by Lela Markham
“Well and good, then,” Padraig said. He filled his water bags and smiled as he watched Braeden take Tamys’ measure. He said naught, but Padraig knew that Tamys had been marked like a prize stallion. He supposed it was safer to be marked by the former freesword than by the younger men in the company.
The canyon grew painfully hot toward mid-day as the men passed bread and cheese from saddle to saddle. Padraig tied a rag around his head and let it fall over his shoulders to protect his neck, then wet it with a bit of water to comfort himself. It helped him a bit. In the afternoon, as heat wavered off the walls of the canyon, Padraig watched other men following his example, including Tamys.
The canyon didn’t end by evening and the caravan ground to a halt long before the heat dissipated. Padraig rode ahead to speak with Duglas.
“There’s just this small caravanserie,” Duglas explained. “There’s water here, but we sleep strung along the canyon and hope for the best. Tomorrow night, we’ll camp out in the open.”
“Near those mountains ahead?” Padraig asked, noting the snow-covered peaks he could see above the canyon.
“Aye. It’s after that we usually get the bowels,” Duglas admitted. “Other caravans have been hit by brigands on the second day in the canyon, but mostly they aren’t trekking as quickly as we do. I think that’s the secret, sure enough.”
Padraig hoped he kenned rightly. Clearly, this was not a safe place for the caravan to spend the night if brigands knew they were about.
“What’s on top of these cliffs?” Padraig asked Braeden. “This is no natural canyon. The dwarves would have carved it out of the surrounding landscape. What’s up top?”
“This part’s the big mountains behind Wllean. You can sort of see them. But, tomorrow we’ll enter an area of hills with forests, similar to what’s on the Wllean side. We’ll spend tomorrow night out in the open, on a high plain.”
“That explains why the brigands hit on the second day,” Tamys said. “There’s little in the high mountains for such as them. It’s too cold and barren, rocky. A hard living that. Hills with forests, though, they could live there nicely betwix raids.”
“This band here’s most likely wanted men,” Braeden agreed. “They can’t go back to the kingdom without going through Wllean, so they live on what goods they can steal. I’ve heard they let the caravans live, just so long as they leave their goods behind. Naught is left when you follow after.”
“And, if the caravans resist?” Tamys asked.
“I’ve naught heard that one has,” Braeden admitted. “They’re all smaller parties, though, with the usual caravan guards. Duglas hires true men at arms. I’ve little worry for getting us through.”
Padraig held his counsel at that point. Tamys seemed ready to question Braeden more, but then he sat back in his saddle and lapsed into silence.
“Duglas pays well,” Braeden noted. “And brigands are just part of the hire.”
“Aye,” Padraig agreed. “These brigands have never been put to the test, then?”
“Not that I know,” Braeden said. “Well, I’d best continue with my inspection. These louts need a little booting now and again.”
He rode off down the line, stopping to speak with some young freeswords and then moving on farther out of earshot.
“What didn’t you say?” Padraig asked Tamys, who hesitated a moment.
“Not my place to question the war leader,” Tamys reminded him.
“Braeden is clearly an experienced freesword and Duglas has trusted him with more than a few caravans. What are you not saying?”
Tamys sighed, eyes on the rim of the canyon.
“He’s right that smaller caravans with louts for guards are vulnerable, but a caravan this big would be tempting, I’d think. And, our size – while protecting us a bit – is also a hindrance because we draw attention to ourselves by our very passage and we have such a long train to protect.”
“Do you think Braeden’s more worried than he pretends?”
“Braeden hasn’t lived this long by being anyone’s fool,” Tamys remarked. “If this canyon makes me skittish-like, you can wager it makes him more than a bit nervous. And Braeden is not the sort to wear his feelings on his cuff.”
“Aye, my thoughts as well,” Padraig agreed. He scanned the rim far above. “This is bad terrain for brigands.”
“For now,” Tamys agreed.
