He smiled at the boy. "There are bowmen in the woods," he said. "A face in a lighted window makes an excellent target."
"Sergeant, what will the villagers do?"
A crack in the shutter let in the red glow. It striped Soren's face with a streak of blood. He looked at Sturm, standing so straight and proper. "I suppose you have a right to know," he said. "The peasants are in arms. They've set fire to the north wood and burned the fallow pastures east and south. Your father's cattle have been stolen and slaughtered. Some of my men were killed in Avrinet, but not before reporting that the villagers were preparing to attack."
"They can't get in the castle," Sturm said in a pleading tone.
"Alas, young lord, they can. I have less than a hundred men to defend all of the wall, and of those I trust not twenty."
Sturm could not fathom these revelations. "Why are they doing this, Soren? Why? My father never used them harshly."
"The common folk, here as throughout Krynn, blame the knights for not calling down the aid of Paladine in the dark times." Soren shook his head in sor row. "In their mad anger they have forgotten all that the knights have done for them."
They descended the steps. "So Father will fight our way out?" asked Sturm.
Soren cleared his throat. "My Lord Brightblade will remain behind to defend his home and lands."
"Then I shall stay, too!"
The sergeant paused and rested a battle-hardened hand on the boy's shoulder. "No, young lord. Your father has given orders that you and the Lady Ilys be sent to far Solace for safety. Our duty is to obey." He knelt in front of Sturm and scrubbed away the tears with his rough thumbs. "None of that now, lad. Your mother will need all your strength to make this journey. It will fall to you to be the Brightblade man of the party, you know."
Wind sighed through the north corridor. The double doors to the courtyard were open. A two-wheel cart waited in the calf-deep snow. Lady Ilys, splendid in a cape of white rabbit, was bidding farewell to her husband.
"May the gods go with you," Lord Brightblade said, clasping her hands between his own. "You will always be my lady."
Their cheeks touched. "And you, my lord," said Lady Ilys.
The sniffling from the front of the cart was Mistress Carin. Sturm and Soren halted before Lord Brighblade. The sergeant saluted. The master of Brightblade Castle clapped the guardsman on his ironclad shoulders.
"My best man-at-arms," he said. "Keep them safe, Soren Vardis."
"Aye, my lord."
He faced his son. "Sturm, heed what your mother and the sergeant tell you."
"Yes, sir." How he ached for just one embrace! But that was not his father's way, not even at a time of parting.
Soren lifted him into the back of the cart, then mounted his own horse. Mistress Carin snapped the reins, and the cart jerked forward. Sturm buried his face in his sleeve. He couldn't bear to leave. In spite of Soren's admonition, the bitter tears returned.
At the west gate, torches were doused before the portal opened. The guardsman and the cart moved into the night. The castle was quickly lost from sight in the swirling snow.
The road west was high-centered and paved with stone, a relic of the great days before the Cataclysm.
Sturm and his mother were nestled among the soft heaps of baggage. Though warmed and rocked by the easy motion of the cart, neither could find sleep. The boy could hear the sharp clat-clat of the war-shod hooves of Nuitari, Soren's black gelding. The sergeant kept to a measured pace as he watched the road ahead for trouble. As soon as was practical, they would leave the well-marked, well-paved track for a less conspicuous route. If the peasants had a mind to pursue them, they would be harder to find that way.
Soren reined up short. He snagged the carthorse's bridle and pulled the beast off the road. No sooner was the party screened by a stand of cedars than Sturm heard a low rumble of voices. His heart beat quickly as he peeked through the slatted side of the cart.
A band of rough-looking men came slogging through the snow. Some wore fresh, hairy hides over their backs, hides with the Brightblade brand.
"I'm cold!" one declared loudly.
"Shut your gob, Bron. We'll all be warm enough when we put the torch to the knights' hall!" Ugly laughter greeted the boast. Sturm heard his mother praying quietly to Paladine.
Soren led them back onto the road. Thev reached the fork the sergeant wanted. Mistress Cann hauled back the reins, and the cart slipped off the stones into a narrow, muddy rut. The naked, black arms of leafless trees closed over their heads. At last Sturm dropped into a light and troubled sleep.
He awoke to the sound of weeping. "Mother?" he said.
She put a hand over his mouth. "Quiet, child." He saw the tracks of tears on her face. He sat up and saw what was making her cry.
Below, across a snow-gilt field, three houses burned. Against the curtain of flame dark figures moved. Cows and calves bawled in pain as cudgels beat them to the ground. Angry, starving men tore them to pieces with billhooks and hand scythes.
"They would do the same to us," said Lady Ilys.
Sturm looked to the sergeant in helpless anger. Soren was afoot, his back to Nuitari, sword drawn. The fire displayed his blue eyes burning under the brim of his helmet. There was nothing he could do against twenty. And there were the women and boy to protect.
They slipped away as if they were the brigands. The snow continued until dawn, when the sun split the dense gray clouds. Their hearts did not lighten with the sky. They ate cold bread and cheese, and sipped tepid melted snow from the sergeant's pigskin water-bag.
Sturm spelled Mistress Carin on the reins. He simply kept them clear of the traces, as the old carthorse was content to follow the rutted path without guidance. Carin fussed over Lady Ilys, trying to screen her from the new sun and cold wind. Sturm knew the woman was exhausted. He wondered why his mother let her carry on with needless niceties of castle protocol.
Sturm stayed at the reins until midday, when Soren halted again for food and a consultation.
"As I recall," he said, chewing on a strip of dried beef, "the way forks again not far ahead. If we go straight, we'll end up in the mountains along the coast. Should we bear south, we'll reach the coast in a day's steady ride."
"Where on the coast?" asked Lady Ilys.
"Near the port of Thel, where ships on the Inland Sea often call."
"Ships, yes… a sea voyage would be more comfortable than rolling in this cart," she said. "Could we find passage to Abanasinia in Thel?"
"Easily, my lady. 'Tis a thickly traveled route."
"Then we shall proceed to Thel, then take ship."
The carthorse wheezed and shivered. "I pray the beast holds out till then," said Soren.
The beast did not. By the time they reached the fork, the poor carthorse collapsed in harness, never to rise again.
"Oh, lady, what shall we do?" Carin wailed.
"Nuitari will have to serve," said Lady Ilys. Soren could only obey in silence. He loosed the tracings from the dead animal and dragged the carcass aside. Then he backed theblack, straight-limbed Nuitari between the poles of the over burdened cart. Soren patted the horse's nose consolingly.
"There's no shame in it," he said in a low voice, though Sturm was near and heard him. "We all must serve beneath our worth sometime, my friend."
Day passed and night came. The two bright moons rose, shone their faces on Krynn, and set again. Mistress Carin drove all night, and Sturm noticed that his mother parted with one of her fine scarves so that her maid might have some protection from the facing wind.
The air warmed with day, and the ice on the track changed to mud. It gripped the cart wheels and the sergeant's boots with fervor, but neither Soren nor the brave Nuitari complained. They climbed a long, grassy hill to an ancient ring of standing stones. Strange images were graven on the triliths. Sturm knew dark forces were abroad in the land. He held close to his mother when they stopped amid the ruined circle.