The Beacon: The Corner (1)
Episode 10: "Adon's Crew"
The sun hung low in the west when Adon walked down into the broad square behind the North Gate. Above him, the sky continued to darken as heavy clouds trundled eastward, threatening rain at any moment. For this reason, only a few fearless or foolhardy vendors remained at their stalls, regularly casting glances skyward, but the inns and taverns overflowed with customers seeking rest, food, and entertainment after a long day. Only a few weary travelers trickled in, and fewer still set out through the open gate, which would not close until nightfall.
Over his shoulder, Adon had slung a bulging pair of saddlebags containing everything he needed for this quick trip to The Corner. When he traveled—and as often as possible, when he was not—he wore practical, comfortable clothing: a white shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a leather vest, dark pants, high boots, and a kerchief around his neck. On his head sat his usual short-billed white hat that sported a thin, dark-blue band, a remnant of his seafaring days. Despite the intermittent breeze, he had already promised himself that he would shuck the vest and kerchief as soon as he reached his crew.
Immediately spotting his crew’s oilcloth-covered wagons near the gate, he veered toward them. Three saddled horses, dark tails swishing now and then, stood nearby, reins wound loosely around a rail. The crew beat me here, as usual, he thought.
Avoiding having to climb onto the driver’s seat any sooner than she had to, Artema stood next to the wheel of the smaller of the two wagons, the one she usually drove. Her face animated, she spoke to a tall, wiry young man with a dark, handlebar mustache, not yet twenty-five, laughing at a private joke. Ren Paxon, an accomplished swordsman despite his youth, had married Artema not yet a year past. They gave every sign they were still enjoying their honeymoon.
Another mustached man, at least twenty years their senior, dark hair graying at the temples, checked a few ropes tying articles to the larger wagon that hauled their food and other supplies. He looked up when Adon approached at a quick walk, taking the saddlebags when the older man reached him and stowing them in their accustomed place.
“My thanks, Mast,” Adon said, taking a moment to catch his breath and strip off the vest and kerchief. “It’s almost as bad walking down that hill as up it! I should keep my horse in the palace stables.”
Clad all in black, Mast Smith chuckled, removing a toothpick from between his teeth. “You need the exercise,” he said. “You’re developing a paunch, Captain, something I will take into consideration when I feed you on this little jaunt. Besides, Renegade would be bored stiff standing around with all those aristocratic horses! He much prefers his country pasture and the broodmares. Well, the broodmares.”
“Hey!” another voice, deep and full, called from the far side of the wagon. “What do you know about land animals, you old sea lion? But, I’ll admit, you’re right about Renegade, Mast. He prefers his freedom and the company on the farm.” The speaker, the final member of the crew, was Bandrick Muler, who seemed to know everything about animals—handling and caring for them as well as tracking and hunting them when necessary. He appeared as he made a final check of the draft horses and their tack. Just over average height and heavyset, he dressed like a hunter in deerskin pants and a fringed shirt, leather slipper-like shoes, and a broad-brimmed hat that hid a balding pate. A thick, dark-blond beard covered most of his face and hung to the middle of his chest.
“You both seem to know a lot about my horse,” Adon groused. “And I am not developing a paunch!”
Mast and Bandrick exchanged a glance but wisely said nothing.
“Gather round, crew,” Adon said, and they formed a half-circle in front of him. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wagon. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow morning, but for now, I’ll give you the important points. The king wants answers about these ‘waves of evil’ rolling across the kingdom. He’s charged us with finding out why the one that passed through The Corner didn’t cause a ruckus like they did everywhere else. Hopefully, it’ll be a quick trip there and back, but you know how these things go. But if we learn something useful, Lorens wants us to hustle back here with the information.”
“Isn’t sending the whole crew to ask a few questions a bit much?” Artema asked. “Should we expect trouble?”
Her father shrugged. “The king told me to take all of you. Perhaps he knows or suspects something, but regardless, there’s safety in numbers, I suppose. The Prophetess and the proprietor of a fine little pub I spoke to today both talked about unrest among the Leitani. I don’t know what to make of it. Is it rumor? Is it real?” He shrugged again. “We’ll just keep on our toes.”
