Fool's Errand (52 page)

“I can’t believe you see a patrol in those shadows,” Thatcher said softly to the mage.

Gideon was close enough to overhear as the mage leaned in and softly spoke his answer.

“To my eyes, lad, they may as well be on fire and waving banners saying, ‘Here we are.’”

They gave the camping patrol a sufficiently wide berth and continued their ride northwest. Gideon was grateful that the curious young Rajiki, the only one of their company who did not know of Melizar’s secret, was either oblivious to the mage’s ability to see enemies so well hidden at night, or her mind was consumed elsewhere. Given Jeslyn’s curious and cantankerous nature, Gideon doubted the matter would be forgotten, but perhaps the youth was gaining some sense of timing. For now, he would give her the benefit of the doubt, but doubted Melizar would be so understanding if he became convinced the girl posed a threat to his secret.

There was not another soul even within the mage’s extreme sight as they approached the delta. As Gideon had expected, there were a number of sandbars. With a bit of jumping here and there, the nimble youth Thatcher managed to cross without so much as wetting the tops of his boots. The others got through with little more trouble than the rogue had, and soon they were on the northern banks of the Westbrook River and outside the borders of Cyria.

“Where to now, captain?” Goldain asked.

“While no doubt we have business in Paryn’s Gate, we first need to regroup with the others, share what we all have discovered, and then decide who goes where.”

“Shouldn’t we camp and rest now that we are safely inside Parynland?” Thatcher asked, rubbing his backside.

“What’s the matter, hero?” Jeslyn taunted. “Are you saddle-sore or something?”

“Well…it’s just…” Thatcher stumbled along, flushing red again. “Oh, shut up, Jeslyn. Nobody asked you.”

“Knock it off you two, before I stuff you both into a sack and let you fight it out in there.” Goldain snapped.

Gideon, ignoring the exchange, wheeled his horse pointing eastward.

“We will want to put as much distance between us and the delta as possible, and be out of sight of the river long before we near the bridge. Once Tarynna discovers our disappearance, there is no telling what the reaction might be. It is well after midnight now. Normally we would be about three days from Stonehold, but the horses are fairly well rested and these Cyrian mounts look strong.”

Their bandit horses had been exchanged for horses kept for the Cyrian Express riders. They were fit and well-trained for traveling fast and hard.

“If we give them rest stops regularly,” Gideon continued, “we should be able to shave a half-day at least off the journey and arrive on tired mounts around dawn day after tomorrow. It will be a hard sixty hours or so, but if there is any chance that there are elements within Parynland mixed up in this, we cannot delay gathering our companions from Stonehold and speeding to Paryn’s Gate to warn the king.”

“Captain if I may?” Goldain interjected.

“What is it, Goldain?”

“Nobody knows more about horses here than Jeslyn. Jes, from what you have seen of these mounts, can they push on for two and a half days at that pace?”

“The horses are strong enough, and seem well conditioned. But traveling like that will require frequent rests and something beyond just grass in their belly.”

“We have some oats in the saddlebags,” Gideon answered. “And there will be a number of farms near the river where we can trade for more on the way. We can rest the horses during those stops so it won’t cost us any time. It will be a while until we get out of the hardlands, but they are narrower east-west than north-south. Melizar, I will need you out front picking as level and clear a trail as possible.”

The mage nodded and started out at an easy trot. Gideon and company followed behind. They cleared the hardlands after two hours and pushed on with the horses until well after dawn. Resting under the shade of some trees the horses grazed in the grassy Parynland meadows. Both the adventurers and their mounts caught the chance for a short rest.

Melizar waited until Jeslyn settled down and dozed off before approaching the others.

“You all get some rest, I will cover the watches.”

“Won’t you need sleep as well?” Goldain asked.

“D’zarik sleep differently. Like the V’rassi, we only need real sleep once every week or so. I slept on the trail from the bridge to Varynia. I won’t need to sleep again for several more days.”

“You are full of surprises, Mel” Thatcher said shaking his head and preparing his bedding. “Full of surprises.”

 While his daylight vision was severely hampered by the light of the sun, him being awake and watching was better than the whole company being caught unawares. Fortunately if pursuit was underway, they were far enough away not to show any signs just yet. Melizar felt a strange sense of accomplishment that they had escaped a city full of hostiles without killing anyway. It definitely was less bloody than the way he would have chosen to do it, but he could not argue with the results. Before midday, they were back on horseback and pushing onward.

“I wonder if I will ever be able to use a chair again,” quipped Thatcher as he stood up gingerly in the stirrups to relieve the soreness of his backside.

“Hah, are you kidding?” Jeslyn chided. “I’m better rested on a ride like this than any night in a stuffy hostel on a creaky old bed.”

“I wish I could shove her out of that saddle,” Thatcher whispered to Melizar as they rode on.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I’d probably unhorse myself trying.”

“Hmm,” Melizar pondered. “I somehow thought your answer would be that it would be the wrong thing to do and Gideon would get upset.”

