Merchant and Magic, page 10
part #1 of Merchant and Magic Series
“Yes. Full size. And the usual spares.” That would be twenty animals plus their handler and the mage. Tycho resumed reading the contract, saw that there were no other changes, and held out his hand. Liam handed him an ink-jar and freshly-trimmed quill. Tycho signed and initialed the contract, then took his seal and ink-pot out of their pouch. He stamped the bottom of the contract before returning it to Liam. Liam tipped the page, looking at the shimmer in the seal, then set it aside.
“There will be a caravan going as far as Moahnebrig that leaves in two days, with some continuing to Milunis. Otherwise there’s a caravan in four days as far as Gheelford, and one the day after taking the coast route to Moahnemund. All three are still allowing travelers to join them, provided you have a seal and your own transportation. The first group are using Vlaaterbe law, the third I have not heard from, and the second is still deciding on an ealdorman.” Liam frowned and shook his head. “If I might sir, if you can be ready, I’d recommend the first group. The second, well, the senior trader has his head up his ass so far even the Scavenger-born can’t find it without divine aid.” He rolled his eyes. “They are some of Corwin, some of Guill, and some of Sinmartin, plus independents.”
“Maarsdam be merciful, what a mix,” Tycho groaned. He felt sorry for anyone who got tangled up with that group. The first group would also have access to fresher fodder and probably less trouble with robbers, since they were early in the trading season. “I can be ready if the beasts and handlers are.”
Liam smiled. “They are. The great-haulers started smelling spring a few weeks back. One whole farm got loose and decided to come to town on their own, Yoorst as my witness. It made a bit of a mess.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t here for that little excitement.” Tycho chuckled, imagining the chaos as thirty or so of the large birds wandered through the city.
“I watched it from a second floor window. That was close enough, thank you.” Liam poured them both more tea. “So what news from the north? Have you sold Wiebe to the slowest ship captain yet?”
“No, but I had a few moments. His mother is making sounds about tying him up and leaving him on someone’s doorstep with a note and the apprentice fee.”
“Worse than my cousin’s brat?”
“Not yet, but you remember how I said that the priests of Korvaal had planted trees around the edge of the enclosure that abutted Gember’s district?”
Liam pursed his lips as he thought. “No, I—Oh, yes, I do now.” He started to smile even wider. “The trees are now taller than the wall.”
“Indeed.”
“How many boys were involved in this adventure?”
“Only six, and only one of mine.” Which was one too many. “The watch caught them before the third was over the wall. They were trying to sneak festival sweets from the great ovens.”
Liam shook his head as he laughed. “If the ovens are like those here, they would have been in for a great and unhappy surprise.” He coughed. “Not that I know anything more than I have been told about the baking plaza.”
“Of course not.” What boy didn’t try to raid the ovens at least once in his life? Which was why the priests of Gember and the plaza servants carried large, thick, dough boards, boards which served other purposes in addition to removing loaves from the ovens.
“Youth is wasted on boys,” Liam said after a thoughtful moment.
“It certainly is.” If only he could send Wiebe and Bastian out with the beast-handlers and channel some of that youth into less exciting streams.
7
Road Wary
Tycho studied the other men and they returned his regard. “He has seal and transport, his own beasts, and a beast-mage. Is he known to ought here?” the lead guard asked the other caravan members.
“Aye, by sight and reputation. He’s good, and he can fight.” Jens Hemprat, the ealdorman, nodded to Tycho. “He’s good for the road.”
“You’re in, then,” the senior guard said. He strode out of the group, going instead to confirm details and weapons with the other hired men.
Jens clapped his hands together once. “So. It has been agreed that we follow Vlaatport law while we are on the road. All know and understand?”
“Aye.”
“Yes.”
“Je.”
The merchants all signaled their understanding. Having one basic code made life easier, and everyone knew already what was legal and what wasn’t. Vlaatport was not too different from Rhonari in matters of travel law, or so Tycho recalled. The ealdorman spoke for the group if needed, and the group acted together if threatened by bandits or others. Any differences were settled within the group while on the road, and of course local market rules applied at the market cities. Each man was responsible for his hired men and beasts.