“How far will we go tonight?” Mast asked, looking into the still-darkening sky. “It looks to become a muddy road.”
“Bridgeton,” Adon answered. “We’ll stay at the inn on the other side of the river.” At that, he got nods all around. It would be a long night, but they could look forward to a dry sleep at its end, even if they had to sleep in the inn’s hayloft, which their late arrival made a likely prospect.
Hearing the rapid clap of hooves on the square’s stone paving, they all turned to look at the approaching horse and rider, who headed directly for them. Even in the fading light, they immediately recognized the rider as a soldier. Reining in a few yards away, the man dismounted with a horse soldier’s practiced ease, saluting Adon despite his possessing no military rank. “Sergeant Genubah, reporting for duty, sir,” he said with formality.
Adon did not return the sergeant’s salute. “I did not ask for military escort,” he said, frowning, brows drawn down. “Who sent you here?”
The young sergeant, of at least partial Leitani descent, remained at attention. Short and broad-shouldered, he had straight black hair cut short in the military style, his skin a shade or two darker than Adon’s tanned olive complexion. His standard-issue uniform, light gray with a purple stripe on the pant’s outer seam, bore the insignia of Margonne’s Second Cavalry under Marshal Paydon Telsiora. A cavalry sword hung from his belt.
Genubah answered, “My captain, sir! He told me the king ordered it at the last minute, and I was to ‘hasten to catch the party before it left Palisade.’ His exact words, sir!”
Removing his hat and scratching his head, Adon said, “I don’t understand. This is just a simple information-gathering trip. We expect no opposition along the way or at The Corner. Did the king say why he wanted to send a soldier along?”
“No, sir!” the sergeant said, staring straight ahead. “The captain said nothing of it, sir. I just followed my orders.”
Adon sighed, turning to Mast. “Do we have enough biscuit for another crewman?”
Mast nodded. “Enough. We can always pick up more provisions in Bridgeton or at the changing station on the West Road. Or we can hunt along the way.”
Bandrick scoffed. “You offer my services so cavalierly.”
Ignoring the remark, Adon turned back to the sergeant. “One last question: Why did your captain send you, specifically?”
Genubah blinked, his only sign of surprise, but he answered readily enough. “I’m Black Bear, sir! I grew up near The Corner and know the area well.”
Adon grunted, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “All right, Sergeant Genubah, mount up! I hope you packed your rain gear!”
Saluting again, the sergeant moved back to his horse, where he pulled a well-used hooded cloak from a saddlebag and put it on just as the first large raindrops began to fall. As Genubah mounted, Adon, Ren, and Bandrick jogged to their horses to do the same. While they hurriedly pulled out their cloaks and donned them, Adon said in a low voice, “Something’s not right about this. The king said he’d leave a note on my table if he had any further instructions. There was no note, just the promised reports, a map, and a small coin purse. Keep a weather eye open!” His men nodded their understanding.
Bandrick mounted and trotted to the head of their little column, Ren taking the rear and Adon pacing his daughter’s wagon. Per the captain’s instructions, Sergeant Genubah slid into place on the far side of Mast’s wagon, and in moments, they all passed swiftly under the gate and onto the road to Bridgeton. The clouds lost all restraint and made their ride a sloppy mess all night.
A note:
Even after two centuries of living as free citizens in the Kingdom of Margonne, most Leitani maintained their clan identification and structure. Sergeant Genubah identified himself as “Black Bear,” the name of a Leitan clan whose members lived near the junction of the Coastal Range and the Spruce Hills, which the Margonni called “The Corner.” There were also Stone Bears, Shrieking Eagles, Swift Horses, Black Crows, Wise Foxes, and others. The most prominent of the old Leitan clans were the Red Hawks, from which the most famous Leitani descended (Qadira, Chogan, the Prophetesses), and the Gray Wolves, an ethnically non-Leitani tribe that allied with Margonne the Strong more than a decade before his conquest. After Leitan’s defeat, many of its people fled eastward to Khost and Rekesh, while several thousand disappeared into remote valleys high in the Dragon’s Teeth Mountains, where their descendants still scraped out a meager existence.
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