The Dragons Of ArborChapter 5 Dragonstone and Damsels
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A small village called Gan was the first we came to in the rolling hills and forests beneath the mountains and the sea. We learned that this region was called the Easthold, and that it was a part of the kingdoms of Mardun and Sprecht, depending on which part of it you were riding through. The road we were following would lead us straight to the sea several hundred miles away, but if we were headed for the Sparine Peninsula, we were told it would be better to take the Scar River road out of Pike's Mill, the next town we would come to, several days ride away. There was an inn there too, and a blacksmith and a market where we could replenish our supplies.
With less of a sense of urgency, we eased our pace some, though we were still eating up the miles. I let Trunk do the hunting that night, and he came back with a small range hog, much smaller than the gully hogs you found in the true hills, but still more than enough to keep us fed for a few days. We butchered it up and cooked the entire thing, eating our fill and wrapping the rest up. We slept beneath a tree again and I would swear that we both fell asleep with smiles on our faces.
We passed three dirt tracks the next day that looked to lead off to remote ranches, or local watering holes. The second track looked freshly used, and there were a lot of fresh cattle tracks. Maybe Blackhorns by the size of them.
"I'd say they came through here just after first light." Trunk offered.
"That looks about right to me. We'll probably catch up to them just after mid day."
"Shall we have a riding meal, and see if we can catch them? It'd be nice to ride with someone besides you for a change."
"I hear ya." I replied, as mock serious as Trunk had been. "The smell of you has begun to invade my nightmares."
Amazing what a little good weather and easy riding will do to your attitude. We ate some gully hog and cornbread for lunch and kept on riding. We did catch the herd and its crew about two hours later.
"Well met, Sir." I said to the man who rode back to check on us.
"And to you." He replied. "Trim Halkin. Where ya headed?"
"I'm Sid McKesson and this is Trunk Gurmot. We're overnighting in Pike's Mill, then plan to take the Scar River road from there, assuming our information is accurate."
"You're welcome to ride along with us if that's what you had in mind, but we'll be slowing you down considerably if you do. We plan to take a good four days to get to Pike's Mill, and you two look to be able to make it in only a couple days on those two fine specimens."
"We're in no big hurry. We've got work waiting for us, but its the kind that doesn't need starting until we're there." Trunk said.
"You two ever driven cattle?" Trim asked us.
"Never. Are these Blackhorns?" I asked.
"Yep. Seven hundred of them."
"I hear they're mean." Trunk said.
"Oh they do have a mind of their own, but they're more stubborn than mean."
"We're not going to be good hands then, at least at first. We've both got a lot of time sitting a horse, and especially lately, but none with these kinds of creatures."
"What do you think you can do then?"
"Well, other than our charming company and witty conversation?" Trunk said, which drew a laugh from Trim and I both. "We are pretty good hunters. We can probably provide all the fresh game you could want over the next few days on the trail."
"That sounds like a deal, but your going to need to ride ahead of the herd here and catch up with the cook wagon. Talk to Stamp Ratne, the cook. Let him know I sent you and what you'll be doing for us. He may already be set up getting our meal going.
We took off then, riding on the road when we could and beside it when we had to. It took us ten minutes to get past the herd and another hour to find the cook wagon. It was pulled off the road quite a ways, near a stream that looked like it would do well for watering the cattle with. There was a good fire going.
"Trim ain't paying you, your just riding along to Pike's Mill and offered to hunt for us?"
"Yes sir." I answered.
"Don't be calling me sir. Spirits, I don't even call Trim sir on payday! Call me Stamp."
There was still a couple hours of light left in the day, so we decided if we could find something to spice up Stamp's cook pot. All we managed were a couple of sod hens, but they were good sized ones, so we brought them back.
"Early morning's the best time to hunt, and we'll look for something a little bigger tomorrow, but these ought to work okay for something.
Stamp made quick work of cleaning the two birds. It was a bit educational watching the man work, to be honest. Trunk and I could clean a bird of its feathers and get it ready for a stew pot, but we were rank amateurs next to this trail cook.
I had expected him to roast or boil them, but instead he cut the meat off the bone until he had a pile of chicken pieces. He seared them in some hot grease in a big skillet and then threw in a pile of chopped carrots, celery and onions, added a bottle of wine and then made himself a dough of some kind while the mixture in the skillet came up to a boil. AS soon as there was a full boil going on he pulled the skillet up off the heat, onto a higher hook on the ingenious cooking tripod he had setting over the fire and threw the dough on top of everything else in the skillet and put a lid on.
"We'll just let that sit for ten minutes or so and then we'll throw some coals on the lid to give the dough a chance to brown on top." Stamp said. "We'll have lamb stew and skillet pie tonight and leftovers in the morning."
The herd arrived an hour later, and with water nearby and good grass to feed on, they were content. Trim Halkin came in with the six other men that were riding with him and we dug in.
"We got the lamb stew I told ya I'd be making, but we have a skillet pie made with a couple nice range hens these boys brought in too."
