Call of the Herald (15 page)

--Archmaster Belegra

* * *

The next few days passed more quickly than
Catrin had thought they would. Her wounds were healing well, and
she spent most of her time dressing, butchering, salting, and
smoking the game Benjin and Chase brought back. Strom had had some
luck with a fishing hole, and there were fish to be filleted then
cooked, salted, or smoked. Racks made of fresh-hewn saplings now
lined one of the cavern walls, and a few were already laden with
cured venison, pork, and fish. Strom had been elected to find
fruits and nuts, and he brought in apples, berries, and sacks of
black walnuts.

As the provisions mounted, Benjin said, "I'm
pleased with your work, but we still need at least three times what
we have if we're to survive the winter."

"I'd rather not live here, but if I must, I
don't want to go hungry." That was the mantra that kept the young
people working. No one was happy with the prospect of a prolonged
stay, but they tried not to dwell on it; their lives depended on
the work they had to do, which meant less idle time to speculate
about the future and the fates of their loved ones.

Despite Catrin's rapid recovery, Benjin
continued to apply humrus paste to her shin, though he used it
sparingly to conserve his supply of herbs. Catrin gladly retired
her walking stick when she could put weight on her leg without any
pain.

Benjin described a few herbs he thought might
grow in the area and asked them to harvest only half of any plants
they found, making sure to leave enough for repopulation. "If you
only find one or two plants, just pick a few leaves. Some will be
better than none," he said.

Within a few weeks, they had food to last
until spring with strict rationing. They had to use the last of
their salt supply, however, and their herb-gathering efforts had
produced little. "There's no help for it, I suppose," Benjin said
when he shook the last of the salt from the bag, too little even to
cover a perch fillet. "We can't smoke too much meat without giving
away our location. We'll need to eat as much fresh meat and fish as
possible until we can no longer hunt. Any food that'll keep is off
limits. We'll need it before spring arrives, no doubt. I want Strom
and Catrin to gather more black walnuts, since they seem to be
plentiful, and any other nuts or fruits you find.

"I know I've been pushing you all hard, but
I've little choice in the matter. The storms can be intense this
high in the mountains, and the snow doesn't melt till spring. Once
the snows start, we could be trapped in here until spring. We need
to gather more food so we can eat comfortably this winter, and
we're going to need a much larger supply of firewood. I want you to
spend half of each day hunting and foraging and the other half
collecting wood. If you can do both at once, then you'll certainly
impress me. I'm going to look for herbs. Our supply is far too
small for my liking, and I know the places they like to hide," he
said with a wink as he shouldered his pack.

When Benjin returned that evening, he was
laden with plants and roots, and he entered the cavern with a big
smile. "I feel a bit better now, I should have enough medicinal
herbs to deal with most ailments, but try not to fall off any
cliffs and watch out for snakes," he said. Along with the herbs, he
produced turnips, asparagus, and even some wild garlic, which he
used to make a delicious soup.

* * *

"I hope we don't have to eat all of these
walnuts to survive," Strom said while he and Catrin were returning
from one of their many nut-gathering outings, and she admitted that
she was dreading the winter as much as he.

Tension grew as the weeks passed, and even
Benjin began to show signs of worry. One night he sat them all down
around the fire. "Wendel and I made an agreement. If he hadn't
joined us within forty days, then I was to sneak back as close to
Harborton as I could to see what's going on. I'm going to leave
tomorrow before dawn, but I only plan to be gone for four or five
days. You all know to remain quiet and stay hidden, keep the fires
small, and try not to leave obvious signs of your passage when
you're out hunting and gathering," he lectured.

"Maybe I should go with you," Chase
offered.

"It'll be a very dangerous task, and I'm more
experienced at this kind of thing. I want you all to stay here and
continue on as you have been, but be extra careful; you must
protect one another."

"What if you don't come back in five or six
days?" Osbourne asked, concern written clearly on his face.

