He hurried down the ladder. The only thing he could think of doing was following the murderer. He was terrified of waking the Tsurani, and not certain they would care about the murder of people they obviously felt were inferior to themselves. They might blame Dirk and hang him, he feared.
Drogen. He had to find Drogen and rescue Anika and get the gold back for her. The boy knew that without gold the girl would be at the mercy of the town’s people. She would be forced to depend on the generosity of relatives or friends. But he was terrified enough he couldn’t move. He stood in the barn aisle, rooted with indecision.
After a time he heard a shout from across the compound. The Tsurani were up and one had seen something. A confusion of voices sounded from outside, and Dirk knew they would be in the barn in moments.
He hid himself in the darkest corner of the stall most removed from the door, and lay shivering in fear and cold as men came into the barn, speaking rapidly in their odd language. Two walked past where Dirk lay, once casting a quick glance in his direction. He must have simply assumed Dirk was another dead boy, for he said nothing to his companion, who climbed the ladder to the hayloft. After a moment, he shouted down, and the other responded. He heard the man return down the ladder and the two of them leave the barn. Dirk waited until it grew quiet again, then got out of the straw. He hurried to the door and peered out. From his vantage point he saw one Tsurani instructing others to search the area.
Uncertain of what to do next, Dirk waited. A Tsurani he knew to be of some rank came out and pointed to the tracks in the snow. There was some sort of debate, and the man who had sent the others searching seemed to be indicating that someone should follow the murderer.
Then the leader spoke in commanding tones and the other man bowed slightly and turned away. Dirk realized that no one was going to follow Drogen. He was going to get away with killing more than two dozen people and kidnapping Anika and taking all of Lord Paul’s gold. The Tsurani soldier in charge seemed content to leave this matter to his own officer, when the bulk of the command returned from their mission.
Dirk knew that if anyone was to save Anika, it would have to be him. Dirk slipped out of the barn and around the side, and when he was certain no one was nearby, he went down the hill behind the barn and made his way into the woods. He hurried along through the birch and pines until he found the sled tracks. He turned to follow them.
Dirk slogged his way through the snow, his breath a white cloud before him. His feet were numb and he felt weak and hungry, but he was determined to overtake Drogen. The landscape was white and green—the boughs of pines and firs peering out from mantles of snow. A stand of bare trees stood a short distance away, and Dirk knew he had left the boundary of Lord Paul’s estate.
The murderer was making good time, despite having to pull the heavy sled. He knew that he gained on Drogen each time he had to pull the sled up a hill, but each time he went down the next slope, Drogen probably gained some of that time back.
Dirk stopped to rest a moment, His best chance of finding the murderer, he knew was to catch him at night. Dirk glanced around. He had no idea how much time had passed; a good part of the day, he realized, but he couldn’t tell from the grey sky where the sun was and when darkness would arrive.
A rabbit poked its head above a nearby ridge and sniffed. Dirk wished he had some sort of weapon, or the time to rig a snare, for a rabbit cooked over an open fire would be welcome, but he knew such wishes would go ungranted.
He continued on.
It began to snow as darkness came, and it came quickly. Dirk’s plan of following through the night vanished along with the sled tracks. Dirk tried to follow the tracks, but there was no light. It was the blackest night he could remember, and he was terrified.
He found a small clump of trees overhung by a large pine bower thick with snow that acted like a roof, and he crawled in for the meager shelter it provided. He built up a low snow wall around him, having been taught as a boy that such a wall would shelter him from the wind. He dozed but didn’t sleep.
A soft sound woke him. He heard it again. He poked his head out from under the pine bower and saw that snow had fallen from a branch in a large clump.
He crawled out and looked for tracks. There were places where the snow had fallen lightly, and he could barely see the tracks, but they were there, and they pointed the way.
Dirk began again to hunt down the murderer.
