The Middle of Nowhere

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When darkness claimed the tent, the room exploded. Everywhere there was the scrape of iron blades and shouts of alarm. One of the guards still held a sword point firmly at the back of Howland’s neck.

“Stand still! Be quiet!” Rakell bellowed. “Keep your heads!”

Someone screamed, a blood-chilling sound. Howland heard a soft whirring, then a thud, and the blade at his back shifted abruptly and fell lengthwise across his back, landing on the carpet beside him. He bent and seized the short sword, peering ahead in the darkness.

There was a clash of iron, punctuated by more grunts and curses.

“Stop it, fools!” Rakell cried. “You’re fighting each other!”

Howland crawled forward on his hands and knees, finding himself against a wall where it seemed safe to stand. The whirring sounded again, and something sharp clipped his ear. Touching his stinging earlobe, Howland realized he was bleeding. Amergin! He was using his sling in total darkness. He crouched down, anxious to avoid being slain by his own confederate.

He didn’t dare say a word. If he spoke, he might give himself away to the enemy.

“Can’t someone make light?”

“Oh, mercy, I’m stabbed!”

“Let go! Let go of me, I’m one of you!”

Howland felt a light tug on his sleeve. He whirled, sword ready at his side.

“Who’s there?” he muttered.

“Marren.”

He reached out his left hand and grabbed a fistful of the blind man’s robe. Guided by his grip, Howland pressed the sword against Marren’s jaw.

“Traitor!” he hissed. “You would see your neighbors enslaved! Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

Marren leaned forward, confident in his mastery of darkness. “Because Malek is here. His brother too. Now I will lead you to them. Quiet yourself.”

Some large heavy object crashed behind them. A pungent, smoky smell filled the room.

“Who knocked over the censer?”

“Not me … why can’t I see the flames?”

“Because it’s out, idiot!”

“If it’s out, why is it still fuming-?”

New screams shattered the air.

“I’m burning! I’m burning!”

Marren calmly pushed the blade away from his face and pulled Howland’s hand from his robe. Taking the old soldier by the wrist, he led the way. Howland pulled against the old man.

“Amergin? Ezu?”

“Come away,” Marren insisted in a harsh whisper. “Come away, or all with be lost!”

Reluctantly, Howland let the blind man guide him out of the room. They entered a cool, breezy passage as dark as the previous room. There were no lights anywhere. Even the bonfires outside, which had cast such lurid shadows on the tent walls on their way in, seemed to have gone out. What was happening?

Unerringly, Marren led Howland to open air. Once outside-he knew this by the sound and smell-Howland was shocked to realize he couldn’t see any better! The darkness was everywhere. Even the stars were gone. The sky and land were as black as an onyx box.

“I can’t see!” Howland exclaimed. He planted his feet and refused to advance farther.

Marren touched his face lightly. “I thought so,” he said. “Rakell’s boys were too confused to be just nightblind.”

“How did this happen?”

“Your friend in the funny pants-what’s his name? He did it.”

“How could he? How do you know he wears odd pants?”

“Though blind, I hear well. Rakell’s men made many comments about his clothes. Darkness fell when your companion sneezed, so it must be his doing.”

Howland shook his head. Ezu had sneezed. At the time Howland imagined the strange traveler had somehow blown out the lanterns. How could his sneeze have the power to extinguish the campfires outside and the stars as well?

Marren resumed his fast walk. Howland let himself be led. More than once he felt heat on his face and believed he must be passing a still-blazing campfire. No one interfered with them. Whatever force had stricken Howland must have blinded every bandit in camp. All around them men floundered in the sudden darkness, cursing or calling piteously for help.

Canvas brushed against Howland’s forehead. Marren was taking him into a tent.

“Let me borrow this,” the old man said, plucking the sword from Howland’s hand. Ahead, two male voices were disputing loudly about the cause of the sudden, all-encompassing darkness.

“It must be an eclipse!” argued one. “The shadow of the moon has fallen across the world-”

“Moon? Don’t be a dolt! The moon is bright, it don’t have a shadow!”

Howland heard two dull clangs, and the disputatious guards fell silent. Marren returned and clasped his hand again. He put the hilt of the sword in Howland’s other hand.

“Thank you for the loan.”

