"I guess you never married again?" asked the warrior
"Nope," replied the old man. "Can we change the subject?"
The wagon had reached the bottom of the hill and was climbing the next. As they neared the crest of the small hill, dozens of warriors sat on their horses blocking the road. Gunnar's hand went immediately for his sword.
"Leave your sword where it is, lad," ordered the merchant. "I will not throw your life away on a load of grain. We will give them whatever they want."
"They are horse people," remarked Gunnar. "I have never known them to be bandits."
"Doesn't matter much," shrugged Kerzi. "We are stopping."
Kerzi pulled back on the reins as he crested the hill and applied the brake. The warriors didn't move. They just sat on their horses blocking the road.
"I am going to go talk to them," declared Gunnar as he jumped down from the wagon.
Unexpectedly, a rider came up behind the warriors. He waved his hand in the air and pointed to the east. The riders silently turned and rode off as the new rider headed straight for the wagon. Gunnar recognized Prince Umal and shook his head.
"What are you doing?" Gunnar called out to his friend. "You almost caused our hearts to stop beating."
"That would be just punishment for failing to say hello as you passed through my city," grinned the Odessian prince.
Kerzi had climbed down from the wagon and was shaking his head in amazement. He had felt that no one was following him, yet the Odessian prince knew exactly where to find them and when.
"I want you to know that Kerzi did give me your letter," smiled Gunnar, "so you don't have to kill him now."
"A pity," Prince Umal said mischievously. "I do feel in the killing mood."
"Now you just wait a minute," growled Kerzi. "I don't care if you are a prince. If you hurt Gunnar, I will attack you. You better be prepared to take on both of us. I thought you said he was your friend?" the merchant continued as he turned to look at Gunnar.
"He is," grinned Gunnar, "and a good thing, too. I don't think the two us would cause him much trouble if it came to fighting."
"You are too modest, my friend," Prince Umal said as he dismounted and walked towards Gunnar. "If the good merchant, Kerzi, would be so kind as to allow two old friends some privacy?"
The merchant's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he looked to Gunnar for direction.
"It's alright, Kerzi," smiled Gunnar. "He really is one of my dearest friends."
The merchant moved away and sat on the other side of the road staring back along the road towards Oran.
"Why didn't you come to the palace?" Umal asked.
"It was not safe," explained Antion. "It wasn't safe for you or for me. Much has happened since we left Tarent. We were attacked the first night out of Koar. They didn't hurt any of our men, but it was not for lack of trying. Prince Zinan hired fifty Caprian thugs to attack us. He did it just to discover my identity. When we returned to Anatar, my father held a meeting to discuss developments. I learned that the Talent has something to do with me, and that is why the Borundans are after me, but I don't exactly understand it."
"I thought you were in some kind of trouble," nodded Prince Umal. "Some foreigners have been noticed in Oran asking about someone that matched your description. I sent a rider to Anatar to see if you were alright, but no one knew where you were, or even if you still lived."
"Now I understand why you went to such lengths to catch me," nodded Prince Antion. "I am sorry for deceiving you, Umal, but I fear letting anyone know of my whereabouts. The Borundans can reach into your mind and steal your thoughts. I know because they tried to do it to me."
"Tried?" questioned the Odessian prince. "Did they succeed?"
"I don't know," answered the Arin prince.
"Then how do you know they tried?" asked Prince Umal.
"I got headaches when they tried it," Prince Antion replied. "Twice they tried it in Tarent and again when they attacked us on the road home."
"Then obviously they failed each time," smiled Prince Umal. "Had they succeeded, there would have been no reason to try again. They may now know what you look like, but I do not think they know that you are Prince Antion of Arin. At least the men in Oran did not."
"Interesting," mused the Arin prince. "Yet they must know my nationality because I posed as an Arin soldier."
"Agreed," nodded Prince Umal. "They may even place you as belonging in the royal palace in Anatar, but that still does not identify you. I like the beard by the way. It makes you look older and wiser."
"Wiser?' laughed the Arin prince. " I have found out how unprepared I am to survive in the real world."
