The Orphan and the Shadow Walker: Pathway to the Truth

THE ORPHAN AND THE SHADOW WALKER

Pathway to the Truth

By

Graeme Bourke

The Huntsman Series

THE ORPHAN AND THE SHADOW WALKER

The Awakening

THE ORPHAN AND THE SHADOW WALKER

The Pathway to the Truth

Jaram

The Final Journey

Published by

Graeme Bourke on Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Graeme Bourke

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THE ORPHAN AND THE SHADOW WALKER

Pathway to the Truth

What have you found out?

The soldier stood stiffly to attention. It’s true, sir. Penner was slain in a duel at Tursy by a young woman.

Isak Jacks wriggled his stocking feet on the low-wooden stool that stood in front of a roaring fire and swilled his goblet of wine before finally draining it. An old manservant, thin, and looking impoverished, rushed forward as fast as he could and topped up the silver goblet.

He must have been drunk. Penner would not easily be beaten.

Apparently, she handled the sword like a master.

That’s something new, a woman taking up the sword, grunted Isak.

I spoke to one of the soldiers who was there and saw it all. He said the sword she used was inlaid with jewels and had a ruby at the end of the handle. He could not help but admire her beauty. She was proud, defiant, and very confident. There was one other thing he mentioned. She was olive skinned, obviously not of this land.

Isak was suddenly snapped from his docility. He was now alert and very interested in what the soldier was telling him. It couldn’t be. What was it, ten, no, fifteen years ago when he and Penner had killed those in the caravan on the orders of the king? The mention of the jewelled sword had stirred his memory. The description of the young woman had confirmed that memory.

He recalled the handsome man with the jewelled sword standing against his men just as the young woman had supposedly stood against Penner. He also remembered the woman, the man’s wife. She was intensely beautiful and olive skinned, Isak had deplored the wastage when he had killed her, she would have entertained him. In the confusion, had they missed someone, a small girl perhaps? The king’s orders to Isak back then were very explicit. No one from the caravan was to be left alive.

What was Penner doing in Tursy? asked Isak.

It seems the king was fed up with gatherings at Tursy and decided to do something about it. He sent Goran with two-thousand cavalry to slay the priests, capture the flag of the Shadow Walker and disperse the pilgrims.

Isak grinned to himself. Finally, the king had decided to do something about those who paid homage to a flag and a dubious legend. He would have seen to them long ago if he had of have been given his way.

Other than Penner being slain, I presume the campaign went well? He looked up at the soldier who seemed to be in some discomfort.

Yes, and no, sir, said the soldier staring into empty space and not daring to look at Isak.

It seems you have something else to tell me.

It may only be rumours, sir, talk of soldiers, so to speak.

Rumours usually have some foundation.

Yes, sir. The soldier paused for moment as if struggling with what he was about to say. They are saying that a Shadow Walker has risen.

Well now, that is one hell of a rumour.

It is also said that he ventured into the camps at night slaying men in their beds.

How in the hell do they know it was a Shadow Walker? asked Isak, as if disbelieving the soldier’s report.

It was the girl, sir. She delivered the flag and warned of the deaths to come.

The girl is in league with this supposed Shadow Walker.

It would seem so, sir.

Isak peered into the wine, thinking deeply and feeling some of the old excitement coursing through his veins. For too long he had dwelled as a socialite, pampering to the wishes of the king and his hangers on. Politics, policing the civilian population, chasing elusive dissidents and spying wasn’t his scene. He was a soldier, fighting and killing was what he did best and there hadn’t been much of that for ten years or more.

After the battle of Tursy, he had spent two years fighting the Manutes. It was a war that irked him still. He saw it as a stain on his character. He had been in command and had failed to defeat them. They could not penetrate the mountainous country. It was a defender’s dream and an attacker’s nightmare. The Manutes did not have a large enough army to defeat them so a stalemate developed that went on until the war eventually died a natural death. Neither side could win, so both retreated into their own domains. Swords had not been crossed since.

