The Dark Rider Book One: Snow, Time, Bones

Part 10

It was still dark. They were outside, a dry, cool wind buffeting them, the ground underfoot hard rock, grit, and sand. Hills of sand and dust lingered in the distance. Someone unseen was singing.

    "Warren?"

    "It's all right, you can let go now."

    George had grabbed Warren's hand so tightly, he almost cut off the blood circulation. "Where...? Who's that?"

    "I don't know."

    The singing stopped and a light made itself visible, bobbing up and down as it came out of the dunes. It resolved itself into a lantern held by a child. The child was swaddled in so many blankets, shawls, and rags it was hard to tell if it was a boy or a girl. All Warren could see was a dark-eyed figure who came up to his shoulder, wearing a lot of brown.

    "Hello?" George said tentatively.

    "Hello." The child spoke with a young boy's voice and a slight French accent. "We have not had new faces here for years. Who are you?"

    "I'm Warren. This is my brother, George," Warren said.

    "I'm Bors. You talk funny."

    "Are you lost?"

    "Don't be silly." The boy laughed. "I'm playing Escape. Do you want to play?"

    "How do you play Escape?" Warren guessed Bors was no more than eight or nine years old.

    "You have to do it in the dark, and you have to bring everything with you that you might need and that you can carry," Bors said. "And you have to be quiet. And you have to have a sword. And you have to keep away from the bad people. Bad people are always adults, so I know you're OK. What about him?"

    Bors drew a short dagger from the folds of his rags and gestured at George. "You look old to me. Are you a spy?"

    "I'm sixteen," George said.

    "That is old! You've been an apprentice for at least five years, unless you are a thief or a soldier. I am meant to kill soldiers." The boy advanced on George, grinning and somehow dangerous.

    George backed away.

    "I promise he's just a kid like me," Warren said. "We come from far away."

    Bors hesitated. "So you're playing, too?"

    "Yes."

    The boy's grin widened. "You should come and meet my brother. He's older than me and knows more about Escaping. We haven't won yet but he will be pleased to have new friends."

    They followed Bors into the gloom between the sand-dunes. His lantern had a shutter across the front, and the younger boy used this to narrow the beam of light into a ray. Whoever he was afraid of, he knew any light would alert them to their presence. He didn't allow them to speak, though questions itched the tip of Warren's tongue.

    The night was warm, though not as warm as it had been in Warren's bedroom. The way they followed narrowed, more sand and dust and debris encroaching on the track, until suddenly the dunes fell away to reveal a dried-out moat. On the other side of it, a couple of lights shone in a dark, massive edifice.

    "Castle Deserte," Bors said. "Are you scared?"

    Some of the boy's bravado seemed to have leaked out of him, leaving a pale, resigned child alone in the dark.

    "Should we be?" George whispered.

    "You must be wary of the tyrant's men."

    "Tyrant?"