Son of the Hero (10 page)

“What about Dad?”

A shrug. “He isn’t blood kin to me. I’m not nearly so aware of his mind’s signatures. Carl’s mind isn’t easy to touch even when we’re standing next to each other. Nor is yours. With your father, it’s part of the magic of being Hero of Varay—a protection. With you, I’m not certain. You
are
blood kin. I should be able to sense you.”

“You read minds?”

“No!” Very forcefully, that. “No,” he repeated. “I can’t truly read anyone’s mind, not even my own. But, with some people, sometimes, I can sense things, occasionally share a perception. It’s not a simple matter.”

“Let me know when we’re close enough for something definite.”

“Of course.” Parthet looked around. “We’re making better time than I expected. We might come within an hour’s ride of Castle Thyme by sunset.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” I said. “We may have a chance to look around before anyone knows we’ve arrived. Lesh, how high is the wall around the castle?”

“No more’n twenty feet,” he said after a moment’s reflection.

“Can it be scaled?”

“Not if it’s defended, lord.”

“How about at night, with no moon?”

He shook his head. “Two guards can cover the entire wall. They’d hear or see a grapple by the watchfires.”

“Parthet, could you help with this?” I was still groping in the dark, but Dad
had
made me study all that military jazz. I knew the words, the concepts, even if I had never had to apply them in real life.

“If the circumstances are right. I need light to work, but the more light, the more difficult the problem. I’ll study on it while we ride.”

We rode. Precarra Forest thinned out. There were occasional areas where the scrub brush held trees in isolation from each other, patches of rocky soil that supported only a little grass. We took advantage of one clearing to eat an early supper and rest the horses. The meal was more hard bread and harder beef jerky. The stream we dipped our water from was clear, the water cool and refreshing, coming from a spring on the side of a low ridge that paralleled the road. Lesh climbed to the top of the ridge with me.

“That deeper line of green in the distance.” Lesh pointed and moved his arm to show the line he meant. “Unless I’m mistaken, that’s the Borerun. The river bends our way, then returns to Dorthin. It runs north to the Eastern Sea east of Xayber. We fought a battle at the bend over this way when I was just a young soldier. My first campaign it were. We had to retreat when the old Etevar’s wizard turned the river out of its banks against us.”

“Maybe we’ll get something back on the new Etevar tonight or tomorrow,” I said, starting back down the slope.

“Maybe we will, lord,” Lesh said.

I shook my head, very casually. None of my companions had expressed any reservations about the sanity of our mission or the fact that an utter rookie was going in to attempt something that the seasoned veterans had apparently failed to manage. Maybe there was nothing remarkable about the situation in the buffer zone. Parthet had told me that Dad had regularly done “Hero work” through the years, that there was more call for it than I might imagine. And half the time, I accepted the idea that it was natural for me to be doing this. That was enough to send ominous shivers up my spine the other half of the time.

Lesh was solid, ready to take on any challenge. Timon seemed eager for the adventure, whatever it might involve. And Uncle Parthet—when he showed any feeling at all about it—seemed to regard our mission as a chance for his own vindication as a wizard. If he worried about Mom and Dad, and I’m not saying that he didn’t, he hid it well.

We rode on again into an area of old primary forest, straight, tall trees with little undergrowth. The canopy overhead filtered the light, casting deep greens. The occasional shaft of late-afternoon sunlight stood out in sharp relief like a spotlight beam. Parthet seemed buried inside himself. His horse followed mine without guidance. Glory was an old campaigner. Parthet didn’t even respond to my questions, so I finally quit trying. I guessed that he was deep in some magic, probably trying to contact Mother. Either that or he was dozing.

“Another hour to sunset,” Lesh said when we reached the end of the tall timber. “If we’re going on to Thyme tonight, maybe we should rest our horses a bit now. And maybe have another bite.” I nodded, and we dismounted, Parthet last. He didn’t seem to notice that we stopped at first.

“You look troubled,” I said when Parthet finally got down from Glory. Parthet wouldn’t meet my eyes at first. “You’ve learned something,” I said. What is it?”