"I take it that the merchant does not know your true identity?" inquired the Odessia prince "He calls you Gunnar?"
"He knows that I am in trouble," nodded Prince Antion, "and he knows the Gunnar is not my name, but I fear even to tell him everything. I cannot trust anyone."
"That is where you are wrong, my friend," smiled Prince Umal. "No man should be forced to stand alone when he has true friends. Wherever you and your merchant friend are going, I am going with you."
"No," Prince Antion said a bit too loudly. "No," he repeated more softly as he looked and saw the merchant looking his way, "you cannot. There is a war coming to the Land of the Nine Kingdoms. There are recruitment posters all over Koar, and the city is inspecting everyone coming or going. You will be needed in Odessia to prepare your people."
"My people will be ready for whatever Borunda can throw our way," asserted Prince Umal. "Perhaps your real reason is you do not believe that the horse people can grow facial hair as fine as yours? I assure you that I could have a full beard by the time we reach Caxon."
"You know where we are headed?" frowned Prince Antion. "How is that possible?"
"Much can be derived from idle chatter," shrugged the Odessian prince. "Your merchant friend was particular about the grain he purchased. It is one of our biggest exports to the kingdom of Caroom. Salacia prefers a different type of grain, and you are on the road leading to the Kyland-Caxon Road. It is not that difficult to determine where you will end up."
"Perhaps my idea of traveling with a merchant was not so clever," sighed the Arin prince.
"It's not," agreed Prince Umal. "Come to Natura with me, and no one will ever find you. We can prepare for war together."
"I cannot," Prince Antion shook his head. "I must find someone who is a knowledgeable master of the Talent. I have questions that I must find answers to. I cannot do that in Natura."
"Agreed," nodded the Odessian prince. "That only leaves the choice of my joining your little group and learning all about the merchant business. Surely, the merchant would not mind another warrior riding with him, especially if it didn't cost him any gold?"
"Don't ask this of me," frowned Prince Antion. "For now I must remain Gunnar, the merchant's warrior. Let me discover the secrets of the Talent, and I will eagerly seek your companionship, but not until then."
"I do not understand you," frowned Prince Umal. "My family has trained many of the royal families in the Land of the Nine Kingdoms in the art of horsemanship. I have had the pleasure of knowing many a king and many a fine prince, but I never had a friend such as you. Now, in your time of greatest peril, a time when I would gladly risk my life to stand at your side, you push me away. That makes no sense to me. Have I offended you in some way?"
"Never!" replied the Arin prince. "Umal, I fear for your safety as much as my own. For you to ride at my side is to invite death. Right now I can hopefully travel in disguise as a merchant's warrior, but two princes of the Land of the Nine Kingdoms trying to hide in the same place is impossible to swallow. It just cannot work."
Prince Umal pulled a knife from his belt. The merchant jumped to his feet, but Prince Antion just stared in disbelief. The Odessian prince walked to the side of the road and cut off his long tail of hair. Sheathing his knife, he tossed the long tail as far as he could throw it. He then turned
and walked over to the merchant.
"Give me a name," he demanded of the merchant.
"You are Prince Umal," Kerzi frowned in confusion.
"No, I am not," the Odessian shook his head. "I am your new warrior. What would you like to call me?"
"You plan on riding with us?" questioned the merchant. "That is not wise. I know who you are, and I will not lie."
"Lie?" scowled the Odessian. "Perhaps you are not aware of Odessian customs. I can change my name to whatever I want to, and I plan to change it right now. What shall I be called?"
The merchant hesitated, but he could tell that the Odessian was serious and not about to change his mind. He sighed heavily and shook his head.
"Were you my son," Kerzi finally said, "I would call you Horst."
"A good name," nodded the Odessian. "Kerzi, I am Horst, and I desire to be one of your warriors. Let the world know that you met Horst on the road to Caxon. Will you accept my service?"
Kerzi looked past the Odessian to Gunnar, but Gunnar was laughing too hard to give any indication of what the merchant should do. The old man stalled until Gunnar approached. Gunnar slapped his Odessian friend on the back.
