The Master's Chair (The Chronicles of Terah) (26 page)

The Tellurians spent the next two nights in a large clearing beside a lake. Theresa gathered herbs while the others sparred and practiced with their weapons. They washed clothes, tended the horses, and reorganized the wagons, but most of all they relaxed. When they hit the road again, they felt completely refreshed.

Over the next couple of weeks they fell into a pattern of two nights in town, one camping, two nights in town, and then two nights at the same campsite. They crossed streams on wooden bridges, and rivers on ferries. They rode through forests, prairies, farmlands, and small towns.

The people they encountered along the way seemed relatively content and friendly. News about the people in and around a town traveled by way of the backyard grapevine, but the people in one town knew almost nothing of what happened in other towns, and didn’t really care to know.

On the first Saturday in May, they reached the eastern fringes of the Badlands. The vast empty basins looked untouched, except for a cloud of dust that seemed to hang above the ground on the western edge of one of the basins, moving slowly off to the south. While they were trying to figure out what was causing the dust, they saw a figure that looked like a man stumble out from behind one of the spires and fall to the ground about a quarter of a mile away.

 Karl remembered stories about bands of outlaws who hid in the Badlands on Earth during the days of the Wild West, and he wasn’t at all sure that the man wasn’t bait, but if he really needed help, they couldn’t just leave him there to die. Karl glanced over at Darrell and raised his eyebrows. Darrell nodded, so Karl turned his horse and rode towards the fallen figure with Darrell following about twenty yards back.

While Karl and Darrell slowly approached the man, Joan rode around to the front of Theresa’s wagon, unfastened her bow, and drew an arrow out of her quiver. Steve took up a position behind Kevin’s wagon and unfastened his bow too. Chris stationed himself between the two wagons and loosened his sword in its scabbard.

Darrell stayed back, sword in hand, while Karl dismounted with his canteen and walked towards the man. From a distance, the man looked dead. His lips were parched and cracked, and there were dark circles around his eyes that made the sockets look empty. His clothes hung on his emaciated frame like a shroud. As Karl got a little closer, he could see the blood-drenched tunic slowly rise and fall. The man wasn’t dead yet, but he wasn’t far from it. When Karl pulled back the tunic, he found a gaping wound just under the collarbone. Infection had already set in.

Karl put his hand behind the man’s head and raised it just enough to try to give him a sip of water. The man opened his eyes and looked at Karl in terror.

“No! Won’t go back!” the man hissed through clenched teeth. “Kill me now!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Karl said gently. “Here, drink some water.” He tilted the canteen and let a little water dribbled over the man’s mouth. “Who did this to you?”

“You … you’re not … with the bounty hunters?” the man said, struggling to get the words out.

“No,” Karl said, shaking his head. “Why are bounty hunters after you?”

“Escaped.”

“Escaped? From jail?”

For a minute, the man said nothing. Karl wasn’t sure he was still conscious. And then the man frowned and tried to shake his head no, but the movement was so faint that Karl nearly missed it.

“No … not jail,” the man said in a whisper. Then he took a couple more breaths and said, “From Rolan.”

“You were a slave?”

The man slowly nodded his head and moaned. Karl gave him a couple more sips of water. After a few minutes, the man continued, “Been hiding in a cave … yesterday…maybe the day before, went… looking …for food … one of them spotted me … got me with an arrow … hid.” He took a deep breath, seemed to find a spark of strength from somewhere deep inside, and said, “They were closing in … tried to make a break this morning … not far behind me.” He struggled, trying to sit up. “You go … get out of here.”

“I’m not going to leave you here,” Karl said as he slid his arm behind the man’s shoulders. “Can you sit on my horse?”

“No!” The man shook his head and tried to push Karl away. “They’ll kill you. Go!” he gasped.

Karl turned and signaled for Darrell. When Darrell reached him, Karl quickly explained the situation. There was no way that they could cover the runaway slave’s trail or the tracks left by two men on horseback, so they didn’t waste time trying. They hoisted the runaway slave across the saddle on Karl’s horse and then Karl swung up behind the saddle and spurred his horse back to the road and the wagons.

