A Meal to Remember
After setting the watches for the night and insuring Arreya and Xyer were well separated, Goldain retired for the evening. The buzz of excitement permeating the camp eventually transformed into restful sleep. If today’s conflicts and excitement were indicative of how this journey was going to unfold, the barbarian prince knew there was no way they would make it all the way to Stonehold with the company in one piece. There were just too many individual personalities and unknowns among this large of a group. It was surely a recipe for conflict and chaos.
He wished sincerely that he could turn the control of this expedition over to Gideon or Tropham or anyone else, but he had been the one to step up in defense of Thatcher’s plan, and so everyone expected him to keep his word and lead the expedition. Garan would never follow Gideon, and the hirelings would not recognize or respect Tropham’s authority like his troopers did. So like it or not, it looked like Goldain was holding the reins of this wild beast for better or worse until its purpose had been fulfilled.
He was rudely roused from a pleasant dream before dawn by the incessant crowing of a rooster. A rooster? No, there was no rooster. What was that sound? It was the crooning of the bard, Rarib, chipper as a sparrow and belting out a clear, loud morning song filled with words about awakening and greeting the dawn and much more such nonsense.
Goldain felt as though he had just closed his eyes, and was certain there were more than a few hours left before the sunrise. It seemed several others appreciated the minstrel’s morning call even less than Goldain. Bardrick grumbled something unintelligible and tossed his tin water cup in the direction of the songster who deftly dodged it. Young Jeslyn buried her head under her blankets and attempted to shut out the song with her hands over her ears.
It was certainly pleasant enough a song and extremely well sung, but the most beautiful song sounds a hideous cacophony when one’s head is filled with dreams and one’s heart yearns for sleep. Still it seemed most of the camp did not share the sleepy-headed trio’s allergy to early rising.
The troopers were stirring and beginning to break camp; Arreya was nowhere to be found, off scouting or hunting no doubt. Melizar and Ohanzee sat staring at each other across the remnants of the last campfire still burning and sharing a cup of broth filled with strange herbs. Cookie was packing his pots and pans, having already informed the caravan that it was bread, dried fruit, and jerky for breakfast to facilitate an early start. Thatcher and Kohana were sparring and comparing knife-fighting techniques, which appeared to be a shared interest that bridged any language gap between them. Gideon and Duncan were off in morning prayers. Kylor had set up a straw-filled sack against the rock from which their water had poured and was getting in some archery practice. Xyer Garan was busy outfitting his courser with its barding and breaking camp.
Well, if Goldain was supposed to be leading this traveling circus, he had best not be the last to rise. He jumped up spryly from his bedding and proceeded to give Bardrick a not-too-gentle kick in the backside, ordering him to get up. Goldain was much gentler in his approach to Jeslyn.
“Well, princess, you might get your wish at following the caravan on foot if you don’t wake up. Heroes don’t always get to sleep in, young lady, and between you and Bardrick, we might end up having to leave wagon four behind altogether.”
The thought of being left behind alone with Bardrick and away from the chance to find what happened to her father was apparently enough incentive to drive the youngster to her feet as she quickly busied herself with breaking camp. Bardrick, however, took another shot of physical inducement before he finally stirred, griping almost as much as Cookie had been the night before.
They packed the caravan and headed west on the road, eating on the way to make the best time. Dried meat, fish, and fruit were easy to find in Aton-Ri and traveled well. The highlight of the breakfast in Goldain’s eyes, however, was the shell bread called yochama by the people of Darkmoor, who were famous for its creation. The Moors, as the people of Darkmoor called themselves, lived in the swampland and marshes of Darkmoor, which lay on the southern border of Rajik. It was a triangular shaped nation with its broad side running along the sea where multiple branches of the rivers flowed out of the Dragonspine Mountains and formed the marshlands. It was ruled by a former warlord of a large band of Rajiki. He wanted a place to rule for his own and broke away from the Sultan of Rajik and took his people in to tame and found their nation in the wetlands of Darkmoor. His name was Beramu, and he called himself by the title of duke, not wanting to cause strife with the sultan by taking a higher title unto himself.
