Keeper of the Black Stones (33 page)

U
nfortunately, fate had other plans. At first, it seemed like Reis' idea might work. After all, we had a girl from the right time period–practically a local–driving her horse and cart through a town she used to visit all the time. Perhaps no one would notice, or care, and we'd be able to pass through and get on with our mission. Just another girl, out for a drive to market or some such thing, with a cart full of various goods.

What could possibly go wrong? Aside from the four strangers she brought with her, hailing from the twenty-first century.

I couldn't see when we actually entered the town, of course, but I could certainly hear it. We passed through an atmosphere thick with the sounds of dogs barking, chickens clucking, horses calling to each other, and what sounded like a herd of five hundred angry pigs. Under it all was the deep, low hum of the people speaking to each other in English, French, and even Spanish. The accents were thick, and made the language sound more like music than our monotonous American English.

The wagon began to slow as we moved farther into the village, and some of the noise fell behind. At that point, I lifted the cloth just enough to expose one eye. This was my first time in an old English crowd, after all, and I wanted to see what the people were like. I glanced back along the road, where I saw a scattering of people, homes, carts, and animals. The people wore thick, heavy clothing in colorless browns and beiges. Most of the men wore shirts with their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, over pants that weren't much different from what I was wearing. The women were
dressed in full-length tunics in varying colors, with undergarments peeking out under the hems. Some women wore veils and head dresses as well, to cover their hair. None of them showed any skin beyond their faces.

“Looks like a Renaissance fair,” Paul whispered. I glanced quickly toward him to see that he and Tatiana had drawn their covers to the side as well. I could see two sets of curious eyes, taking the scene in greedily. I couldn't blame them–it was the oddest thing I'd seen in my fifteen years, and I couldn't get enough of it.

Paul was right–it looked and felt like we had ventured into an amusement park, or gone on a school field trip to a Renaissance exhibit, where people dressed up in costumes to play make believe for the day. I wouldn't have been surprised to see musicians, resplendent in velvets and lace, strolling by.

Of course there was one difference. These people weren't playing make believe. There was no parking lot in the background, or bus waiting to take us home. These were strangers, potentially violent ones, who kept things like swords and daggers in their costumes, and knew how to use them.

Further, they were people who would label us wizards–or worse–and turn us in to the authorities for a few coppers or a spare pig.

At that thought, the color and excitement drained away from the scene behind me. I settled back into the wagon, but kept one eye on the people, wondering anxiously how close we were to getting out of town. I'd seen enough.

Just then, though, we passed a row of targets, supported by haystacks. I peeked out, impressed–I'd always been secretly in love with archery, though I'd never actually seen it done. Now I gasped as the boys in front of the targets loosed a round of arrows with a sharp ‘twang.' Each hit the targets at their centers. Perfect bulls eyes.

“Archery wasn't a game to these people,” Tatiana whispered next to me. “The tournaments and practice were an important part of life.”

“That's right,” I agreed, remembering. “It was England's big advantage in war–her archers.” My dad had read me a Bernard Cornwall book about it once, and become obsessed himself. For months it had been all he talked about. He'd even dressed as one for Halloween. I smiled at the memory,
clearly seeing my mother's appalled–but amused–response.

The smile died on my lips when I heard Katherine gasp.

“Danes,” she said, her voice low and worried. “We must hide.”

“Too late,” Reis answered. “I believe they've already seen us.

Seconds later, I saw what they were talking about.

Several men dressed in sleeveless leather jerkins and tattered chain mail appeared behind us, walking quickly enough to catch up with our slow-moving wagon. They were large, rough men, with hard, ugly faces and long, dirty blonde hair. They also looked distinctly unfriendly.

“I thought the Danes were kicked out of England two hundred years before this time period,” Tatiana muttered, her voice low and worried.

“Apparently not all of them,” Paul replied quietly.

The men were now less than 15 feet behind us. All four of them kept their eyes squarely on our cart, their hands on their battered swords. One of them had a battle axe slung across his chest. They all wore several silver rings around their arms. I cast my memory back, trying to collect any information I had on Danes. They came from the North, I knew. They wore their rings as signs of wealth and conquest. The more rings, the more potentially dangerous the man. They were traders, sometimes, but more often mercenaries and soldiers. Bullies. Raiders.

When they came peacefully, they were called Danes. When they attacked the English people, they were called Vikings instead.

The acid rose from my stomach to my throat, and I gulped heavily. The men behind us were looking less friendly with each passing moment. They meant to cause trouble, and no mistake.

“We need to move faster,” Tatiana said in little more than a whisper.

“Reis, we've got a problem here,” I snapped, not caring who heard. I was far more concerned about getting away from those men than confusing the townspeople at that point.

Instead of moving more quickly at my warning, though, the cart suddenly stopped.

I popped up from my hiding place, desperate to know what was going on. “What on earth are you doing?” I snapped, reaching toward Katherine. Before I could touch her, Tatiana grabbed my shoulder.

