Fool's Errand (14 page)

Goldain and his companions gathered at the gate before dawn making the final preparations to depart. The Qarahni prince had been trained to lead men from a very young age, but he much preferred to swing a sword in execution of orders than twisting his brain giving them. Thankfully Captains Gideon and Tropham, both experienced military commanders, and young Thatcher whose plan they were carrying out, stayed up late last night with Goldain sorting through all the details. He knew that since he had been the one to call for those willing to see this plan though to join him, he must, at least until they were outside the gate, look like the one in charge.

A collection of rather motley and unmatched tabards donned by half of Captain Tropham’s men would disguise their actual armor and blazoning. This made the veteran troops appear as nothing more than a mixed bag of hired soldiers employed by a miserly merchant to guard his caravan. They carried spears, considered the weapons of peasants, while hiding their swords beneath the long tabards. To aid in covering their true battle capabilities, For this mission Tropham had selected duelists, warriors skilled in fighting with sword and dagger rather than sword and shields.

The other half of Tropham’s men concealed themselves in covered wagons and carts drawn by haggard-looking mules and unkempt draft horses. Tropham intentionally chose footmen for this task. Trained warhorses, even ones hitched to wagons, would have stood out and aroused suspicion.

Durgak rarely fought mounted, and Duncan assured Goldain and Captian Gideon that the berserkers under his brother’s command would want nothing under them but solid ground in battle. There was plenty of room in half-empty wagons to hide the Durgak warriors once they joined the caravan.

The few other hirelings who had signed on, either in response to Goldain’s announcement at the muster grounds or his subsequent notices posted in several taverns, were mostly novice fortune-hunters, looking for work with more experienced adventurers. They each disguised themselves as merchants or simple drivers with their weapons hidden nearby as they drove the caravan wagons.

The plan called for six wagons in all, five for troops posing as cargo wagons leading the way and one filled with supplies to serve as the cook’s wagon bringing up the rear. Two drivers per wagon would pose as merchants. Captain Tropham would be on wagon one alone until they reached Stonehold, holding his second seat for the
bezrek
commander, Duncan’s brother Donovan. Captain Gideon would hide inside this first wagon with the Adami and Durgak troops joining him. Each of the five non-supply wagons to hold two of Tropham’s men and four
bezrek
troops each with the remainder of Tropham’s men marching along as infantry guards.

Thatcher and one of the hirelings named Kohana would drive the second wagon. The young thief was glad to have a stable platform from which to fire his crossbow in the event of trouble. Kohana was a Somamu, an Adami race from the western islands. He spoke even less of the common Adami language than Thatcher’s half-Somamu guildmate, Thannos. He wore only short pants and a belt to hold the twin elongated kukri he wielded as weapons. Running blue tattoo lines covering his face and chest gave him a fearsome appearance.

After stuttering some Somamu words Thatcher picked up from Thannos, and utilizing copious amounts of pantomime, they managed to convince the islander to don a hooded surcoat to help him stand out a bit less. Kohana looked uncomfortable in this second skin, but for the wages he would earn on this journey, he seemed willing to be uncomfortable. Goldain would hide in the back with the troops of this second wagon.

Melizar drove the third wagon, accompanied by Ohanzee, perhaps the most unusual of the hirelings. The man was a Shade, a form of
chats-enash,
whose non-human parent was of a race called the Umbra. Umbra were called “living shadows”. These subterranean humanoids had shifting skin pigments, allowing them to sneak and blend in with the shadows of the night. Umbra served the Ayabim
called Rashaad the counselor, and were known not only for their stealth abilities but for their tendency to study mind-controlling
kashaph
magic. Less-than-scrupulous leaders, valuing power and knowledge more than honor, sought Umbra out as spies, counselors, and advisors.

This Shade wore two intersecting belts across his torso, each filled with a dozen throwing daggers. A straight, single-edged short sword hung from his belt. Ohanzee agreed to cover this formidable weapons rig with a hooded riding cloak, which could easily be dumped in the event of trouble.