At sundown he saw the light of the fire, high on a ridge to the east. Drogen was making his way toward the city of Natal. It was free of the Tsurani invaders. Once there, Drogen could make his way to Ylith and from there anywhere in the world, the Kingdom, Kesh, or the Island Empire of Queg. How Drogen was going to cross the frontier, Dirk didn’t know, but he assumed the man had a plan. Maybe he just counted on the Tsurani holding tight to their campfires and not having too many men in the field in the dead of winter. From what he had heard, there had been almost no fighting between them and the Free Cities and Kingdom forces since the first heavy snow of winter.
Dirk slogged his way toward the fire.
He finally reached a place from where he could get a glimpse of the site. Slowly approaching as quietly as he could, Dirk saw a single man resting on the sled, warming his hands on the fire. Drogen must have thought himself free of pursuit, for he had taken no pains to hide his whereabouts. At his feet, Anika lay in a bundle of furs. Dirk had aired them out every fall after fetching them out of storage, so he knew the girl was well protected from the cold. She appeared to be asleep—probably exhausted from terror, Dirk thought.
Dirk stopped, again rooted by fear. He had no idea how to proceed. He made up and discarded a dozen plans to attack the murderer. He couldn’t imagine how to attack a trained warrior, one who was paid to fight.
Dirk stood freezing on his feet, watching the fire grow dimmer. Drogen ate, and still Dirk remained motionless. Cold, exposure, hunger, and fear were on the verge of reducing him to tears.
Then Drogen threw more wood on the fire and wrapped a blanket around himself. He lay down on the ground between the sled and Anika, who moved, but didn’t awake. He was going to sleep!
Dirk knew that he could only rescue Anika and regain Lord Paul’s gold by sneaking up on Drogen and killing him as he slept. Dirk had no compunctions about the act; Drogen had killed everyone Dirk had known since leaving his family to work at the master’s estate, in their sleep, and he deserved no more than they got. Dirk just feared he wouldn’t be up to the task, or would inadvertently wake up the killer.
Dirk moved his legs, trying to regain circulation in the freezing night, and eventually he judged it safe to approach the camp. Stiff legs and an inability to catch his breath drove Dirk to a heart-pounding frenzy. He found his hands shaking so badly he could barely manage to get the heavy knife out from within his jacket.
The familiar handle was suddenly an alien thing that resisted fitting comfortably in his palm. He crept forward and tried not to let panic overwhelm him.
He stopped on the other side of the sled, uncertain which way to approach. He decided that he’d approach Drogen’s head.
Dirk held the knife high, and crept around the sled, slowly, moving as carefully as he could so as not to make noise. When he was just a few feet away, Drogen moved, shifting the blanket around his shoulders. He snuggled down behind Anika, who didn’t move.
Fear overwhelmed Dirk. He knew if he didn’t move now, he would never move. He struck down hard with the knife and felt the point dig into the murderer’s shoulder.
Drogen shouted in pain and convulsed, almost pulling the knife out of Dirk’s hard. Dirk yanked it back, and struck out again as Drogen tried to rise. The point again dug deep into his shoulder, and he howled in pain.
Anika awoke with a scream and kicked off the furs, then leaped to her feet, spinning around and trying to understand what was happening. Dirk pulled the blade out and was ready for a third strike, but Drogen charged, driving his shoulder into Dirk, knocking h
im aside.
The boy rolled on the ground and found Drogen sitting atop Dirk’s chest, his hand poised to deliver a blow. “You!” he said as he saw the boy’s face in the dim light of the dying fire. Drogen hesitated.
Dirk lashed out with his knife and struck Drogen in the face, cutting deeply. Drogen reared back, his hand to his cheek as he cried out in pain. Dirk acted without thought. He pushed hard with his knife, driving it deep into Drogen, just under his rib cage.
Drogen loomed above Dirk in the dim light, his eyes wide in silent astonishment. His left hand dropped from where it had momentarily touched his cheek. With his right hand he grabbed Dirk’s tunic, as if he were going to pull him upright to ask him something. Then he slowly toppled backward. He didn’t release his grip on Dirk’s coat and he pulled the boy upright, then forward.