“Well, yeah, that too. But mostly because I don’t think I could pull it off and get away with it.”

“I find your honesty refreshing,” Melizar chuckled.

Melizar mused that the surface dwellers were not all the same. Thatcher seemed to be morally closer to him than the honor-driven Qarahni Prince Goldain or the holy warrior Gideon. Humans were free-willed, as the legends went, but even within the circle of his fellow adventurers, Melizar could see a wide spectrum of behaviors. The surface world was a puzzling place, very different from the clear-cut self-interest that prevailed in D’zarik culture.

As good as it felt being back on a horse for such an extended period again, Jeslyn was far from content. Still the ride soothed her, and stilled her mind somewhat against the sadness over her missing father and their lack of progress gaining any useful information in Cyria. If she dwelt upon it too much, sorrow would consume her. For now, she focused on the ride and took her solace in the familiar feel of a strong, trusting mount beneath her.

A Rajiki hunter, on a Rajiki-raised horse, could ride for three days straight at a casual gait before needed to stop for anything other than water. With a bag of oats hung on the nose of the mount as needed for feeding and a side bag full of jerk meat for the rider, they would not even need to stop for food.

Of course, the Rajiki did not use all these fancy saddles and bridles. They would lay two or three thick horse-hair blankets on the back of the animal and ride that way, controlling a Rajiki-raised horse with chirps, whistles, and gentle prodding of the feet and legs. Non-Rajiki raised horses like these, however, required all these mechanisms, as they were not raised in the communication between rider and mount that the Rajiki used with their own mounts.

Rajiki sold bows, arrows, horse-hair ropes of the finest quality tents, leather, herbs and many other things, but a Rajiki never sold a genuine Rajiki hunter’s horse. The hunters’ horses were brothers and sisters to them. They had breeding herds and wild horses that were used for trade, but any horse that was raised and bonded to a Rajiki hunter would never permit anyone else upon its back, not even another Rajiki.

Jeslyn didn’t know if she would ever know the horse bond. Had she been presented to the tribe she would have gotten her own colt to raise herself for the bond. Now, without her father to present her, who was she? Was she even Rajiki anymore?

They were well into Dragon Pass and just passing the ambush point as the sun rose on the second day after crossing the delta. The riders were weary, and the horses that had borne them nearly a hundred and fifty miles in just over fifty hours were even wearier. Jeslyn gave her mare a pat on the neck. These mounts had performed admirably and deserved a well-earned rest.

They would be in Stonehold in another six hours or so, and these fine animals would get some well-earned rest. They passed the ramp leading into the southern slopes where just over a week ago they had fought a hoard that had sought their lives. Jeslyn wondered how Kylor and the young trooper Reyas who had so faithfully defended her were doing. Another burning question entered her mind, to which she gave voice.

“Captain Gideon.”

“Yes, child?”

“What do you think the Durgak found in the mountains? Do you think they found my father somewhere held prisoner in some horrible goblinoids dungeon?”

“We will know soon enough.”

“You look like you are puzzling over a question or two as well, boss,” Thatcher said to the paladin captain.

“I was wondering if more artifacts from Parynland had surfaced in the search.”

“I have a few questions of my own,” Melizar grumbled. “I can’t wait to get my hands on that dog-ugly bard who does not seem to know whose side he was on.”

“I just can’t wait to see Duncan again. I like him. And I want to get some practice time in with my new hand crossbow.”

“I plan on a long and hearty reunion with a dear old friend,” Goldain said.

“Who?” Thatcher asked. “Who do you know in Stonehold?”

“My dearest love, the Mountain Spring Tavern and its lovely golden ale.”

The tension of the last few days dissolved in a chorus of laughter as the friends drew ever closer to their destination.

As they approached the city of Stonehold under the warmth of the noonday sun, Gideon saw coming toward them a wonderful and encouraging site. There in front of them, pouring forth from the western gates of the Durgak city, was a huge trade caravan headed west. It was like the first signs of spring signaling the renewing of the circle of life had begun once again. As they approached the caravan, Gideon greeted the head escort wearing the markings of an Aton-Ri army officer.

“Hail, lieutenant!”

“Hail, Captain Gideon. Well met and bravo. Your Zafirr scout brought word some time ago of the clearing of the pass. We are the first caravan to be sent.”

Gideon noted the size was well beyond a normal caravan.

“Looks like you have some catching up to do. Can one nation handle all these goods at once? Where are you going?”

“Well,” the lieutenant replied, “we were a combined caravan intending to split at the west end of Dragon Pass. Half would travel south and across the bridge bound for Varynia. The rest were bound northwest for Paryn’s Gate.”

“Were? What changed your plans?”

“Unfortunately, as we reached Stonehold last night, an express rider arrived with a dispatch from Cyria. Seems there was an attempt on the life of the royal family. They say the king is near death, and the princess is seriously injured.”