"You might as well accept, Kerzi," he laughed. "Horst will follow us all the way to Anatar if you don't"
"Well," chuckled the merchant, "it is your money that will be paying your wages. You get one silver a day, and you better be prepared to do your share of the work. I don't allow shirkers in my party."
Horst grinned broadly, and Gunnar doubled over in laughter.
Chapter 11 - The Road to Caxon
The Road to Caxon
Far to the east of the Odessian city of Oran was the capital city of Vineland. Where the Vine River met the sea, Laborg grew upon the hillside much like the stepped vineyards the country was famous for. Along the river's edge were warehouses and huge wooden vats used to store wine. Wineries lined the road from the mouth of the river to far upstream, and dingy taverns dotted whatever space was left available. This lowest level of the city was always a hubbub of activity.
Beyond the waterfront district a broad avenue wound its way up the hill to the next tier. A stone wall ringed this second tier with its only opening being the broad avenue. It was the first line of defense for the Vineland capital, and it hosted the city's open market, inns, and taverns a step above those along the waterfront. It was an area that was frequently the destination of merchants and visitors.
Several tiers rose above the marketplace, each protected by its own stone wall. These tiers were the home of the citizens of Laborg, the merchants, brewers, warehouse workers, and others. Above the homes was a tier devoted to the army of Vineland. It housed the barracks, training yards, and stables, as well as a number of tradesmen who catered to the needs of the army. The last and final tier was the Royal Palace of Vineland, the home of the royal family.
It was in one of the taverns along the river that the hooded figure stepped out of the rainy night and proceeded to a table near the rear of the room where a lone man sat staring at his mug of ale. The hooded stranger slid along the bench until he was seated opposite the lone man. He placed a small pouch on the table as his eyes stared into the lone man's eyes.
"I was told that you were interested in making a fair amount of gold," the hooded man began.
"Depends," the lone man replied. "Who do I have to kill?"
"No one," the hooded man declared, "unless you wish to. I do not care how you handle your task. That is up to you. I pay only for results, but I pay very generously."
"Who are you?" frowned the lone man as his eyes tried to peer into the dark hood.
"You may call me Chike," answered Prince Zinan. "That is all that I will ever tell you about myself."
"Then you shall learn nothing about me, either," declared the lone man.
"I already know a great deal about you, Tabansi," Chike smiled under his hood. "I know that you gamble too much, and I know that there are people looking to kill you for failing to pay your debts. I can help you with your problem, or I can enjoy myself watching you die when those searching for you arrive here just a few minutes from now."
"You cur!" Tabansi shouted as he started to rise. "I was told that you would not betray me."
Several of the tavern patrons turned to see what was happening. Chike hissed under his breath.
"Sit," commanded Chike in a voice meant to be heard only by Tabansi. "Do not be a fool. I have gold to pay your debts. Sit down and listen."
Tabansi hesitated, his eyes wavering from the front door to the hooded stranger. Slowly, and with great uncertainty, he lowered his body and sat on the edge of the bench, ready to bolt the instant the front door opened.
"What is it you want of me?" asked Tabansi. "Be quick about it if you expect me to listen."
"I need a spy," Chike admitted in a whisper. "I will pay you more gold than you can imagine. All you have to do is deliver information that will find its way to me. That is all. Accept my offer, and you no longer need to fear death every time you are seen in public."
"Exactly how much gold are we talking about?" asked Tabansi.
"There is enough gold in that pouch to pay your debt to the men coming here right now," Chike replied.
"I have other debts that are due soon," bargained Tabansi.
"You have delivered nothing to me yet," Chike said coldheartedly. "I pay for information and you have given me none. This pouch is a way of showing you that my offer is sincere and that my gold is real. If you accept my offer, we will discuss what you need to do next, but you had better make up your mind quickly."
The front door of the tavern opened and a raw wind surged into the room. Four burly men stepped in out of the rain, their eyes scanning the room and coming to rest on Tabansi. The lone man reached for the pouch of gold on the table, but Chike's hand shot out and snared the other man's wrist.
