Chapter 3

The weather had changed since Thomas started traveling that morning. The sun was now gone, and it was gloomy out. Gray, fat-bellied clouds pressed down from the sky, and rain appeared likely. That had him of two minds. The rain would make it harder to track them, but it could cause problems with the wagon if it became too wet.

As they entered a clearing, lightning danced in a spider-web design along the leading edge of a wall of ominous clouds pushing toward them. A short time later, thunder announced the storm’s approach.

Everyone was pensive, knowing they were about to be caught outside in this foul weather, when Roger came riding up behind them in a rush. As a precaution, he’d been tasked to watch in case the men looking for Thomas found his former home.

“Twenty men came to the cabin. When they couldn’t find Thomas, they set fire to it,” Roger shared.

“Do we hide, run, or fight?” Ragnar asked.

“While I waited, I created a couple of false trails to confuse them. They’ve followed one south, but they have a tracker with them. It won’t take him long to figure out which way we really have gone. If we can make it to the cabin, we can hold them off,” Roger said.

“Won’t they just burn us out?” Leif asked.

“It’s not a standard cabin; it’s more of an outpost or small fort made of stone. There’s an enclosed courtyard big enough to hold the wagon and our horses,” Thomas explained.

“Then let’s hurry. I don’t want to be out in this any longer than I have to,” Leif decided.

“I’ll slow them down while you make good your escape,” Roger offered.

“No. I’m the better shot. You lead them to safety,” Thomas said.

“Our whole purpose is to keep you safe. I won’t allow it,” Leif said.

“Thomas grew up in the woods. Trust him to handle himself,” Roger said.

“We’re wasting time,” Nana Millicent chimed in to remind everyone what was at stake.

“Don’t take any unnecessary chances. I’ve never lost someone I was hired to protect, and I don’t want you to be the first,” Leif said before they moved out.

Thomas set up at an angle from the path their horses and wagon had made across the open ground. He’d had to hobble Fury because the coming storm had the big warhorse agitated. So far, the storm had stalled, but the wind was picking up.

Thomas was hunkered down with his back to a large oak tree. He’d made a guess as to where the men following them would come out of the woods. It was a good fifty yards from where he was hiding. While a bow could shoot three or more times farther than that, most archers were only accurate for ten to thirty-five yards.

Thomas had made longer shots, but those had been under ideal conditions. With the wind whipping up, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to hit anything. Thomas figured the best he could do would be to grab their attention and then take them on a merry chase. It would take a hell of a horse to catch Fury over a long distance, so he was confident he could keep out of their clutches.

A sudden flare of heat rushed through him, sending Thomas’s heart racing. Whatever had warned him, he didn’t take the time to doubt it. Somehow, he knew that the tracker was to the left of where they’d entered the clearing. That marked him as a cautious man.

Thomas let an arrow fly.

He’d originally planned to get them out into the open within reasonable range before shooting. But in the heat of the moment, he’d let loose his shaft. Thomas watched as the arrow flew wide of the target. He nocked another arrow and prepared to shoot again. Then a wind gust pushed the arrow back onto target just as it entered the forest.

There was a surprised cry. A second later, a man fell into the clearing with the arrow sticking out of his right eye. Thomas felt bile rise up in the back of his throat as he took in the horror of killing a man. This being his first, Thomas got shakily to his feet and made his way to Fury. He rationalized that it would take them longer to follow their trail to the outpost without their tracker, so he didn’t need to stay.

His real reason for leaving was he knew he was too shaken to do much more at the moment. Thomas had to come to grips with what he’d done. With that thought in mind, he raced to catch up with his band. As he got onto his horse, Thomas could already hear excited calls that told him that the followers had discovered their tracker’s body.

Thomas rode hard, allowing Fury his head. The warhorse was a marvel. His father had done well by him. He was able to catch up with his group before they entered the outpost. He noted the mercenaries had fanned out behind the wagon when they heard him ride up.

“Are they behind you?” Leif called out when Thomas got close.

“We have some time. I killed their tracker, but it won’t be hard for them to follow the wagon’s trail.”

Thomas was glad no one asked for details.

Roger slipped around the side and entered through a secret entrance to open the front gate. Once everyone was inside, Grim took charge of the horses.

Thomas had put Frost into a cage he’d made to raise rabbits when he was younger. Roger had had him raise the animals so Thomas could learn responsibility. Thomas had been heartbroken when he thought his bunnies had escaped. Roger never said anything, but they did have rabbit stew for the next week.

Thomas had refused to raise any more pets after that. When he was older, he suspected that Nana Millicent had a hand in that. She’d voiced on more than one occasion her desire to not have pets in their cabin.

Frost was a bundle of energy when she was set free and followed Thomas into the cabin. There was a musty, unused odor about the place, and footprints were settled in the dust on the wooden planked floor. Thomas held everyone out and let Frost investigate. He pointed to the prints, and Roger nodded his agreement with Thomas’s plan.

