At that moment Arwhon turned to him.
“Ready, Chalc?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Chalc replied, peering through the dim light to take a final long look around his home of the last seventeen years. He mounted Tansy and tied Rancid’s lead rope to the saddle.
“Lead on.”
They walked the horses quickly out of the yard. Their hooves clip clopping when they neared the poorly paved road. A thin sliver of moon had risen, providing them with a little light. The horses needed no urging and when Duran pulled to the east as he had been straining to lately, Arwhon let him have his head. There was a moment’s hesitation from the Barsoom stallion until it sensed its rider’s approval to proceed in that direction, then with a little dancing flourish, Duran picked up his feet and they left the village at a brisk pace, Chalc on Tansy close behind, while Rancid brought up the rear. Being on the outskirts of the village, no one saw them leave. Indeed, it was as if their passage went totally unnoticed; apart from being followed by a pair of hard, totally black eyes belonging to a diminutive little man in a hooded black cloak, standing well back under the cover of the trees lining the road. Chalc spotted him for an instant out of the corner of his eye and a worried look passed across the smith’s face.
Someone or something was keeping them under observation. Chalc was concerned; Arwhon had enemies, Kroy for one.
The horse’s shoes rang musically on some of the larger paving stones, part of the ancient all-weather surface of the highway, now slowly falling into disrepair. The air was early evening crisp but as the night wore on they would be glad of their heavy woollen cloaks. The new, first moon shone dimly, not far off setting behind Mehgrin’s Wall, its wan light slanting through the newly budded leaves on the branches of the deciduous trees lining the road, turning everything around them a cold, ghostly, leaden grey.
Under the trees, on the road, they were an easy target but Chalc considered it safe enough for the moment and the riding was a lot easier than off the road. There was no hurry and once the horses realized their journey was not just an exercise session, they settled down to a quick walking pace, eager to stretch their legs.
“How does your side feel Master?” Chalc asked solicitously, grinning.
“Fine. Why ‘Master’?”
“Just getting us both used to becoming what we are supposed to be. Master and Servant. If we are other than that or someone hears or sees us being other than that, it could be fatal. For either or both of us.”
Arwhon was silent for a moment, considering. Chalc continued.
“The world can be a hard place young Arwhon and you would do well to heed your father’s words. Trust no one and mind your own business. At the same time, remind yourself that you are now a young gentleman with a servant. Treat me as such when we are anywhere around people. Often, folk will talk to a servant but not to the master. Mind your manners and be respectful to all, no matter how humble.”
Arwhon considered Chalc’s sentiments. They echoed his father’s and Bryan had been a good man. Good enough to win the hand of Sareeni nasi Tsalkini, Arwhon’s mother. Hers was an old, established family in Belvedere and Arwhon pondered the reason his Grandparents had never visited Trugor in Arwhon’s lifetime although to be fair, they had sent letters and a little money for gifts for the children. He suspected they thought Bryan too lowborn for their daughter and blamed him for Sareeni’s death in childbirth.
He shook himself, enough of this reminiscing.
After about three hours or so in the saddle, around midnight when the first moon had set and the thin sliver of the smaller second moon had risen, Chalc spoke up.
“Master, it’s time to stop for the evening. Rancid needs a rest. He’s not fit yet.”
Arwhon looked down from his perch on Duran.
“I must admit that I also need a little time off my horse.”
A look of shame passed over his face and he spoke softly to himself.
“You are the most wonderful horse, Duran. There is no fault in your gait or carriage. I’m sore in my side where the wound was and must rest for a while.”
Duran’s ears stopped drooping and pricked up again when he found he wasn’t to blame for Arwhon’s discomfort.
Master and Servant continued along the road until, on the right side, they passed an opening in the roadside trees to a small clearing, well protected from casual observation, with lush new grass thickly carpeting the soft, moist ground within.
