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LEAVING KOLADA WAS the right thing to do. Neal didn’t want trouble. Lord Sylvester’s army had all but disappeared, and Kayden seemed to have the village’s need at heart. The commander had no special orders from Barin about maintaining a presence in Kolada. Neal had learned a long time ago that when Barin entrusted him with decisions, Neal must make them with confidence.
But as he looked back at the many men and women in armor who followed him, he wondered if their presence would be intimidating where he was going, particularly riding across the border into the empire of Casdamia.
“A shilling for your thoughts, sir,” Jynifyr teased, bringing her horse alongside his.
“I’m just wondering how many of you have a change of clothes.”
She laughed and gave him an inquisitive look.
“I’m serious. I know you ladies do. I’m hoping my men do as well. A hundred soldiers can’t ride into Moshere’s empire in armor. I’m thinking we’ll need to disguise ourselves somehow and cross the border in shifts. Meet up somewhere or have runners.”
He glanced at her. “Tell your people to fall back as soon as we’re in view of the bridge. He signaled to two of his officers and eventually the word spread. Those who didn’t have civilian clothing were to wrap in cloaks, coats, blankets, whatever they had.
When the bridge appeared in the distance, peeking in and out of the foggy twilight sky, clusters of the soldiers retreated into the woods along the route. Each cluster would wait an hour after those before them left. Lenneth and Eli would be the first to ride into Wellstone an hour behind Neal and Lorica. Neal would meet them near the edge of town, and relay orders from there. When the others crossed, they would hold up in separate campsites in the woods near the village.
By the time they reached the crossing, the sky had darkened both from a storm brewing to the north and the evening settling in. A mist of snowflakes circled about him as he dismounted, rubbed Elba’s neck, and spoke softly to her. The smell of her wet winter coat gave off a familiarity that soothed him. He had no idea what he was doing, he just knew he had to do it, to follow the gateways and look for a sign that Barin was still alive, active in the Neverworld—and heading toward this unfamiliar city named Benata to confront the ringmaster of this terrible conspiracy.
Lorica followed his lead, dismounted, and waited for him to begin crossing over the bridge. Neal’s horse, Elba, balked at the hollow sound beneath her hooves, and so he pulled his scarf off and wrapped it around her eyes, speaking gently, coaxing her. As larger flakes fell and the snow began to stick, the wood of the old bridge became slick. The river rumbled below them, and night made its entrance. He could see nothing but darkness and the blizzard ahead.
This was the only bridge that, according to Benjamin’s map, crossed the narrowest part of the river. With the snow and ice as it were, the walk would take a good hour. Snow piled under his feet, landed on his shoulders, and weighed down his cowl. It formed clusters on his hair and eyelashes, and on Elba’s mane and winter coat. Both man and horse breathed steam and clung to each other for warmth. He looked over his shoulder at Lorica. He feared one of the horses would shy at the hollow sound under its hooves, or that the whistle of the wind at the center of the bridge would cause it to panic.
“Are you well with this?” he asked Lorica.
“As best I can be,” she answered.
“Very well. Hold your horse’s head tightly and talk to her. Better for her to hear your promises than to listen to the angry river under these thin boards.
He began the trek, his boots slipping slightly until he dug in with his heels. Lorica kept a distance behind. He could hear her above his own whisperings, and it was as if he were listening to prayers, for she spoke of her children and mentioned her husband. Though his pursuit was to find Barin, hers was to reunite her family, and for some reason, it made his quest even more desperate.
Neal wasn’t a family man, he never married, never came close to proposing to a woman. He spent little time around children and hadn’t offered his affection toward any, yet these gentle appeals of a mother tore at his heart, and with each step over that raging river, even though his toes were frozen, his lips numb, and his lashes covered with frost, he vowed he wouldn’t stop until her family—and the others—were reunited.
The wind blew hard at the highest point on the bridge and the rungs under his feet seemed unstable. “Keep moving,” he whispered to Elba. “We’re halfway there.”
His coaxing worked for a while, but then the mare stopped.
“Look,” Lorica said.