His thoughts turned to the young woman. If she was a survivor from the caravan, she would have seen Penner, seen his injuries that day and thus been able to recognise him. Had she sought Penner out as an act of revenge? It made sense. If she had sought Penner out, then it was possible that she might be seeking him as well. What did the king know of this young woman? Did he know all the details that he now knew? He hoped not, because if he had in fact failed to slay all in the caravan, the king would not be pleased. He had to find this woman, confirm his suspicions, and then kill her.

Does the king know of this?

One can never be sure what the king knows, he has his own spies.

Have my horse saddled and a troop of soldiers ready first thing in the morning with five days provisions.

Might I ask where you are going, sir?

To see the king, he replied, drinking the last of his wine.

* * *

The rain was incessant. It dripped from their hats and eventually found its way beneath their clothing and onto their skin causing each to shiver from the cold.

We should have sought some winter quarters, Master, said Brannigan, pulling his cape tighter around his shoulders as they rode along the narrow trail through the towering trees of pine.

Not this year, Brannigan.

There has to be a farm house or inn hereabouts, we have seen nothing all day, uttered Brannigan through chattering teeth.

An hour later with the rain still teeming down they broke through the pines into open ground. There on the edge of the road and in the middle of the waterlogged paddocks was what looked like a farmhouse built from split palings with stables and corrals. The timber looked dark, damp and mossy. Idle smoke twisted out of the chimney only to be dispersed and driven back down over the roof. It created a ring of smog around the top of the house.

A sign above the door with faded red lettering announced that it was the Black Forest Inn. It swung in the breeze on squeaking hinges in its wooden frame made from the round branches of a tree.

The Shadow Walker climbed down from his horse and rapped on the weathered door, a middle-aged man of wizened appearance and stooped shoulders opened the door.

We seek lodging for the night, said the Shadow Walker.

The man squinted his eyes as if finding it hard to see in the gloom. He looked past the Shadow Walker, at Brannigan sitting on his horse and holding the reins of a second.

You had better see to your horses first, the barn is back yonder, he said, cocking his head to one side.

Thank you, replied the Shadow Walker.

The barn leaked but they managed to find a dry spot for the horses and their gear. The saddles were removed, the horses given a wipe down and fed some fresh hay from one of the bins. Then they made their way to the front door of the inn. Both Brannigan and the Shadow Walker had to lower their heads to fit through the doorway.

The inside of the inn was dark and dismal. The only brightness was the crackling fire that glowed in the hearth. The man who had met them at the door was prodding the fire with a poker. From a pot sitting over the fire, wafted the scent of fresh meat and herbs.

Take some warmth from the fire. The stew won’t be long in cooking, a wine before your meal, perhaps?

Yes, replied the Shadow Walker.

The inn-keeper disappeared through one of four doors that faced onto the main room. They both removed their sodden capes and hung them on the pegs next to the fire with some other coats and then sat down on the hard-wooden seat at the table closest to the fire. A young woman wearing a red scarf over auburn hair appeared with a decanter and two fine looking glasses, which immediately caught Brannigan’s attention. Inns usually served their drinks in wooden mugs, or at best, in pewter, but very rarely in glass as they were too easily broken and the patrons tended to steal them.

I’m Charlotte, said the woman with an appealing smile. She put the glasses down on the table and proceeded to fill them with red wine.

I am Wilber de Grand, and this is my servant, Brannigan.

It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. You have travelled far? she enquired.

Too far, muttered the Shadow Walker, looking at the glasses and coming to the same conclusion that Brannigan had.

This inn either had patrons who were used to drinking out of glass, or they were extremely well off. Both of which did not fit the stereotype for struggling inn-keepers. It immediately aroused his suspicions. He let his eyes drift away to the door where the inn-keeper had exited. He saw that the door was slightly ajar and he was peering out at them.

What is your destination? she asked, plying them with another question.

Brannigan took hold of one of the glasses and took a sip. It was very good wine, too good.

We travel to Farnmouth to see the governor, said the Shadow Walker as he also took a sip of his wine.

The young woman looked surprised. You know the governor?

Yes, replied the Shadow Walker.

This ploy always seemed to work, as people feared the local governor or the king. Anyone who seemed to have some authority or connection with either of these was treated far differently than if you were just a humble traveller.