In Darkmoor, the humidity and heat caused many foods to spoil quickly. Bread molded within a day in the dank swamp environment. The Moors developed a method of baking bread until there was a firm enough outer crust but the inside was not yet fully done. Then they would coat the half-baked bread in resin collected from the yoch trees, which grow abundantly in Darkmoor. Once the bread is coated in the resin, it is returned to the ovens where the heat finishes baking the bread. The oven heat also transforms the resin into an airtight, waterproof shell, protecting the yochama bread as long as the shell remains intact. This yochama lasts for weeks, and when the shell is first cracked, it is as though the bread had been fresh baked that very morning. Yochama bread is a favored provision for long journeys for those who can afford it.
A family of Moors had moved into Aton-Ri and opened a bakery, producing this rare delicacy, which is highly demanded by both the wealthy merchants and experienced adventurers. Gideon had made sure this delicacy was among the provisions for their journey, and for this, Goldain was grateful.
Several members of the company had never had the pleasure of trying yochama, Thatcher being one of them. It was expensive, but there were those rich enough to afford it in a wealthy city like Aton-Ri. The fact that the Moor bakers knew they could demand the higher prices and still sell as much as they could bake kept it out of reach for common citizens.
Kohana, Thatcher’s wagon-mate, tried the bread. The Somamu’s sour face showed he was unaccustomed to this type of cuisine. The islander seemed altogether displeased with most of the dried fare other than the fish, which comprised most of his meal. Thatcher made sure Kohana’s unwanted portion of the yochama did not go to waste.
The young rogue was quite stuffed after finishing his breakfast and half of the islander’s besides. Despite their inability to communicate beyond very basic conversation, Thatcher was growing to like and respect the Somamu warrior. His fighting style, based on quick moves and misdirection, and his skill with his long, slightly curved daggers called kukri, was masterful. Thatcher had already picked up a trick or two from Kohana, which he incorporate into his own excellent knife-fighting skills.
The second day passed much as the first had. Thatcher found the journey pleasant and relaxing. Rarib’s bardsong lifted their spirits as well as their weary legs and helped greatly carrying them along on their journey. The one break in the otherwise uneventful day was a passing group of traders from Rajik headed for Aton-Ri. A company of ten Rajiki horsemen and four Centaurs traveling together stopped briefly to exchange news and goods. Arreya returned from her scouting trip during this exchange and Thatcher noticed the excitement in the Zafirr chats-enash finally getting her wish to meet a Centaur up close. They seemed less thrilled to meet the strange feline huntress. Thatcher couldn’t help but smile subtly as he observed the large, imposing Centaurs acting like skittish colts when Arreya strayed too close.
Jeslyn was the most excited of all to see the Rajiki traders. These were here people, although not from her own tribe. Her father was serving as an escort for one of the early caravans that went missing. Rajiki did not use caravans themselves but often Rajiki riders would hire on as mercenaries guarding caravans during the winter when hunting was scarce.
These traders were from the Wind Raven tribe whose territory was in central Rajik. The people of the “middle lands” were of darker hair and darker skins
than the southern tribes. Her own Blue Arrow tribe painted their arrows solid blue and used the tail feathers from blue jays as fletching. Their smiths worked cobalt from the mountains into the forging of the arrowheads so that even those had a tint of blue to them.
Jeslyn was fascinated at the familiar, fine workmanship of Rajiki arrows. Thatcher had overheard Kylor chiding Jeslyn that he was amazed she could even shoot straight with the poorly fletched practice arrows she used. When Thatcher asked during one of their rest breaks, she admitted her arrows were her own handiwork. Rajiki children were taught to ride and shoot almost before they could walk. They were required to watch and learn by trial and error the art of making arrows until such time as they were almost ready to join the hunts.