Ahead of them where the bridge met the shore, stood a man—or what seemed to be a man. His cloak swayed in the wind, and his hands, long and white, seemed also to shift with the squall.
“He’s not human,” Lorica said. “I don’t know what he is, but he’s not a man.”
Neal wanted to tell her that was foolish, but the more he stared, the more he realized the form had little substance if any, coming and going like smoke, first one way and then another, but always a cruel face staring at them.
“What is it?” she asked. Neal shook his head, unable to answer. The storm had begun its fury and the wind tore at Neal’s cloak, freezing whatever flesh was exposed and slapping his hair against his face. Blinking did nothing to keep the snow out of his eyes and he knew if they didn’t get off that bridge soon they’d be icicles. He stroked Elba on her neck, held his head up against her warm winter coat and whispered again.
“We must go.”
Little by little he persuaded the horse to move. She couldn’t see the image with the scarf around her eyes, but perhaps she smelled it. Neal drew his sword as he walked and glanced back at Lorica who also carried hers. The closer to shore, the more confident the horses stepped, and the phantom seemed to move away from them, either retreating, or luring them forward.
Neal hoped it was a figment of his imagination, simply an illusion that the swirling snow had created and that the wind would whisk away the image. Relieved they had reached the end section of the bridge, he walked quicker, but when he turned around to help Lorica off the last step, she screamed. Elba reared and Brightness yanked herself free and leapt off the bridge, racing into the dark. Neal let go of his reins and Elba followed Brightness.
Not only had the phantom advanced toward them but three more of the creatures lunged at Neal. Breath as foul as death swept into his nostrils and he gagged. Vaporous hands seized Neal’s sword. He held on and the thing dragged him into the brush as he struggled to gain it back. Lorica slashed at one of the beings, but her blade passed through its body. The third grabbed her from behind and wielded her through the air. She cried out, fainting as she landed against a tree. Neal freed his sword just as a gush of air swirled around the entities and bound them together, whipped them high into the air amid the falling snow, and threw them into the river. The water boiled. A pillar of steam shot into the sky. The creatures screeched with a sound that shook the ground and broke a branch from a nearby tree. Neal covered his ears. When it fell silent again, he panted as he stared into the darkness. The threat was gone as quickly as it had come. He hurried to where Lorica lay unconscious and lifted her out of the bramble.
“Is she alive?” a breathless voice broke through the whistle of the wind.
Neal stood with Lorica in his arms, his lips too numb to answer.
“Come, I have a place to get out of this boot-hailing storm! Follow me.”
Neal hadn’t recognized the man at first. His charcoal cloak and leather cowl had covered his head, the wind blew his stringy hair across his face, and his voice was distorted in the squall. But as soon as they came into the alleyway of a village where the stone cottages broke the wind, Neal could see past his frozen lashes and marveled at his rescuer. Chase, the ham-fisted wizard who no one trusted but Lorica’s husband, had saved them.
Chase led them into a barn and shut the door, threw his cloak on a pile of straw, and Neal lay Lorica down. A lantern hanging from a post by an empty stall burned dimly. Chase adjusted the smoking wick until it let out a glow.
“They can’t kill. The Influencers can only torture and terrorize, but they can’t kill a human being,” he said. “If that helps you any. They weren’t after you. They probably thought you were me. They’ve been chasing me ever since I came out of that blasted inferno.”
Neal had been warming Lorica’s hands, rubbing them with his, listening to the wizard’s rant. He put his own cloak over her and felt her forehead, wiped a trickle of blood from a gash on her head and then felt her pulse.
“Will she live?” Chase asked.
“I think so,” Neal answered. “She fainted from fright and the cold.” He looked up at the wizard. “I was told you went through the gateway with her husband.”
Chase sighed. “We came out together, too.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s back. In there.” Chase waved his arm and walked away.
“Do you want to tell me the story, or should I just guess?” Neal hadn’t much patience left, not with what he’d been through. He brushed straw off his trousers and surveyed his surroundings. There were no animals in the barn and the smell was old and rancid, but warmth came from the piles of moldy hay.