“Nothing certain, lad,” he whispered, none too calmly. “I still can’t make firm contact with your mother, but there is an agony in the air that eats at my mind. It’s too vague to know what it means.” He turned to look north. According to Lesh, Thyme was almost directly due north of us now.

“I fear the worst,” Parthet said, “but I fear my fears even more.”

Lesh and Timon tended the horses. I stared at Parthet’s back. He walked a few steps toward the final rank of lofty trees.

“If my fears were true, there could be no way for me to catch them. But if they aren’t true, there’s a rare deception in the wind, a more powerful magic than my own.”

“At Castle Thyme?”

“Somewhere near for it to be so strong.” He turned and stared blankly at me. He was far enough away that my features were probably only a blur to him. “Why are we stopped?” He looked around and blinked, coming back from wherever his mind had wandered.

“To rest the horses so we can push on this evening,” I said.

Lesh came to us. “In two miles or so, the road turns east and climbs toward higher ground, bending back north. Castle Thyme sits atop a low mound on the west side of the road, perhaps four miles altogether from here.”

“Can we cut cross-country and come from a way they won’t expect?” I asked.

“The land around the castle offers little concealment up close,” Lesh said. “There’s naught but fields right around it.”

“But they might have sentries watching this road at a distance, almost anywhere now,” I said.

“The way overland is difficult at any time. It might take extra hours in the dark,” Lesh said.

“Time, lad,” Parthet whispered. His arms started to tremble. “We must make time now.” He turned away before he added, “If time remains.” I don’t think he meant for me to hear that, but my hearing is quite sharp.

“We’ll make time, but we still need a few minutes now,” I said. Lesh handed me a strip of beef, and I started chewing on it. There was no stream handy, so we had to settle for the tepid water in our canteens—leather pouches that gave the water a bitter taste. We ate and stretched and took care of the other things that needed doing. I checked my weapons. I even turned away from the others to make sure that there was a shell in the chamber of my pistol. I think only Timon noticed the gun, and he might not have known what it was. Timon had the metal skullcap out. He offered it to me.

“Not yet,” I told him. “I’ve got my lucky hat.” I adjusted the blue Cubs cap, pulling the brim a little lower.

“Lucky?” Parthet asked from behind. I turned. The old man could sure move silently enough when he wanted to. “Lucky? How many championships have they won in the last fifty years?”

I hate questions like that. “What happened to the last guy who wore this tin pot?” I asked. Parthet didn’t have the answer, but Lesh did.

“He got an arrow through the throat.”

“I rest my case,” I said.

“Pardon me, Highness,” Lesh said, “but cloth won’t turn a sword blade. I think you should wear the helmet.” He rapped his knuckles against his own. “It might save your life.”

“We’ll see when we get there,” I said, to cut off the discussion. I had no intention of wearing another five pounds. Dad and I always emphasized speed, movement, for defense. Every ounce of weight slowed me. The mail shirt. The shield I hadn’t toted since I tried it on, back in Castle Basil.

After our short break, we hit the road at a trot. Riding back home, I always hated the trot. On an English saddle, that meant posting, going up and down like a yo-yo, meeting the horse in the middle. With a Western saddle, it meant sitting there and having your spine hammered. I was surprised to find the trot fairly comfortable on the huge charger Gold. All four horses seemed to find the change of pace refreshing. When we got into the clear, we even stretched them into an easy canter for a time, covering ground nicely. Then we slowed to a walk, changing the pace every couple of hundred yards.

We caught our first glimpse of Castle Thyme just before sunset. It was still some distance off, visible briefly through a long valley. The road became wider, more traveled. A number of trails led off from it.

Then Parthet called, “Hold!” and reined in Glory.

The rest of us stopped and looked to the wizard for an explanation. Lesh had his spear at the ready, searching the land around us for any threat. Parthet stood in the saddle and looked off into a distance he couldn’t see with his eyes. “This way,” he said after a moment. He led the way off the road, west of north, cross-country after all.

“What is it?” I asked, moving Gold up alongside Glory. We were riding through tall prairie grass, a plain broken only by solitary trees, easy going for the horses unless there was something to trip them up in the grass. And with twilight, we wouldn’t be able to see anything low.