We had some trouble with bandits on our way through the forest. We saw them off, but I would like to report the incident to the nearest military unit. How far is it to the first garrison?

It is some six hours ride north of here on the main road, she replied.

Good, we will make our report as we pass through tomorrow.

You wish to only stay one night, sir?

It will depend of course on the weather and what entertainment we might find here, he said looking into the young woman’s blue eyes. Her face coloured and she turned away from him.

My husband will be back in a moment to serve your meals, she said, glancing back at him.

You surprise me, Master.

I surprise myself, Brannigan. It has been a long time since I’ve had a woman, said the Shadow Walker looking back across at the door that was now firmly closed. The woman would have to be at least thirty years younger than her husband.

Something has rekindled your desires, Master?

Yes, so it seems.

The wine is excellent. If the meal is as good, we will sleep well tonight, said Brannigan raising his voice a little. Then he lowered it to a whisper. I don’t trust them.

Neither do I, Brannigan, said the Shadow Walker, whispering a reply.

The inn-keeper returned with some pewter plates, knives, forks and a ladle.

I hope the wine is to your liking, gentleman?

Yes, it’s very good. It is unusual to find good wine this far from the cities, said the Shadow Walker.

The inn-keeper set the plates, knives and forks out in front of them.

There is a winery not far from here. The owner is a friend of mine.

Then you should pass on our compliments when you next see your friend.

I will indeed, sir, said the inn-keeper as he made his way to the fire, swung the blackened pot out over the brick hearth and removed the lid. He lifted the pot by its handle with the aid of cloth and sat it on the table in front of them. Steaming hot, delectable aromas invaded their nostrils.

Your wife cooked this? asked the Shadow Walker.

Yes, she is a fine cook.

You are a lucky man.

Sir, might you settle your account now? It is not that I don’t trust you but there are those who would flee in the middle of the night.

Brannigan reached for his purse, retrieved some coins and put them on the table. It was the usual fare for food and lodgings. The inn-keeper did not pick up the coins. Brannigan took the hint and added some more to the pile. The inn-keeper scooped up the money.

I will send the wife with more wine, he said, bowing slightly and backing away to the door.

This inn is situated in an ideal place to monitor the comings and goings of travellers. It is on the main road and just across the border. I would expect to see some sort of military presence, said Brannigan in a low voice.

The inn-keeper’s wife said the military were some six hours away, replied the Shadow Walker, keeping his voice low.

I don’t believe that, it just doesn’t sound right. Why would you have your military base so far from the border?

You think they are lying?

Maybe it is meant to put us off guard. Brannigan refilled his glass and then held it up. Think about it. We are sitting here warming ourselves in front of a nice fire having eaten a hearty meal. Then we are drowsed with good wine, which no man would deny himself. The army camp is some six hours away. We can relax. Or can we?

I see what you mean, Brannigan, but what are we to do? I could do with a good night’s sleep.

You could seduce the young wife, Master.

That might be a pleasurable option, Brannigan, except that we might not have the time. It is very important that we’re able to move as freely as possible; to have soldiers chasing us would have its risks. We need to be smart about this."

I presume you have a plan, Master?

Yes, you are going to write a letter. It will be from Governor Benjamin Simms in Steppland to the Governor of Treeland, Harold Sorrel. You will tell him of the attack by a man purporting to be a Shadow Walker. Tell him of the death of your sons and that you believe this Shadow Walker is coming to assassinate him. Explain that you are using trusted couriers, namely ourselves, to deliver this message and then make sure you seal it. It gives us some legitimacy and some argument to distract the army officer who will undoubtedly break the seal and read the letter.

Yes, I see where you are going with this. We should be able to enter the city without any problems, even be able to see the governor himself.

Yes, indeed, and then I can plan his death.

Charlotte returned with another decanter of wine. My husband sends his apologies. He had to go out for a while. I am to show you to your room.

Brannigan, see to our room while I enjoy this fresh decanter of wine.

Yes, Master, replied Brannigan as their eyes met for a brief second. Both their suspicions seemed to be confirmed. They could expect a visit from the soldiers. I will draft those letters you requested while I am there.