Evening was still a bit off when Duglas called the halt. The tuck wagon had gone ahead and started a fire, so that they had a bit to eat. Duglas apologized for the closeness of the caravanserie, as wagons, mules and horses were staked out along the canyon. The warmth of the day still radiated from the canyon walls, but Padraig knew that it would be cold that evening. He found his winter cloak and made his bed warm. There were few fires. The men who had come before knew that this was merely a rest stop and that there’d be no sitting up after dark. They pitched tent and turned to their blankets for the night as soon as soon.
Founding Year 1028
The Tongue
With another acolyte dead and an apprentice drooling, Talidd stared into the ink for long hours, willing an image and seeing naught. The aether closed to his vision. Sawyl reported naught on his excursions. Is he lying to me? The bright power that was Gregyn waned as the illness swept Galornyn. Gregyn was distracted, exhausted, not alone, every time Talidd reached out to him.
The tiles said the king lived, but the silence of the ink frightened Talidd. He needed power and Gregyn and Sawyl both seemed to be thinner reeds than he supposed.
There’s another option. When Sawyl returns ….
Talidd shuddered, remembering the destructive tide that had flowed through him once before at his own master’s bidding. His apprentices and journeymen were of better quality. There’d not been a mage in his lifetime as strong as Gregyn’s raw talent. That only lived in legend. It would be worth the risk, if he could make it work.
I must learn the identify of the king. If the Bel or Lughan get to him first ….
The Lughan had destroyed the kingdom once before, leading the king astray. It was absolutely necessary to bring the young king round to their position before he was too old to understand its importance. There were enemies afoot and ….
A window opened in the ink …. A child of seven or eight skipped across a stone yard – mayhap the ward of a dun? – singing a nonsense song to himself. The child turned and Talidd caught full view of his face, but then the window dissolved and there was naught.
Talidd slapped the flat of his hand upon the table, growling, causing ink to splatter
The ceremony cannot happen soon enough!
Founding Year 1028
Highway to Mandorlyn
Padraig awoke stiff from sleeping on rock all night and fumbled in the early morning grey to pack his animals. Joy snipped at a stray bit of hay from the meal Duglas had provided the night before. Joy, mountain-bred as she was, did not care for hay and would have preferred her head to find her own pasture.
There are pastures? Padraig asked.
Above and ahead, near where we travel, she answered.
How can you ...?
Are humans born without a sense of smell? she asked.
Padraig didn’t dignify that with an answer as Tamys stood scratching tangles out of his hair.
“Warm enough?” Padraig asked.
“I’ve good blankets,” Tamys replied, for indeed it was good northern wool in his bed roll. “I could use with a bit softer ground,” he admitted, rubbing a shoulder.
“No doubt,” Padraig agreed. “If I were ever to do this again, I’d bring straw matting.”
“I’m going to be sitting my saddle ginger this morning.”
They were given chunks of bread and cheese for breakfast and promised that the evening and morrow meals would be worth the wait. They ate in the saddle and marched up the mountain pass, breathing heavily. Soon the wagons began to stir up dust and mix with the sweat to cling upon faces and run into the eyes. Bug
s began to buzz and the mules began to complain. The heat of the day grew more intense and the water in the bags became warm and distasteful. Padraig, refusing to gag on dust, wet a rag and wrapped it around his lower face so that now he looked like a desert dweller. Tamys quickly noted the improvement in Padraig’s breathing and tried the same. Then the young freeswords who had marked Tamys followed suit. The other horsemen began to do the same. The muleteers, a strange lot as a profession, merely hardened and refused to complain, driving their mules forward with the stalwartness of men who knew no other life.
Lunch was eaten in the saddle again, though water breaks were frequent. The levels in the barrels were getting lower and some of the riders asked anxiously about when there would be replenishment.