"The best thing you can do is keep yourselves
safe and carry on as you have been. If you think you've been
spotted, or if you need to escape, try to go east. About a half a
day's walk from here, there's a large river. Follow the river
north. When you reach the waterfall, climb to the top if you can
and then follow the valley north by northeast," Benjin said,
pausing a moment to look into the troubled faces in front of him to
gauge their concern.

"I don't think you'll have any trouble;
you're well hidden here. Just remember to stay inside as much as
possible and keep quiet. You'll have enough provisions to last
through the winter if you use good judgment. Strom, take the first
watch and wake Chase for the second. I'm going to need my sleep
tonight," he said before retiring to his bedroll.

Catrin and the others exchanged worried
glances but didn't speak. They wanted to know what was going on
outside their hideaway, but they feared for Benjin's safety. The
tension in the cavern was palpable.

Catrin woke in the dead of night to find
Benjin already gone. Chase sat near the fire and waved when he saw
her sit up, and she joined him by the fire.

"How long ago did he leave?" she asked
quietly.

"It's been quite a while. His idea of morning
is more like the middle of the night," he replied. He declined her
offer to take the rest of the watch, and instead they talked until
dawn.

* * *

Though most of his wounds had healed, Peten
Ross still walked with a limp, and not a moment passed that he did
not feel pain. Yet no one showed him the slightest bit of favor or
kindness--he was just another refugee, lumped in with commoners and
men he wouldn't let shine his boots. The stench alone was enough to
make him want to escape, but it was the chance to prove his bravery
and worth to Roset and everyone else that was too alluring to
resist.

She and the others had shunned him ever since
the snake incident. Even knowing the snake was harmless, Peten
recoiled from the thought of its touching him. He would prove Roset
and the others wrong. While most chose to spend their time
wallowing in self-pity, Peten had been looking for a way out. There
were too many people confined in the Masterhouse, and he was
convinced that Wendel Volker and those who followed him to the cold
caves were getting fat on the Ross family's meat. For generations
his family had been storing sides of beef in the cold caves, but
only now did that practice seem a liability. It infuriated Peten
that he should have to endure a strict ration when those who didn't
deserve it dined on his food.

Things had seemed hopeless until Peten met a
dirty little man whose name he did not remember nor care to know.
All that was important was that this man was willing to reveal some
of the Masterhouse's secrets for nothing more than a few
silvers.

When everyone else was asleep, Peten walked
on the tips of his toes over the still bodies that seemed to carpet
the cold flagstones. One man cursed him when he stepped on a
finger, but no one else seemed to notice or care.

At the entrance to the hall that led to the
sacred chambers, those denied to the refugees, a bored-looking
guard seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open. It seemed
an eternity that Peten waited, but then the moment came: the guard
let his eyes droop closed. After waiting for a few more anxious
moments, Peten moved as quietly as he could past the guard, his
limp making the act of being silent even more difficult. His right
foot seemed to want to drag across the stone with every step, and
he gritted his teeth against the pain.

Voices carried through the halls, and Peten
flattened himself against the corridor wall, feeling exposed and
vulnerable.

" . . . can smell the boiling vermin from
here."

"Won't be much longer before that problem is
. . ."

The voices faded and Peten hastily resumed
his quest, suddenly panicking, worried he had forgotten what the
man told him. Was it left at the fifth hall then right at the
third? Or was it the other way around? Sweat dripped into his eyes
as he concentrated. Part of him wanted to give up, to go back and
hide with his family and friends, but another part seemed to have
awakened. He could make a difference. His actions could save
countless lives. In his mind he played through the drama and
pageantry that he imagined would follow his great victory. His
people needed a leader, a person who would take action in the face
of death, and he was that leader. All he had to do was prove that
to everyone.

With determination, he strode forward as fast
as his limp would allow. Following his gut instinct, he turned left
when he reached the fifth hall and right at the third. No more
voices broke the silence, and finding the room the man had told him
about sent Peten's confidence soaring. If only his confidence could
defeat the smell, which was worse than the smell of the refugees.
The thought of climbing through a sewer made Peten want to wretch,
but it was the path to his salvation. Driven by his need for power
and a deeper, almost unrecognizable, feeling of responsibility for
those he cared about, he entered the sewer.