Dirk’s legs were pinned under Drogen, and he was forced to bend forward.
Dirk frantically pried the dying man’s fingers from his coat. He fell back and the pain in his side was a searing agony. He saw the blade of the knife protruding from his coat and his head swam. Using his elbows, he pulled himself back and got his legs free of Drogen’s weight. Dimly he was aware of a sobbing voice saying, “No.”
Dirk was in a fog as he reached down and pulled out the knife from Drogen’s body. He turned as a girl’s voice again said, “No!”
“You killed him!” screamed Anika as she rushed toward Dirk. The disoriented boy stood uncertain of what was occurring. He tried to focus his eyes as his head swam from pain. “I—” he began, but the girl seemed to fly at him.
“You killed him!” she screamed again as she fell upon him. He stepped back, his heel striking Drogen’s body and he fell, the girl suddenly atop him. She landed heavily upon Dirk, her eyes wide in shock. She pushed herself up from atop Dirk and looked down between them.
Dirk followed her gaze and saw that the knife was still in his hand. Anika had impaled herself upon the blade. Confusion beset her features and she gazed at his face and at last said, softly, “The Wood Boy?”
She fell atop Dirk. He moved her aside, but held her in his arms, and he sank to the snow, holding her. She looked up at the sky, eyes glassy, and he gently closed them.
Then Dirk felt a hot stabbing pain in his side and bile rose in his throat as he realized somehow he had been cut. He touched the wound and hot pain shot through his body, and his eyes seemed unwilling to focus. He knew that he couldn’t move with the blade there, and reached up to grip the handle again. Mustering all the resolve he could, he pulled the knife from his side, and screamed at the agony of it. After a moment, the pain subsided and was replaced by a throbbing torment, but one that didn’t make him feel as if he was going to die. He slowly stood, and turned to confront the girl.
Then he passed out.
Borric said, “She helped him kill her father and the rest?”
“I don’t think so, sir.” Sadly Dirk said, “I think Drogen tricked her, convinced her to elope with him to gain the secret of where her father’s gold was. She was an innocent girl and he was a rake known to have wooed many women. If he killed everyone without awakening her, then bundled her up in those furs and carried her straight to the sled, she wouldn’t have seen. Once away from the Free Cities, she might never have known.” He looked as if he was about to cry, but held his tone steady as he said, “She fell upon me in a fright, and without knowing what had occurred at home. Else she wouldn’t have been so frantic over Drogen’s death, I’m certain. Her death was an accident, but it was all my fault.”
“There was no fault in you, lad. It was, as you say, an accident.” After a moment, Borric nodded. “Yes, it’s better to think of it that way. Lad, why did you come here?”
“I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if Drogen planned on coming this way, I would, too. I knew the Tsurani would take my master’s gold and hang me as likely as not … it was all I could think of.”
“You did well,” said Borric softly.
Dirk put the cup down and said, “That was good. Thank you, sir.” He moved and winced.
“You’re hurt?”
“I bound the wounds as best I could, sir.”
Borric called for an orderly and instructed him to take the boy to the healers’ tent and have the wound treated.
After Dirk had left, the captain said, “That was quite a story, Your Grace.”
Borric agreed. “The boy has special courage.”
“Did the girl know?” asked the Captain.
“Of course she knew,” said Borric. “I knew Paul of White Hill; I’ve done enough business with him through my agent in Bordon, Talbot Kilrane. I’ve been to his home, and he’s been to Crydee.
“And I knew the daughter.” Borric sighed, as if what he thought tired him. “She’s the same age as my Carline. And they’re as different as two children could be. Anika was born scheming.” Borric sighed. “I have no doubt she planned this, though we’ll never know if she anticipated all the murders; she may have only suggested to the bodyguard they steal the gold and flee. With her father behind Tsurani lines and all that gold in her possession … she could have cut quite a social figure for herself back in Krondor or even in Rillanon. She easily could have disposed of the bodyguard—he clearly couldn’t admit to anyone his part in this, could he? And if word of the killings reached us, we would assume the Tsurani murdered the household on some pretext.” Borric was silent. Then he said, “In my bones I know the girl was the one behind all this … but we’ll never know, for certain, will we?”
