The Stonegate Sword

Chapter 4: The Trial

Urgency drove him to a fast trot. He held this pace as long as he could, but quickly tired. The ground began to tilt before him, and white spots swam before his eyes. He stopped and leaned on his staff for a moment, breath rasping the back of his throat. The numbness was out of his arm, and it was throbbing painfully.

"Slow down -- mustn't get over tired," he told himself. 

He took a swallow of water, then continued at a brisk walk. He alternated walking and jogging for what seemed like miles. He came to one farm, its house and outbuildings surrounded by a stockade. He pounded on the gate, but the only response he could get was a woman's voice telling him to begone, and wild barking of what sounded like a pack of dogs. Side roads joined the main road at that point, probably leading from other farms, but Don decided to stay with the main highway, and continued on. Where was all the traffic? The road had been empty, and the morning was getting late.

Finally, Don saw a thin plume of dust and movement on the road ahead. It was a group of about 20 men on horses, lances held high. From the flag borne by one of the leaders, he assumed that it must be a military unit. Probably a cavalry patrol from Stonegate.

Don ran to meet them, and waved them down. He shouted his message in a hoarse voice. Two of the riders dismounted. One, obviously one of the leaders asked him a few quick questions about the attack. The other stripped off his blood-soaked bandage and rebound his arm with clean linen strips. He then offered Don a drink from his canteen.

"How do you feel, loreman?" asked the second man, evidently the surgeon. "Can you walk another mile?"

At Don's assent, he unclipped a broach bearing the sign of a wolf. "Present this to the next farmstead, and wait for us there. We want to talk to you further." At this, the man remounted and rode off toward the lowering sun.

The mile stretched out until it seemed like ten. His body was beginning to feel bone-deep aches, which bowed his back and slowed his limbs. Afternoon shadows were getting longer. His arm continued to throb, and he tried to move it no more than necessary. A gray stockade and watchtower came into view with a wide gate, open and inviting. Don stumbled through the opening to be met by a short, stocky man with salt and pepper hair and a short spear. The wolf token, however, gained him admittance and a smile besides. He was escorted to a stone house in the rear of the courtyard, and invited to sit on a wooden bench near the front door.

The man entered the house and returned a few minutes later with a tanned teenage boy. The lad, dressed in a nicely-woven tunic, took his pack and led him into the high-gabled house. When they entered, they were met in a foyer, floored with red tiles, by a middle-aged woman with a kind smile. "Hello, Loreman, and welcome," she said. "Your wounded arm would have gained your entry, but the wolf token and your lore craft make you a welcome guest, indeed."

"Many thanks, my Lady," returned Don. "I am of the Fisher clan. Donald is my name and I thank you for your kind hospitality."

"Come in, come in," she urged. "You can call me Wilma." 

"Ralph, take his staff and pack to the second guests' bedroom." She motioned the youth to the left. Don followed her lead into a center hall with a high ceiling and dark crossed beams above, a huge fireplace and the end, and beautiful embroidered hangings on the walls. This was not the home of a common farmer.

Don was given a comfortable, fur-covered chair next to the hearth, and in the full light of a west-facing window.

"Sir Donald," said Wilma. "I know you must have seen evil this day, for your bandage is still wet with blood, and your tunic muddy and damp. Have your wounds been treated?"

"My lady, I thank you for your concern," Don responded. "My arm was re-bandaged a short time ago by a surgeon from a patrol of heavily-armed horsemen. They gave me the wolf token and sent me here."