"I will hear your vow to accept my offer before you enjoy the rewards of my largesse," Chike hissed.
"I will do what you want," Tabansi swore as the four men crossed the room and approached the table.
"Then the deal is done," Chike smiled under his hood. "Be forewarned that I will know if you decide to break your vow. My retribution will not be death, but rather pain so severe that you will invite death."
Rivulets of perspiration dripped from Tabansi's face as he scooped up the pouch of gold and offered it to the approaching henchmen.
* * *
The road north from Oran met the Kyland-Caxon Road in the southwest corner of Caroom, just across the river from the Arin-Salacian border. Kerzi turned the wagon eastward towards Caxon as the sun began to set on the fifth day of the journey from the Odessian capital.
While Horst's beard was sprouting well, it was his lack of a ponytail that disturbed him the most. Quite frequently he subconsciously reached for the ponytail, only to find nothing there.
"Will you quit looking for that hair?" taunted Gunnar. "You left it on the road five days ago."
"I have never been without it," frowned the Odessian. "I feel naked."
"Then it won't be too much trouble for you to bathe tonight," remarked Kerzi as he pulled the wagon off the road towards an often-used campsite near a rushing stream. "Both of you are becoming a bit unbearable when the wind blows in my direction."
"Me?" Gunnar laughed with mock offense. "As least I bathed after we delivered the fish. You need to look to your own needs old man before you strike out at others."
Horst was laughing heartily at the merchant's expression as he dismounted and began gathering wood for a fire. The Odessian never tethered his horse, and the Odessian beast never strayed far. Gunnar unhitched the team from the wagon and led them to the stream while Kerzi led Gunnar's horse.
"This water is cold," Gunnar shouted. "I think I will pass on the bathing for tonight."
"It is not about to get any warmer where we are going," Kerzi shook his head. "This road arcs well to the north from here. You will notice the change in the morning
."
"He has traveled this road before," laughed Horst. "He is just a poor pampered boy who is used to servants warming his bath. A cold dunking would do him good."
Kerzi's eyebrows rose as he once again wondered who Gunnar was. While he knew that Horst was taunting Gunnar, most taunts stung only if they contained a grain of truth in them. Gunnar looked up and saw the merchant staring at him.
"You should start the meal, Kerzi," Gunnar said in an effort to stop the merchant from dwelling upon him. "I can handle the horses."
The old man nodded and turned towards the fire ring. Horst's horse moved past the merchant and joined the other horses at the stream.
"Your horse seems to care for himself," Kerzi commented to Horst as he started building a fire.
"He is Odessian," smiled Horst. "I should spend some time training that nag that Gunnar brought with him. Had I been thinking, I would have had an extra horse brought out for him when we stopped you on the road."
"We are supposed to be invisible," Gunnar shook his head. "Most people do not have horses that obey without being told to."
"Few will notice," shrugged Horst, "besides, it is not as if the Odessians never sell horses to foreigners."
The three men kept up a light banter as they went about setting up the camp. Gunnar was the first to bathe while Kerzi cooked, and Horst spent time training Gunnar's horse. After they ate the evening meal Kerzi took his turn at bathing. Horst returned to the training, while Gunnar sat and daydreamed about Anatar and his family. When Kerzi returned from the stream, he shouted to the Odessian.
"It is your turn, Horst," the old man taunted. "It was your smell that got us all started on this bathing nonsense."
Horst paused the training and gazed up through the trees at the dark sky.
"Later," he responded. "I still have some time to work with Gunnar's horse, and I prefer to wait until the moon is high in the sky."
"Suit yourself," shrugged Kerzi, "but this old body needs some rest. Don't be making any noise and waking me up."
Gunnar still dwelled on his family, and he soon became depressed about being so far away from them. He thought about writing a note to them and finding a way to get it delivered when they reached Caxon, but the fire had already died down, and the moon had not yet risen high enough to remove the darkness from the campsite. While Horst still played with the Arin prince's horse, Gunnar succumbed to sleep.
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