by Mark Eller
Chapter 4— Singing the Arvid Blues
A year had passed since the death of Larson, not that Ludwig was aware or even cared. He looked at the ass end of the arvids in front of him and wished he were walking anywhere but along this caravan trail winding itself through the foothills and up into the dark blue mountains. A stone rolled beneath his foot, making him stumble. His already abused foot protested. His other foot echoed its own complaint. New blisters were forming on both of them, which was surprising because he hadn’t thought there was room for new blisters amid all the existing ones. One of his two arvids butted him in his shoulder, causing him to stumble one more time.
“The gods curse these beasts with boils” Ludwig muttered. “May worms stop their bowels. May Athos flay the skin from their bodies and use the skin to fill their lungs. Please gods, bring death and mayhem and all the ills of the world down upon their heads so I may once again know peace and own feet that are free from pain.”
Up ahead, Harlo chuckled and clicked to his charges. His swarthy, sun hardened features wore a fond grin. The arms he used to pull his arvids to order were much better developed than Ludwig’s. Then again everything on Harlo was better. Though they were both of medium size, and, at twenty-five, the same age, Harlo’s frame wore heavy muscle where Ludwig’s body remained spare.
“I take it your feet are bothering you again,” Harlo said.
“Bothering me? Bothering me?” Ludwig glared down at those unhappy members and gave a tug on the reins to urge his arvids to a faster pace. “They are the death of me. They are afflicted with pustules and sores which threaten to cast me into Athos’s realm with every step I take. My ankles twist and turn and snap. My calves are contorted knots that grow larger with each step. I’m surprised my skin hasn’t split apart to spill my flesh upon the ground so these cursed beasts can tread upon it to soften their path on the mountain trails.” He groaned. “Gods, we’ve still twelve hours of travel before nightfall.”
Ludwig cast a look of despite at the arvids following him along the narrow trail. They were huge pack beasts, half again the size of a horse. Arvids loved to travel long distances if they were allowed to proceed at their own pace. Unfortunately, neither one of his pair thought the proper pace was the one chosen by the caravan’s lead beast. His animals traveled at half the speed of every other arvid, except for those times when their stomachs rumbled, and they decided to stop entirely to grab a couple hundred mouthfuls of prickleweed. Worst of all, they loved attempting to go around the wrong side of one of the many trees abutting the steep trail.
Of course, a certain inconsistency of pace wasn’t their only bad habit. Ludwig’s left hand beast, Perciad, had broken free the night before. She searched him out and tried to force her way into his bedroll. The other one, Lacking, liked to alleviate her daily boredom by stomping on his right foot, and only on his right foot. Ludwig had spent the last hour walking with a deliberately staggered and mincing step to throw her timing off. His foot hurt. He was positive it possessed a few dozen broken bones. On the other hand his other foot hurt almost as much, and it had not been stepped on at all, so maybe Harlo was right when he said arvid hooves seldom broke bones in feet encased by sturdy boots.
Lacking lovingly tried to slop her wet tongue across his face. Cursing, Ludwig jerked his head away, but the tip of her tongue still slid across his nose. Cursing again, he used his already sodden sleeve to wipe at Lacking’s slobber. His nose stung. Lacking was far too affectionate for a beast possessing acidic saliva.
Harlo laughed gently. “She loves you, lad. It seems you make new conquests everywhere you go.”
Ludwig glared at the self-declared priest and wished he had drawn Harlo’s complacent animals instead of his two. Not only were Harlo’s arvids well behaved, they seemed to delight in making the man’s life easier. Ludwig cursed the luck that had put him in this position. He was definitely not meant to be a caravan drover. He didn’t like the endless miles of walking over hills and mountains. He hated the wind and the heat. He absolutely loathed the rancid smell of arvid and the stench of his own unwashed body.
“I’m not cut out for this,” he complained. “I’m for the city and the nights. I like the feel of damp night air against my skin when my hand is shaking a dice cup. I enjoy stumbling home in the early hours to have my servants open the door and lead me to my soft bed.” Raising his head, he stared proudly at Harlo. “I’m aristocrat born. It’s in my blood. This trailing, it’s beneath my station.”