They ducked between two heavy flaps. The room beyond was hot and close and felt very small. Howland could smell sweat, hear breathing.

“Malek? Nils?” Marren called softly.

Something stirred vigorously at their feet, yelping incoherently. Howland went down on one knee and found the brothers lying back to back, gagged, with their hands and feet bound. Working by touch alone, he untied the closest farmer’s gag.

“What’s happening? What’s happening?” sputtered Malek.

“Ssh, quiet!”

“Sir Howland! You’ve come to rescue us! Are you alone?”

“Marren uth Aegar is with me.”

Malek writhed against his bonds. “Where is he? I’ll kill him! Tell me where he is, the vile traitor!”

“Be still, will you? Marren brought me here. I had no idea Rakell’s men had taken you.”

“We were captured three days after we left home,” Malek said. He heaved against the cords around his wrists. “I saw Marren riding next to Rakell, wearing a velvet robe and golden chain! He has sold out his own people!”

There was no reasoning with him, so Howland untied Nils first. The older farmer moved slowly, grunting from obvious pain.

“I looked at a guard wrong,” he said, “and got a beating for my trouble.”

Horses galloped by, and the riders careened from the saddle, crashing to the ground just outside the tent. Everyone inside went stiff and silent. Whoever fell outside showed no sign of rising again anytime soon.

Whispering, Howland said, “I’ll free you, Malek, if you control yourself.”

“Where’s Laila?” he asked too loudly.

“I removed her from the room first,” said Marren calmly, “then came back for Sir Howland.”

“Don’t call me that,” Howland said quickly and harshly. “You know I don’t deserve it.”

“What do you mean? You’re a great warrior, a leader! A worthless turncoat like Marren should kiss your dirty shoe!” Malek hissed.

There was no time for explanations, so Howland let the matter drop. Nils and Malek could walk, the former with difficulty, and Marren said he could lead them back to Nowhere.

“What about Amergin and Ezu?” asked Howland.

“The forest elf is better off than all of us. He can see in darkness,” said Marren. “As for your strangely dressed companion, as the author of this confusion I assume he is safely gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I heard the elf moving easily in the darkness. He even used his sling to fell the bandit standing over you. Whatever the spell was your friend used, it affected only humans, not the elf.”

“Ezu a wizard!” exclaimed Nils. “Huh!”

“I won’t go back to the village without Laila!” said Malek.

“Malek, be sensible! How can we find her now? None of us can see,” his brother said.

“Her blind father could find her! Can’t you, Marren?”

Howland had a vague impression of the withered, white-haired old man nodding.

“I can find her, but I’ll guide you to the north side of the camp then go back for her myself. It’s safer for you that way, and Rakell does not yet suspect that I have done anything against him. Besides, my life matters little. Soon the disease in my bones will finish me, and I don’t want to be remembered as the tool of bandits.”

“Why were you treating with Rakell?” Howland demanded.

“He and I were comrades-in-arms once in the Dark Order. He thought he could enlist me in his new cause, and for comfort’s sake, I let him think so. I acted selfishly, I can’t deny. That’s over now, and I have a chance to pay back the good people who took me in when I arrived here, a sickly exile, twenty-seven years ago.” He moved to the door. “We must hurry.”

Supporting Nils between them, Howland and Malek followed the blind man out. There tiny embers glimmered in the night, though they knew they were really raging bonfires. Overhead, a few fuzzy points of light were growing visible in the sky again.

“Hurry!”

Marren led them haltingly through the maze of tents. The camp had grown quiet in the hour since darkness claimed their sight. Now and then they heard shouts or groans and heard horses snort as they grazed among the unconscious forms of their masters. In the unnatural dark, Marren found his way to the northern side of the camp. When the tall, untrammeled grass of the plain brushed against their knees, they knew the party was nearing freedom.

“Here you are. Can you see better yet?” Marren asked.

Howland could make out murky shapes but could not judge size or distance. Malek saw the stars and little else. Nils, for some reason, saw the best of any of them.

“I can make out the ground a few feet in front of me,” he said. “I can guide us back to the village.

“Good luck,” said Marren. “If you don’t encounter riders from the other camps, you’ll make it.”

“What about Laila?” Malek demanded.

