By the time Silas and his wagon were ready to move, the rest of the caravan had pulled into place, and he directed his sullen animal to pull up to the rear of the line. As he did, a man appeared out of nowhere, arriving in the dimming light of nightfall, and lifting himself up onto the wagon bench next to Silas with alarming ease, while holding a machete in one hand.
“Hey, who are you?” Silas called out loudly, alarmed and afraid that his precious cargo of mirrors had made him a target of theft within his first moments of being a caravan waggoneer.
“I’m Ruten, Prima’s main guard,” the man said nonchalantly, lowering his large blade to the floorboard of the wagon front, as he settled in comfortably next to Silas. “I always ride with the rear wagon and keep an eye on things. Especially with you being so green, I thought I better settle into place as soon as possible.”
The man who called himself Ruten was bulky. He looked strong, Silas thought, strong enough that Silas was cowed by the man. He had broad shoulders, little neck, and a torso like a barrel. But he had hopped up onto the wagon’s bench with lithe speed. Silas strained his eyes to look forward, hoping to spot someone he recognized in the caravan, someone who would confirm that the passenger was really who he said he was.
“Don’t you worry; don’t get nervous or do anything foolish,” Ruten spoke. “Minnie will be riding back here in just a few minutes, and she’ll confirm who I am.”
Silas said a silent prayer to Krusima, asking that Ruten be correct, then he remembered that Krusima had been the one to tell him he had a positive future ahead. That future turned out to include being a mule handler, not something Silas considered a glamorous success.
The wagons in front of his started to move; his own mule began to move on its own, before Silas had even flicked his reins, moving at the plodding pace that the whole caravan seemed to have adopted. Silas sat silent and uneasy as the wagon rolled and the bench vibrated beneath him.
Seconds later, he spotted a movement that was distinct from the rest of the caravan, a figure that moved against the flow. The figure resolved itself into a rider on horseback, who soon was revealed as Minneota, just as Ruten had expected.
As she arrived at the head of the wagon, she stuck her hand into a leather bag that hung off her saddle, then pulled out a glowing blue light, an extraordinary sight for Silas. It was a ball as big around as the woman’s fist, and it was bright enough to stand out while some sunlight still remained in the sky.
“What is that?” Silas asked in wonderment, while Minnie rode past him without stopping – headed to the rear of the wagon. Silas was so surprised by the appearance of the light that he forgot to even ask about the unknown man who was sitting next to him. Instead, he let the mule lead the wagon on its own, as his head swiveled to watch Minneota ride to the rear of the wagon, then raise a hinged pole attached to the side railing – a pole Silas hadn’t noticed before. Minnie affixed the light to the pole then lifted it higher and left it in place, as she pulled her horse around the rear of the wagon and back up towards the front on Ruten’s side.
“I see you two are acquainted,” she said casually as her horse’s pace adjusted to match the wagon’s.
“Not to the comfort of your boy,” Ruten replied with a wicked grin, “which is probably sensible on his part.”
“Silas, this is Ruten; Ruten, this is Silas,” Minnie mockingly made the introduction.
“So, why did you join the caravan, Silas?” Ruten immediately asked.
“It’s his punishment,” Minnie answered before Silas could.
“Isn’t it all our punishments?” Ruten laughed. “The gods look on some with favor, and some with disfavor. And for the ones they truly loath, they created Prima’s caravan,” he chuckled loudly at his own mirth.
“Ruten, stop it!” Minnie admonished him.
“So what are you punished for – murder, forgery, crimes against the state?” Ruten puckishly asked Silas.
“His mule farted,” Minnie grinned as she answered again.
“Say what?” Ruten was finally at a loss for words. “His mule farted? And he’s exiled for that? What would have happened to him if I’d just had beans and cornbread for supper?”
“Beheading,” Minnie answered solemnly. “And he’d have been happy not to suffer through the sulphurous results of you digesting beans.”
“That light,” Silas interrupted the banter between the two, partially amused, partially bemused, partially shocked by the informal and vaguely improper exchange, “what is that light? What are you doing it with it?” He wanted to know what phenomena was being revealed.
“It’s a light stone; it comes from the Light Guild in Shouldteen,” Minnie answered. “Prima just received a case of them three months ago, and we’re trying different ways to use them to help us navigate the roads at night,” she explained.
“How does it work?” Silas wanted to know. “How does it help you on the roads?” he amended a further question as the they slowly edged forward, approaching then boundary between the green festival field and entry onto the paved streets of Heathrin village.
“The fishermen in Shouldteen found this lighting, believe it or not,” Minnie began to obliquely answer. “Prima got his hands on a supply.”
“Somehow,” Ruten interjected in a cynical tone.
“Somehow,” Minneota pleasantly agreed. “So, we put one on the back of the last wagon, and one on the front of the lead wagon – that lets us see our length. “And we put the rest on top of spears.
“Then we have a rider out front who puts one on the left side shoulder of the road at night every twenty yards,” she continued.
“They say meters here,” Ruten interrupted again.