“We have sixty wagons, ninety three men, a hundred great-haulers more or less.” That generated some knowing laughter and a few sighs. “We rotate. Draw for positions tonight, then rotate down the lines, travel in double line.” Jens looked at the men. “Who here can fight with staff?” All the hands went up. “And sword?” Two-thirds of the hands stayed up. “Knife?” A few hands rose, most lowered. “Anything else?”
“Flip sling. I hunt with it.” Someone in the back, a man from Corwin Tycho guessed, based on his accent.
“Good to know. We will have weapons practice at night when we are outside of walls.” Tycho grumbled a little at the news but had to agree. Skills unused were useless.
“We leave day after tomorrow, when the gates open. If you and your men and beasts are not here,” Jan pointed down, “you can find a different group.”
The lead great-hauler tossed her head again, as if her head-harness fit too tightly. Tycho had checked it four times at least. He sent an unkind thought toward the beast and waited as the ealdorman dickered with the ferryman, just around the bend in the road. They’d stopped here, in the woods, so the birds didn’t see the water and all rush to get a drink. According to market rumor, the weather was warm early down south, sending the rivers up before the usual time and raising transport rates. Tycho breathed a sigh of relief that the heat had not begun this far north. He had to get that camphor-moss to Gheelford before the heat started to ruin it. The female shook again, then clawed the rutted, dirt road. Her two followers tossed their heads as well, and Tycho realized that almost all the birds rustled in the harnesses, clawing the ground or scraping their beaks. A few had started swaying and nodding their heads, crest feathers starting to rise. What did they sense?
He let go of the rope long enough to get his staff out of the wagon. His slot for the day put him on the outside of the caravan, not far from where the riverside trees began. Their large leaves cast deep shade that cooled the air but also hid anything that might be sneaking through the woods. And it was open woods, not much undergrowth beyond the edges of the road.
“I don’t like this,” one of the lead guards snapped, but very quietly, and untied the peace straps on his sword before getting his shield down from the side of another wagon. Several of his men followed suit, and Tycho remembered what had happened to Andrade, and where. He’d started wearing a thick, quilted jerkin under his overrobe, just in—
“Grab them!” A half dozen men surged out of the shadows, heading for the wagon behind Tycho’s. Tycho held the great-hauler steady as she mantled, trying to flee. Each to their own and the guards would respond first, that was the rule. Keep the beasts steady in case the attackers tried to stampede them.
“Easy, girl, easy,” he soothed. He eased his weight onto his toes in case he needed to leap out of her kicking range.
“Go!” Another half dozen men swarmed toward him. Tycho dropped the rope, trusting the presence of the other birds to keep his from bolting too far. He shifted his grip on the heavy staff and lunged forward, swinging for the head of the closest brigand. Iron-bound wood met skull with a firm thunk and the rat-like body dropped. A second thief swung his own staff at Tycho and iron rings met wood. Tycho grunted from the shock and kept moving. Iron won, the lighter staff broke, and Tycho changed grips, smashing the fool’s knees, then bringing the staff around and breaking his head. He heard screams and ran as best he could to the back of the wagon, where two men tried to force the bed open. One turned to Tycho and pointed his finger, chanting something. Tycho pushed through whatever it was and smashed the mage’s ribs, interrupting the casting and knocking him off his feet. He heard a bowstring sing not far from his head, and heard different screams behind and beside him. The second thief dropped, an arrow in his back.
Then nothing but bird cries and a few moans. And his own heart, and blood, and panting. He smelled shit and blood, and crushed leaves, and angry bird stench. The thief mage slumped against the wagon’s back wheel groaned and Tycho thumped him on the head just enough to stun. “Anyone hurt?” the caravan healer called.
Tycho called back, “I’m fine, one injured thief here. He’s a charm-mage of some kind.”
“Need a medico back here,” the wagon handler who had been hit first said. “Slash wound and a thief down.” After a pause a second voice added, “Need a beast-healer too.”