It was in the early afternoon when they encountered the rock fall. It looked as if a slab of rock had broken free from the mountain the canyon was cut through. The rocks did not block the road so much as slow the train. Padraig and Tamys were riding near the front of the caravan, talking with Duglas, when they met the obstruction. Padraig’s stomach twisted, because he’d never seen a dwarven road compromised. They rode round the next bend and saw that several more slabs of rock blocked the road enough to prevent wagons from going through. Here, on one side of the canyon, a previous blockade’s stones had been roughly stacked, leading to a natural draw at the top of the dressed wall.
Braeden took one look and wheeled his horse to race down the train, but he was scarce round the bend when a rumble sounded. They waited anxiously until Braeden came thundering back.
“They’ve dropped logs into the canyon behind us, and it looks like there might be a pot of rocks up on the rim. We’re trapped for sure.”
Padraig made a heartbeat decision then and, releasing Earnest’s lead from the saddle hook, pointed Joy in the direction he wanted her to go. Mountain-bred, she responded with perfect coordination, leaping to the first slab and then to the next, until she reached the wash and scrambled for the rim. Tamys, Braeden and Duglas stared in awe as the sorrel mare disappeared from view.
“I’d have not taken that man for a coward,” Duglas remarked, just as their “hosts” came to light on the opposite rim of the canyon.
“Who’s the leader here?” a tall man asked. It was hard to tell from so great a distance, but he looked young. He and the rest of his lot were dressed in an assortment of clothes and armor and carried a ragtag bit of weaponry.
“I am,” Duglas replied. “And, you are?”
The brigand raised his hand and hurled a rock straight for Duglas’ head. Duglas dodged it and the rock shattered on the wall behind him.
“First lesson, merchant. I’m the leader here,” the brigand hissed. “Yours is the caravan we’ve been wanting. Lots of food and other goods that we need. So hard to find a market out here.”
Irritated by the mockery, Tamys wondered if he could hurl a war dart at that angle, then remembered that he didn’t have any. He had only a sword and that wasn’t much good against folk more than an arm’s length away.
“Here’s the offer, merchant,” the brigand explained. “My men and I are going to sit up here drinking water and ale and enjoying the cooling breezes while you and yours bake in the road. At anytime, any one of your men who wants can walk on down the road in either direction. We’ll let him take his horse and bedroll with him. All he has to leave behind are his saddle bags and weapons. The wagons stay, of course, and all the goods in them. You’re not so far from Wllean that you’ll starve before you reach help.”
“So we leave the caravan?” Duglas asked.
“Oh, aye, down to the last mule.”
“No treaty, brigand,” Duglas told him.
“Big talk from a man who isn’t out of water yet,” the brigand noted. “Well, we’ll give you some time to think about it.”
The entire band faded back from the rim as if they had never been there. Then the leader appeared again.
“Ah, don’t think that it would be wise to clear the blockage,” he announced. “I’ll only hurl more rocks down upon you while you work,” he explained cheerfully before disappearing once more.
“Braeden,” Duglas said after a moment of staring at the rim. “Tamys, aye?” Tamys nodded. “Padraig and you are mates, aye. What do you think he’s about?”
“I don’t think he’d abandon us,” Tamys replied. “I’ve never been in a scrap with him, but I have not seen a coward in his character.”
“I don’t know what a herbman, even one who wears a sword, could do from the wrong side of the canyon,” Braeden answered. “He’s not important as he is not here. This one – “ he indicated the rim with his eyes. “He’s a smart lout, I’ll give you that. He couldn’t have picked his place better. There’s absolutely no way out with a wagon and he knows our water supply is fading.”
“I’ll be damned if he’s taking the caravan!” Duglas muttered. “The muleteers won’t leave their animals. We can’t leave them defenseless against this rabble.”
“Then we’d best make these louts pay dear. They have the upper hand with the water, though.”
“Is there naught we can do?”
“Do you have any men who are good at climbing?” Tamys asked.
“Why?” Braeden asked.
“Once it’s dark, we could scale the walls and catch them by surprise. There must be rope within the wagons somewhere.”