As Theresa watched them more or less throw the man onto Karl’s horse, she knew that he was either gravely wounded or desperately ill, so she climbed into the back of her wagon and began spreading out a couple of the bedrolls in the narrow alley between the cabinets for cushioning. Then she covered them with a couple of layers of canvas. She took out a good portion of woundwort in case he had been wounded, and a mixture of herbs for pain and infection.

By the time Karl and Darrell returned with the wounded man, Theresa was ready for him. Darrell lifted him off of Karl’s horse and carried him over to the wagon. Theresa held the back flap to the side, and between the two of them, Darrell and Karl got the man settled on the pallet Theresa had made on the floor of her wagon. As soon as she could get to him, Theresa pulled back his tunic and started cleaning the wound.

“Karl, can we stay put until I get this bandaged?”

“I don’t think so, Theresa,” Karl answered, “He told me that he’s a runaway slave and that bounty hunters are after him. I think that dust we saw a little while ago was from their horses. We need to get as far away from here as we can, and fast.”

“Okay,” Theresa said, “but I’m going to busy back here for a while.”

“That’s okay,” Joan said as she tied her horse to the back of Theresa’s wagon. “I’ll drive.”

After Theresa cleaned the wound, dressed it with woundwort, and bandaged the area, she mixed some herbs in water and had him sip it. As soon as he drank the potion, he fell asleep. Theresa leaned back and took a long look at him. He was older than a teenager and younger than middle age, but other than that, she couldn’t say how old he was; he was in too rough a shape. His hair was jet black, and really thick, and from the looks of it, long enough to reach his shoulders. His skin was almost an almond color, though whether from his natural coloring or from exposure to the sun out in the badlands, she had no idea.  He was relatively short for a man, maybe five feet nine or so, had a small frame, and was thin as a rail. Theresa covered him with a blanket and climbed onto the driver’s seat beside Joan.

Karl rode over to the wagon as soon as he saw Theresa. “How is he?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “Mainly he’s going to need a lot of rest. I stopped the bleeding and cleaned the wound, and the woundwort will soon heal it, but he’s half-starved and he’s so weak that I’m not sure he can survive the loss of blood. A stronger man would probably be fine in a couple of days, but I just don’t know.”

“All right,” Karl nodded with a slight frown and thought for a few minutes. Finally he said, “I don’t think we should try to stay in town with a wounded man. It would cause too many questions.”

Joan frowned and turned towards Theresa. “Is it illegal to help an escaped slave?”

“I don’t know,” Theresa said with a shrug. “The subject of slavery never came up with Drusilla, but at the same time we can’t just let him die.”

“And we can’t just hand him over to those bounty hunters either,” Joan added.

“We won’t,” Karl said.

“Let’s just ride through the next town and camp tonight,” Joan suggested.

“That won’t leave us a lot of time to find a secure campsite before nightfall. Let me see what the others think,” Karl said as he pulled his horse back to discuss things with the rest of the group.

While he was waiting for Darrell to ride up, he saw three men on horseback emerging from the Badlands about half a mile down the road. They stopped and spread out across the road, obviously waiting for the approaching wagons. One of the men urged his horse out in front of the others.

Karl rode back to the front of Theresa’s wagon with Darrell close behind him. As they passed her wagon, Theresa said, “Don’t be surprised if I act like I’m in charge. I’ve got an idea.”

Karl nodded and kept riding.

When they were within twenty feet of the bounty hunters, Karl held up his hand to signal a halt. The wagons slowly rolled to a stop. Steve and Chris stopped their horses between the two wagons.

“Good day, and what can we do for you?” Karl asked in his most pleasant and non-threatening voice.

“We’re looking for an escaped slave,” the man in front said. “Have you seen a stranger in these parts?”

“We’re strangers in these parts ourselves, but we haven’t met anyone since we left that little town about ten miles north of here this morning,” Karl said in a smooth voice.

“Well, then, I’m sure you won’t mind if we search your wagons, will you?” one of the men in the back asked.

“I most certainly would mind,” Theresa said in a soft yet firm voice

“We won’t disturb your herbs, Sister. We just want to make sure that there’s no one in your wagon,” the man in the back row snorted.

“You’ll just have to take my word for it,” Theresa said as she rubbed her pendant. The fire in the opal was starting to glow.

