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Whether it was Bill’s voice or the pain ripping through his clouded senses, Larry seemed to recognize Bill. “Am I … pretty bad?” he faltered.

  “Some are worse!”

  “Am I going to die?”

  “No, you’ve made it longer than you should have already. You’re a tough guy, Larry.” Bill’s reply brought a faint smile to Larry’s lips, and he drifted back into oblivion.

  Bill returned to Ogilbe. There was nothing he could do for that young man, but he pulled the cape and blanket from Darren’s knapsack. “Sorry, friend,” he said, “but it’s going to a good cause.”

  Stepping to the side of the road, Bill spread the blanket under a tall pine. Returning to Larry, he carefully carried him to the pallet. Larry opened his eyes.

  “You’re going to be all right,” Bill whispered.

  There was a flicker of a smile, and Larry closed his weary eyes.

  Bill returned to the road. Judging from where he had found Chavez and Ogilbe, Bob Walton should have been nearby. Bob had been directly in front of Bill when the attack had come. His mind replayed the scene. Bob’s warning had saved his life.

  Bill began to move fallen soldiers to the edge of the road. Those from Amity he laid on the north side of the road, those of Endor he laid nearest the river. Other men began to trickle back to the scene. Together they toiled to free those who were still pinned beneath bodies and wreckage.

  They had nearly cleared the road, and Bill’s hopes were growing, when he spied the one face he did not want to see. Bob Walton lay twisted and quiet upon the earth.

  “Oh, no!” Bill groaned. It was the first that anyone had spoken in a long time. Others watched as Bill cradled the fallen man in his arms. “No, Bob, not you!”

  To his surprise, Bob’s eyes fluttered and opened. He opened his mouth and tried to speak.

  “Save your strength, Bob,” Bill said, gently laying a finger on Bob’s lips.

  Ever so slightly, Bob shook his head. With a great effort he whispered, “Tell Ella … I love her!”

  Bill nodded, not trusting his voice. Tears welled up in his eyes and his throat tightened. He thought of Ella: lively, gentle, laughing, always bursting with life and joy. Bill closed his eyes and bowed his head in grief.

  Bob swallowed hard and whispered, “I’m about to go.”

  “Please don’t!” Bill said, trying to hold back his tears.

  “It’s all right,” Bob breathed. “I’m just … going home.” A strange radiance filled his features. He had no fear of death.

  Bill looked in wonder upon his friend. Bob’s shallow breathing faltered. There was one final gasp, and all was silent. Bill sagged against Bob’s broken body, and hot tears flowed from his weary eyes.

  Finally Bill lifted his head and glanced around. Weary men stood silent, helms in hand. They had witnessed the severing of a close friendship, and they didn’t know how to respond. Wiping his face, Bill thought he should say something, but his mind was blank. He had no words of comfort for himself, let alone for anyone else. Drawing his helm low over his face, he avoided their eyes and slowly carried his friend to the side of the road.

  CHAPTER 12

  No Place to Hide

  The Crescent River churned in its bed, foaming and racing along as if a deadly battle had not been fought along its stony bank. Dark clouds promised a blustery night. Shadows crept among the thickets as darkness stalked the land.

  “Hey!” a voice yelled. Bill and the others looked up to see an arrogant young officer on horseback trotting down the Greenway. “They are having formation in the meadow. Get over there double-quick!”

  Straightening their backs from their labors, one man whispered softly, “I’ll bet his mother never taught him to say please.”

  Someone laughed, and another man spoke softly enough that the officer could not hear him. “Formation? What about bedtime? Somehow, I bet we’ll miss that detail tonight.”

  Bill and the others trudged to the meadow where a massive gathering was in process. Each unit was forming before its respective commander, and a head count was in progress. Everyone absent was noted and would later be detailed as either missing, wounded, or dead. Identification of casualties would require time and daylight.

  Bill located some members of his unit, but he couldn’t see his commander. Barker was there, but Daniel Pierce had been in charge of Bill’s unit. Bill asked one of the men in his group, “Where’s Pierce?”