The wolf checked every room and then suddenly ran to a corner, where there was a squeak of surprise. She’d found herself a mouse. From there, the hunt was on. With Frost entertained, everyone unloaded what they would need for the night.

They all were tired, but Leif kept the mercenaries busy as they tended to their defenses. Frost had given up her mouse hunt when Nana Millicent and Jemma started to cook dinner. That gave Roger a chance to talk to Thomas alone.

“I’m surprised that Frost has adjusted so well. She’s a smart pup,” Roger said.

“Why do you think her mother brought her south?” Thomas asked.

“I honestly don’t know. Direwolves used to roam over much of this land, but I thought men had hunted them into extinction. With her mother’s and her coloring, I would guess they came from the mountains to the north.”

“Who do you think made the footprints?” Thomas asked.

“Who would you guess? What did you notice?” Roger asked, falling into his role as Thomas’s mentor.

“They’re fairly recent; I would guess sometime in the last month. If pressed, I would say I don’t think it was another ranger.”

“Why’s that?”

Thomas saw the glint of approval in Roger’s eyes. That little tell signaled he was on the right track.

“Rangers wear boots. Whoever made those prints was wearing soft-soled shoes. I suspect that they were made by a Wildling.”

Roger nodded.

“I’ve been watching the border for over twenty years. I’ve never known anyone from the Wildings to enter an outpost. The times I do meet them, it is always in the open,” Roger explained.

Thomas had never been lucky enough to meet any Wildlings when he traveled with Roger. When he was growing up, the village children had shared tales about them taking children that wandered off. The Wildlings were supposed to be a savage people. He suspected that the children were told stories to scare them straight.

When Thomas asked Roger about them, all the man would say was that they were a proud people.

“Why do you think they came inside?” Thomas asked.

“That’s another mystery I don’t know the answer to.”

“What are we going to do about the men following me?”

Roger got a troubled look.

“We need to find out who sent them. Nana Millicent thinks it is probably the Duchess, but it could also be Henry. More of your ancestors than I can count stole an inheritance by patricide. Some say King Edward killed his brother, your grandfather.”

Nana Millicent had taught Thomas his lineage. By all rights, Thomas’s grandfather, Prince Raymond, should have taken the throne when the time came because he was the heir. That meant that Thomas’s father should be the rightful king, but the council decided against having a child as king. Since that day, Duke Charles had only been to the capital once, to swear his allegiance to his uncle at his majority.

Nana Millicent was surprised when Duke Charles allowed Philip to travel to Inglewood, from which King Edward ruled, to join the church. It marked a softening in feelings between Thomas’s great-uncle and his father. Thomas had fully expected that he would either be married off or possibly sent to Pekin, where his mother had grown up, to serve in their army. Being invited to join the King’s Royal Guard was an unexpected honor.

“If I survive and it’s my brother who did this, he’ll be telling himself that it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Thomas predicted.

“That’s where all bad ideas start, don’t they?” Roger asked.

“And end the same way, too.”

The smell of smoke mingled with the overlay of roast pig and boiled vegetables reached them. Frost crept close until she was sure that Thomas saw her. He used his chin to point at the pup.

“Someone thinks our supper is ready.”

“I’ll get the rest of them. You better go feed that one before Frost forgets her manners,” Roger suggested good-naturedly.

Thomas woke in the middle of the night, feeling like he would burn from the inside out. This was the third time something like this had happened. The previous two occurrences warned him of danger, so he wouldn’t ignore this. He silently got up, strapped his broadsword to his back, and grabbed his bow.

When he got outside, he found Gabe wrapped in his cape, sleeping on guard duty. Thomas kicked him, none too gently, to wake him up. Thomas put his finger to Gabe’s lips to make sure the man kept quiet.

Thomas closed his eyes and sensed that the men following them were just at the edge of the clearing. Their leader was preparing them to make a night raid and pointing to where he wanted his men to go. Thomas raised his bow and let an arrow fly. It arced high in the air before landing inches from the leader’s boots.

“The next one kills someone!” Thomas called out.

“Send out Thomas Mycroft, and we’ll be on our way!”

Thomas sensed that one of the men had begun to slowly run towards the outpost. He sent another arrow flying, and it slammed down, piercing the man through the neck.

“I suggest you sleep on your demand. At least in daylight, you might be able to see the arrows coming,” Thomas yelled.

Thomas held his breath and waited. If they all charged, they would be at the wall before he could drop more than just a couple of them. A lone archer would be no match against nearly twenty men. He released his breath when he felt them turn and leave.

Thomas turned to go back in and found Frost behind him.

“Where are you going?” Gabe asked with a touch of panic in his voice.

“To bed. They’ve left,” Thomas said.

Frost beat him back to his pallet. He had to shove the bed hog over so he could crawl in.