David Farland - Beyond the Gate

“They’ve got Maggie,” Thomas said to Gallen. “They say they’re taking her north as a witness against you. They’re already filling out a subpoena.”

“Those … rascals!” Father Brian said. “They’re low, dirty rascals, that’s all I can say of them! The thought of it-holding the girl hostage!”

“They only took her to keep Gallen from running,” Thomas said. “And she gave one of them a bloody nose for it . I like that.”

Gallen clenched his fists, looked about. There was nothing he could do to stop them from taking Maggie. They couldn’t arrest Gallen without a warrant signed by the Lord Sheriff, but they could subpoena a witness, and they could hold her in prison for questioning for weeks.

“It’s that damned Patrick O’Connor,” Father Brian said. “He’s been telling everyone false tales about you! I should have had you kill him!”

“Patrick O’Connor?” Thomas asked.

Gallen was deep in thought, so Father Brian offered, “He’s the son of a sheep farmer, Seamus O’Connor, from An Cochan. Two weeks ago, Seamus hired Gallen to escort him home, and they were set upon by robbers. Gallen fought them, but the robbers had him down and would have slit his throat, when the Angel of Death came and rescued Gallen and Seamus, too. The next day, Gallen and I caught that blackguard Patrick with soot on his face and blood on his shoes. We discovered that the boy had set the robbers on his own father , hoping for a cut of the money! I thought to have Gallen kill the boy, but Gallen is a merciful sort, so we outlawed him from County Morgan. But now Patrick is mucking about the countryside, telling stories on Gallen, causing trouble!”

“It wasn’t just Patrick who caused the trouble,” Gallen said, grateful that the priest was willing to bolster Gallen’s good name by claiming that it was his idea to show some mercy to the lad. In truth, neither of them had thought of killing the boy. “He’s down south telling his tales. But some other robbers from up north escaped. They must have heard of Patrick’s efforts to smear my name. Now Orick says that they’ve put a story together and plan to testify against me.”

“Like as not,” Orick grumbled, “some of those sheriffs out there are relatives to the robbers!”

“Granted, I’ll give you that,” Father Brian said. “Some of those northerners are an inbred lot, but a man can’t choose his kin.” He thought a moment, pacing nervously, and said, “I could raise the town in your behalf, Gallen! Most everyone is awake already, circling the house. We’ll show these northern sheriffs!”

“If you do,” Gallen said, “there will be bloodshed. We don’t want that. I can’t think of a man in town who I want to see dead. Besides, even if you won, you’d find yourself on trial.”

Gallen’s mother sat heavily on the sofa before the fireplace. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. Gallen wondered at how small she’d become in the past few years. When he was young, she’d seemed beautiful and tall and strong. But over the past few months, since the death of Gallen’s father, she’d gone into decline in a terrible way. Now she was a mere potato, a lumpy, frail woman with graying hair.

Her jaw trembled. “You’d better get out of here, son,” she said, as if the words were bitter on her tongue. “You can fight your way past these sheriffs, I’ll wager.”

“I won’t do that,” Gallen said, wondering. His prowess with weapons seemed to be growing to legendary heights if even his own mother thought he could fight his way past dozens of well-armed opponents. The really frightening thing was, Gallen was tempted to give it a try. “I won’t play the outlaw. I couldn’t make a run for it without a fight first, and I’d have to kill some of them. And even if I won through, Maggie would still end up in their prison, and there’s no telling what the Inquisitor might do.”

“If the girl loves you, nothing would make her happier than to help you, whatever way she can,” Gallen’s mother protested. “No,” Gallen said. “I won’t play their game. We have to fight them legally.”

He looked up, saw that Maggie’s uncle was watching him, measuring him with his eyes, and he wore a look of respect. Thomas was an odd one, in Gallen’s book. He’d been around the world, probably been in his share of scrapes. He’d come to lord it over his niece, stop her from marrying in order to line his own pockets, and that showed a bit of larceny in his heart. And he had a commanding way about him. While others here were all floundering about for solutions, Thomas seemed unperturbed, as if he knew how Gallen could get out of this spot, but just wasn’t saying. Gallen decided to ask him bluntly.

“You’ve been around, Thomas. Have you got any ideas?”

“If you let them take you north, you’re a dead man, sure,” Thomas grumbled. He went over to the rocking chair by the fireplace, pulled a pipe from his pocket, and began tamping it full of tobacco. “They don’t like southerners much, and they’re a close-knit lot. Inbred, some of them. You’ve killed their kin, and even if you got off with a whipping, some of them are likely to lie in wait for you and slit your throat on the road home. You need to stay here, fight them on your own ground. Take this thing to trial here. That’s your legal right. And make sure your friends and cousins are all sitting in the jury.”

“That’s correct, a man has a right to be tried in his own town!” Father Brian said.

“Not in his own town, but in the jurisdiction where the crime was committed,” Thomas corrected. “Which is one and the same, in this case. But to tell you straight, I’m worried that these sheriffs will go carting Gallen and Maggie off, in spite of the law. There’s not much here to stop them.”

Father Brian frowned. “Then there’s only one thing to do. I’ll go to Baille Sean and talk to Lord Sheriff Carnaghan. I’ll raise an army of sheriffs and deputies to make sure that Gallen gets an open trial here in town. That way, these damned northerners won’t be able to torment him in secret, and they won’t table a jury stacked with his enemies.”

Thomas nodded, and Father Brian got up, went outside into the darkness, shoving past the sheriffs and grumbling, “Out of my way! Get out-or I’ll excommunicate the lot of you!” Outside the door, the sky had lightened a crack. Dawn was approaching.

Moments later, Gallen heard a horse race by on the road south, and Gallen was surprised that Father Brian would ride with such daring in so little light.

Silently, Gallen prayed that Father Brian’s horse would race surefooted over the mountains. Orick nuzzled up to Gallen, putting his face against Gallen’s ribs, and Gallen stroked his nose absently. He could see no easy way out of this.

His mother got up from the couch. “It’s going to be a long day, what with everyone running off to see the Lord Sheriff. At least we don’t have to wait on an empty stomach.”

“Aye, what a day,” Thomas said. “Between the trial and my oddities, the inn will be bustling. We might as well put a tent over the whole town. Why, all we lack for a circus is a few dancing horses and a singing dog-the clowns and ringmasters are already in attendance.”

In the kitchen, Gallen’s mother began mixing dough and banging pots. Orick lay at Gallen’s feet. The bloody wound to his shoulder was all scabbed over, and the poor bear lay for a bit, licking himself.

When Thomas was sure that Gallen’s mother was occupied, Thomas leaned forward. “Lad,” he said, “I’m afraid that this trial might go bad for you. It’s said that the angels have come to your aid before. Is there a chance that they’ll come now?”

“I’m afraid not,” Gallen said.