“We have seen signs of them, to be sure, but they have not come out to counsel with me, as is their habit. They left the Inn earlier this morning, but we followed our prisoners instead: Osbert watches the road to turn them our way.” Alfonzo paused for a moment, listening to the sounds of footsteps coming down the hall.
After a moment the door flew open to reveal a panting man, shrouded by a look of apprehension. “Alfonzo, I have news of the Fardy brothers!”
“Go on, Osbert,” for that is who the man was.
“They are captives of Montague – held, no doubt, for some evil purpose. I followed them along the road until they broke off into the forest, a few miles east of here and heading south.”
Alfonzo leapt to his feet, “Captives of Montague’s band! They will be destroyed before the sun sets! Has Gylain dared to assassinate the wealthy brothers while they are out of town on business? A cruel move and daring. I pray to God it does not work!”
“They run for Eden, at least, so they do not mean to dispatch them in the forest, where none can witness the execution.”
“Then they are sure of themselves. Gylain moves swiftly when the time is at the door.”
“And so must we.”
“Yes, and so must we,” Alfonzo said, “Let us be off!”
With that, he rushed out of the room, followed closely by Blaine and Osbert. When they had reached the main hall of the cavern, which connected each of the tunnels together, Alfonzo stopped.
“Osbert,” he said, “Assemble the men and prepare to be off, leaving only two guarding the prisoners. Blaine, I know your zeal, but I must ask you to rejoin the forces in Eden: Gylain cannot be left unwatched when we know his anger is about. It may work to our advantage that they press ahead hastily, but still, I would rather have a trusted man watching the city than his sword tracking the Fardy brothers. Make haste, therefore, and remember Jack Clifford, the Jester; for if the Fardy brothers have been taken, he may have been discovered. Here we must part. Farewell.”
As the two men dashed off to follow his orders, Alfonzo entered the prisoner’s chamber, followed by the men who had begun assembling at the cavern’s entrance. He calmly told the prisoners that urgent business required his departure, and took their leave. When he regained the main tunnel, Osbert had returned.
“Are there no more than twelve rangers left to us?”
“No, sir,” Osbert answered, “The rest were sent to Eden and to patrol the forest to the north and west. These are all we have, unless we take the blacksmiths.”
“No, this is enough,” was the answer.
With that, Alfonzo put himself at the head of the dozen rangers and left the cave at a brisk pace, unable to disguise his anxiety. But then, just outside the entrance to the caverns, he paused once more and turned to Osbert, who walked beside him.
“The Treeway goes faster,” he said, “But can we use it? Montague is about.”
“We should take the ground,” Osbert replied, “That is my judgment.”
“Very well,” and, turning to the west, Alfonzo ran into the forest, eager to overtake his longtime enemy, the terrible Jonathan Montague.
“The final battle for Atilta begins,” as the rangers sprinted through the forest, “The die has been cast: all that is left is to turn the table.”
“And let it be on them,” Osbert answered.
“I fear it will fall upon us all, and ere the end has come, many things will have been sacrificed for the freedom of our people that we, at this moment, would not be willing to sacrifice. That is the nature of a revolution, Osbert, and remember my words when the final days have come. But for now, we must work to stay afloat until the land will sink, one way or the other. Forward, then, and let us overtake Montague before the Fardy brothers are lost to us forever!”
With that, he quickened his pace, and said no more.
Chapter 7
“Shear my shanks and call me crazy, my brothers,” said the blond Fardy, “But it is my belief that the monk we have just left is no human at all. Perhaps he is a god or an animal, but he is no human. Write down my words, for I will claim them later!”
The morning sun filtered down through the lofty canopy that extended itself above them, casting shadows that showed it to be no later than nine o’clock in the morning. Behind them, half hidden by a curve in the road, was the Inn where they had spent the night, and before them stretched a desolate pass through the deep forest country. The air was warm and pleasant, slightly moist, and their stomachs filled.
“Yes, brother, he was hardly a man, for I happened to grasp his hand from underneath the thick robes that shrouded him, and it was as hairy as my head.” The brown Fardy raised his hand to his scalp and rubbed it vigorously to prove his point.
“Perhaps he wore gloves made from fur, brothers,” the black Fardy said. “Besides, if he were an animal he would not speak Latin.”
The other two assented hesitantly, sorrowful at the loss of so many witty remarks. Still, their minds – as fleeting as their tempers – were quick to light upon a new subject for their bombasts.
“I know you are slow to anger and swift to love, my brothers,” began the blond Fardy once more, “And I have seen your patience hold through many troublesome situations, though strained to the utmost. I believe I can justly declare that though many fallen mortals suffer from an angry disposition, we are not among them.”
“I see your point, brother,” answered the brown Fardy, “As our old mum said: ‘The road to health is temperance and wealth.’”
“What the devil! Why are you always interrupting me?” exclaimed the blond Fardy, giving his brown haired relative a firm smack on the head. The latter responded with an equally firm slap on his brother’s right cheek.
“As the good book says, ‘Whoever slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also!’” With that the brown Fardy slapped his brother again on the other cheek. “I will even prove my pious character by adding another smack, you wretched villain. I will go the extra mile, as the bad book says.”
“Perhaps it meant to refrain from taking any revenge, rather than doling it doubly,” suggested the black Fardy, causing his brother to lower his hand in mid-air. “What was it that you were saying, my blond relative?”
“As I was saying, before being interrupted by my patient and long suffering brother,” the other went on as if no altercation had taken place, “My brothers are very calm men of business, and it is a misfortune that—”
Here the brown Fardy interjected in cold sobriety, “I protest, brother, for if anyone is a patient, forbearing soul it is yourself, and I will not allow myself to be counted above you in that, or any other, regard.”
A flush rose in the blond brother’s face, and he roared, “You are by far my superior in terms of gentleness and self-control, and to prove that it is so, I will do this,” and he gave the brown Fardy a furious blow to the face, causing him to reel under its force and almost fall to the ground. “I challenge you to show, after that display, that you are any less subdued than myself.”
“I will not yield, but must defend your honor by raising you another level. Do not think that I enjoy this, yet it must be done to preserve your good name.” With that the brown Fardy gave the blond Fardy such a blow that the latter was thrown backwards.
The violence promised to soon get out of hand and into the fist, for neither would yield that he was quicker to patience and slower to anger than his brother. Luckily, the black Fardy offered a way of escape.
“Perhaps you are both possessed of such an amount of patience and gentleness that there can be no rivalry. For if two cups overflow, it is certain that neither contains more than the other.”
The two assented to this opinion and became genial once more, as if nothing violent had passed between them.
“I was saying it was a pity that we lost the suit of armor, because of its value, both in gold and as the royal armor of the house of Plantagenet. Yet it is lost, and to a monk. It should be worn only by the king.”
“His sword would have been a fitting addition to it, if we had won, and I can only fault myself for being too risky in thinking of such a venture,” the brown Fardy replied.
“If anyone was risky it was I, and I will hear nothing else,” was the answer.
The brown haired brother opened his mouth to refute that remark, and another storm cloud looked as if it were about to burst. The situation was eased, however, by the voice of the black Fardy.
“Perhaps it was our destiny to commit that risky act, my brothers,” he said, “But look, a lone monk