Brannigan picked up their bags that were sitting near the main entrance and followed Charlotte through one of the middle doors. The Shadow Walker took the decanter and poured himself out another drink. He sipped at the wine. The woman called Charlotte returned.

Is there anything more I can do for you? she asked with downcast eyes.

Yes, take a seat. I need someone to talk to.

I’ve work to do, she said with some hesitation.

I’m sure your husband would have told you to look after us while he is gone.

She sat down opposite him at one of the other tables her tiny hands were locked together in her lap. She looked up at him, smiled, and then looked away as if unable to hold his gaze.

I could not help but notice that you are much younger than your husband.

It was arranged by my family. Arthur is well off and has connections. He wants a son and heir, but it has not happened.

It was easy to sum up. The girl was given to Arthur for protection, for status, she would have had no choice in the matter. It was the way things were done. She would probably never know real love, real pleasure, and would be shackled to her aging husband until he died. But then that might not be so bad if her husband was a man of means, she might end up well off.

Does he treat you well?

I have a roof over my head, clean clothes and plenty to eat. I’m very well off compared to others.

He has gone to bring the soldiers, hasn’t he?

The Shadow Walker saw the stunned look of surprise on Charlotte’s face.

How… how did you know? she asked.

He sipped at the last of the wine, looked at her and smiled. He filled his glass again from the decanter.

I’m a man of much experience. I know how things work in this land. I know how men think. So, what is this scheme your husband has going here?

He works with the military, a man named Dare. They rob the rich travellers and share the spoils. It is always my task to see to them, to ply them with wine, give them false information and make them feel at ease. She paused, her eyes showing some uncertainty. You should leave before he comes back.

When will he be back?

It will take him until dawn. Normally, we have soldiers staying nearby in a house, but they were recalled as they were needed elsewhere. Apparently, there have been some organised attacks against the soldiers.

We will be staying as we have nothing to fear from the soldiers, especially now that we know they are coming. Also, I would hate to leave you at the mercy of your husband. I presume he would not be pleased if he found us gone?

No, he would not.

You say that you have been trying for a child, is it your husband perhaps? Is he unable to put you in child?

Charlotte lowered her eyes once again; her hands were still clasped together tightly in her lap. When she had first set her eyes on this handsome stranger, she had felt a flutter in her heart, had felt weak in the knees. The act of making love with her husband was all one sided. There was no tenderness, no real act of love. She felt nothing when he climbed upon her. Thumped away as if he was some great stud and then he rolled off and went to sleep. She had never received any pleasure from the act and had never had any desires as such. But here at this very moment she felt her body responding to the presence of a stranger. For the first time in her life she wanted to make love, wanted this man to take her and make her feel like a woman.

Maybe what I need is a real man, she said, keeping her eyes lowered, not sure how the man known as Wilber de Grand would react.

Her body was trembling and all of a sudden, she felt ashamed at what she had just said. She wanted to run, to hide from the man’s prying eyes. She sensed his rising, sensed his approach. His hand reached out under her chin and lifted her face so that their eyes met.

Maybe you should know some tenderness, should have someone make love to you.

The first hint of dawn was creeping through the window as the Shadow Walker rose from the bed, away from the warmth and softness of Charlotte’s body. It had been good for him. It was a long time since he had been with a woman. He was content. He knew why he had wanted this young woman and it had nothing to do with Charlotte. She was just the means to sate his stirred desires. It had been Mica who had awoken him. Not only to his desires but those feelings he had lost so long ago and could not find. He now had a sense of purpose, a reason for wanting to live and fight for a better future. Charlotte woke and looked up at him as he dressed.

Thank you, she said.

It was a pleasure, he replied as he reached into his purse and took out four gold coins and placed them on the bedside cabinet. Hide these, if you ever fall on hard times, they will see you through. There are going to be some changes, drastic changes, so heed my advice.

Will I ever see you again?

You and I seek different paths, but if you ever need a place of sanctuary you are to go to Santomine in the Manute lands and tell your story there. You will be welcomed. You had better get dressed, your husband and the soldiers can’t be far away.

