The Beacon: Excursion (1)
Episode 15: "Departure"
“All stowed away and ship-shape, captain,” Mast said to Adon just after sunrise the following day. The two of them had stayed with the Oldhams overnight while Artema, Ren, and Bandrick had returned to The Corner to arrange for someone to care for the Oldham property during the siblings’ absence. Artema looked forward to sleeping another night on one of the inn’s comfortable beds, and the men anticipated a few more of Mistress Stennis’ delicious meals. Ever mindful of the animals, Bandrick sought another horse or two and tack to make their journey to Palisade easier for them all.
With help from Adon and Mast, Mat had carefully packed a trunk full of the most important of the Oldham’s books and muscled it to Artema’s wagon the prior evening, covering it with two layers of oilcloth. While the men were busy, Mia had cleaned the kitchen, washed clothes, and packed travel bags for Mat and herself. After eating and bathing, she had wandered through the rooms of the house, taking everything in and caressing the things she put away as if she would never see them again.
Once they deposited their bags in Mast’s wagon, the siblings stood behind it, staring blankly, the dark circles under their eyes revealing how little they had slept the night before. Facing back down the path to their house, they appeared to be trying to snatch a last glimpse of their home or perhaps considering running back to it at any moment. Only the knickers of horses snapped them out of their private thoughts. The Paxons and Bandrick had finally arrived from The Corner.
Each of the newcomers gripped the lead of a second horse, causing Adon to raise his eyebrows. “Three, Bandrick?”
“Yes, I spent all the king’s money on horseflesh,” the animal expert said with more than a dash of sarcasm. “Actually, the man I dealt with threw the draft horse in for free once I bought the two young riding horses for a high but fair price. She’s a bit long in the tooth but still has a few good years left. Her owner has no use for her, having recently purchased a younger replacement. Captain, meet Daffy.”
Adon, already in the saddle, barked a laugh. “Daffy?”
“Short for ‘Daffodil,’ I’m told,” Bandrick said with a grin. “The other two are for the Oldhams, if they can ride.”
“We can ride,” Mat muttered, scowling. “Father had us on horseback before we learned to walk.”
“Splendid!” Bandrick said, still grinning, clearly having prodded the young man purposely. He gathered the riding horses’ reins and brought them to the siblings. “Here are Thorn and Thistle. For some reason, the man enjoys naming his stock after plants. I suspect, just like you, they are brother and sister. Thorn’s a gelding, and Thistle is a young mare.”
Contrary to Bandrick’s expectations, Mia immediately claimed Thorn, murmuring to him as she inspected him nose to tail, and Mat stepped over to Thistle and rubbed her nose and neck. Once they were acquainted with them, both checked the saddles and stirrups, attached their bags, and climbed up, gathering the reins and turning their mounts smartly up the trail.
“I guess there’s no need for a riding lesson, then,” Mast said in a deadpan voice, pulling himself up into his wagon’s seat.
With a smirk, Bandrick tossed the much lighter purse to Adon and mounted as well, leading his horse to the head of the column. The Paxons finished harnessing Artema’s horse to her wagon and tying the new draft mare to its rear. They were ready to go in a few minutes, so with a few creaks and jangles, Adon’s crew started up the trail.
Neither of the Oldhams looked back.
The crew retraced their tedious path to the West Road, encountering the ruts, rocks, and roundabout route that had annoyed them on the way in. They had the road to themselves, seeing no one else throughout the morning. Skirting the foothills in a northeasterly direction, they stopped briefly every few hours to water and change out the draft horses, get themselves a bite to eat from Mast’s wagon, and stretch their legs.
Just after noon, upon reaching the West Road, they headed east on a much smoother surface, one regularly maintained by road crews paid out of the royal coffers to enhance communication and trade with Margonne’s neighbors. The road behind them snaked through the Spruce Hills to the west, ending at growing dual towns, Mone and Thaler, on its border with Tanjar.
Relieved to be back on a better maintained, straighter road, Adon trotted Renegade up to Bandrick at the front. “Can we make it to the changing station this evening at this pace?”
Bandrick took off his hat and wiped his brow, nodding. “Barring a breakdown or some other serious delay, sure, captain. It’ll make for a long day, and the horses will be tired, but if we stay the night, letting them rest, they’ll be ready to go again tomorrow.”
“Good,” Adon said. “That’s what I thought, too. How are our new companions doing?”
The other man chuckled as he returned his hat to his balding head. “They will be nice and sore tonight, tomorrow, and however long it takes them to get used to riding long hours, but they’re keeping up and not complaining. They’re young, so it won’t take long. I’d say, with a little seasoning, they have the potential to be capable campaigners.”
“You’re impressed with them, I see,” Adon observed.
“Aren’t you?” Bandrick replied.
“Indeed, I am,” the captain answered, scratching his beard. “They’ve taken to traveling like fish to water. We’ve not had to instruct them about anything, almost like they were born to it.”
“I think their parents’ instruction and living on their own for so long have given them a lot of skills,” Bandrick said. “They’re not kids and certainly mature for their age.”
Adon nodded. “Which makes their story even more credible. I think the king will be impressed, too.”
“He’s the one who counts,” Bandrick agreed with a grin.
“The Penthori history will fascinate him, too,” Adon said thoughtfully. “I think he will be intrigued that a heretofore unknown ethnic group has been living on our border for centuries, and he will want to know everything about them. I could see him recruiting one or both of the Oldhams to arrange an official meeting of some sort with the ones still living in the hills.” He cocked a thumb behind him, indicating the Spruce Hills hulking to their west.