“Close enough – no one measures,” Minnie dismissed. “The rider stays out front putting the markers along the way so the wagons can see to stay on the road. And another rider goes along behind to gather them up and take them to the front after we pass them. And they get planted again.”
“And they just make light forever?” Silas asked in surprise, so curious about the strange devices that he forgot his own woes momentarily.
“No, they glow during the night because they collect light during the day. They sit on top of Prima’s wagon when the sun’s out,” Ruten told him.
”I need to get up front and turn these over to the scout. You two stay safe. I’ll see you in a couple of hours when we stop,” Minnie tossed her headful of springy hair, then flicked the reins and set her horse in motion, riding away from the wagon and towards the head of the caravan that was snaking through the streets of Heathrin.
“So, do you feel safer now?” Ruten asked as Minnie’s horse moved ahead.
“What?” Silas was confused.
“Now you know I’m not going to rob you of your cargo of mirrors,” the man said mockingly. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Tell me about yourself – where are you from, why are you here. I’m sure there’s more to the story than a farting mule.”
The wagon was well into the village as it followed the path of the caravan. Silas looked down a familiar side street and saw the gate to the Speakers campus. His heart momentarily ached once again.
“I’m a two-time loser,” he told Ruten. “I was born in Brigamme, but wasn’t born to be a tracker, and now I’m at the Speaker Guild academy, and I don’t get made a Wind Word Speaker,” he spoke with self-pity, speaking over Ruten’s efforts to interrupt.
“You’re from Brigamme? And not a tracker?” Ruten asked in wonder. “How strange is that?”
“I’m the only person in two generations,” Silas bemoaned. “And I tried to do everything; I learned all the lessons, practiced the skills…I did everything, except feel the ability.”
“Well lad, some things just aren’t meant to be,” the guard awkwardly tried to console the wagon driver in the wake of the unexpected lamentation. “And you should be glad you’ve landed with Prima’s caravan; you’ll see and learn more of the world than you would have in any classroom wi
th the Speakers. They’re boring anyway, just sitting around in palaces talking and listening and talking,” he spoke dismissively.
“I want to be someone!” Silas burst out.
Their wagon passed through the gate in the perfunctory walls around the village of Heathrin. As the darkening world of the surrounding countryside came into view, Silas saw the first of the glowing road indicators standing visibly on the side of the road.
“They really work,” he marveled as his wagon moved up to and then past the light that marked the edge of the hard-packed dirt the caravan was following. The road was only vaguely visible. Silas craned his neck to look to the side, past the wagons in front of him. He rose slightly out of his seat as his head stretched further out around the edge of the wagon in front, and he saw the string of glowing lights that stretched forward, showing the presence of the road.
“I wouldn’t let Prima know I said it, but he was bloody bright to think to use the globes as road markers,” Ruten agreed. “He manages to surprise me with the things he thinks up – he doesn’t look at all bright, I don’t think. And then the way he talks his way out of situations. There was the time in Faralag,” the guard looked over at Silas with a grin, then abruptly stopped talking. “But that’s not a story to tell now,” he lamely ended the conversation, making Silas curious.
They rode in silence for several minutes, passing the sticks with glowing lights, until they heard a horse slowly walking towards them.
“Klaven, how goes it?” Ruten asked.
Silas watched as the man on the horse plucked a globe of light and its wooden stake from the side of the road after the caravan had passed it. He placed the marker in a basket tied to the back of his saddle.
“Quiet Ruten, it goes quiet. I feel very happy and content,” the rider reported as he passed the wagon heading in the opposite direction, on his way to pull up all the light stakes that had been passed by the caravan already.
“I always heard tell that Speakers’ blood turns green; is that true?” Ruten asked after the horseman was gone.
“No, that’s not true,” Silas immediately felt confident in addressing the myth, something that he and every other student and member of the Guild had heard at one time or another. “When they use their power to project their words, their breath may have a slight green tint, because they’ve been down in the holy cave and inhaled the green air of the temple bowels,” he explained in a pedantic tone. “But their blood doesn’t change.”
“Imagine that,” Ruten had heard enough, and they lapsed into silence again.
Minutes later the mule brayed loudly.
“What’s that mean?” Silas asked.
“Did you feed it?” Ruten replied.
“No,” Silas replied. His mind whirled as he tried to remember if he had been instructed to do so, but he couldn’t remember any such directions. “Was I supposed to?”
“I imagine he was hungry, especially if Minnie’s story about giving him the wrong feed this morning is true,” Ruten answered.
“What should I do?” Silas asked. The mule brayed again.
“Apologize, and feed it as soon as you can after we stop for the night,” Ruten told him.
Silas nodded his head, and kept the wagon moving along past the glowing markers.
Not long after, the wagons pulled to the side of the road, following the glowing signs to a pasture where the wagons were parked and the animals unhitched. Silas impatiently waited as his mule began to graze on the tall pasture grass as soon as the wagon came to rest. Afterwards, he was the last to take his animal to the makeshift corral, and then the last to receive his own plate of bread and slices of dried meat for dinner. He sat silently for the most part as the other members of the caravan team discussed their profits and adventures in Heathrin. The village was considered a commercial success by nearly everyone.