“No, Your Grace,” agreed the captain. “What of the bodies?”
“Bury them. We have no means to return the girl to her family in Walinor.”
The captain said, “I’ll detail men to the digging. It’ll take a while to dig through the frozen ground.” He then asked, “And the gold?”
Borric said, “It’s confiscated. The Tsurani would have taken it anyway, and we’ve an army to feed. Send it under guard to Brucal in LaMut.” He paused a moment, then said, “Send the boy, too. I’ll pen a note to Brucal asking the boy be found some service there at headquarters. He’s a resourceful lad and as he said, he has nowhere else to go.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
As the captain turned to go, Borric said, “And Captain.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Keep what I said to yourself. The boy doesn’t need to know.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” said the captain as he departed.
Borric sat forward and tried to return his attention to the business at hand, but he found his mind returning to the boy’s story. He tried to imagine what Dirk had felt, alone, armed only with the kitchen knife, and afraid. He had been a trained warrior for most of his life, but he remembered what it was to be uncertain. He recognized the boy’s act for what it had been, an unusual and rare act of heroism. The image of a lovestruck, frightened boy trudging through the snow at night to confront a murderer and rescue a damsel lingered with the Duke, and he decided it was best that the boy be left with that one shred of illusion about the girl. He had earned that much, at least.
The Wheel of Time
ROBERT JORDAN
THE EYE OF THE WORLD (1990)
THE GREAT HUNT (1990)
THE DRAGON REBORN (1991)
THE SHADOW RISING (1992)
THE FIRES OF HEAVEN (1993)
LORD OF CHAOS (1994)
A CROWN OF SWORDS (1996)
The world of Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time lies both in our future and our past, a world of kings and queens and Aes Sedai, women who can tap the True Source and wield the One Power, which turns the Wheel and drives the universe: a world where the war between the Light and the Shadow is fought every day.
At the moment of Creation, the Creator bound the Dark One away from the world of humankind, but more than three thousand years ago Aes Sedai, then both men and women, unknowingly bored into that prison outside of time. The Dark One was able to touch the world only lightly,
and the hole was eventually sealed over, but the Dark One’s taint settled on saidin, the male half of the Power. Eventually every male Aes Sedai went mad, and in the Breaking of the World they destroyed civilization and changed the very face of the earth, sinking mountains beneath the sea and bringing new seas where land had been.
Now only women bear the title Aes Sedai. Commanded by their Amyrlin Seat and divided into seven Ajahs named by color, they rule the great island city of Tar Valon, where their White Tower is located, and are bound by the Three Oaths, fixed into their bones with saidar, the female half of the Power: To speak no word that is not true, to make no weapon for one man to kill another, and never to use the One Power except as a weapon against Shadowspawn or in the last extreme of defending her own life, or that of her Warder or another sister.
Men still are born who can learn to channel the Power, or worse, who will channel one day whether they try to or not. Doomed to madness, destruction, and death by the taint on saidin, they are hunted down by Aes Sedai and gentled, cut off forever from the Power for the safety of the world. No man goes to this willingly. Even if they survive the hunt, they seldom survive long after gentling.
For more than three thousand years, while nations and empires rose and fell, nothing has been so feared as a man who can channel. But for all those three thousand years there have been the Prophecies of the Dragon, that the seals on the Dark One’s prison will weaken and he will touch the world once more, and that the Dragon, who sealed up that hole, will be Reborn to face the Dark One again. A child, born in sight of Tar Valon on the slopes of Dragonmount, will grow up to be the Dragon Reborn, the only hope of humanity in the Last Battle—a man who can channel. Few people know more than scraps of the Prophecies, and few want to know more.
A world of kings and queens, nations and wars, where the White Tower rules only Tar Valon but even kings and queens are wary of Aes Sedai machinations. A world where the Shadow and the Prophecies loom together.