“I’ll have to, I guess. Better to tell you while she’s asleep. We were out of the Neverworld, sheltered by the family that lives in this shed here.” He pointed to a door in the back corner of the barn. “I’ll introduce you in the morning. They’ll give you a hot meal. They’re good folk, not like the herdsmen.”
“Where’s Jareth?” Neal asked.
“There was a caravan that came through here. You haven’t met the herdsmen, so you don’t know the danger the good people of Wellstone face. The herdsmen insisted all the children of the village join this procession taking the children to a university, so they said, but that’s not where they were going. It was a lie. The mercenary knew it was a lie.” He looked Neal in the eye.
“I’m beginning to understand,” Neal said softly. “So where is he?”
“I wish these villagers suspected it was a lie, but the herdsmen didn’t give them much choice. It was a matter of dying here or maybe living somewhere else, so the family sent them on their way. Jareth wanted to follow. “Nah—” he spat into the straw at his feet— “he didn’t just want to follow. He wanted to fight. He wanted to save them all.” Chase stared at Lorica after he wiped his mouth. “Their son was there, only he wasn’t in the wagons getting carried away. He was one of them.”
“One of who?”
“They call themselves Browncoats. They were the herders of the parade. They had fancy wagons. It looked like a circus. It made the children excited to be part of it, so they gladly left their parents.” The wizard sniveled and rubbed his nose. “The mercenary did what he liked to do. He snuck around their wagons trying to persuade the children to leave. But the Browncoats saw him. They attacked and I hid. They beat Jareth to the ground and dragged him off, back to the Neverworld I think.”
“And you let them go? You did nothing?”
Chase shook his head. “Watched the whole thing unfold and sat among the trees cringing like the coward that I am.”
Neal stood speechless. The wizard bowed his head and wandered into the shadows.
“You didn’t act like a coward throwing those Influencers into the river tonight.”
He shrugged and brushed his hair back with his hands. “It’ll take a lifetime of doing things like that to make up for what I didn’t do for Jareth.”
“It might not be too late.”
He grunted. “Maybe.”
“Then help.”
“How?”
“Find this woman’s husband. He’s all she’s got in this world. That and her young ones.”
Chase said nothing but rubbed his arms and shifted his feet, pacing back and forth over the straw. “He’s in the abyss. In one of those prison cells if he’s still alive. Her son’s gone, swayed over to the dark world.” He shook his head.
“You gave a map to the blacksmith. You know that place as well as anyone. Better!”
“Too well.”
“And yet you’re satisfied leaving Jareth there?”
He looked up at Neal with watery eyes and a pathetic frown. “Are you jesting with me? It’s eating at me inside out.”
“You can do something.”
“What?”
“Go get him!”
Chase snorted and walked away. “It’s not that easy. They were going to interrogate him. Chain him. Maybe kill him, I don’t know.”
Neal glanced at Lorica and clenched his fist. He had convinced hesitant soldiers before, encouraged them, helped them to face their fears. Most always he had success. But Chase was different. Seldom were men as cowardly and despondent as this wizard.
“What do you know of the king? Is he in the Neverworld, too?”
Chase shook his head. “I didn’t see the king.”
“He went in after you.”
Chase moaned and rubbed his forehead. “It’s lost. Everything is lost. There are no heroes.”
Lorica moaned and rolled to her side, silencing the men. Neal scanned the barn, and when he saw a lone saddle blanket hanging over a gate to a stall, he grabbed it and wrapped it over his shoulders.
“Where are you going?” Chase asked, alert.
“There’s someone I have to meet. I’ll be back shortly,” he said. “Take care of her... if you can manage.”
He closed the door on Chase, sick to his stomach at the wizard’s cowardice. Lenneth would be at the edge of Wellstone soon, and Neal had to meet him. The walk would give him time to think. Of all the years in service, this was the first time he felt inept, horseless, holed up in a barn with a woman he barely knew and a spineless wizard. His anger kept him warm, the blanket did little.