  “I don’t know. We thought you might have found him back there in the road.”

  “What? Among the dead?” Bill asked.

  “Officers die too,” the man grunted.

  Bill tried to absorb that thought. He’d always held officers in awe, almost as immortal. Putting his thoughts aside, he said, “I didn’t see him, but others might have. Who takes his place?”

  “I think that’s what this is all about,” the man said, nodding to where a group of officers milled about.

  The decision was not long in coming. Bob and Bill’s units were combined into one. Sixty-five men were dead or missing from the two units. By combining them, thirty-five men were left. Ten of these men would serve as John Stafford’s bodyguard; the remainder would be doled out among the other units to fill their ranks.

  Bill was among the thirty-five men standing before John Stafford, awaiting selection. He was exhausted, and the pungent smell of sweat that mixed with the acrid smell of smoke was heavy in the air. When Stafford saw Bill, there was a note of recognition between the two men.

  “I’ll take this man,” Stafford said, pointing at Bill.

  Bill stepped forward, but he couldn’t believe his ears. I can’t serve the master, he thought. I’m guilty of murder, and he knows it!

  As if answering his thoughts, John spoke. His voice was low, for he addressed only the men he had chosen. “I have chosen you today, for I see in you something you probably do not see in yourselves. I believe each of you would give your life for me! I trust you will not let me down! Go, now. Eat and rest. We march yet tonight.”

  Bill considered Stafford’s words. A huge trust had been laid on his shoulders, and he didn’t even want the job. Looking about, he realized that the others had moved to the river and were washing their bodies or repacking their knapsacks. He followed suit and was soon splashing icy water from the Crescent over his face, neck, and hands. Finding a backpack without an owner wasn’t too hard, and taking a morsel of bread from its contents, Bill sat to eat.

  It seemed only moments before a trumpet called him to attention. Scrambling to his feet, he felt disoriented and confused. It was much darker than when he’d sat down to eat. He barely recognized the other members of the bodyguard, though he did know a few of them by name.

  Two units were placed in charge of clearing the battlefield and identifying all casualties. Everyone else was to march.

  The night promised rain, so cloaks were pulled from the packs and slipped on. The long black garments concealed the men in the darkness, and moving like a shadows, they crossed the river and passed westward into the night.

  Bill took his place beside John Stafford as they marched toward Headwater. Though he was at the front of the line, it was still difficult to breathe! Smoldering homes and fields belched acrid smoke into the night air.

  As they approached the large estate of Andre Barleyman on the edge of Headwater, John stopped and sent an order back through the officers. “The men are to look straight ahead! They are not to look right or left!”

  Though Barleyman’s estate was surrounded by a high wall, it had been overrun and set on fire. Flames still flickered from the ruined buildings, casting eerie shadows all about the area. A thin pole with a round object on top stood before the gate. Bill could not identify the object in the darkness but felt a strange sense of dread.

  Bill watched as John Stafford rode forward and dismounted at the gate of the Barleyman
estate. He held a torch aloft and witnessed a grisly specter. Andre Barleyman’s head sat atop an enemy spear. John lifted Barleyman’s head from the spear and set it respectfully to one side. He then hewed the spear into several pieces. “Is this how your friends treat you?” he asked no one in particular. He returned to the group, grateful the night was dark. Thin poles lined the road all the way through Headwater, and they bore the heads of men, women, and children. This was a sight John did not want his men to see.

  All through the long night, John thought of Master Devia and the cold, sightless eyes of Andre Barleyman. They had presented Jabin as such a nice guy at the council. How could they have been so deceived?

  The night was long, but the road to Green Meadow was worn and easy to follow. The forces of Amity passed swiftly through the dark shadows, and Bill was glad for the march. It took his mind off the afternoon’s battle and the young man who had died at his hand in the forest. Still, guilt pressed hard upon him. He was alive, and Bob was not. The question of why enveloped his mind.