“Ride!” Parthet said harshly. “To your mother.
Ride!”

I looked ahead, trying to see what Parthet was aiming for, but I didn’t see anything but more of the stuff we were in. There was a low hill across our path at an angle from southeast to northwest. Parthet changed course enough to hit the northern end of the ridge. He pushed Glory to a gallop. Lesh and I had no problem keeping up, but Timon’s pony was outclassed, even by old, swaybacked Glory. Or maybe Timon just wasn’t an experienced enough rider for that kind of terrain. He couldn’t have done much riding scrubbing pots. I tried to keep an eye on him, but I had to watch Gold and our course too. I held on, hoping there were no gopher holes to trip us.

Parthet led us across the shoulder of the long hill, down into another valley. The trees disappeared and the grass became sparser in rocky soil. The footing was more difficult. Now and then a horseshoe sparked off stone. There was a track along the flank of one of the bordering hills, and Parthet angled up to that. Glory started to tire and slow. Parthet’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon. He seemed to strain forward, either trying to see something that was still out of sight or trying to urge more speed from his animal. I had to rein back on Gold to keep from running over Glory. I could hear Lesh right behind me, and see him too, when I turned to look for Timon. The boy was fifty yards behind Lesh, but he wasn’t losing any more ground. Glory’s slower pace made it possible for Timon to keep us in sight.

The evening shadows were getting thick and long. Soon it would be impossible to see anything well enough to continue this mad dash.

“How much farther?” I shouted. Parthet didn’t answer. Perhaps he was too deep in magic or concentration to hear. All I could do was follow and hope that our horses could still find footing.

At the end of that valley, Parthet cut left across a low pass between two neighboring hills—neither more than about thirty feet high—then went north again into the next valley. This one widened out quickly, and the bottom was flat. I could see a thick patch of trees ahead—moderate-sized trees with rounded shapes. When we got closer, I could see that it was apples and pears in an orchard. There was a cottage at the far end of the orchard, between two garden-sized fields.

Parthet headed straight for the cottage.

We were a hundred yards off when I saw a brief glint that had to be the cottage door opening and closing. A figure moved in front of the doorway and notched arrow to bow. We were a lot closer before I could tell that it was my mother, dressed in a Robin Hood costume without the cap, her black hair pulled back and tied behind her head. She didn’t ease the tension on her bowstring until we were reining in our horses.

I was the first out of the saddle, but Parthet was less than a step behind me. Mother had been crying. She looked at me, then at Parthet.

“I was too late,” she said, her voice wavering.

7
The Hero

My insides seemed to lock up on me. I knew what she was saying. There was no point in questioning it. Even the blind instinct to repeat bad news was blocked. I don’t think I had ever seen Mother cry before. Parthet and Lesh stood with us. The four of us remained silent for a time and a time. Timon arrived, dismounted, gathered up the reins of all our horses, and took them off to the side without saying anything, while the rest of us remained locked in tableau. Timon must have felt the grief. When I finally spoke, the words seemed to isolate themselves in the air one at a time, like crystal bubbles, fragile explosive charges.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Inside,” Mother said, without any hint of gesture.

I looked at the door behind her, walked to it—very slowly. I hesitated before I pulled it open, and hesitated again between the dim twilight outside and the blackness within. As my eyes started to adjust, as well as they could, to the internal darkness, I saw a few vague shapes inside. I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned, Parthet handed me my flashlight. I nodded and he backed off, leaving the moment to me.

I turned on the flashlight and stepped into the cottage. It was as simple and mean a hovel as Parthet’s. Dad was lying on a bench at the side of the room, over to my right. Carl Tyner, King’s Champion, Hero of Varay. Dad.

Dead.

He was dressed for the outdoors, leather tunic over fatigue trousers like mine, Robin Hood cap on his head. His head rested on a small shield with a piece of fabric, something like burlap, folded over it into a thin pillow. His hands were clasped on his chest, over the hilt of his sword. I stared, looking for some trace of his chest rising and falling as he breathed, but there was no movement, no breath. I knew that there wouldn’t be, but that impossible hope nagged at my mind. His eyes were closed. His face looked serene, at peace. I saw no sign of wounds.