Trim's crew consisted of his two sons Chap and Ridge, two hired hands, Hock and Finch, and two men borrowed from a nearby ranch just for the cattle drive. Due Dolper and Elm Radin worked for the Armona ranch, Trim's nearest neighbor.
Stamp left the crew a basket, insulated with corn husks, behind in the morning. It was full of still warm lamb stew and fresh biscuits, reheated on the fire where the Cintosa had been brewed. It had been poured into some clay pots and left setting beside the fire. The pots were designed to be smashed into pieces and thrown into the river so the cattlemen wouldn't have to carry them all day. It was an interesting solution that I probably wouldn't have thought of. Everything else got packed back into the cook wagon and headed out with him before even false dawn had shown its face.
We rode along until we had enough light to see the nearby hills and then turned off, crossing the stream and into the hills. We wanted to find a good line in the trees behind the river and work our way back towards the water looking for tracks or game trails.
We made this same trip three times, circling back into the woods to get downwind of our track and then working our way to the river again, moving east and north a little more each time. We finally found a little wrinkle in the land that ran parallel to the hill and towards the river. Here was the game trail we'd been looking for, and we slid out of the saddles and began to work our way down the crease.
The red elk stag was magnificent, and if it had been female, or with young, we probably would have let it go, but it was sitting there drinking its fill in the early morning light, so with a nod from Trunk, I made a little mental nod to the Spirits and took him with an arrow in the throat. The stag ran, scrambling into the water and I left Trunk to track its course while I ran back up to get the horses. Grinder and Sheer were calmly standing where we had left them, picking green shoots from the lower limbs of the trees, and kicking the soft soil underfoot. I think Grinder in particular really liked the feel of the cool earth pushing up over the coronet at the top of his hoof and onto the pastern.
I led both horses down to the river, prepared to start looking for Trunk. That wound up not being necessary, as I found him sitting pretty much right where I left him.
"It was the oddest damned thing I've ever seen." Trunk said. "That elk splashed across the stream here in blind panic and drove that broken chunk of deadfall sticking up out of the mud straight into an eye. It dropped, dead as dead can be, no more than six feet from where you shot it."
"The arrow through the throat not cutting it for you then?"
"Oh no! A fine shot. First rate. But I can thank you and the deadfall, can't I?"
"Of course you can, and the deadfall will be gracious in receiving your praise too, far more than I, I"m sure."
We got the stag up over Grinder, in front of me, and we headed out to find Stamp and the cook wagon. He was an hour and a half ahead of us, as the wagon rolled, but Grinder and Sheer cut that in half.
"Got you a little project here, Stamp." I said as we rode up beside him.
"Spirits take me if you don't!" He spat when he saw the elk stag draped over Grinder. "Where in the burning pits did you find that?"
"Caught him taking a drink by the stream back there, near the edge of the forest."
"Well, lets get him into the back of the wagon before the beast wears that fine horse plumb out. Bad enough he's got to carry your sorry carcass all across Arbor day in and day out."
We left Stamp muttering about the sharpness of his bone saw, and elk steaks and potatoes. We headed back to the herd. What fun is it to tag along with a cattle drive and not learn how to drive cattle?
What we learned was that it was probably more important that the horse knows what to do than the rider, but when both do, riding herd on a bunch of blackhorns is a lot easier than it looks.
"This is a pretty straight forward drive here." Trim said. "We're following a road across good country with no surprises. We're not going to have to ford any rivers or worry about ravines or bandits. The drovers in the big outfits who'll consolidate this stock and drive them out of Pike's Mill headed for one of the big coastal cities, they'll have real work, because they won't stick to the roads, and they'll have thousands of cattle instead of hundreds."
So we got to practice herding cattle in practically a 'dandy ranch' setting, as Stamp laughingly described it. We were not so self-important that their laughter at our expense bothered us. We joined it for the most part, and the jokes probably were less frequent the next day, once Stamp mentioned we were having elk steaks tonight, courtesy of us.
We ate elk for the next two days, finishing it off the morning of the fourth day with some spicy elk sausage that Stamp had made up the night before. Stamp had stayed in camp that morning and we all had a real camp breakfast, with eggs, sausage, cornbread and honey.
"No need to head out early today. They'll make Pike's Mill in time for midday meal, and I'll get there in time for the evening meal." Stamp told us as he was pouring our second cup of Cintosa.
The sky was growing cloudy by the time we pulled into Pike's Mill. We helped guide the herd around the western edge of town to a vast set of cattle pens. We heard from Ridge, one of Trim's sons, that they would be staying overnight at the Blue Blottle Inn, if we were of a mind to have a drink with the crew once the dust settled.
Pike's Mill was a decent sized town, somewhat smaller than the bigger cities we'd seen so far on our adventures, but far larger than most out here on the Easthold. The small river we'd followed met up with another river here, a much larger one called the Ombel. This was the largest river system north of the Shadar to reach the Winter Sea, or so we were told by the innkeeper at the Lime Shoe, the inn we were staying at. We found our room, once again we were sharing a room, but with two very comfortable beds. This time I got the one under the window that fronted the street. The small noises of the city at night weren't going to be a problem, it sounded peaceful compared to the sounds of seven hundred blackhorns being sociable in the dark.