  Slowly his thoughts turned to Mary. He wondered how she and the baby were doing. The horror of the day faded as Bill thought of the long winter nights when he and Mary had cuddled under their heavy quilts.

  Stumbling in a hole, Bill was brought sharply back to reality. He wasn’t home! His loving wife could not soothe away his worries.

  The miles stretched on. Somewhere during the night, he realized that the forest had disappeared. The land lay in great open folds before them. They had finally climbed to the pass, otherwise known as Green Meadow. For several miles the land rolled in a grassy glade between the Guardian Range to the north and the Independence Mountains to the south.

  Bill noticed fires dotting the countryside. He did not know if they were homesteads, trees, or fields yet aflame. Regardless, he wondered if Amity was already lost.

  Miles passed under their feet, yet they tramped resolutely forward. There was a red glow on the western horizon, and dread crept into every heart. Green Meadow was on fire.

  Their pace quickened. The red glow in the night sky cast an eerie spell, drawing all men to its light. But another light garnered men’s attention as well. Dark clouds had gathered, and now they began a relentless assault upon the Guardian Range. Bolts of lightning stabbed at the granite peaks as peals of thunder rolled down into the grasslands below. Each rumble of thunder was amplified as it bounced off the Independence Mountains and echoed back across the valley.

  Bill’s cloak had seemed cumbersome all night, but now he was glad for its warmth. Great drops of rain began to fall, but Bill remained dry beneath the heavy cloak.

  The lights of countless fires disappeared as a drenching rain suddenly raced across the meadow. Even the red glow in the western sky dimmed and went out in the deluge.

  The dusty road turned into a quagmire. Men slipped and fell in the greasy mud. Moving to the grass along the side, they fared much better, but that soon lost any resemblance to sod. Those in the back fared the worst, for thousands of footfalls churned the sod into a gummy slime that threatened to halt their progress altogether.

  Everyone was weary and discouraged by the time they finally stopped. The night was nearly spent, as it was only one hour until dawn.

  A message filtered from John Stafford back through the officers to the men: “It seems darkest, and the power of the enemy greatest, just before dawn. We have seen the work of our enemy, but take courage; joy comes in the morning. The Lord will march before us as our shield and protector. Eat and rest. Battle will be joined at dawn.”

  The rain eased, and men dropped in the mud, searching wearily for food and drink among their supplies. Bill ate quickly and settled himself upon the wet grass. He pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and closed his eyes.

  “Hey, wake up,” someone whispered as a hand roughly shook him.

  Bill yawned and shook sleep from his head. All about him, the earth was black and damp. Across the valley he could see stone chimneys standing like lone sentinels where cabins had been.

  Bill shook his head in disbelief. The loss was immeasurable. Looking up the narrowing mountain pass, he studied the terrain, looking for Green Meadow. He had never seen the city, but he had marched a long way to rescue it. Had the march been in vain?

  While officers plotted strategy, Bill packed his gear and prepared for battle. A quiet tension grew among the men. Not everyone had experienced the initial shock of battle, but all had seen its effects. Each man struggled with the thought of facing people who wished to kill them.

  Archers nervously fingered the arrows in their quivers; swordsmen grasped and released the hilts of their swords, and spears waved about in the long lines of assembled men.

  “Why don’t we get started?” Bill heard one man ask.

  “We’ll be fighting soon enough,” said another.

  “I know, but this waiting makes me edgy!”

  “Me too.”

  After what seemed an interminable wait, officers began to gallop back to their units. Men began to spread across the rolling countryside. John Stafford and the men with him stayed in position, but those behind him were fanning to the left and right. Those at the back were nearly running to reach their positions.

  Minutes passed, and then suddenly a command was issued: “Move out, double-time!”

  Bill was nearly jogging to keep pace. John Stafford rode in front, the standard bearer of Amity at his side. Bill and the rest of John’s bodyguard were close behind. A large V-shaped formation moved forward, much like a flock of geese flying over during migration.

