All of this passed with Roder back in the stable, diligently forking hay into the byres and mucking out the many stalls. Berry was back, having been recovered from Sandys’s camp by Burnond’s men. In his own stoic way, the old horse seemed glad to see Roder again. He demonstrated his feelings by stepping on Roder’s toes with a heavy iron-shod hoof.
A scaffold was erected in the castle courtyard. Here the outlaws were paraded before the angry crowd one by one, to receive their howls for vengeance. Roder waited for Sandys to appear, but Burnond was saving for last the rare spectacle of hanging a female outlaw. Roder tried once to visit her in her cell, but the Knights on duty would not allow him in.
“Go back to your dunghill, boy,” one of them told him. “Leave justice to real Knights.”
The second day of the trial went much the same as the first. Chained prisoners were led out of the dungeon to the wooden platform, to await their rum before their accusers. It was midafternoon before Roder spotted Sandys at the end of the line. Her cuts and bruises looked improved, and she’d been put in clothes suitable for her gender. In a simple homespun shift, she looked more like a farmer’s wife and less like an infamous outlaw.
Things went slowly. Some of Gottrus’s worst men were ahead of her, and the accusations against them were lengthy and many. Some of the tales of murder, theft, and rape were lurid and horrible. The outlaws were all crowded together on the raised platform. Between chores Roder returned to the stable door to check on Sandys and monitor her progress to the scaffold.
It was late morning. Soon the proceedings would have to break for lunch. Guards were thinking about their meal, and the crowd was howling at a particularly venomous outlaw. While the courtyard was distracted, Sandys made a furtive moment that Roder spotted. The outlaw had produced a short length of wire hidden in her hair and was trying to use it to open her manacles. Roder opened his mouth to cry out, but said nothing. He bit his lip as the heavy chains fell from her wrists. She caught them with her knees, preventing them from noisily striking the ground. Even the brigand in front of her didn’t realize that she was free.
Sandys took a small step backward while facing ahead, men another. Roder was fascinated. He shack a piece of wheatstraw in his teeth and leaned against the door frame, chewing. In one swift movement the outlaw dropped off the platform, turned and dashed to the castle wall some yards away. Her timing was excellent. Amazingly, no one had noticed.
Roder watched intently as she tore the sleeves from her shift and used one to make a scarf for her head. She squatted close to the wall, tore a doublespan of cloth from the hem of her shift, and used it as a sash for her waist. She used smut from the wall stones to dirty her face. In moments the notorious outlaw had taken on the appearance of an unwashed peasant woman. There were several score like her in the courtyard that very moment.
Sandys sidled around the edge of the crowd. Her disguise was perfect, and the men-at-arms paid no attention to her. She worked her way closer to the gate. Commandant Burnond was observing the trials from a balcony on the second floor of the keep, and Sandys passed directly below him. His impassive gaze betrayed no surprise, no alarm, only arrogance.
Roder spat out his straw and shouldered his pitchfork. This was his chance.
Sandys walked right out the open gate, against the stream of local folk filing in to see the brigands meet justice. The guards ignored her. A dozen paces from the castle, she began to walk faster. Down the hill were open fields of grass, and beyond that, the forest. Once out of sight of the gate, Sandys struck out across the meadow. Distant shouts from the courtyard crowd could still be heard. Her escape was still unnoticed, but the vengeful roar put haste in Sandys’s step.
“Hold!”
Roder, pitchfork in hand, appeared on her right. She gauged the distance between him and the edge of the woods. Too far; he could easily catch her if she tried to run. She angled a bit to improve her lead, then said, “Well, stable boy. How did you know where I was?”
“I watched you,” he said. “I saw everything you did. You were wonderfully clever.”
“How did you get here ahead of me?”
“Postern gate. I ran.”
She inched a few more steps through the knee-high grass. “You think you can stop me?”
“If I brought you back now, it’d show Lord Burnond I’m no fool.”
She palmed the sweat from her eyes. “Is that what you want? The approval of the Knights? You’ll never get it, not even by recapturing me. You’ll never be anything but a stablehand to them.”
He slowly lowered the pitchfork. “I know.”
“You do?”
“I thought about what you and Lord Burnond said the day you were captured. He’s known me all my life, and he thinks I’m a worthless shoveler of manure. You knew me for two days and thought I was a clever spy. That’s why I’m going to let you go.”
She folded her arms. “Roder, you are a fool. How do you know I didn’t say those things just to flatter you?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
Frowning, Sandys strode over to him and eyed him up and down. Without warning, she took his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely.
He gaped. “What was that for?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
She lifted her skirt and started running for the woods. “I’ll see you again, Roder. Count on it!”
He leaned on the pitchfork and watched Sandys race through the still grass. Burnond would be apoplectic over her escape, no doubt. Roder would enjoy that. He touched his lips, where the taste of the infamous bandit “Lord” Sandys lingered. He enjoyed that, too.
See her again? Why not?
Sandys reached the thick green line of trees and plunged in. She never looked back.
Much Ado About Magic
Kevin James Kage
“Hello!” shouted the kender.
Laudus started. His hand flew to the side, tipping an inkwell and soaking a manuscript with rich black ink. Rising from his seat, the old man thundered across the study and thrust his head out the window.
Fifty feet below him, the little man stood at the gates of the tower, peering about and shouting “Hello!” every few moments.
“Be quiet!” the archmage said.
“Hello!” the kender said as he spotted the man. He waved his arms in greeting. “I say! Could you open the door, please? It seems to be stuck!”
“Absolutely not! Leave at once!”
“I can’t leave! I have some very important information to relate!”
“Absolutely out of the question! Go away!”
“But it’s very important!”
Mustering his patience, the archmage said, “Well, what is it?”
The kender looked taken aback. “I couldn’t tell you! You might be a spy!”
The old man scowled and threw the now-empty inkwell. It struck the ground to the right of the kender, bounced a foot more, and landed with a dusty thud. The kender looked astonished beyond measure.
“Thank you!” he said cheerfully. “But all I really need is the door opened!”
Laudus looked about for something else to throw, but he found nothing disposable. He opted for the next-best solution.
“Cedwick!”
Moments later, a lanky young man stumbled into the room. Though merely an apprentice, he stood a full head taller than Laudus and possessed a good deal more hair. “Almost done, Master,” he said. “Your fine robes have been packed as you requested, and I’ve taken the liberty of packing-”
“Enough, enough,” Laudus said. “I’ll finish the packing. There’s something else I want you to do. There’s a kender outside.”