Shades, being only half Umbra, did not have the shifting skin pigments of their non-human parent, but Ohanzee’s skin was as black as night. His glassy, black, whiteless eyes, resembling a full-blood Umbra’s, gave the Shade the appearance of darkness incarnate. Goldain’s had ordered that Ohanzee ride with Melizar as the mage would be the best person to guard against any
kashaph
arts the Shade might possess should his loyalty to the mission come into question. Ohanzee and Melizar made a fearsome and mysterious pair even in disguise.

Two hirelings would drive the fourth wagon. The first was a young girl, not even quite Thatcher’s age, named Jeslyn. She was not technically a hireling but rather had shown up to voluntarily join the caravan. Goldain had rejected the idea completely, but the girl insisted. He smiled as he recalled her reaction.

“Look, giganto, you may be a big, bad warrior but my father was a Rajiki guard with one of the first caravan’s to disappear. He taught me to ride and shoot before I could walk. I may be a girl, but I am a girl who can put an arrow in a bird’s eye at fifty yards. You can refuse to let me join your caravan, but I will follow anyway. I plan to find what happened to my father and avenge myself upon any who harmed him. You may own this caravan, but you don’t own the road and you don’t own me. There isn’t anything you can do short of chopping my head off that can keep me from going.”

Faced with such determination, Goldain knew the girl would be better off inside the caravan than following behind. At least inside, she wouldn’t starve. He made her promise to stay with the wagon if trouble broke out, keep under cover, and use her bow if she could do so without drawing too much attention.

Riding with her was another warrior hireling named Bardrick. He wielded a battle-axe and buckler. Along with his twin brother, Kylor, Bardrick joined seeking adventure. Goldain charged Bardrick with guarding this wagon and this girl from any who came close. This brought grumbles from the would-be hero.

“But, boss, I came to split bandit skulls and ravage robber hides. Now you have me babysitting some string bean girlie who wants to play bow and arrow? C’mon, stick her with someone else that don’t mind missing a fight like my brother!”

“I considered that,” Goldain responded, “but since your brother is also an archer, there would be no close combat protection for either of them, thus putting both at risk. Follow my orders or find your adventure elsewhere.”

The disgruntled Bardrick agreed, but Goldain was not at all confident this overeager braggart wouldn’t abandon his post at the first opportunity. The northern prince pulled aside one of Tropham’s men, named Reyas, who was to be secreted in this fourth wagon.

“Trooper, you keep your eyes peeled. If Bardrick leaves his post guarding Jesslyn, you fall back and defend the girl.”

“Yes sir!” Reyas said, saluting.

“Good man,” Goldain encouraged, patting the trooper on the shoulder before continuing his inspection of the caravan.

Bardrick’s brother, Kylor, and Priest Duncan would drive the fifth and final troop wagon. Kylor was a novice scout, tracker, and quite a respectable archer. A finely crafted scimitar hung at his side, and he carried a well-made yew longbow. Kylor was much more stable of temperament than his twin was. His sturdy longbow was the longest ranged weapon in the caravan, thus it made perfect sense to station him at the rear.

Some critical tongue wagging came from an unexpected quarter—Duncan.

“You see, there you go again, putting me and my short legs as far from valorous tales as possible. How am I ever supposed to get something to fill my report to the council from all the way back here? I see you left place for my brother on the first wagon, but he’s already done with his valor quest. What are you doing to me, northerner?”

This complaining pushed Goldain quite outside his usual jovial self. He was not the organized leader Gideon was, and taking charge of all these details wore heavily on his patience and his mood.

“Look, Duncan, you are a healing priest, right? Well, I want you as far from getting dead as possible since you are the one who has to patch us all up after the battle. In addition, from back here you can best see who gets hurt and can make your way to them. Saving the lives of many wounded and dying men surely is something worthy of inclusion in a valor report for a healing priest, no?”

Duncan’s face flushed.

“I’m sorry, my friend. You are a better tactician than you give yourself credit for, and I apologize for questioning your plans. You are right, and I shall endeavor to serve well in the role I have been assigned.”

