Hurrin who took the scroll and opened it. As he read the missive, the servant turned about and quickly left the room.
“Good news,” he said with a grin.
“Is it the Basni?” asked the River Man.
Lord Hurrin nodded. “Yes. They’ll be at the rendezvous with five hundred men.”
The River Man moved to the window and looked northward. “Are our men assembled?” he asked.
“There are still a hundred from South Shadow that have yet to arrive,” replied Lord Hurrin. “I expect them any day.”
“Keep me posted,” the Warlord of the Orack Tribe said as he continued to gaze northward toward Byrdlon.
Hitting the ground, Bart rolled then came to a stop. Moving back against the wall, he glanced again to the guards. When he saw they remained oblivious to his presence, he dashed across the open area to the stable.
The stables were dark, with only the occasional equine noises coming from within. Bart raced for the door and reached it while still remaining unnoticed. He was surprised that he had made it this far without being seen. Praying to the gods that his luck would hold out for a little longer, he opened the stable door and entered.
Two big brown eyes greeted him as he passed inside. The horse in the nearest stall snorted and watched as Bart closed the door behind him. “Easy boy,” whispered Bart, at which the horse gave off with another snort.
Leaving the doorway, Bart gave the horse a reassuring pat on the side of its head and then moved to the rear storage room. There he hoped to find sufficient rope to reach from the top of the defensive wall to the ground on the other side.
As he made his way toward the back, a rather loud snore broke the stillness. Bart paused where he was and stared at the dark doorway leading to the storage room. The snore had come from there. When another snore followed the first, he cautiously resumed moving and quickly reached the doorway. Once there, he peered through and saw the form of what had to be a lad of about fourteen years sleeping on a cot boxed in by a stack of saddle blankets on one side, and barrels of feed on the other.
Bart couldn’t afford to have the boy awaken and sound the alarm. Pulling his knife, he made his way forward. Before he reached the cot, some noise must have disturbed the lad for his eyes suddenly snapped open. Moving quickly, Bart lunged forward just as the lad realized a man with a knife was coming for him.
Exploding in a flurry of motion, the lad scooted backward on the cot but was closed in by the blankets and feed. Knocking aside the lad’s poor attempt at defending himself, Bart grabbed the front of his shirt and whispered, “Quiet and I won’t hurt you.” Gazing into the boy’s eyes, he gradually rotated his knife back and forth so what little light there was would reflect off of it.
Terrified and thinking his life was about to end, the boy stared at the knife, nodded, and grew still. Eyes moving from the knife held before him to Bart, he started to tremble.
On one of the shelves in the storage room were coils of rope of varying lengths. Taking two of the smaller ones, Bart tied the lad’s hands and legs together. Taking hold of one of the horse blankets, he used his knife to cut off a corner then stuffed it into the boy’s mouth. When he was done, he said, “I’ll be but a minute.” The lad stared back at him with terror filled eyes. “You give me any grief and I’ll kill you. Understand?”
The boy nodded.
“Alright then,” Bart grunted. Replacing his knife in its sheath, he began searching through the coils of rope for those having the longest lengths. Once he found several that suited his needs, he began tying their ends together. As he worked, Bart kept casting glances over to the boy. In the almost pitch blackness of the storage room he saw the lad’s eyes watching his every move.
After the last knot was cinched tight, he picked up the coil of rope. He no sooner started to leave the storage room than the outer door of the stable was thrust open and a guard entered with sword drawn. From outside, Bart could hear the sound of shouting and running feet. Apparently, the makeshift rope he left dangling on the side of the castle had been discovered.
Another guard entered after the first. “Jacob!” he hollered. When no answer was forthcoming, he said to the first guard, “He might still be sleeping. Go check it out.”
“Yes sir,” replied the guard. With sword in hand, the guard began moving toward the storeroom. While he went to see about the boy, the other began checking inside each of the stalls.
“Wake up, Jacob!” the guard hollered toward the storage room.
Bart glanced to the boy lying on the cot and shook his head. The boy nodded and remained still. His fear of Bart outweighed his desire to alert the guards. As the guard neared the storage room, Bart set the coil of rope gently to the ground. Then he pulled out his knife again and waited.
“I don’t think he’s here,” Bart heard the guard say as he came to the doorway. As the guard pushed the door open a little further and stuck his head in, Bart lashed out with the butt of his knife. The blow to the back of the guard’s head knocked him out. Catching the unconscious guard before he could hit the floor, Bart quickly dragged him away from the doorway.
“Is he there?” asked the other guard. Pausing in his search of the stalls, he turned toward the darkness at the rear of the stable. “Kell?”
“Come here!” Bart said in his best imitation of the now unconscious guard. “He’s hurt.”
“What?” the guard exclaimed. Moving from the stall, he hurried toward the storage room. “Is he alright?” he asked, worry in his voice.
Bart heard him moving quickly toward the storage room. Then just as he had with the first one, he struck him in the head with the butt of his knife as he emerged. After moving the second guard next to the first, Bart turned to the lad and asked, “Are you Jacob?”
The boy nodded.
Bending over, Bart picked up the coils of rope tied together. “They’re not dead,” he assured the lad. “Just knocked out.” Then he moved from the storage room back into the stable.
Light streamed in through the doorway and windows. Scores of guards were running around with torches and lanterns as they searched for him. Pausing at one of the windows, Bart scanned the courtyard for the magic user and was relieved he was nowhere in sight. For what he was about to do would bring him running.
Bart removed the Cloak from his pack and put it on. He had first tried to put it on with the coil of rope across his shoulders beneath it, but the rope had proved too bulky. So now he was forced to carry it outside of the concealing magic of the Cloak.
With the Cloak on and the front securely closed, he moved to the front door. Until he pulled up the hood, the magic of the Cloak wouldn’t be activated. And once it was, the magic user would be coming.
Outside, the sound of the search continued. Men raced to and fro as they hunted for him. Moving to the doorway leading from the stable, Bart looked out. The gates were some distance away, closed and guarded with two score guards. Above them on the walls were over a dozen archers. His only chance was to go over the wall before those at the gates could reach him.
Not far from the stable was the entrance to one of the guard towers. The stairs rising within each tower were the only way to reach the top of the wall. The area around the door to the nearest tower was brightly lit. The door stood closed, and in the few windows positioned in its walls, he could see the silhouettes of men moving within. The next closest guard tower was over a hundred feet away. The area before its door was not nearly so well lit. He remained just within the stable, debating whether or not to make for the further one when the door of the closer tower opened and three guards emerged. They began heading toward the gates leading from the castle area. Behind them, the door swung closed, but came to a stop before shutting completely. This was his chance!
Praying that the magic user was nowhere in the vicinity, he pulled the hood over his head and left the stable. As he dashed across the open space toward the tower’s door he thought that if anyone chanced to look in his direction, they would see a large coil of rope seeming to float through the air on its way from the stable to the tower.
The River Man was practically running through the castle hallways, the magic user and the rest on his heels. As soon as one of his guards had notified him of finding the rope dangling from a window outside, he immediately rushed to the scene. “How did he get outside without your guards seeing him?” he asked.
“I don’t know my lord,” the sub-captain replied. Bristling with anger at the apparent laxness of his men, he followed his lord.
Just as the entrance came into view, flashes of miniature lightning suddenly burst from the purplish ball the