As the time of joining approached, young Rajiki would spend three months apprenticed to a master fletcher, who would teach them the finer skills of arrow crafting. At the end of the training, the teacher would gift them with their first dozen broadheads. She would have been ready this fall to start her apprenticeship and join the hunts.
Unfortunately, with her mother taken by sickness five winters ago and now her father missing, there was no one to present her to the tribe as a candidate to join the hunts. She had confided in Thatcher that it was this as much as anything that drove her to take whatever measures necessary to find her father. She not only loved and missed her father, but without him to present her to the tribe, she was without a people and without an identity. Rumors that a force might be forming to investigate the caravan disappearances was what led her to Aton-Ri.
Thatcher noticed these Wind Raven arrows were no dull-pointed practice arrows but finely crafted Rajiki broadheads. Their shafts were painted green and the black feathers of ravens formed the fletching. Goldain approached the trade show to see about wrapping up the delay and resuming their westward journey.
“So are we almost done with our shopping trip?” remarked the Qarahni prince. “We do have a mission to complete, you know?”
“Sorry boss,” answered Jeslyn. “We were just getting news from the tribesman. The road ahead for several miles is clear and safe.”
It was impossible to miss the sparkle in the girl’s eyes as she admired the masterful craftsmanship of the Rajiki. It didn’t take Thatcher’s keen eyes to spot the girl’s enthusiasm. It obviously wasn’t lost on Goldain either. He bought two dozen of the arrows from the traders and handed them to Jeslyn.
“Well, princess, if you are going to be an archer, you can’t go around firing practice arrows at Orcs. At least with these, you might do more than tick them off.”
Jeslyn beamed and hugged Goldain before filling her quiver with real Rajiki arrows. She smiled sheepishly.
“Um, thanks Goldain. I’m sorry about how disrespectful I was earlier. I promise I will work hard to repay you for this.”
“No need, princess. You just stay out of trouble and if we get into it, make good use of these. I have a feeling they will pay for themselves tenfold before this foray is done.”
After others had bought hides and handiwork from the traders and the Rajiki bartered for some of the dried meats and fish, both groups continued on their way. The Rajiki and Centaurs set out toward Aton-Ri and the caravan headed westward toward Dragon Pass. Just as on the first day of the journey, the caravan pressed on until the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the mountaintops. The Dragonspine Mountains grew closer and taller each day. There were no unwelcome surprises this day and everyone began to settle in again for the night.
“We lose an hour or so of travel in the evenings as the mountains hide the sun sooner than the plains,” Goldain informed the camp. “As much as I hate to admit it, rising well before dawn is a must if we are to make the best time, so my crowing rooster,” he said addressing the emaciated bard, “keep up with your morning song and awaken us before dawn as you did today.”
“As you will, my prince,” replied Rarib. Goldain frowned and ignored the bard’s formality.
“If we keep on this track and do not encounter further delays, we will press on for a couple of hours after dark tomorrow and make our camp at the eastern mouth of Dragon Pass.”
“Traveling after dark is reckless. Do you care nothing for the lives entrusted to you, Qarahni?” Xyer Garan had a tangible tension running through his large body, as if he expected to goad the barbarian into drawing steel. More likely he was testing Goldain’s resolve for peace.
“Your concern is unwarranted, Xyer,” Goldain replied. “Rajik is safe enough now that we have dealt a major blow to the raiders operating out of the Wild Lands. At this pace, we should reach Stonehold two days after reaching the mouth of Dragon Pass. We have been able to maintain such a strong pace by rotating our marchers with the men riding in the wagons. We will move considerably slower once we pass Stonehold as we will no longer be able to switch out the marching troops if we are to maintain our disguise as a merchant caravan. West of Stonehold we will need to travel slowly enough for the men to be ready for any trouble when it arises.”
