The White Shadow

16. The Shadow's Accomplice

The two lookouts standing by the large boulder grew bright and dropped. Firmin turned and quickly rushed the other direction. He crouched low, then came up just a pace from the armed man. He rushed at him, slicing his blade across his throat.

     Easing the body to the ground, Firmin darted to the next tree. He took a deep breath, settling his nerves. He never had been able to handle having to take someone's life well, but it needed to be done. His nerves were so bad, he had enough else to worry about, and so kept focused. They needed to do this smartly, without one bandit escaping. They'd likely have prisoners too. Reina may not see the difference.

      But they would see her first. And then they would run. No, they would ride.

      The horses. They could never reach their horses. Firmin would have to find their mounts and set them free. By that time they would probably have already discovered the white shadow, and they would be sent into a frenzy. The horses could be rounded up later on, but that was not their main concern as of tonight.

      Firmin looked around, decided to climb the tree and get a view. He waited for one of the lookouts on a highly elevated surface to patrol the side facing opposite direction, then instantly pulled himself up the first branch.

      Firmin tried to be quiet but also hasty as he climbed the tree. The tower Roxanne had been talking about was still looming over him, but he saw the biggest part of the camp's layout.

       The horses were exactly where he expected. Well-guarded but close to the outskirts. He didn't see the white shadow at current and was about to climb back down when he spotted a commotion close by the tower.

      Several men with torches and weapons drawn had someone surrounded. Firmin shifted and tried to get a better view.

      In the torchlight, among the men, he saw a brightly colored cape. And on that cape, the royal sigil of a crown.

     "I will write a ransom note," said one man. He recognized the voice. Mathew Dilson. "Issuing the king's son's ransom."

     Fridel Remier! They had the prince.

     "Lock him up!"

      Firmin quickly scrambled down the tree. No one could escape this camp alive. Not with the news of the captured prince. The ransom must never reach the king's ears.

     Firmin ran in a crouch to his next destination—behind a rock.

      "Over here!" A cry from above.

      Firmin had been seen. He jumped to his feet, grabbing the man's collar and bringing him to the ground. He plunged his knife into his gut, hoping no one had seen.

     Quickly he covered the man in grass and his own cloak, then departed. He dropped to the ground, as there were only bushes and tall grasses here. The horses were now just mere paces from where he lay. He crawled quietly towards them, trying not to make a noise.

      He heard a scream from the other side of camp. "The white—"

      She had gotten to him. Firmin quickened his pace but it was difficult trying to stay as low as possible.

      Shouts suddenly arose. A horn was blown. Several of the close lookouts disappeared. Firmin pushed to his feet and bolted to the horses.

     "Get away with the prince!"

     The horses. Firmin arrived. He put his blade to the rope securing the first one to the rack they were tied to. He sawed through the rope, slapped the horse with its reins so it ran.