Charlotte dressed slowly, unwilling to let go of the atmosphere in the room, unwilling to break the spell she had been under. Wilber de Grand certainly knew how to pleasure a woman. If she achieved nothing else in her life then this night would remain in her memory forever, be the yardstick she would use to measure her future. This one night with Wilber de Grand had been everything it had promised to be. She let her hand run across her stomach and stay there for a second or two. Was a new life beginning inside of her? She hoped and prayed so.

Brannigan had risen early, lit the fire and packed their bags, he was sitting back enjoying a cup of hot tea in front of the fire when the Shadow Walker joined him.

The tea is made, he said, pointing to the teapot resting near the fire. I presume your night was fruitful? he asked as he watched the Shadow Walker pour himself a hot cup of tea and take a sip.

It seems that the inn-keeper and the military are in cahoots, they rob the wealthy travellers and share the loot. Normally they have soldiers nearby, but they have recently been recalled so we are lucky in a way, we have had time to make plans. I presume you have written the letter?

Yes, it is in the satchel with all the other useless letters that we carry.

Useless letters they might be, but they establish us as bona fide travellers.

Charlotte came into the room. Brannigan could not help but notice the change in the young woman. Yesterday, she had been wearing drab black and grey clothes as if she was in mourning and her pale face had reflected the same. Today she wore a bright green dress and she was radiant, her face, rosy and flushed.

Does bacon and eggs sound all right for breakfast? she asked.

Sounds excellent to me, replied Brannigan.

Two bacon and eggs it is, added the Shadow Walker.

Charlotte smiled and went back into the kitchen.

How long do we have before the soldiers turn up?

I’m expecting them anytime, replied the Shadow Walker.

They came while they were still eating their breakfast, bursting through the door as if they were in some sort of a hurry. The wizened inn-keeper squeezed in behind them and made his way to the kitchen. The leader of the group was a thickset man with a close-shaven head. He had a sprinkling of a beard and wore chain mail and dark clothing. He marched up to their table, his eyes showing anger and contempt.

Who are you and why are you in Treeland? he demanded with his hand on his sword. Six other soldiers spread out around him, their hands also on their swords.

The Shadow Walker scraped the last of his food off the plate, finished his meal and then leant back in his seat, he slowly lifted his sword that had been sitting beside him and placed it on the table.

You should learn some manners. To disturb a gentleman at his breakfast is just not done.

I couldn’t give a shit if you were whoring. This is my territory and what I say goes. If I want to disturb a so-called gentleman at any time, I will.

Brannigan lifted his sword onto the table; two against seven, it was fair odds.

I will give you a chance to redeem yourself, if not I will kill you. In that satchel on the floor is a letter to Governor Harold Sorrel from the governor in Darfor, we are his couriers.

Search the satchel, growled the soldier.

One of his men reached for the satchel and rifled through the contents until he found the letter.

There is a letter, sir, addressed to the governor.

Open it.

Sir, we can’t open the governor’s mail!

Do as I say, he demanded. I’ll take responsibility. Open it and read it.

The soldier broke the seal and began to read. He glanced up at the two couriers and then went back to the letter.

Well, what’s in the bloody letter? asked their leader impatiently.

Sir, the letter is from the governor of Darfor and he claims to have lost his two sons to an assassin. He seems to think that an attempt will be made on Governor Sorrel’s life.

Is that all, rebels are always planning assassination attempts. None have yet succeeded. It’s nothing new.

There is something else, sir. It seems that the assassin was a Shadow Walker.

The leader of the soldiers let out a haughty laugh. A Shadow Walker! What nonsense is this? Are we to now believe in fairy tales?

There was a moment of tense silence as the leader pondered the situation. He could choose to ignore the letter, burn it, slay these couriers and take their money, but if this were true, then the governor would want to know of this.

Opening official mail is a serious offence, I’m sure the governor will not be pleased, said the Shadow Walker. The governor at Darfor is expecting a reply, an acknowledgment.

The soldier with the letter in his hand spoke. What he says is true, Captain.

The captain decided to err on the side of caution. These couriers could be genuine. "I will personally escort you to Farnmouth, to the governor. If there is no truth in this letter, if it is a lie, I will have your heads. You have five minutes to gather your