“You know him better than the rest of us,” Bandrick said with a shrug. “What about the Oldhams? Do you think they would agree to do that?”
“Yes, I do,” Adon replied after considering the question for a long moment. “Unlike their forefathers, who appear to have had a tradition of keeping to the shadows at the edge of Taurani society, they seem eager to let others know about themselves. If they could take that knowledge straight to the king and get some recognition for their people, I think they would do it.”
“Well, the king won’t do anything like that until we figure out this wave of evil thing,” Bandrick said, fluttering his fingers. “From what you said, it’s his top priority right now.”
The captain grimaced. “Indeed. I’m getting ahead of myself with such speculations. I wouldn’t be surprised if our involvement in this problem lasts well into the fall. You’ll have to postpone your hunting trip, Ban.”
The other man laughed. “Aye, captain! I had already assumed that to be the case!”
“Let’s just hope we can find a solution soon,” Adon said. “Unfortunately, in my experience, problems of this sort tend to get worse before they get better.”
Afternoon was giving way to evening when Mat kicked Thistle to bring her alongside Bandrick. He pointed east along their route. “Have you seen that smudge against the sky? It looks like smoke to me.”
“Yes,” Bandrick answered, glancing over at the young man. “I’ve been watching it for a few minutes, and I would bet my saddle something’s burning out there. Something far bigger than a campfire.”
“I thought so, too,” Mat said. “A brushfire?”
“Could be, I guess,” Bandrick replied. “If it is, someone is controlling it well. I don’t see any sign of it spreading.”
“Do farmers out here burn the grass when preparing new fields?” Mat wondered aloud.
“Some do, I’ve heard,” the older man answered, “but to my way of thinking, it doesn’t seem the right time of year for it. I’m no farmer, but that seems like a late-winter, early-spring activity, doesn’t it? Setting the dry grass afire in the heat of summer sounds foolhardy to me. You could set the whole prairie aflame doing that.”
Adon rode up from the rear, joining the other two. “Are you talking about the smoke ahead?” he asked.
“Yes, captain,” Bandrick answered. “Just speculating about what kind of fire it is.”
“My guess is it’s a house or a barn,” he offered. “Whatever it is, the fire is near the changing station.”
“I hope it’s not the changing station!” Bandrick said, suddenly alarmed. “What do you say we pick up the pace, captain?”
“A quick trot, Bandrick,” Adon ordered with a nod. “I’ll wave Ren up and tell Artema and Mast to catch up with us at the changing station. Be careful!” He peeled his horse away and cantered toward the rear of their short train.
Ren came forward in a rush not long thereafter, and Adon returned to the front a few minutes later. They rode four abreast, eyes on the darkening pillar of smoke rising into the sky. The nearer they approached, the more confident they became that one of the changing station’s buildings was burning to cinders, fueled by dry timber and a light breeze out of the west. When they finally spotted flames, Ren and Bandrick spurred their mounts toward the station to give what aid they could.
Mat looked at Adon, his gray eyes asking permission to go with them, but the captain shook his head. “There’s nothing they can do to save the building, whatever it is—the barn or one of the stables. The best they can do is to make sure it doesn’t spread to any others.”
When he and Mat reached the station a few minutes later, they found Ren and Bandrick dismounted, standing over a crumpled form on the ground. Approaching, Adon recognized the dead body as that of the station master lying in a thickening puddle of his own blood. Once they had dismounted, Ren pointed to a spot near the burning building. Through the swirling smoke, they could make out the shape of a second body lying spread-eagle on his back in trampled dirt. A third, probably a stable hand, sprawled near the station house door, an arrow in his back.
“We haven’t looked any farther, captain,” Ren said, “but three violent deaths, at least one by a spear and another by an arrow. The rebel Leitani have started a war.”
Adon nodded, sighing, realizing matters had just escalated. “Appears so. This was a raid. For horses, maybe?”
Mat had wandered toward the man slain by an arrow, but he was not looking at the body but across the wooden door. He turned back to the others and asked, “Do any of you know what this means? This word looks like it was painted with blood, but it means nothing to me.”
The three older men walked over, understanding dawning on their faces at the same instant as they peered at the door. Ren found his voice first. “It’s not a word necessarily. It’s a name, a name we know. And now we also know this was indeed a rebel Leitani raid. It says ‘Genubah.’”
A note:
The royal changing stations along Margonne’s major highways were built initially with the kingdom’s military communications in mind. A swift, light rider with a second horse could make the trip between stations, placed thirty miles apart, in about three hours, change horses, and continue in this way until he reached his destination or left the main road for more remote parts. Later, the stations also catered to military wagons hauling supplies to various fortifications around the kingdom, and carters could usually maintain about five miles per hour, a six-hour journey between stations.
The military usually contracted with civilian families, sometimes retired soldiers, to run individual stations, and they, in turn, hired additional help as needed out of their own pockets. In time, while keeping the military as their primary concern, the stations opened their services to the public for a price, providing horse exchanges, stabling, repairs to tack and wagons, food, lodging, and supplies for the road. Some stations, particularly those within a day’s ride of Palisade, had begun to grow into small towns profiting from the influx of money travelers added to their economy.
If you have enjoyed what you read on this Substack, please consider buying me a cup of coffee!
Genubah is bad news!