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At the bottom of the ladder, he turned and saw the man coming toward him. Richard reached for his knife under the coat he was wearing, only remembering then that he didn’t have his knife. The soldier was still silhouetted against the open barn door. Richard was in the darkness and the man probably wouldn’t be able to see him. He silently moved away from the ladder.
As the soldier passed near him, Richard stepped in behind him and reached to his side, seizing the knife sheathed behind the axe hanging on his belt. Richard gingerly drew the knife just as the man stopped and looked up the ladder to the hayloft.
As he was looking up, Richard snatched a fistful of hair with one hand and reached around with the other, slicing deep through the soldier’s throat before he realized what was happening. Richard held the man tight as he struggled, a wet gurgling the only sound coming from him. He reached back, frantically grabbing at Richard for a moment before his movements lost their energy and he went limp.
“Anson,” Richard whispered up the ladder as he let the man slip to the ground, “come on. Let’s go.”
Anson hurried down the ladder, coming to a halt as he reached the bottom and turned around to see the dark shape of the dead man sprawled on the ground.
“What happened?”
Richard looked up from his work at undoing the weapon belt around the dead weight of the soldier. “I killed him.”
“Oh.”
Richard handed the knife, in its sheath, to Anson. “Here you go. Now you have a real weapon—a long knife.”
Richard rolled the dead soldier over to pull the belt the rest of the way out from under the man. As he tugged it free, he heard a noise and turned just in time to see another soldier running in toward them.
Anson slammed the long knife hilt-deep into the man’s chest. The man staggered back. Richard shot to his feet, bringing the weapon belt with him. The soldier gasped for breath as he clutched at the knife handle. He dropped heavily to his knees. One hand clawed at the air above him as he swayed. Pulling a final gasp, he toppled to his side.
Anson stood staring at the man lying in a heap, the knife jutting from his chest. He bent, then, and pulled his new knife free.
“Are you all right?” Richard whispered when Anson stood.
Anson nodded. “I recognize this man. We called him the weasel. He deserved to die.”
Richard gently clapped Anson on the back of the shoulder. “You did well. Now, let’s get out of here.”
As they made their way back up the street, Richard asked Anson to wait while he checked down alleyways and between low buildings, searching for soldiers. As a guide, Richard often scouted at night. In the darkness, he was in his element.
The town was a lot smaller than he had expected. It was also much less organized than he thought it would be, with no apparent order to where the simple structures had been built. The streets through the haphazard town, if they could be called streets, were in most cases little more than footpaths between clusters of small, single-room buildings. He saw a few handcarts, but nothing more elaborate. There was only one road through the town, leading back to the barn where they had recovered the antidote and run into the two soldiers, that was wide enough to accommodate a wagon. His search didn’t turn up any patrolling soldiers.
“Do you know if all the men of the Order stay together?” Richard asked when he returned to Anson, waiting in the shadows.
“At night they go inside. They sleep in our place, by where we came in.”
“You mean that low building where the first two soldiers went?”
“That’s right. That’s where most people used to gather at night, but now the men of the Order use it for themselves.”
Richard frowned at the man. “You mean you all slept together?”
Anson sounded mildly surprised by the question. “Yes. We were together whenever possible. Many people had a house where they could work, eat, and keep belongings, but they rarely slept in them. We usually all slept in the sleeping houses where we gathered to talk about the day. Everyone wanted to be together. Sometimes people would sleep in another place, but mostly we sleep there together so we can all feel safe—much like we all slept together at night as we made our way down out of the pass with the statue.”
“And everyone just…lay down together?”
Anson diverted his eyes. “Couples often slept apart from others by being with one another under a single blanket, but they were still together with our people. In the dark, though, no one could see them…together under a blanket.”
Richard had trouble imagining such a way of life. “The whole town fit in that sleeping building? There was enough room?”
“No, there were too many of us to all sleep in one sleeping house. There are two.” Anson pointed. “There is another on the far side of the one you saw.”
“Let’s go have a look, then.”
They moved quickly back toward the town gates, such as they were, and toward the sleeping houses. The dark street was empty. Richard didn’t see anyone on the paths between buildings. What people were left in the town had apparently gone to sleep or were afraid to come out in the darkness.
A door in one of the small homes opened a crack, as if someone inside were peering out. The door opened wider and a thin figure dashed out toward them.
“Anson!” came the whispered voice.
It was a boy, in his early teens. He fell to his knees and clutched Anson’s arm, kissing his hand in joy to see him.
“Anson, I am so happy that you are home! We’ve missed you so much. We feared for you—feared that you were murdered.”
Anson grabbed the boy by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. “Bernie, I’m well and I’m happy to see you we
ll, but you must go back in now. The men will see you. If they catch you outside…”
“Oh, please, Anson, come sleep at our house. We’re so alone and afraid.”
“Who?”
“Just me and my grandfather, now. Please come in and be with us.”
“I can’t right now. Maybe another time.”
The boy peered up at Richard, then, and when he saw that he didn’t recognize him shrank back.
“This is a friend of mine, Bernie—from another town.” Anson squatted down beside the boy. “Please, Bernie, I will return, but you must go back inside and stay there tonight. Don’t come out. We fear there might be trouble. Stay inside. Tell your grandfather my words, will you now?”
Bernie finally agreed and ran back into the dark doorway. Richard was eager to get out of the town before anyone else came out to pay their respects. If he and Anson weren’t careful, they would end up attracting the attention of the soldiers.
They moved quickly the rest of the way up the street, using buildings for cover. Pressing up against the side of one at the head of the street, Richard peered around the corner at the squat daub-and-wattle sleeping house where the guards had gone. The door was open, letting soft light spill out across the ground.
“In there?” Richard whispered. “You all slept in there?”
“Yes. That is one of the sleeping houses, and beyond it the other one.”
Richard thought about it for a moment. “What did you sleep on?”
“Hay. We put blankets over it, usually. We changed the hay often to keep it fresh, but these men do not bother. They sleep like animals in dusty old hay.”
Richard looked out through the open gates at the fields. He looked back at the sleeping house.
“And now the soldiers all sleep in there?”
“Yes. They took the place from us. They said it was to be their barracks. Now our people—the ones still alive—must sleep wherever they can.”
Richard made Anson stay put while he slipped through the shadows, out of the light of the torch, to survey the area beyond the first building. The second long structure also had soldiers inside laughing and talking. There were more men than were needed to guard such a small place, but Witherton was the gateway into Bandakar—and the gateway out.