Goldain gave the Durgak a reassuring clap on the shoulder and ambled off to see to other last-minute details. Arreya, preferring to be on foot, would run ahead of the caravan to keep a lookout and give the earliest possible warning of any impending attack. It was common for caravans to hire Fenratu trackers or scouts. From a distance, perhaps, she might be mistaken for one. To aid in this illusion, she agreed to wear a raggedy, hooded cloak that she could easily discard should trouble arise. She carried her hunting spear and wore her dagger at her waist.

The last wagon held only the supplies and provisions for the caravan during the journey. The drivers for this caravan were the last two hirelings to arrive. One, the caravan cook, was a rotund man with a severely balding head. He face bore a straggly beard, with bits and pieces of his last few meals hanging around like a smattering of leftovers saved for a later snack. An apron, looking as if it had gone unlaundered since the day it was made, covered his tatterdemalion wardrobe. The squalid hireling claimed to be an excellent cook and said he could wield his meat cleaver as well as any warrior could swing a hand axe. The cook’s proper name was Podam but preferred the nickname
Cookie
to his given moniker.

Beside him would ride a traveling minstrel named Rarib. Goldain had seen uncomely people before, but this individual defied all natural laws of ugliness. He was as thin as skin stretched over bare bones. A large, hawk-hooked nose protruded from his face, paired with bulging eyes that gave him a look as if invisible hands were constantly throttling him. Cup handle ears hung from the sides of his head with earlobes dangling impossibly long, wagging freely to and fro beneath. This man was an eyesore to be sure, but when the hideous bard opened his mouth in song, one immediately forgot about his disturbing visage.

His voice was clear, sweet, and powerful as it carried one away to a place of calming and peace with reality far behind. His ballads could bring the most stoic listener to tears, while his joyful songs drew laughter from the dourest countenance.

Bardsong all carried the power of
koach,
or “nature magic”. Unlike the arcane, Ayabim driven powers of
kashaph
or the One Lord’s granted
oth
powers meted out by the Malakim,
oth
powers neither came by study nor by prayer. They were mysterious and natural abilities granted by the One Lord to certain individuals or races for His own reasons and purposes. There were talented musicians among every race who could tap into the power behind music. It was not just being exceptional musicians, but rather that true bards could wield their melodies like a force, some rivaling powerful
kashaph
mages or wizened
oth-
wielding priests.

Rarib’s own contribution would come from using his
koach
-infused bardsong en route to lift the spirits and the feet of the marchers and the animals. Furthermore, in battle, his song could rouse the courage of the faintest heart among them, driving the meekest man to great and mighty deeds. Goldain agreed the man could sing, but could not imagine this ugly scarecrow controlling such great power. Still, some traveling music would certainly lift the spirits, and the power of a bardsong in the midst of battle graced many heroic Qarahni tales of old, so having even a mediocre bard along would doubtless prove a boon to their mission.

As they were making the final preparations for departure, Xyer Garan arrived. He was truly a daunting figure, mounted on a massive black destrier, fully outfitted in plate barding matching Garan’s own onyx armor. The steed was the largest horse any of them had seen, standing eighteen hands high. Of course it would need to be a stout and sturdy mount to bear the full armored weight of Xyer Garan in addition to the plate barding. The beast bore a trapper over the barding displaying proudly the coat of arms of the Kingdom of Cyria. Garan had attached a cradle to his armor in which to rest the hefty black lance in his right hand. From his left arm hung a jousting shield upon which the Cyrian crest blazoned. Here rode a fierce knight, ready for battle. Goldain, concerned at the powerful image this knight projected, addressed the Cyrian captain.

“With all due respect, Captain Garan, the idea of the plan is to look as though we are not a battle-ready target. In that war array, few armed companies of disciplined soldiers exist who would look to engage you. It defeats the purpose.”

Garan answered without even bothering to turn and face the Qarahni prince.

“I did not come along to play the part of a fool or commoner. I am along to ensure victory in battle. I have arrayed and outfitted myself to that end. I shall ride at the rear of the caravan to serve as rear guard during the march and to give my warhorse the best running charge should we encounter trouble.”

Goldain fought the overwhelming urge to knock Garan off his high horse, literally. Fortunately, he remembered Gideon’s tale and decided not to rise to Garan’s provocations. Instead, he turned and addressed the rest of the assembled group.