“You’re aristocrat born,” Harlo agreed. “You are also poor born since your father had no more sense about gambling than you do. My father warned him against his ways the same as I warned you. Neither of you listened any better than the other, and now look at the two of you. He’s ten years in the grave and your lover’s father has dumped you here. The dowry you gained from marrying the world’s most temperamental woman disappeared when she left, and you are now the lowest paid laborer in the caravan.”
“Because of you,” Ludwig accused.
Harlo shrugged. “Wencheck was going to cut your head off until I pointed out just how humiliated you would be if he made you a drover.”
“It is humiliating,” Ludwig complained. “I’m an aristocrat, not a crusty lowborn caretaker of vermin carriers.” He grimaced as loose bones grated inside his right foot. “The gods know I’ve fallen as low as I care to fall.”
Laughing again, Harlo flashed an amused smile, but his voice carried a touch of irritation. “I enjoy being a lowborn caretaker, but I’ll admit the only way you can fall further is to become a priest of Nedross. Then you’d have the task of seeing to the spiritual needs of your fellows as well as being a drover. At least this way you don’t have to be woken by a bunch of smelly men who want to talk to you at all hours of the night.”
Cursing one more time, Ludwig stumbled over a clod of dirt. If anything, his mood grew blacker still. “I don’t know why Charle and Jorge bother you.” Jorge and Charle’s urgent whispers to Harlo had woken him frequently as well these last nights. Those two gave too much weight to Harlo’s assumed authority as the priest of a made-up god. “For a priest of a god of hope, you’ve not done much good for me over the years. If you’d done your job properly, I’d be waking up right about now. Meliandra would be standing beside the bed with her robe lying on the floor, and Cook would be starting my breakfast.”
“I’ve done my job very well,” Harlo protested. “Didn’t you want to get rid of Gertunda? Have you any doubts she’s divorced you by now?” Clapping his hands together, he did a quick shuffle step before grabbing for the dropped reins of his dutiful charges. “Huhzaa! Your hopes have been fulfilled! Thanks be to Nedross!”
“I only wanted to be rid of the harridan. I never wanted to be destitute and exiled from my home.”
“Haven’t I always told you to be careful what you wish for? Isn’t this another example of you not listening to me?”
Ludwig ignored his friend’s mocking question. Perciad chose that moment to stop for a bite of prickleweed. The resulting jerk on Ludwig’s arm threatened to dislocate his shoulder.
“May you be cast into pits of boiling oil,” he muttered. “May you die a hundred thousand deaths, and may each death be more horrible than the last.” He swatted Perciad alongside her head. “Move it or I’ll have your lips for tonight’s dinner.”
“Smooth it out, Ludwig,” Garland called. “Smooth it out or you’ll be answering to me.”
“Best be careful with him,” Harlo warned. “Our caravan master is hard on slackers and brigands.”
“Then he’ll have an easy trip of it, for none of us are allowed to slack, and the brigands are too afraid of my blade to risk its ire.”
Grinning, Harlo shook his head. “My friend, you spend so much time with your head up your ass a brigand armed with a pointy stick would be safe from you. You really aren’t very good with a blade.”
“I’ve always been good enough to beat you. You’ve a sound defense, but nothing more.”
Harlo’s grin grew. “I’ll admit I used to let you win.” He sobered. “Just remember, Garland sees laziness whenever he’s in a bad mood, and he’s always in a bad mood.”
Ludwig groaned. The last thing he wanted was to be assigned extra duties just because he had charge of the most obnoxious animals in the caravan. He took a moment to glare at each of his beasts.
“You will behave,” he warned them, “or I’ll carve slices off your flanks for my dinner. I’ll suck the eyes from your heads and spit them into the fire. Do you hear me? Do you?”
Lacking’s tongue rolled loosely from its mouth. Drool dribbled onto the ground. Perciad mooed and farted.
Harlo laughed gently. “I promise,” he said between chuckles, “Nedross will be kind to you. You’ve fallen so far pure chance has no choice but to grant some of your wishes. I’ll have a talk with the old fellow.”
“When you talk to him, tell him I need two new feet.”
