ash tree a few steps off the trail. Roder sat astride the wide trunk and spread his kerchief on the moss-encrusted wood. Teffen perched on the other side of the tree, hands clasping a knee to his chest. He sighed.
“We’ll find her,” Roder said. “They can’t have done anything with her yet. They’re still moving-they must know we’re pressing them.”
“I just wish we were fifty strong instead of two,” Teffen said.
“There aren’t fifty Knights at Castle Camlargo.”
Teffen gazed off into the darkening wood. “Really? I thought there’d be more than that.”
“There’s never more than thirty Knights at the castle. There’s a hundred men-at-arms, you know, but the whole garrison is out right now, hunting outlaws.”
“I heard the forest was dangerous before I left home, but I had no idea how bad it was. Which band do you think attacked Renny and me?”
Roder whittled slivers of hard, white cheese off the block he carried in his pouch. He offered a chunk to Teffen. “There’s any number of gangs roaming the forest, but Lord Burnond says two bands in particular are a menace. One’s run by a villain named Gottrus-’Bloody Gottrus’ the foresters call him. He was once a retainer of Lord Laobert’s, but he was branded for theft and driven out of Fangoth. They say he’s killed a hundred people, men and women alike, and robbed over a thousand.”
Teffen bit off a piece of smoky cheese. “Who’s the other outlaw chief?”
“A mysterious fellow known as ‘Lord’ Sandys.” Roder rummaged in his pouch and found the bunch of grapes he’d tossed in before his hasty departure from the castle. Unfortunately, his fall on the creek bank had pulped the sweet fruit. He withdrew his sticky fingers and shook his head.
“What so mysterious about him?”
“No one can say what he really looks like,” Roder said, wiping his fingers on the kerchief. “He’s a clever rogue. Last year he robbed a merchant caravan of fifteen hundred steel pieces, even though the wagons were guarded by fifty mercenaries.”
“Has this Sandys killed a lot of people?”
“His share, I’m sure. He’s an outlaw, but they say he’s cut from different cloth than Bloody Gottrus. Gottrus is a killer and plunderer. Sandys, they say, has some kind of personal vendetta against the Knights-”
Teffen bolted from the tree. His movement was so swift and sudden Roder missed his mouth and poked a sliver of cheese into his cheek.
“What is it?”
“I heard something. A horse.”
Roder stood up, hand on his sword hilt. “Where?”
“It came from that direction.” Teffen pointed down the gloomy trail from whence they’d come. He stiffened. “There!” he hissed. “Did you hear that?”
Roder wasn’t about to admit he heard nothing. With no pretense of stealth he dragged his leg over the fallen tree and walked past Teffen to the middle of the path. His nonchalance evaporated when he spotted a dark gray figure far down the trail, silhouetted against the near-black tapestry of trees. It was a man on horseback, waiting there.
Roder pulled at his sword hilt, but it didn’t seem to want to come out the scabbard. Red-faced, he shouted, “Hey!” at the phantom. Like a ghost, the man turned his horse away, and vanished silently into the trees.
“Teffen! Did you see-?” Roder realized he was addressing empty air. The boy was gone, too. Poor lad, he’s probably frightened and hiding, Roder thought.
“Teffen? Teffen, where are you? It was just one man, I’m sure. He turned tail when he saw me.” He stood absolutely still and listened. Tree frogs and crickets were beginning to wake up for the night. Beyond them he could hear nothing. He decided Teffen must have run off.
“Idiot,” he said good-naturedly. Teffen would return once he realized there was no danger. No sense blundering after him in the dark woods. Roder scratched up some tinder and twigs and used his flint to start a small campfire. If Teffen had any sense at all, he’d home in on the light or the smoke.
Roder sat down with his back against the fallen ash tree. The little fire crackled just beyond his feet. He laid his sword and scabbard across his lap and resolved to remain awake until Teffen returned. His resolve failed him. By the time the fire had burned down to a heap of glowing coals, Roder was well asleep.
Something brushed his cheek. In his torpor, Roder scratched his face to shoo the fly. It came back and nudged him a little more firmly. Not a fly, then. Berry.
“Go ‘way,” he mumbled, rolling away from the annoying horse.
Something tickled his nose. In his sleep-addled mind, Roder thought he was at home, at Camlargo. His small room was plagued with spiders during the warm months. He hated them. He once knew a boy who died of a spider bite. When the insistent tickling returned to his ear, he knew it couldn’t be Berry bothering him. It must be-a spider!
He rocketed upright, kicking his feet and slapping his own face with both hands. His backward progress was stopped when he ran into the ash tree trunk.
“Eh?” he said. A lantern flared. Roder looked up into a cold, grim face.
Leaning against the fallen tree was Teffen, a hooded lantern in his hand. With him were five rough-looking men clad in deerskins, their faces smeared with soot.
“What’s this?” asked Roder, unsure of what he was seeing.
“The charade is over,” Teffen said. “Good night, good Knight.” He nodded. Before Roder could protest, the hard-looking man nearest him raised a mallet and brought it down on Roder’s tousled head.
Lord Burnond was not going to like this turn of events.
Roder opened his eyes with effort. It felt as if someone had poured sealing wax on them.
“Ow,” he groaned. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to oversleep-” He blinked and tried to wipe away the haze and discovered his hands were tied to his ankles. It was an extraordinarily cramped position, made all the more unpleasant by the dull throb of pain in his head.
A bucketful of cold water hit him. “Good morning,” said a calm voice. Roder shook off the water and inner cobwebs and saw a slim pair of legs in front of him, clad in soft suede boots and black leather trews.
“Ugh, who is it?”
The legs bent, and Teffen squatted down nose to nose with Roder. “Did you sleep well?” he asked genially.
Roder strained against his bonds. “No, damn you! Let me go! Ow! What’s this mean, Teffen?”
“I thought the situation was clear. You’re my prisoner.”
“But I’m a Knight of Takhisis!”
“Are you? The quality of captives around here is going up.”
Another, stockier pair of legs entered his view. “This is all he had on ‘im,” said the newcomer. “Some kinda seal on it.”
“That’s an official dispatch!” Roder protested. “Put it back! Don’t touch it-” Fragments of the red wax seal fell on his shoes.
“Let’s see what the commandant of Camlargo has on his mind, eh?” Teffen perused the scroll sent by Commandant Burnond. “Hmm, interesting.”
“What’s it say?” Two more pairs of legs crowded around, peering over their leader’s shoulder.
“You know none of you know how to read,” said Teffen. His cronies merely grunted. “How about you, Roder? Can you read this?” He held the unrolled parchment in front of Roder. Neat lines of script filled the page from top to bottom.
“Of course I can read it,” he snapped. “That’s a very important dispatch from my lord Burnond Everride to Lord Laobert, commander of the garrison at Fangoth!”
The outlaw chief scrutinized the document again.
“Remarkable,” he said dryly. “I had no idea Bumond was so literate.”
“You know Lord Burnond?”
He stood up. “We’re competitors, you might say.” He rolled the scroll into a tight tube and stuck it in his boot top. “So, Roder, my lad. Now we’ve got you. The question is, what are we going to do with you?”
“You’d best let me go.”
“And waste a good hostage?” asked Teffen. The brigands laughed.
