm dogs, they were greeted by a farmer who appeared at the door, a lantern in his hand. He was already dressed in a nightshirt and it was clear that he was about to retire for the night.

“What do you want?” he called suspiciously. Mindful of the dogs, which seemed eager to get at them, Will and Alyss had stayed outside the fenced-off farmhouse yard.

“We're travelers,” Will called in reply. “My sister and I are looking for lodging for the night. We're happy to pay you for your trouble.”

The farmer paused. The idea of payment was obviously attractive to him.

“Dismount and come here. Let's have a look at you,” he said.

Will dismounted, Alyss following him. He stopped with his hand on the gate latch, nodding to the two dogs.

“Are those dogs all right?” he asked.

The man nodded. “They are, unless I tell 'em otherwise. Down, you two! Shut your noise!” he shouted suddenly at the dogs, and they sat instantly. The barking ceased, but they continued to whine softly, as if seeking permission to tear these interlopers apart.

Will and Alyss advanced slowly into the farmyard. Will noted with some slight amusement that Alyss managed to keep him between her and the dogs. The dogs shifted, their bodies quivering with tension as the two strangers came closer. But the farmer's control over them was total.

The farmer held the lantern higher as they approached. When they were three meters away, he called for them to stop.

“Far enough,” he said. He studied them for several minutes. Will noticed that he held the lantern in his left hand. His right, which he kept by his side, held a heavy, spiked club. Behind him, Will saw someone else moving inside the farm, heard a male voice ask a question. A brother, perhaps, or an older son.

“They look all right,” the farmer replied over his shoulder. “Just a pair of youngsters. They look harmless enough.”

Alyss smiled at the words. Will did have a youthful, innocent-looking face. But to describe him as harmless was so far off the mark as to be laughable. He could well be the most dangerous person this farmer had ever laid eyes on.

“We can't fit you in the house,” the farmer said. “There's six of us here.”

“The barn would be fine,” Will replied. “We just want a roof over our heads. It looks like rain.”

The farmer glanced up at the sky and sniffed the air experimentally. “Aye,” he said, “there'll be rain before sunrise, sure enough. I'll want seven coppers from you for the lodging. And we've no food for you,” he added quickly. “We've already eaten and the fire's banked for the night.”

“That's fine. We have our own food.” Will undid his belt purse and fumbled in it. “I'm short of coppers. I've give you one silver crown instead.”

The crown was worth ten coppers, but he was happy to pay the extra if it meant he and Alyss could spend the night under shelter. The farmer set the lantern on the ground and held out his hand, snapping his thumb and forefinger together.

“A silver crown it is then,” he said.

Will stepped forward. One of the dogs, a heavyset brindle, quivered and whined as he came closer. He noticed that even though it was supposedly sitting, its muscles were tensed so that its backside hovered several centimeters from the ground. It peeled back its lips in a snarl as he handed the coin over. The farmer inspected the coin and nodded, satisfied.

“All right then. My wife will give you breakfast in the morning—cover the three extra coppers. And no fire in the barn. No candle and no fire. There's a lantern inside the door, but leave it where it is. That'll be enough light.”

“Thanks,” Will said. Then one of his constant needs asserted itself. “All right if I light a fire in the yard there? I'd like to make coffee.”

The farmer grunted assent. “Keep it well away from the barn. And remember, the dogs will be inside this yard all night. Try to approach the house and they'll have you.”

“We'll remember,” Will said.

The farmer grunted again. “I bid you good night then. Rest well.” He made a shooing motion for them to leave the farmhouse yard.

“Same to you,” Will said. He and Alyss stepped back to the gate, let themselves out and closed it carefully behind them. Satisfied that they were outside the fence, the farmer closed the door. They heard a heavy lock shooting home on the inside. The two dogs remained on the doorstep. They dropped to the ground, lying with their noses on their paws as they watched the two strangers lead their horses to the barn.

 

Tired by hours of hard traveling, they slept soundly. Will woke once after midnight, hearing the steady patter of rain on the roof. He pulled his blankets higher around his chin, glad they were sheltered from the weather, and went back to sleep. There was something very soothing about listening to rain when you were warm and dry in your blankets.

It was daylight when he woke again, hearing a rooster crowing and hens clucking in the barnyard. The rain had stopped but there was a fresh, wet smell to the air.

By daylight, the farmer showed a more friendly face. His wife gave them a substantial breakfast. Will looked at the pile of eggs, bacon, potatoes and toasted bread with a smile.

“Farmers eat well,” he commented.

Alyss raised an eyebrow.“That's because they work harder than you.”

Before they left, they asked if the family had seen any sign of Roamers in the area.

“Two days ago,” the farmer answered promptly.“They wanted to camp on our property but I moved them on. Things have a habit of going missing when Roamers are around.”