We ate our evening meal at the Lime Shoe, changed into our clean leathers and headed for the Blue Bottle.
We were still a hundred yards from the inn proper when I decided I was glad we weren't staying there. The noise level indicated the patrons were having a fine time.
We found Trim and his crew sitting with a larger bunch of drovers and we got hailed and waved over. There were a good thirty men at the table we didn't know, but we did get introduced to Tiny Swink, the drive foreman for the bunch. His real name was Grave, but he had been called Tiny since he was a boy, and preferred it to his given name he said with a rueful grin.
"These are the yahoos who are going to be driving our cattle south to the coast. They've got three thousand cattle to ride herd on, and another fifteen hundred due in in the next few days." Trim told us over the noise.
We were prepared to have our drink, and did, and another after that before trouble started. One of the men in Tiny's bunch took objection to the flirting that Chap Halkin was doing with the barmaid that he had decided was his. I suspected that Tiny's men had gotten to the bar quite a bit sooner than Trim's, and they weren't all drinking wine, as most Arborians do, but had been investing time in some of the distilled alcohol that was available as well.
"You little pissant sonofabitch!" We heard the yell and turned just in time to see a rough looking drover in dirty leathers backhand Chap, sending him flying across the floor. Ridge was out of his seat in a heartbeat, standing over his brother, fists ready.
"Yer both little pissants. Come on then." He snarled, drawing his sword.
That was all Trunk and I needed. We were up and headed that way ourselves a heartbeat later. I had my staff out and Trunk his sword.
"Trim, tend to your boys!" Trunk hollered.
I stepped between ridge and the drover, and began to weave my staff in the air, letting it draw the drovers eye.
"We can understand that you've maybe had a little too much to drink tonight, and you slapped that boy without thinking of the consequences."
"The only consequences are at the end of my sword you young shit. You're not even as old as him!"
It was true. Trunk and I were the two youngest people here. I tended to forget our ages sometimes. I didn't feel like a teenager, hadn't in years.
"Yes, we are younger than anyone here, and by more than a few years. But Me and Trunk? We've just spent three years at the Academy on Silecia."
"Somebody showed you how to hold that little stick without it shaking and told you afterwards that you were a master."
"We'll you'll have to be the judge of that. I can beat you black and blue with this little stick, or I can turn you over to Trunk, and he'll just kill you."
I knew he'd take a look at Trunk, and his shiny sword when I said that, and as soon as his eyes went that way I struck, lightning fast and hard, to the temple. He dropped like he'd been chopped off at the knees.
"Or I could just let you take a nap the rest of the night and have your boss tend your wounds."
I checked on him with the gifts, to make sure I hadn't done any permanent damage, but he was fine as anyone could be who'd just been knocked unconscious.
"I guess we'd best be getting back to our own beds for the night boys." Trunk said. "Trim, you might want to keep your boys away from that fellow. I'm sure none of his fellows are going to hold any bad feelings. No reason to get upset just because on of their crew was being drunk and stupid."
"We've been skipping our workouts again." Trunk said as we walked back to the Lime Shoe.
"Yep. It seems to happen whenever we're on the road." I answered.
"Didn't seem to hamper you much back there."
"No, but I miss it. We leaving right after morning meal?"
"No, I think I want to see if there's a Wizard's Post here so I can send a note off to Dad, letting him know where we're at."
"Let's see about finding someplace to work the kinks out in the morning then."
"Sounds good."
"You know, we may be working for your dad, and have real goals and jobs, but this whole trip I keep feeling like you and I are a pair of adventurers, out experiencing one new thing after another."
"Yeah, it does feel that way, doesn't it. Maybe by the time we're eighteen we'll have a handle on our lives and won't see it this way so much."
I checked at the desk, and they didn't have an exercise yard here, but there was a public one a couple blocks over we could just drop in at any time after first light. I got the directions from the clerk, and cheated a little, pulling it from his thoughts as he was telling it.
I hadn't seen Trunk flirting with any of the inn's female staff, so was surprised when I heard rustling and giggling from his end of the darkened room in the middle of the night. I tried not to listen, but at one point the girl was a bit vocal. I wondered at his successes and the way of looking at things that let him approach life this way. Not for me, but not a problem, other than the lack of sleep.
"That's quite a string you're on." I said in the morning as we walked to the yard for our exercise.
"Did It bother you?" Trunk asked, sounding apologetic.
"No, I just wonder when you had the time to find her. I didn't remember seeing you working you charms on any of the girls at evening meal.
"I ran into her while you were busy with the clerk after we got back from the Blue Bottle."
I shook my head and laughed.
"I just hope you're not leaving a trail of illegitimate Gurmot descendants across southern Arbor. I'm sure your dad is hoping the same."
I think that suddenly raised thought did weigh on him some. He seemed distracted during the sword practice. It was sword first and staff second today. The encounter at the Blue Bottle in the meantime had me ready to burn some energy, so Trunk had a hard time keeping up with me today.
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