As they made camp for the night, Rarib entertained the company with songs and stories while Cookie busily prepared the evening meal. It was a fine stew and prepared with many of the vegetables they brought from Aton-Ri. To this Cookie added meat from a small deer, which Kylor had spotted and shot just before they stopped. Thatcher had marveled at the young ranger’s masterful shot from a moving wagon.
“Did you see Kylor hit that deer?” Jeslyn remarked to Thatcher as they prepared the camp for the evening. “That shot must have been sixty yards at least, and on the move no less.”
“So, Jeslyn,” Thatcher answered unable to resist the urge to take the overconfident girl down a peg or two, “maybe you are not the best archer in the company.”
“I can still outshoot you and that silly contraption,” she said, scowling and nodding at his crossbow. “But I might want to see about getting in some practice time with Kylor. I’ve never seen a non-Rajiki shoot like that.”
The only one apparently not enjoying himself was Xyer Garan. He was not with the others around the campfire, enjoying the melodies and tales of Rarib but was off alone grooming his warhorse and taking his evening meal from his own traveling store.
As Cookie brought forth the evening meal, the bard ceased his song.
“This evening I am much more tired than hungry,” remarked the homely bard. “I have sung most of the day and will rest early to rise early.” With that, Rarib retired to his own tent for the night.
Cookie busied himself about the camp, making sure everyone had ample portions of the fresh venison stew. The scruffy cook was in much better spirits tonight than the previous night as there had been no unpleasant surprises to keep him from his work.
“You seem in better spirits tonight, Cookie,” Thatcher remarked as the rotund cook served a second bowl to the young thief.
“No one has done anything stupid to gum up my work tonight, boy.”
Thatcher left the remark alone at a cautious half-nod from Gideon sitting across the campfire. The grungy Podham appeared genuinely to enjoy cooking for and serving others. In the midst of performing his calling, the gruff and grumpy exterior evidenced the night before was nowhere to be found in him.
Even Thatcher’s hearty appetite was eclipsed by both Goldain and Duncan. The two had several helpings each, and when the others seemed to have done all they could to dispose of the hearty stew, it was the northerner and the Durgak finishing off the pot.
“I didn’t realize how much I missed the taste of venison,” remarked Goldain. “Deer are abundant in the Clan Lands and are our primary source of meat.”
“You dislike Aton-Ri’s fare, Goldain?” asked Thatcher.
“Eh, it serves its purpose, but stew like this is truly comfort food. Aton-Ri is a great city, but they eat mostly domesticated cattle, pigs, sheep, and chickens. Those who do venture out to hunt keep the meat for their families. There is little wild game to be found in the markets of Aton-Ri.”
“Co
okie is also quite an accomplished chef, despite his disheveled appearance,” Melizar added, drawing a grumble at his comment from the unkempt cook. “This is likely a meal we will all remember for quite some time.”
Unexpected Gift
Gideon soon discovered Melizar’s statement was truer than the mage could have ever imagined. Long before the songbird, Rarib, could awaken them, the entire company was roused to growls and moans both from within and from without. Their stomachs blazed in rebellion, and their mouths echoed their groans of discomfort.
Arreya was curled into a ball and yowling like a cat whose tail had been set on fire. Troopers were scattered in the fields, depositing upon the ground whatever could be retched up from their stomachs. Goldain was in the worst shape of all, not even having the strength to rise and being forced to deposit the contents of his stomach there beside where he lay. Duncan, who had eaten as much or more than the northerner, was sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, belching and bellowing like a man being stretched upon the rack in a torturer’s dungeon. He seemed far better off than the Qarahn, despite having eaten just as much as the northerner, but Duncan was still in no shape to function normally or work his healing oth upon the company.
The only people unaffected were Xyer Garan, Rarib the bard, who had not eaten the meal, and Cookie. Gideon, accustomed to eating lightly in the evenings and so was in better shape than most, pulled himself together and stumbled toward the cook.
Fool's Errand Page 12