“That looked a good spot.” Chalc exclaimed and suiting his words he turned Tansy back to access the grassy area, Rancid following behind on the lead rope. Before long Chalc had the two animals hobbled and their packs and saddles off. The horse and mule immediately began grazing the fresh grass. It was only a short while before Duran joined them, unhobbled; no need, he was bound in other ways. A small, concealed fire was quickly lit and a pan of water placed on it to boil before Chalc turned to Arwhon.
“We have time to do a little unarmed training while the water heats to boiling. You need to be able to move in half light or dark with equal confidence. We must find time in each day to keep your training going. I’ve a feeling that the peace we have at the moment will be short lived.”
They trained for half an hour or so in the near dark before settling down to eat their late supper of bread and cheese washed down with an herbal tea. Before long they were in their bedrolls, swords near to hand.
It seemed but a moment later when Chalc roused Arwhon with a bowl of boiled grain flavoured with honey. It was still night but the horses were saddled and Rancid packed up. Chalc obviously took his role of Servant seriously.
Soon it was time to move on again.
They continued on their journey, following the always downhill road which gradually improved the further they travelled and as the second moon set and the dim first light of morning grew brighter ahead of them, the scale of the surrounding landscape became apparent. Where the trees grew close to the road it was difficult to see very far but there were places along the way where the trees thinned or the travellers came across a larger clearing. In those locations, by looking forward and out across the road off to his left over the widening valley, Arwhon could perceive where the road disappeared into the haze far ahead of them as it descended ever downward into the far, far distance.
From its humble and narrow beginnings near Durhain’s Pass the valley grew wider as it descended, continually opening out to become a broad, tree-filled dale in the eastern foothills of Mehgrin’s Wall. The mountains towered behind them as far as the eye could see to both the north and the south. Arwhon could hear the stream gurgling between its banks along the valley floor off to their left, the volume increasing throughout the early morning as more and more water joined it on its inevitable descent down the valley. The vivid green of the new budding leaves on the deciduous trees contrasted brightly against the darker hues of the dominant evergreens. Scattered here and there was an occasional field where the forest had been cleared for crop planting.
An idyllic valley scene.
Suddenly, Arwhon’s Ring finger tingled, startling him. Chalc noticed.
“What?”
“My finger is tingling. The one with the Ring on it.”
That was enough for Chalc and as soon as possible he led them off the main road down to the left along a little used trail. As a precaution they rode for the rest of the morning on game trails paralleling the road but well hidden.
Soon it was time to eat. Hungry now, Arwhon was grateful for the chance to eat and rest. Chalc was letting Arwhon set the pace of their travels as the boy’s side was still a little tender. Poor Rancid also needed to rest more frequently because the mule was not yet conditioned to a long day of travelling.
Not long after the midday stop when they were afoot, leading the horses, picking their way alongside the burbling stream, both the horses’ ears pricked up in unison. Before long both Arwhon and Chalc could hear the sound of a band of riders galloping up the valley on the very
road they had left earlier.
“Didn’t take them long to get reinforcements.” Chalc opined. “We’re very lucky the Ring you wear warned us; it seems quite a useful thing to own. Please, let me know if it warns again.”
Arwhon was starting to realise the seriousness of their situation and his extreme good fortune in coming across Chalc. That band of riders was probably after him. If he and Chalc hadn’t left Cumbrisia’s End when they did, those men would have ridden in and almost certainly slaughtered them both.
Chalc was smart.
Best to keep out of harm’s way.
Arwhon sent calm thoughts to Duran. The big grey had sensed his concerns and was feeling a little edgy.
Later, Chalc led them back up onto the road as shadows lengthened and the sun disappeared for longer periods behind increasing cloud cover. The sky became dominated by gigantic, dark towers of cumulonimbus. Beneath the cloud bank, far behind now, way back up the valley, a line of smoke could be seen trailing upward. Chalc drew back on Tansy’s reins and sat studying the cloud and the smoke carefully.