  Bill glanced over his shoulder only once. A line ten men deep and nearly a mile wide raced up and over the rolling hills. He quickly let the sight settle in his memory, for it took all of his concentration to keep his footing and his pace. Moving ever more swiftly, they turned from the path and made directly toward Green Meadow.

  The earth flew under their feet. Topping the last hill, Bill gasped at the wonder that met his eyes. Stretching as far as the eye could see were banners and tents. The forces of Jabin truly were as innumerable as the sand on the seashore.

  Bill glanced up at John Stafford and was amazed to see him smiling. Their approach had not been detected. The enemy was totally unprepared. The men of Amity heard the braying of horns and terrified cries as Jabin’s forces rose from sleep. John signaled, and the men secured their shields and lowered their spears for the attack.

  A trumpet sounded, and there was no time to think. Bill ran to catch the galloping horse of his master as John raced into battle. He heard the clash of weapons and the screams of men swell about him. His only thought was to stay with John Stafford. Men and weapons swirled around him, but suddenly he realized that these men were not from Amity.

  Jabin’s camp was in chaos. Drunken men emerged from their tents, only to take up arms against their own men. Bill noted that Stafford was on foot and forging his way toward the standard of Jabin’s household, a red flag with a silver crescent moon.

  Valiant soldiers gathered about Jabin’s banner in opposition to John. Swords clashed and men shouted as Bill raced to his master’s side. The fighting was intense, and it seemed that every enemy stroke was aimed at John.

  Bill swung his hatchet madly at all who opposed him, but a blow struck his shield so hard that he went down. One deft movement from John Stafford’s sword gave Bill time to regain his feet, and he came up swinging. After that, Bill let nothing come between himself and John Stafford. His moves seemed guided, and his strength never wavered. Doggedly, John, Bill, and others of the guard moved closer to Jabin’s tent. The fighting was intense but brief. Suddenly, the men of Endor turned and ran. They had given Jabin time to escape, and now they fled in full retreat.

  John sent the men of Amity in hot pursuit, not wanting to give Jabin time to regroup. He, however, turned toward his bodyguards with two questions. “Where are my sons? And where is t
he garrison?”

  Bill nearly ran to keep pace with John’s long strides. As they hurried amid the debris, he noted many stone cottages gutted by fire. The pass had been heavily populated, but now all was in ruins.

  Still, not all had been destroyed, Bill realized as they made their way toward the center of town. He had never seen a fortress before, and this was a wonder. Towering up from the earth was a great stone structure of carefully cut granite. Tiny windows appeared forty feet above the ground, and much farther up, a jagged parapet capped the wall. Guard towers loomed at each corner, and a beautiful tower rose in majesty from the very center of the fortress, raising its cylindrical head far into the heavens.

  Bill’s eyes followed the tower up to the tiny room at its summit. “The view from there must be amazing,” he murmured.

  “He must be able to see for miles from that vantage point.” The voice startled Bill. John Stafford was staring at the tower with the same awe in his eyes that Bill felt in his heart. “This has changed a great deal,” John continued. “There was just a little church here years ago when Devia’s father was the minister. This is incredible!”

  They had begun to circle the fortress in search of the gate when they were intercepted by a horseman. Bill and the rest of John’s bodyguard drew their swords and lowered their spears for battle. Heedless of his peril, the horseman galloped straight for John Stafford. At the last possible moment, he reined, dismounted, and fell at John’s feet.

  John recognized the rider as James’s messenger who had ridden out with Seagood only a few nights before. “Up, lad,” John said quickly. “Have you a message?”

  “You must come!” the lad exclaimed. “Your son is at death’s door!”

  “Where is he?” John demanded. “Take me to him!”

  The lad jumped up. “Take my horse, sir. I’ll ride behind you!”

  John took the reins, but one of the bodyguards grabbed his sleeve and said, “Sir, it might be a trap.”

  John glanced at his men. “Follow as quickly as you can.”