The man cocked his head and sneered.

Theresa raised her eyebrows, looked down her nose at him, and said, “Or isn’t my word good enough for you?” Her words were chiseled out of ice.

“No offense intended, Sister,” the man in front said in a placating voice as he urged his horse towards her wagon. “We’re just looking out for your safety. That crazy slave could be holding a knife on you to make you hide him.” He noticed the fire in the opal begin to sparkle and dance, so he stopped in his tracks.

Theresa allowed her mouth to fall open as if in shock. She shut it, raised her eyebrows, and snapped, “Do you really think that would work?” The fire in the opal was steadily growing in strength.

“No, ma’am. I guess not. We meant no disrespect,” the man in front said. Then he turned to his men and said, “Let them pass. The man we’re looking for isn’t with them.” Then he moved off the road and signaled for his men to do the same.

The men rode off to the side, but the one who had spoken up from the back row didn’t quite leave the road, and as Theresa’s wagon rolled past, he reached out, grabbed the canvas flap, threw it up over the back of the wagon, and darted his horse around behind the wagon to peer inside. All he saw between the built-in cabinets were canvas tarps.

He shook his head at the man who appeared to be in charge just as Darrell reached the back of the wagon. Darrell dove from his horse, grabbing the man on his way down, and wrestled him to the ground. He had his dagger drawn and was ready to plunge it into the man’s chest when Theresa yelled at him to stop. She had jumped off of the wagon seat and had nearly reached the back of her wagon by the time Darrell had the man pinned to the ground.

Meanwhile, another bounty hunter had ridden up behind Kevin’s wagon and jerked its back door open. The only things between the cabinets in there were their clothes and Joan’s harp. He signaled the lead man that the wagon was empty just as Chris rounded the far side of the wagon and stuck the tip of his sword at the man’s throat.

“Don’t move,” Chris hissed. The man sat as still as he could and slowly raised his hands away from the weapons at his side.

Theresa turned to the man in charge of the bounty hunters and glared. “I want to know the name of the person responsible for this! Who are you working for?” Tiny sparks were starting to shoot out of Theresa’s opal towards the men.

 “We’re just doing our jobs, ma’am. There’s no need to get all riled up,” the head man said as he urged his horse backwards. “No harm’s been done.”

“You haven’t answered me,” Theresa said as both her glare and the opal’s sparks intensified.

“Rolan, of the House of Gergin, Seated Sorcerer of Brendolanth.”

Theresa stood her ground and continued to glare at the man. “Take these men and leave us while you still can. Go!”

The leader of the bounty hunters turned to ride back out into the Badlands. Darrell allowed the man that he had tackled to get up and mount his horse at the same time that Chris eased his sword away from the other man’s throat.

As the three bounty hunters rode away, Darrell kept his eyes on their departing backs and quietly said, “I think we need to get away from here, far away – now. And keep your weapons ready. They may come back.”

As soon as Darrell was mounted again, Karl led the Tellurians down the road at a much quicker pace than they normally traveled. Darrell didn’t stay behind Kevin’s wagon like he usually did. He circled the whole group, watching for any sign that the bounty hunters were returning.

After about fifteen minutes Joan whispered, “Do you need to check on him?”

“Probably, but I don’t want to crawl into the back of my wagon until I’m sure we’re out of sight. They may still be watching,” Theresa answered quietly.

“Quite a show you put on back there.”

“I just hope I don’t have to do that too often. I’m shaking all over,” Theresa said with a little shiver.

“Why did you stop Darrell from stabbing that bounty hunter?”

“I didn’t want to have to get to the woundwort to treat him,” Theresa said with a sigh. “That was way too close.”

In another thirty minutes, Theresa said, “I left my canteen in the wagon earlier so that I’d have an excuse for climbing into the back in case we were being watched. Think I’ll go get it now.”

“Okay. I’ll try to hold the horses steady while you’re back there,” Joan said.

When Theresa climbed in the back, she was surprised to see that the rest of the tarps had been pulled down into the walkway between the cabinets. There was absolutely no sign that a person was under the canvas. As she lifted a corner of one of the tarps, the man opened his eyes and quietly asked, “Are…are they gone?”