Neal’s boots crunched into the icy snow as he followed the footprints they had made. No other living creature wandered the streets, and very few of the cottages were lit. Smoke spiraled into the air from several chimneys, floating above the village and releasing the scent of burning pine and cedar. But other than that, the small community slept. Constructed from river rock and cedar logs, the architecture in Wellstone varied from homes in the Potamian kingdom. Steep gabled roofs were the most noticeable difference. Clay tiles topped the houses instead of thatching and badger, coon and beaver pelts hung from beams on covered porches. This was a wintry town, occupied by hunters.
The snow still fell but the wind had slowed, and the cloud cover seemed to have raised the temperature to bearable. As he neared the bridge, he sighed in relief at the sight of not only Lenneth but several other soldiers who had been the next company to cross. They wore civilian clothes, as he had asked and one of them even had a cap.
“There!” someone called out and headed toward him. Another man led three horses his way.
“Sir we feared something happened to you when we heard a terrible screech and then found your horses wandering by the river, so I summoned a search party.”
“Thank the holy gods for that!” Neal took the reins of Elba and Brightness. “There was a mishap. Tell these men to camp a short way upriver.”
“Any news of the king, sir?”
“No. But we’ve run into the wizard and have news of the mercenary. I may need your help in the morning to rescue him, so come with me and bring one of the pack horses.”
Before he headed back to the barn, though, Neal searched the area where they had been attacked wondering if there were any clues about these Influencers, if they left anything behind that might indicate Jareth’s whereabouts. He found nothing but the hilt of Lorica’s sword in the snow, and when he pulled it from its icy bed, a blue vapor clung to it.
“What’s that, sir? The light?” Lenneth asked.
Neal looked at the sky, wondering if the illumination came from the moon or stars, but he saw only clouds and snowflakes.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Magic, maybe.”
He bade the soldiers find their camp and then took Lenneth into town, following his footsteps that soon became a trail through the thick snow. When he returned to the barn, Lorica was awake and sitting up. Someone had brought her a bowl of soup and she held it to her lips. He and Lenneth led each horse to a stall. Setting the sword aside, Neal and Lenneth took off the saddles, packs, and wet blankets.
“We leave in the morning,” Neal announced.
“Yes, sir,” Lenneth answered.
A pot of food had been placed on the ground near Lorica, with bowls stacked next to it. Neal glanced at Chase, grateful the wizard had at least secured some food for the lady.
“You found the horses!” Lorica said. “I was so afraid they’d freeze out there.”
“Lenneth recovered them for us, and they’re perfectly fine, Milady.” Neal patted Elba on the rear and shut her in the stall. “As is your sword.” He brought it to her and laid it by her side. It was not any special kind of sword. No extravagant etching embellished it. Its two-edged blade—nicked in a few places but field worthy—cast a cool and noticeable light onto the straw.
Lorica frowned. “What happened to it?” she asked and set her bowl down. Chase leaned over and studied the blade.
“I recognize that magic. Odd.”
“It’s not a magic sword,” Lorica protested. “It’s just an old weapon Jareth lets me use when he’s away. I think a blacksmith in Ogress made it years ago.”
The wizard looked up at her with a raised brow.
“On the contrary, Milady. When you rammed it into that Influencer, you stole some of the devil’s life force. No telling what this sword can do, now.”
“Hopefully it can help rescue your husband, because that’s where we’re going in the morning,” Neal said. He expected more protest from Chase, but the wizard sat back in the straw and rubbed his hands together.
“Did you hear me?” Neal asked.
“Yes. We’ll go and rescue the mercenary.” Chase gave Lorica a quick smile and shivered. Lorica stood, picked up the wizard’s cloak he had lent her, and gently wrapped it over his shoulders.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have your assistance,” she said.
“Rest, everyone. Tomorrow we enter the Neverworld.” Neal pulled his blanket from his saddlebags and found a pile of straw to lay on. He’d been avoiding the Neverworld, but saving Lorica’s husband was one of the reasons they came this far. If Barin had the courage to dive into the unknown, surely Neal did as well. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.