The journey was something he hoped he could
erase from his memory for all time, but he doubted it. At least the
man had been true to his word about leaving a torch. Obtaining
flint from a fellow refugee had cost him another silver, but it was
coin well spent. Without the torch, he would have been lost. When
he rounded a corner and saw a splash of dim light illuminating the
way ahead, though, he quickly tossed the torch into the fetid
water.

When he reached the grate, he nearly wept.
Grasping at the bars that blocked his way, he cursed the dirty
little scoundrel who had sent him on a fool's quest. Anger boiled
in his belly, and he growled in fury. It took every scrap of will
he possessed to refrain from crying out, from venting his rage on
the heavens. In his anger, his muscles contracted and he could feel
the bars digging into his flesh, but then something amazing
happened: One of the bars began to move. It was only the slightest
movement, but it was enough. Increasing the pressure, Peten began
to push and pull on the bar as hard as he could. Mortar fell away
in large chunks, and with a suddenness that sent Peten stumbling
backward, the bar gave way.

Again Peten had to refrain from crying out as
he pushed his way past the remaining bars. Rock and metal bit into
his skin and left him with a dozen minor cuts, but he gained the
fresh air and his freedom.

The drainage ditch that ran from the mouth of
the sewer ended at a small cove so fouled and stagnant that no one
would stay near it for long, and Peten decided that it could be no
worse than the sewers had been, and it was his best chance to slip
into the water undetected.

Beyond the cove he bathed in the crashing
waves, letting them blast the foulness from him, but the smell
seemed to follow him no matter how hard he scrubbed. In the end, he
gave up washing and concentrated on swimming and, at times, wading
his way along the coast. The sun began to rise, as if Vestra wished
to expose him to the Zjhon.

Peten cursed his luck and looked for a good
place to leave the water and gain the shore. He had seen no shadows
and heard no voices for quite some time, and he knew he needed to
cover a lot of distance in a hurry. When he reached the shore, he
climbed a pair of massive stones that cradled an ancient tree
between them. Using a branch to pull himself up, he had no time to
react and not the slightest chance of avoiding the boot heel that
was hurtling toward his face. In an instant, the world went
dark.

* * *

A broken twig and a plant that stood at an
angle, its leaves crumpled and broken, were Benjin's first warning,
and it was far too close to their hideaway for his comfort. There
were more signs as he moved closer to the populated lands. Years of
training became fresh in his mind once again, as the need for
stealth became paramount. When he neared the farm, his fears grew.
It seemed the Zjhon were everywhere at once. Their numbers were
difficult to believe, and he considered abandoning his quest, but
the need for information drew him on. It was all too clear to him
now that they would not be able to remain in the cavern until
spring, the Zjhon would tear down the forest and pick the mountains
clean if that was what it took.

When he reached the tree line that bordered
the farm, he crouched behind a tree and waited. Soldiers milled
around the area, and he thought he might have to wait until after
dark. In the distance, a bell rang, and many of the soldiers
stopped what they were doing and headed back toward Harborton; a
few remained. "Not perfect," Benjin said to himself, "but it's an
improvement."

One man went to the well, and two others
walked toward the cottages. No one else could be seen. Benjin made
his move and charged up to the back of the barn. Looking through a
knothole in the barn door, he checked for Zjhon but saw none. Doing
his best to be quiet, he slid the door partly open and slipped in.
First he went to the feed stall, and was pleased to find that the
Zjhon had not taken everything. A salt block sat in the corner, and
there were still some oats in one of the barrels. Being as quiet as
possible, he broke up the salt block and put it into a couple of
sacks that had been hanging from a wooden peg. He put some of the
oats in a sack as well, but he did not take too much, knowing he
could carry only so much and still maintain his stealth.