Fool's Errand (17 page)

“Thank you, Duncan, for your foolish and superstitious prayers. Fortunately, the One Lord favors fools above those wise in their own eyes.”

Melizar was positively giddy at the thought that a chaotic row might break out at any moment. Garan was clearly weighing heavily the cost and likely outcome of choosing to finish the fight with the feline half-blood. While every ounce of his being telegraphed a desire to continue what he had started, Melizar expected it was the large man’s warrior instincts that told him that to draw steel at this point was dangerous and premature. He would bide his time, but his conflict with the cat-woman would play out sooner or later. Of this Melizar was certain. The large warrior warranted cautious watching lest the mage find himself unintentionally caught in the crossfire.

As soon as the company had refilled their barrels, their canteens, drank, and washed to their heart’s content, the stream ceased as suddenly as it had started. Garan could not resist thoroughly inspecting the rock once the torrent had ceased. The rock was solid, without any hole that the water could have possibly come from. He returned to the campsite, shaking his head in wonder at the evening’s events and seemed too consumed in his thoughts to notice the dark-robed figure of Melizar coming from the shadows to inspect the rock for himself. What the D’zarik
chats-enash
found was just as disturbing to him as it had apparently been to Garan.

Other than the wet ground around the rock, there was no evidence that a stream of water had poured forth from this stone only minutes before. This was utterly impossible.
Kashaph
could manipulate elements, and even summon elemental beings, but to create water from a rock, and then have it leave no trace whatsoever of a source, the mage had never seen anything like this. His mind swam with the possibilities.

Definitely interesting. There is a deep conversation coming with the Durgak priest. If this was faked, it was masterful. If this was real…

As Melizar slipped in shadowy silence back to camp, he observed Xyer Garan in a heated but hushed discussion with the rotund cook, who was busy preparing the evening meal. The cook, Podam, was giving as good as he got, and the conversation ended with him pointing away from the cook’s station and ordering Garan to busy himself elsewhere if he intended to eat. Garan gruffly left the cook behind to finish his labors as the Cyrian returned to the job of removing the barding from his warhorse and pitching his camp.

The company ate well that evening, and the buzz of discussion about the camp revolved around the amazing demonstration of the power of
oth
evidenced in answer to the prayers from the Durgak priest. The only ones not actively engaged in the overall chatter were Kohana, the islander, likely because he didn’t speak enough Adami to participate if he wanted to, and the two shadowy sharers of the third wagon—Ohanzee the Shade and Melizar. Melizar noted during their sharing a wagon on this first day’s journey that the Shade was not overly talkative, which suited the D’zarik
chats-enash
mage just fine.

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.