Tycho panted, took a long breath, then panted some more. His hands stung and his right shoulder complained about the shock. He leaned on the staff as he walked slowly up to the great-haulers. The lead bird sniffed at him and tossed her head again, trying to keep him from catching her rope. “I know that trick,” Tycho reminded her and grabbed it on the way back down. He rested the butt of the staff on the ground, leaned the head against his shoulder and reached up, scratching the bird just below the ring of blue feathers on her neck. She seemed to shiver, then relaxed and started calming down. Tycho studied the body at her feet. “I think this one’s dead.”
“I hope so,” the senior guard snapped. He prodded the rag-clad body with his boot toe, then crouched down and felt for heartbeats. “If not dead, close to it. He won’t wake again, I can see that.” Brain showed through the bone and blood on the man’s head. “Good work.” The soldier pulled his kidney-knife out of its sheath and sent the man on his final journey.
Tycho nodded, mouth dry. He did not like killing men. The gods had provided animals for men to eat and benefit from, and you killed what you needed as fast and clean as possible. Killing men was different, unless they’d been declared out-law. He wanted to throw up, but this wasn’t the time. He swallowed hard and went back to settling the great-haulers.
“Good response,” the senior guard told everyone that night, after they’d crossed the river and put more distance between themselves and the attack. “One of ours injured, four of them dead, and Lord Smitts will be taking care of the charm-mage.” He nodded to Tycho, who sat on a bench in the caravan-inn courtyard. “How he missed you I don’t know. He launched a stop-move charm and missed.”
“I felt something slowing my arm,” Tycho lied. “It grazed me. I tripped a little, and that must have saved me. That and Maarsrodi’s blessing.” He had not felt anything. With so much saltwater in his blood, charms had little effect, or so he’d been told.
Several of the other men looked thoughtful, and others made god signs. Tycho would leave something in the next temple of Maarsdam that he visited, of course. “However it happened, or didn’t happen, we didn’t lose anyone or his goods. Might not be so fortunate next time.” Jens Hemprat said, folding his arms and looking at them from the other side of the fire. The ealdorman spat into the flames. “We go wary now, and if you have swords, carry them close.” Several of the men made faces, and Tycho agreed. It would be better if they could wear them like nobles, but that had led to more trouble than it was worth on occasion. Keeping them close enough to grab but out of sight abided by the letter of the law, and the priests and the few letters from the Great Northern Emperor’s courts about the problem had all said that men had the right to defend themselves and their property. “And practice every night, staff at the least if you do not have a sword.”
Happily for Tycho, that was the only excitement of that sort until they were within a few days of Gheelford. Two of the great-haulers took ill from green fruit and had to be treated by the beast-mage. The results smelled worse than an overfull latrine on a windless summer day, but the beasts were back to work in another day. Two wagons broke, one of them losing the front axel and of course it was the lead wagon and on a bridge at the time. Tycho helped unload the cargo, carrying it to the far side of the bridge, then managed his own wagons. He earned his supper beer that day, and the next morning he remembered why he did not do things like that. His back ached and almost refused to move, his hams hurt, his shoulders complained mightily, and he wondered if perhaps not bringing Ewoud had been in error. Then he rolled over and wondered if he could get to his feet without help.
That Tycho managed, but the rest of the day he moved slower than usual. The sun on his dark blue and dirt-brown over-tunic eased a little of the soreness, but not much, and he wished that the chest of camphor-moss were already camphor rub. Well, then it would weigh more and be a fire risk. And he’d make less money from the sale. He sighed and stretched carefully, one eye on the closest great-haulers to make certain they did not nip at him while he was bent over. The birds could be right bastards when they so chose.
They bought bread from the hamlet where they overnighted. Too small for an inn, it did have a pen for the great-haulers and water for them, and a bakery that served two other collections of houses and barns. “Your pardon, sirs, but the grain is a little heavy this year,” the apprentice said as he showed them the available loaves, all coarse dark full-bran farmers’ bread. “The miller swears he ground what he was given, and the grain tested good by the seals on the sacks.” He cut the end off a smaller loaf and they could see that it had a tighter texture and was a little more crumby than the area’s usual dark bread. “It tastes the same,” he assured them.