In the morning he checked with Hooves, the wagon driver designated as the corral master, and made sure he fed his mule the right feed, followed by a pail of water after he observed most of the other drivers filling buckets at a nearby brook. When he hitched his animal to his wagon, he found that Ruten was no longer with him in his wagon. He was going to ride alone.
Silas pulled his wagon into the rear spot in the caravan, and flicked his reins when it was time for his mule to set the vehicle in motion. The caravan slowly picked up speed as it left the empty pasture in the countryside, and began to make progress along the country road. Silas sat alone on the bench as the collection of vehicles progressed through the countryside. He watched his mule walk, its muscles straining as it pulled the wagon forward with its slow, rhythmic steps. The haunches of the animal rose and dropped as it advanced, a briefly mesmerizing action that Silas soon shook himself free from watching.
Observation had been a key trait that had allowed him to maintain the illusion he was a Tracker for as long as he had. He’d learned to observe the smallest clues and traits that might provide meaningful information. And at the present time, he needed something to focus on, to take his attention away from consideration of the terrible change in fortune he had suffered in just twenty-four hours’ time. The morning before, he’d been in his room in the academy, studying the tools of the Speakers; now he was riding behind a mule.
He shifted his view to the wagon in front of him, absently noting its colors and construction, until he noticed that one sidewall of the vehicle was slightly wider than the other. The dark paint on the right wall and tail helped to give an impression that it was as slim as its companion, but Silas could see that it was not. The bottom of the wagon seemed to be deeper than justified as well, he realized, if its floor was at the same level as his.
As he studied the wagon a single horse rider came into view, and Prima rode back next to Silas’s wagon.
“Mind if I join you?” the rider asked jocularly as he easily moved from his swaying saddle to the moving wagon, and sat on the bench without waiting for Silas’s answer. He tied the leather straps of his horse’s lead to the wagon, then settled back with a sigh.
“I’m glad you didn’t run away overnight,” he told Silas nonchalantly. “I don’t know where I could have found a replacement between here and Ivaric.”
“Why is that wagon designed that way?” Silas asked in response.
“What?” Prima was caught off-guard by the question. “What design?” He looked forward at the wagon, without much interest.
“The way the bottom is extended so deep, and the wall on the right side is widened compared to the left,” Silas’s hand gestured unhelpfully as he motioned towards the rear of the leading wagon.
Prima looked, then sat forward, and began to focus, his eyes studying the target intently. “Well, I’ll be,” he said softly.
“Did you mention this to anyone else?” the leader asked Silas.
“No,” Silas was taken aback by the unexpected response. He seemed to have revealed something that Prima hadn’t known about his own caravan.
“Keep it quiet for now. Don’t tell anyone. You’re pretty observant to see that; we’ve crossed two frontiers without any inspectors seeing that. What gave it away?”
“Nothing in particular,” Silas answered. “I was just staring at it, trying not to think about being thrown out of the Guild academy, and I realized the differences.”
“You just get over that. You’re going to get a much better education about the world traveling with us than you would have gotten in that cluster of pretty buildings and sheltered teachers. You’re going to see the cruel iron grip of Ivaric and the maternal love of Amenozume, not to mention the fertile fields of Barnesnob,” Prima said expansively. “So when we give you back to the Guild, you’re going to be able to amaze them with the real world knowledge you can share.
“Believe me, your Speaker Guild will be pleased with the things you’ll know. Despite all their talk about providing service and being servants, the Guild does a lot of information gathering and trading. The Guild retains a lot of power by knowing what’s h
appening around the world. Having you come back from a trip around the continent with me will make you valuable,” Prima offered.
The trader’s pragmatic description of the Guild sounded markedly different from the idealized version that the classrooms in the Heathrin campus taught the apprentices. The lessons of the Guild teachers always drilled in the message that the Speakers of the Wind Word Guild were servants who enabled their employers to communicate; their work improved the world, prevented unnecessary conflict, solved problems, and ameliorated pains. The teachings portrayed the Speakers of the Guild as noble servants of the best interests of the public. There was no mention of having power, certainly not power for power’s sake.
“I need to head back to the front of the caravan; there’s something I need to check on. Don’t say anything about the smuggling capacity in Moochie’s wagon for now,” Prima directed as he untied the lead for his complacent horse and stood so that he could return to the animal’s saddle. “And keep your Brigamme eyes open for anything else you happen to notice,” he added.
Prima moved into the saddle with fluid motions, then set his horse on its way back towards the front of the caravan, leaving Silas riding alone, wondering about the whole encounter. Prima had been surprised by the observation of the wagon with the hidden compartments; Silas wondered what the ramifications would be from the discovery. And, Silas wondered, was it an indication that Prima was a sloppy leader, someone who the waggoneers were able to fool and cheat regularly?
“You’ve been around here for a while, what’s the real story?” Silas asked his mule. The animal placidly plodded forward without any response.
The Mirror After the Cavern Page 8