“Be careful,” she murmured, nodding at the road in front of us. I turned to look, and my heart jumped into my mouth.

Two more Danes stood in the road before us. One of them had his hand on our horse's bridle. Both had swords drawn.

I glanced slowly from the men in front of us to Reis, and then to the side to meet Paul's eyes. His face had lost all color, and I didn't think his eyes could open any wider.

“Not good,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

I nodded wordlessly, and the three of us crept forward, closer to Reis and the best protection we had.

“Is there a problem?” Reis asked casually. He carefully turned around to glance at the four men who approached us from behind, realizing just as I had that we were surrounded. He pressed his lips together at that, and shot one more sharp look in our direction. He didn't need to use words for that one–we were to be prepared. For anything.

I looked at the men at the horse's head, and then back toward the others, wondering what we were getting ourselves into. All six of the Danes were very large. Now that I looked more closely, I saw that two of them had scars across their cheeks. Several had missing teeth, and all of them had grossly unkempt facial hair hanging down their chests. Two of the men behind us had gained horses from somewhere, and now rode, their shields and long bows out. They moved forward, toward the men at the front of the wagon. These men wore heavy cloaks despite the warm summer temperature, and
additional wooden shields dangled from their saddles.

They were better armed than we were.

“You're a stranger to these parts, yes?” the first horseman barked, riding closer to the wagon and notching an arrow.

For a moment Reis let the question go unanswered. I noticed that the noise from the crowd had died down. Even the chickens were quiet. The people had drawn quickly back into the alleys and buildings, hushing their children and leaving us to the mercy of the Vikings. This wasn't the first time they'd seen this kind of situation, and they didn't want to get involved.

“Did you lose your tongue, lad?” the second horseman snapped rudely, jerking his horse toward Reis and Katherine.

“I don't see how that's any business of yours,
lad
,” Reis replied, his tone deep and unfriendly.

“You'll not be passing through this town without paying a tax,” the first horseman said. His horse rammed into ours, knocking her to the side and nearly off her feet.

Reis snorted. “Tax? We don't need to pay your tax. We're on a mission of the church.”

The two men on horseback laughed at Reis's denial, and crowded closer to the wagon.

The second horseman drew even closer, leaning toward the bench and leering at Katherine. “Your company says otherwise, boy, and your speech brands you a stranger.” His eyes flicked to Tatiana, and ran quickly up and down her body. He grinned suddenly, showing a row of broken and rotting teeth. “Though I believe we can negotiate your tax, given what your companions have to offer.”

Tatiana began to growl under her breath, and I saw Paul's hands flexing. Katherine had grown as still as a trapped bird on the bench, and I could practically see her thoughts racing. This situation was going from bad to worse, and I didn't think any of my companions were going to keep still much longer.

In front of me, Reis adjusted his body slightly, loosening his robe. He moved his foot slowly to the side, throwing open the bag in front of him to reveal the butt of the assault rifle.

My eyes flitted from the body guard to the rifle to the men in front us. Why oh why hadn't Reis given each of us weapons? I didn't think he could take all six of these men by himself.

“We've recently arrived from Rome,” he said evenly. “As I told you, we're on a mission for the church.” He carefully shifted the reins from his right hand to his left, freeing his shooting hand. It disappeared slowly beneath his robe.

Daggers
, I thought. That's what he had on him. And a handgun. Perhaps that would be enough, after all.

“I do not pay homage to your God,” the second horseman rasped. “Give us the church's silver, and we will allow you to pass.”

Reis shook his head. “You're not listening, friend. I told you, we don't have any money.” His tone was hollow, laced with an obvious warning.

“Do you wish to live?” the second horseman asked suddenly.

Reis didn't bother to answer. He yanked his hand from his robe, along with the handgun, and shouted something unintelligible.

The Vikings shrieked in response and surged toward the cart, brandishing a number of swords, axes, and daggers. An arrow flew through the air, brushing my ear, and I ducked, pulling Tatiana and Paul with me.

A thunderclap of sound erupted above us, deafening me, followed by a blur of action and blood.

In a smooth, practiced motion, the second horseman reached behind his back, retrieved an arrow, notched the 36-inch-long projectile, and brought the bow up, aimed directly at my heart.

“We'll take what we–” The Viking's words were cut short as another thunderous roar tore through the village. Fire erupted from under Reis's robe, blowing it upward to expose the assault rifle underneath. The shots ripped through the Dane's body, sending him to the ground, dead. Several of the bullets continued on past where he had been sitting to decimate the building on the other side of the road.

As he fell from his saddle, his loosed arrow cut through the warm, humid air, coming to rest in the throat of one of the Vikings behind us. He fell to the ground with a strangled cry and lay there, his body jerking in the mud. The horse belonging to the remaining rider reared up in terror at the sound of Reis's weapon, throwing its owner from his saddle. The man landed face-first on the ground and rolled quickly to the side. But he wasn't quick enough; the horse pounded him into the ground in its panic to get away from Reis and his guns. It thundered through the village, scattering chickens and pigs as it went.