“I’ll restore her to you. I swear it, on my forgotten honor as a Knight.” The old blind man smiled thinly, enjoying the irony of his words. He turned to Howland.

“Sergeant?”

Howland responded reflexively. “Yes, sir?”

“I seem to have lost my sword. Will you lend me yours?”

Howland weighed the purloined blade in his hand. His own sword had been taken away. This was the only weapon he and the brothers had between them. Nevertheless, he found Marren’s outstretched hand and pressed the pommel into it.

“Thank you,” Marren said. “I’ll try to do some damage with it.”

“Put half its length in Rakell if you want to do some real good!” said Malek bitterly.

They heard rather than saw Marren slip away. Hobbled by Nils’ injuries, the three men made slow progress across the field. Every time a loud noise erupted behind them, they stopped and looked around, but as far as they could tell, they weren’t being pursued.

By the time they reached the spot where Howland, Ezu, and Amergin had met their escort at the beginning of the night’s adventures, the vision of all three men was nearly fully restored. They circled wide and came upon the trench, with its fearful hedge of stakes and earthen rampart.

“Who goes there?” called a voice tentatively from the darkened defenses.

“Fangoth!” Howland replied.

“Is that you, Sir Howland?”

At his clipped affirmation, a plank wobbled over the rampart and fell across the trench. Malek and Nils tottered across. Howland came last.

Khorr, backed by wide-eyed farmers clutching cut-down lances, greeted Howland heartily. They were likewise delighted to see Nils and Malek again. The happy reunion palled, however, when Khorr looked behind them and asked, “Where’s Amergin and Ezu?”

“We got separated,” Howland answered grimly. “Keep a sharp lookout for them.”

On Nowhere common, nervous villagers crowded around to hear Howland’s account of the mission.

“Rakell lives,” he said heavily. Groans followed. “He never had any intention of parleying with us. He only agreed to the meeting so he could capture and decide our fates first.”

Raika asked about Amergin and Ezu. Howland told them everything, from Ezu’s powerful “sneeze” to their rescue by Marren uth Aegar.

“Ezu a true wizard? I don’t believe it!” Robien said.

The other hired fighters were not so skeptical. Raika, remembering her special gifts and the uncanny way Ezu came and went, found it easy to believe the strange foreigner had hidden powers.

As for Marren, older folk like Caeta recalled when he first came to Nowhere. Weak and wounded, his clothing and horse had marked him as a man once of substance in spite of his diminished circumstances. Nilea, a village woman, had nursed him to health. She subsequently became his mate and the mother of Laila. Marren survived but never prospered. The wasting sickness took hold of him, and he spent twenty years dying a hair’s breadth every day.

“So Marren was a Knight,” Nils mused. “If Laila becomes your wife, will that make you noble, too?”

Malek saw no humor in the question and glared fiercely at his older brother.

“One more thing you should all know,” Howland said in a low, shamed voice. “Just as Marren and Rakell were old comrades in arms, so too were Rakell and I.”

No one responded until Malek said, “You spoke of your service to the Dark Order. You were forced to do what you did. It was not of your choosing.”

“No, I was a sergeant in the army of Lord Burnond Everride. I was never a Knight, much less a general. I lied about that. I’ve misled you all this time. You should have an honest commander, not someone like me, and I recommend you choose Robien.”

“Nonsense!” said the bounty hunter. “No one here could have commanded as well. No one has more experience of war than you. You are our commander, Knight or not.”

Caeta agreed. “We don’t care what you were before you came to us. Since the battle began, you’ve proven again and again you deserve our trust. If you are not a Knight, so be it, but we have made you our general. No one else.”

Howland looked away, ashamed to let anyone see the color in his face. If ever there was a time for a blindness spell, this was it.

Just before dawn, Amergin returned. He rose up from the uncut grass and ran to the barricades on the northeast side of the village. Easily vaulting the tangle of fences and vines, he stole up on the two farmers on guard there. Both were sleeping.

He tapped one on the shoulder. The scruffy, yellow-bearded man awoke with a yell and grabbed the spear leaning against his shoulder. His shout aroused his comrade, who dropped his spear, tried to pick it up, and promptly tripped over the shaft of the other man’s weapon.

Amergin clamped a slim brown hand over the yelping farmer’s mouth. Eyes wide, he saw he was facing the Kagonesti forester, not a bandit sneak attack.