They shrugged and bought a few loaves of the bread, using it to spare their way-bread and other supplies. Once they crossed into the lands drained by the Moahne, bread became expensive and grain far more scarce. The dark loaf tasted a little more sour than Tycho preferred, but heavy bread required heavy leavening. He chewed and let his thoughts drift to the next market, in Gheelford, and to what he hoped to sell there. The camphor-moss was spoken for, but he’d sell a few of the teeth and perhaps some of the knife handles, but not the white-fish hide. Unless someone offered him an extremely good price for it, all of it.
“Think they could make this any thicker?”
Tycho blinked. “Uh?”
The senior teamster held the slice of bread up against the light of the fire. “Could they make this any thicker?” No light appeared around the oval slice.
“Maybe if they tried making flatbread out of it.”
One of the other merchants, a quiet man from Vlaaterbe whose name Tycho could never recall, snorted. “Neh. Then we’d be using it for wagon boxes and wagon sides, or rolling it into a log and using it for an axel.”
“You know,” someone said from the shadows off to Tycho’s left, “They make wheel-shaped bread in the far-northeastern mountains and hang it from ropes. They bake once a year, and it lasts until the next fall. Could be the same recipe.”
Tycho continued to chew as he considered the possibility. Since this was the same bite he’d started with, he decided that the recipe probably was a first cousin if not identical.
The caravan set out the next morning the moment the morning star touched the horizon, before there was enough light for shadows. The ealdorman wanted to reach Gheelford as soon as possible and no one gainsaid him. The beast-mage moved a little slowly, and several people kidded him about having a third slice of bread. “Don’t go near the river or we might not be able to haul you back out.”
“Neh, it’s getting kicked by that blasted great-hauler what’s slowing him down.”
The scrawny mage gave both of the men a rude gesture in passing and continued to his place in the caravan. But by the second hour he’d started leaning over as if with cramps, and two of the teamsters helped him into one of the more lightly-loaded wagons. He didn’t vomit, or seem to have the flux, but he looked pale and shook as if with chills. One of the guards looked pale as well. “Don’t know, chief. Feels like a muscle cut, ‘cept there’s nothing there. Not cold, but shaky.” Two other men seemed to have the same ailment by that evening, but all were able to walk, unlike the mage. He didn’t recover until the next morning, and even then he seemed weaker.
“No spells,” he croaked. He drank a mug of tea. “Too weak. It feels like I’ve been working all day and night with hand and spells both, then carried a great-hauler up to the top of Donwah’s spire and back.”
Tycho was still stiff but otherwise fine, and aside from those four, no one else fell ill before they reached Gheelford. “Could it have been the bread?” Tycho asked one of the guards.
The man scratched his road-beard for a moment, then hawked and spat to the side. “Sorry. I don’t think so, Meester Tycho. All of us should have took sick, ‘specially Bony over there who gets any sickness hiding between here and the western sea.” He jerked his chin toward the guards’ healer, a man who resembled a skeleton with hair. Tycho had seen how much the healer ate, and wondered how he could stay so scrawny. Had he been given to the Scavenger despite his birth-god? Or was he just one who lived fast and died young, consumed by inner fire? “Bony had four pieces of that shit and didn’t blink.”
Tycho grunted acknowledgment. Probably an insect or something in the water, or a miasma from that wet area near where they camped. This close to the river miasmas could make a man sick if he wasn’t careful. Tycho had escaped the lowland flux so far, but he suspected his time would come. The summer sun brought something out of the soil and steamed it into the air along the river. He looked out across the long slope leading down to the distant river and wondered why miasmas were not so bad in the north. Less sun, he decided, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. The breeze had stopped and standing in the sun felt a touch overwarm. A long whistle signaled the end of the rest pause, and Tycho and the guard returned to their places, ready for the push into Gheelford.