“Aye, that’s a good plan,” Braeden told him. “If we live, I’ll see that you get credit for it.”
“Aye, if I must lose a caravan, I’d rather go down fighting,” Duglas said. “And I will not leave the muleteers to this lot.”
“Have muleteers been killed before?” Tamys asked.
“Aye,” Duglas grunted. “Caravans have left the wagons and the mules and their muleteers. The mules belong to the muleteer, so they will fight for them. They’ve been slaughtered, we assume, because naught has been found of mule or muleteer, wagon or good.”
“They may be louts, but they’re efficient,” Tamys quipped. “We’ll see if tonight ends their reign.”
They hunkered down to the uncomfortable afternoon heat and the buzz of flies all over them. After mayhap a watch, the band appeared on the rim again.
“Thirsty yet?” the leader asked. He must have been watching as water had been drawn. He knew that they couldn’t make it past the morning without water.
“I’d rather die than give you what you want,” Duglas answered.
“You’ve already had three guards head back toward Wllean,” the leader announced. “Do you truly think the rest won’t desert you if you try to fight me?”
“I think I’ll fight you and that will be enough.”
“Truly? A merchant with skill at arms? How novel! And, you, old man? Are you ready to die for your hire?”
“I am Braeden of Llyr and I have always been ready to die for a hire,” Braeden snapped.
His announcement caused a bit of a tremor to run through the brigand band, but they had the upper hand, so they were merely impressed, not swayed, by Braeden’s fame.
“I’d be scared if this were a stand up fight, but I hold all the dice – or is it rocks?”
The brigand bent and picked up a head-sized rock that he hefted aloft with two hands.
“I think you’ll be the first to die, leader,” he crowed and moved to throw the boulder. Before he could let it go, an amazingly long arrow raced across the canyon sky and sunk into his shoulder. He dropped the boulder with a scream and might have pitched into the canyon if his mates hadn’t grabbed him.
Tamys drew his sword and shrieked.
“Padraig of Denygal!”
The brigand leader was dragged back away from the edge while half his band disappeared. Another young man stood wavering on the precipice.
“We’ll find your man and kill him!”
“Can you outrun an elven arrow, lad?” a voice echoed down the canyon. “Impressive.”
Another arrow shot across the canyon and struck in the so
il right at this new leader’s foot. He didn’t hesitate to run. A third arrow buried itself in the dirt behind Tamys. A white flag fluttered in its fletching. Tamys saw it and muttered as he retrieved it.
“Just tell the whole world that I can read. Good way to draw attention to me.” He unfurled the note and read it: DON’T WASTE MY ARROW AND JOY WANTS HER PONY BACK. Tamys sighed, but saluted to the rim with the arrow to show that he understood. Braeden was ordering the closest guards to begin clearing a path for the wagons and Duglas was mounting to ride the train to make sure everyone was alright. He was a bit slow in his return, but rumor reached Tamys that two of the three guards had returned with him. The third had decided to return to Wllean.
“The young dolt doesn’t realize that he’ll not find a hire if the town guards do let him back in the walls,” Braeden told Tamys as they were helping to move the last boulder to the side so that the wagons could start moving.
“Duglas has that much power?” Tamys asked.
“Oh, aye! The town guards will likely let him sit at the gates for a few days and then they’ll let him in, but he’ll not find a hire even among the other caravaners. Nobody treats them so well as Duglas, so the others’ll wager he’ll shirk his duties. Nay, Wllean’s done for him.”
The caravan moved swiftly forward as soon as the blockages front and rear were cleared. Nobody seemed anxious to spend another night in the canyon and Duglas promised fresh water and nice pastures were near at hand.
Founding Year 1028
Dun Llyr
The Umhalle was dead and the rumors in the streets of Galornyn were that the chirgeon of Dun Llyr had killed him. Mayhap by error, but still … such was an opportunity. Since his meeting with the shadow mage, Sawyl had been deep in thought as he traversed the city on Talidd’s business and he’d come to a conclusion.