“They’ve burnt the hut and probably the barn too in their disappointment at not finding us. Shortsighted really, as there’s going to be a huge storm shortly and they’ll all have to crowd into the ‘Flying Pig’.”
Arwhon heard the sadness in Chalc’s voice at the loss of the only home he had known for seventeen years, now behind them. He looked around as the sky grew yet darker to the west. The greenish air around them stilled and hushed with expectation.
“How far to the next village Chalc? I don’t like the look of that cloud.”
“Not far Master. Down around the next bend and we’ll see it. I don’t think we’ll get wet.” Chalc smiled to himself, he had visited the next village down-valley many times in the last seventeen years, delivering pieces of work and picking up more.
As they rounded the bend in the road Chalc had indicated, the village came into view, far bigger than Cumbrisia’s End it was almost a small town rather than a large village. Most of the original hamlet was built on a flat shelf of land to their right, above the valley but as there was no more flat land left there, some of the more recent houses were constructed on terraces below and to the left of the main road. Cobbled streets marked out the hillside, linking all the dwellings, old and new which were similarly constructed to those in Cumbrisia’s End, low and solid, built of stone, able to deal with winters at altitude.
“What do they call this place?” asked Arwhon.
“’Penultimate’, of all things,” was the amused reply.
There were two inns in Penultimate but only one which supplied lodgings, the other being a tavern for meals and drinking with a comfortable pallet in the storeroom for the bargirl’s main income earner. The inn they wanted was obvious as they rode together down the main street of Penultimate.
The sign hanging outside the establishment named it, ‘The Farmers Rest’ and showed a farmer leaning on a hay fork. It confirmed the bucolic nature of the area and the stone barn, built beside the inn, looked weather-tight and snug. As they drew rein outside it, an old man appeared as if from nowhere, but in truth he had blended with the background so well he went unnoticed until he stood up.
“You be staying at th’inn?” the old man asked. “If so, yer can leave yer horses wi’ me. Looks t’ be a big un comin’.” He nodded toward the blackened sky to the west.
Chalc dismounted and handed Tansy’s reins over.
“Be careful of the mule, it can hit a fly at waist height.”
The old man regarded him thoughtfully.
“Thank ee for ‘at. Didn’t ‘appn to see a gang of thugs on the road did yer?”
“What do you know of them?” Chalc replied guardedly.
“They only bin here two day. Yesterday four on ‘em ride out an’ three come back in the night wi’ founderin’ horses an tales o’ death an burnin’ swords. Early this morning all of em rides out.”
Chalc nodded, stroking his chin.
“How many do you reckon?”
‘Nine all up, now one is dead. Dominion lookin’ scum they was.”
The old man winked at Chalc before turning to take Duran’s reins.
“Don’t get many Barsoomi horses through here.”
“Have you seen it before?” Chalc asked him.
“No, it hasn’t passed this way in the last twenty five years,” the old man replied, smiling at his own joke. “That’s how long I bin here.”
He studied Chalc for a long moment.
“Ain’t you the blacksmith from Cumbrisia’s End? Seen you ‘round here afore. You goin’ somewheres?”
Chalc nodded. “This young gentleman has offered me a position as his servant at a very attractive rate. Thought I would travel for a while, although I am not advertising it. Know what I mean?”
The old man nodded and winked, rubbing the side of his nose briefly with a gnarled forefinger, waiting for them to take their gear before turning toward the barn, reins in hand, hurrying to get under cover.
As the horses were led away, Master and Servant turned and walked into the inn shouldering their saddlebags. There was a brilliant flash of light and a loud rumble from the heavens as the pair entered the door, their eyes adapting to the low light within. It was dim but not dark. The small windows had clean panes of thick drop-glass in them and the taproom was freshly swept, its flagstone floor showing evidence of recent mopping. A faint scent of pine lingered in the air. The innkeeper, wearing a clean apron, was behind the spotless bar and a small fire was blazing in the hearth. What a contrast to “The Flying Pig’ in Cumbrisia’s End, thought Arwhon gratefully.