“Know me?”

The farmer nodded, slowly.

“Don’t shout. Yes?”

Again a nod.

Amergin took his hand away.

“Happy day!” exclaimed the not-so watchful watchman. “We feared you were taken by the enemy!”

The fallen guard got up and likewise expressed delight upon seeing Amergin. “Howland returned with Malek and Nils,” he said. “Did you know Sir Howland was not a real Knight? They say he used to be Rakell’s bootblack, or something-”

“No, stupid, he used to groom Marren’s horse!” He added for Amergin’s benefit, “Our Marren was a real Knight-”

The elf left them arguing. Beyond the line of huts, Amergin came upon Raika’s spearmen, deployed to intercept anyone who emerged. They’d heard the guards’ cries and taken up positions without waiting to rouse their captain from her bedroll. Some deeds were more dangerous than others.

The forester quickly found himself surrounded by a bristling ring of spears. The farmers knew Amergin, of course, but they were so shaken by their ordeal that the elf had to calm them before they lowered their weapons.

Robien arrived. Howland was still resting after his busy night, so the bounty hunter was in charge.

In Elvish, he said to Amergin, “Glad to see my bounty is still safe.”

Amergin did not deign to respond to this sally. In the common tongue he said, “So Howland is safe.” With rare emotion, he added, “What of Ezu?”

“There’s been no sign of him,” Robien answered. Nor had Marren or his daughter Laila turned up.

When the sun was well up, a shout of dismay went up from Carver’s lookouts, posted on the hut roofs. Their cries awoke Howland, who left the shadow of the old well and asked what it was the young sentinels saw.

“The bandits! They’ve staked someone out!”

Howland, Robien, and Malek clambered onto the nearest hut to get a look. Sure enough, the bandits had erected two poles on the plain, out of whippik range. Between the poles was the dark outline of a man, tied to them and hanging limply.

“Is it Ezu?” called Carver from his perch.

Robien shaded his eyes. “I don’t think so. Whoever it is has white hair-”

“Marren!”

Malek asked, “What about Laila? Where is she?”

Howland had no comforting reply. The general of Nowhere slid down the thatch and dropped to the ground. Robien and Malek followed., “I wonder what did happen to Ezu?” the old soldier mused. “I don’t think normal bonds can hold our friend the traveler.”

Malek broke away, running to a stand of captured arms. He sorted through a pile of swords, trying to find one straight and sharp. Each blade that failed to measure up he tossed aside violently. The others followed him, exchanging looks.

“Going somewhere?” asked Howland mildly. The angry youth ignored him.

“You escaped once by the fortunate intervention of a wandering wizard. You won’t be so lucky a second time.”

“Talk about luck!” Malek said, eyes blazing. “You went to kill Rakell and failed. Then you got lucky and escaped. I will not fail, and I do not care about your brand of luck!”

He found the best of the hard-used blades and shoved it through the rough sash tied around his waist. Howland and Robien did nothing to stop Malek as he stormed to the south barricade and started climbing over it.

“You won’t get to Rakell, you know,” Howland said.

“I don’t care about Rakell or my life! I must save the woman I love!”

“If you’re killed, what good will your sacrifice do?”

Malek faltered. Howland pressed on. “If you’ll stay here and put that fury to good use, defending your neighbors, I’ll make you a pledge,” he said.

Malek halted atop an old rail fence. “What do you mean? Speak plainly!”

“Just this: If you remain here and fight like a soldier instead of a love-struck berserker, I pledge that I myself will kill Rakell and do my best to free Laila. She hasn’t been punished like her father. I’ll wager she is safe for the time being. The coming battle will decide everything, and I pledge to you that I will trade Rakell’s life for my own. Is that plain enough?”

Malek snorted contemptuously, but Howland waved aside the young farmer’s disdain.

“On my honor-” he almost said “as a Knight”-“On my honor as a soldier. Good enough?”

Malek jumped down. He went to Howland and put out his hand. Before he could grasp it, Malek drew the nicked edge of the blade over his own palm, drawing blood. Never taking his eyes off Malek, Howland drew his dagger and scored a cut on his hand too. Old soldier and young farmer pressed their bleeding palms together, wordlessly sealing their pact.

“Good enough,” said Malek.