He took her pencil and notepad. “My job isn’t finished,” he replied, smiling. “I’m the rear guard, remember? The pursuivant defending the door. I know there’s no door to defend anymore, but I still need to show people the way.”
“What will you do?”
“Remain in Wydeye until the Scene is established. Then I’ll join them, bringing with me anyone left who wants to follow.”
Ursel recognised the glint in his eye and knew she’d be a hypocrite to challenge him. She accepted his offer, finding herself grateful and unexpectedly relieved to have the company.
–
When Ursel left, the three Troubadours withdrew to the rise and stood in the glare of the midday sun. Below them, the quiet hum of excited anticipation reverberated through the dell. The news that they were no longer hunted fugitives had lifted a heavy burden from the shoulders of them all. Their own dark cloud had finally cleared, revealing a horizon of hope and the prospect of a new life, overground, elsewhere.
“If news had also come that the law against live music was revoked, would you consider returning?” said Chief. “If we could perform, at liberty, overground?”
Bend Sinister looked to the north. “Had you asked me that before we left underground, I would have said yes.” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relishing the sun’s warmth on his pale skin. “But now it’s different.”
“Even though we still don’t know if we’ll be able to connect elsewhere? We could journey for years and still fail in our search.”
Bend Sinister did not respond. His eyes remained closed, his expression serene.
Chief turned to Pale Dexter. “What about you?” she said. “If the law had changed, would you remain?”
Pale Dexter also looked to the north, eyes wide. “No. I would not.”
“Why?”
“When we agreed to leave, our hand was forced. Now that we are free of those caves, we face horizons on which there lies choice. I know we are still unable to remain and play at will. But neither would I want to, even if the law allowed.”
“I agree,” said Bend Sinister, slowly opening his eyes and turning to his comrades. “There is much to be said for fresh air and a fresh perspective. Listen to them.” He gestured to the dell below. “The new arrivals have reinvigorated our troupe. They’ve replenished our supplies of optimism and faith. For they, too, felt trapped in caves of their own making. But they found their freedom and grasped it with both hands. They have inspired me to do the same.”
“Well said, my friend,” said Pale Dexter.
Chief looked to them in turn, marvelling at the distance they had already come. “The light suits you both.”
“It’s decided then? We leave tomorrow?” said Bend Sinister.
Chief and Pale Dexter bowed their assent.
“Which leaves us the question of direction.”
“North,” they both replied.
–
By noon the next day, the Troubadours and their troupe had packed up camp and gained over ten miles’ distance.
In the centre of the abandoned dell, Wulfwin’s wrists and ankles bled. The wire used to bind them cut into his flesh as he fought to break free. Flies gathered and settled. The rope around his chest was tight. The tree to which he was tied, unyielding.
The Troubadours had debated what was to be done with their captive, deciding that their only option was to leave him behind.
“We can’t possibly take him with us,” Pale Dexter had said. “If we stop playing, his senses will return. As will the danger to us all.”
“But we can’t leave him here to die,” said Bend Sinister.
“Your drummer spoke of the troopers’ cultivated loyalty towards this man,” said Chief. “They will come looking for him. His bike tracks will lead them here.”
Seeing no safe alternative, they had tied him to a tree, then gave him water and something to eat before they had left.
Bound as he was, Wulfwin could drink no more. Three hours after the troupe’s departure, his throat was dust-dry. The mesmerising effect of the music was abating, enabling his wits to return. Fury dominated, numbing the pain as he wrenched his wrists, the wire cutting deeper.
Then he froze, held his breath. His senses still felt compromised, lacking his trust. Yet, there, in the distance, he felt sure he could hear it.
The growl of an engine.
As the sound drew nearer, Wulfwin’s hope became certainty. It was an Authority Ops truck, he had no doubt. “Hey,” he screamed. “Over here!” He knew it was pointless; they wouldn’t hear him over the noise of the engine. Yet desperation made him persist. “In here, you bastards.”
The growl was loud now, coming from just beyond the rise. It peaked, so close. Then it began to fade. “No!”
Wulfwin tugged his ankles, the wire cutting down to the bone. He guessed they were looking for him. If they missed him now, it was unlikely they’d return. He’d be left there. Left to die. “Come back!” he cried.
He suddenly fell silent. The engine’s sound had changed in pitch. The truck was in reverse. His heart pounded as the motor cut out. “I’m in here!” he yelled, his voice breaking.
He heard the snap of brushwood and rustle of leaves as someone slipped into the dell, approaching him from behind. Wulfwin struggled, twisting his shoulders, but he was tied too tight. “Who is it? Face me. I can’t fucking move.”
The man lingered in Wulfwin’s blind spot.
“I recognise the sound of the truck. You’re a trooper. Show yourself.”
The man remained out of sight.
“What the fuck, man? Untie me already. That’s an order.”
Silence.
“I know you’re a trooper. I can smell your boot polish. You wouldn’t have stopped and come looking for me if you weren’t.”
Nothing.
“What are you playing at? Face me, you fucker.”
The man took a step backwards. Then another.
“Hey, what are you doing? You fucking bastard. Help me.” He wrenched his wrists, the blood now coating his clenched fists. “You can’t leave me here.” A branch snapped, far behind him. “I’ll kill you for this, you hear me? I’ll get out of here and I’ll track you down. I’ll sniff you