“Good day gentlemen, looks like a storm is on the way. Springtime weather it is. I have spare rooms if you need them. Plenty of choice as our busy season is a little later in the year. You didn’t pass a band of men by any chance?”
What Arwhon heard was, Ah real customers, better looking than that gang that left this morning. Fate be blessed they don’t come back.
The landlord’s florid face looked a trifle uneasy while he imparted this information, something Chalc noticed and filed away for later. Arwhon idly signalled to Chalc who stepped up to the bar and negotiated on their behalf. They ended up with a large room upstairs at the end of the hall. It was the full width of the eastern end of the building with a window overlooking the slate roof of the barn below. It had two beds, one to each side of the central window, with a rug between them and a cupboard on the far side of each. A washstand with a jug of fresh water, drinking mugs and a basin to wash in was tucked up against the wall beside the door. Each side wall also had a window in it and the northern one offered Arwhon a panoramic view of the valley down below as he stood before it, saddlebags still in hand. The clouds above were now almost black beneath as the storm built and Arwhon took the opportunity to gaze on down the immense Grand Valley until his vision was obscured by distance and cloud.
“That gang will have to stay in Cumbrisia’s End tonight. Getting caught in a big storm up here is to be feared.” Chalc observed. “It could even snow heavily at this time of year.”
As they put their saddlebags down between the beds, Chalc looked through the end window between them onto the roof of the barn below then opened and closed it before whispering to Arwhon.
“Anything valuable, keep on your person. If there is any trouble, we have an exit. Always check for alternative exits when in strange surroundings, you never know when you might need one.”
Arwhon nodded. Life with Chalc was one of continuous learning.
The sky continued to darken, more lightening flashes and thunder following the earlier rumbles until large raindrops started splashing on the cobbles outside the inn and the slate roof above their heads drummed with the sound. Arwhon sent a mental reassurance to Duran, thoughts of being dry and warmth and oats. He received a contented feeling back. The animals were being well cared for and Duran was glad to be out of the weather.
Chalc and Arwhon went down t
o the taproom, descending the steep wooden stairs to find they were the only customers. Chalc took a tankard of ale to Arwhon who sat near the fire as the air chilled. Chalc chose to sit at the bar and beckoned the innkeeper over to him, keeping his voice low as he studied the innkeeper’s eyes while he spoke.
“I noticed you seemed a little worried earlier when we came in. Is there something we should know about?”
The innkeeper started and his face flushed, a certain look of guilt creeping over his features. He coughed nervously.
“About two weeks ago, a stranger came in here and described the two of you. He gave me a gold piece to send word when you arrived. He wouldn’t take no for an answer but I didn’t cotton to him. Evil bastard, that’s what I reckon.”
Chalc laid a gold coin on the bar.
“That’s for not telling him. I’d be upset if word got to him. Now please describe the man and tell me where and how you were supposed to send word.”
The innkeeper looked somewhat relieved and glancing toward the kitchen door leaned toward Chalc and spoke in hushed tones.
“He was cold looking, with a thin face and close cropped beard. His eyes were grey and deep set. Looked Dominion, know what I mean? Kept fondling his fancy sword hilt all the time. His clothes were black with a bit of ornamental silver embroidery on his jacket and he had a black woollen cloak over all. His horse was black too. Didn’t stay long. For that I’m thankful. He never told me where to send word, just handed me a pigeon in a cage. It’s out back in a shed.”
The innkeeper stood upright and indicated that Chalc should follow him. Just at that moment, the front door flew open with a gust of cold wind and a couple of farmers came in from the storm with their coat collars pulled up tight, hats steaming, dripping water everywhere. The landlord went off to serve them with a pleasant greeting and a small shrug for Chalc, mouthing ‘later’. Chalc nodded, picked up his mug of ale and went to join Arwhon by the fire to apprise him of events.
The Ring Of Truth Page 11
