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Riders Come to Town
There were rumors when the two horsemen appeared on the road into town, but when aren't there rumors when something out of the ordinary happens? She ignored the whispers. The boys said it was bandits for sure, but then the older ones said hush, it can't be bandits, bandits don't wear uniforms. Maybe it was an invading force they whispered, but an invading force doesn't send advance scouts to warn that they'll be invading, now do they? It's scouts from a caravan, one said, while another was sure it was a visiting prince. They're recruiting for an army, said many.
That last rumor caught on. The boys chattered together with wide, shining eyes, their minds full of fluttering banners and galloping horses, though the truth was the travelers' horses were only walking and the men were dusty and had no banners at all. Boys liked the idea of going off to war, being selected for glory and battle and riches. Dreams these were, for the urchins who worked in the fields and gardens and stables of the townspeople, boys who didn't realize how much better life was when blood wasn't spilled and drums were unbeaten and banners were kept furled in the corner.
She knew better. She had no desire to be called to war, and hoped fervently that the appearance of the men meant nothing martial was looming on the horizon. But it meant some kind of change, that she did know. A quiver in the air, a shiver in the dark corners of her mind, she could feel it. A cold breath on her shoulder. Something was coming, she knew in that weird way that she wished she didn't have. She shrugged her shoulders as if to ward off a sudden cold breeze even though the air was perfectly still. The chill was inside her mind.
"Maybe they've come to recruit for an army! Maybe I can go and learn to ride a horse and swing a sword," one of the smaller urchins daydreamed aloud in her hearing. She was putting herbs out on the screens to dry outside the kitchen door. Said urchin was loitering on the kitchen stoop, gnawing on a bread crust he'd wheedled from Cook. He usually worked in the fields, but spring planting was done and harvest a ways off, so he was underfoot a fair bit just now.
She was tempted to say something about how he was too small to be much use to an army, but she held her tongue. Still, her small involuntary sniff caught his attention.
"Oh, you don't think so? Well, at least they'd want me! They wouldn't want you for anything! You'd frighten the horses and curdle the milk!" He ran off with his crust. She frowned after him. Curdle the milk, indeed. She sighed. It was all too close to the truth.
The sun was warm, but she felt cold. She went back inside.
Cook spotted her. "I need some rabbits. Go round to the butchers and fetch some. Four outta do." Cook's meaty hands made shooing motions. She took the hint and hied off back outside. Truth be told, she was not entirely displeased to be sent to town center just now. She might get a chance to see what the foreign riders were about after all.
A small knot of people had indeed gathered in the town square around the pair of horsemen. Even as she approached, one of them dismounted. Town guards were all about, but their relaxed demeanor told her that these strangers were not deemed a threat to the town. She edged closer to listen in.
"...will need space for twenty five wagons to camp outside your town. Probably five or six days. Who is in charge here? Whoever that is, will need to decide where we set up camp." she heard. She eeled her way toward the speaker. It was the stranger who had dismounted. Next to him was a town guardsman she knew, not one of the brighter ones unfortunately. The guardsman spotted her, and scowled.
She bowed to the stranger. "I serve the town's master, ser. I can take you to him, if you please." She tried to ignore the guardsman's grimace. One of the onlookers hissed softly, but the riders seemed not to notice.
"Does this one speak true?" the stranger asked the guardsman, and the man frowned but nodded and grunted his assent. She glanced a thanks for his honesty, but he looked away.
"Lead us, then," the stranger smiled at her. The other dismounted, and both gathered their reins to walk their mounts. She bowed and turned back the way she'd come. People moved out of her way, though not without a few dirty glances. Was there some muttering? She tried to ignore them.
The strange man had smiled at her! She hugged the feeling close inside her. Who had ever done so? Cook, rarely, when she had done something exceptionally clever or had anticipated something the older woman needed before she could ask it. But any man, any boy, ever? No, she could not remember so.
The strangers were clad the same, in dusty but well made uniforms, in good repair. The durable cloth was of a fine weave she hadn't seen before, dyed a rich deep blue. Their boots were similarly well made, dirty from heavy wear on the road but finely crafted of high quality leather. These were people who worked hard for their keep but were well compensated for their work. Both wore swords at their hips and daggers at the opposite. She supposed smaller knives would be hidden elsewhere on their persons. They were obviously martial, guards or scouts of some sort, if not from an army (she hoped not!) at least some kind of guard like what her own town employed.
She steered their steps toward her master's stable. She had little knowledge of horses herself, other than the basics of feed and water, grooming and hoof-picking, but she knew that a good horseman always takes care of his mount before himself, and she judged these men to be good horsemen. At least, she hoped they were.
The brown horses snorted softly as they walked, whuffing the unfamiliar scents of the strange town they found themselves in. The man who had spoken walked beside her, his horse on his other hand, his companion behind. He asked her "What do they call you?"
She stiffened. It's an innocent question. He doesn't know. They called her "Ugly" mostly, sometimes "Pox" or "Plague." But he wouldn't know that. Although he had seen her face true enough. He might guess.
"My name is Uma," she answered as levelly as she could. She was proud that her voice didn't waver. She stared straight ahead.
"Uma, daughter of...?" he prompted.
She shook her head. "Just Uma."
She could see from the corner of her eye that he nodded his head, as though he accepted this fact of her unacknowledged bastardy as easily as he had accepted her appearance. She involuntarily nodded once, and caught herself. Damn, it sure was easy to feel comfortable with people who treated you like a human being, though.
"I am Troy son of Daniel," he continued easily, as if speaking with someone of equal status. She almost smiled at his easy familiarity. "You may know from our uniforms, if you can see under all this dust and grime, that we are Templars. That's Eric son of Eric back there," waving his hand at his companion behind them. Eric grinned and nodded back. "We are in the employ of Caravan Master Dack son of Dar, the Dar Caravan being one of the largest and finest caravans ever known to mankind. You have heard, surely, of the Dar Caravan?" He glanced at her.
She caught the lightness of his tone and glanced at his half-smile. It was easy to feel comfortable with this man, sure enough. She gave him a rueful smile, playing to his light mood, "No ser, I've not had the pleasure. We have only had small caravans visit of late, and few enough of those as it is." She had heard enough complaints from her betters to be able to recite that complaint verbatim.
He chuckled. "Well then, you are in for a treat. Master Dar, may his soul rest in peace, was an amazing caravan master. He built the caravan from a small ragtag bunch of wagons into a real traveling city. It was astonishing! Ah, you should have seen it. Glaziers, masons, acrobats, puppeteers, poets, knifemasters, fullers, dressmakers, broomers, tinsmiths, so many specialties he found and brought together. It was masterful. And they all prospered under his guidance. And now, well, Master Dack is fine, just fine, and the caravan is still very big, really it is very big, but back in Master Dar's day, oh, you should have seen it, the acrobats, the dancers, huh..." the man's reveries seemed to take him over, his eyes focused on something far distant. She would have liked to hear more about the caravan, but just then a stableman came out to take the horses and so the spell was broken.
With the horses seen to, they turned toward the main house. It rose before them, built in stone and thatched above, sturdy and squat. She spied the elder houseboy, Olly, lurking near the corner by the well they were passing. "Olly!" she called out, and he could no longer pretend that he wasn't there. She beckoned him closer and stepped near so the men couldn't hear. "Olly," she whispered, "run and tell Master there's a big caravan coming. These men are from the caravan. They're some kind of guards from the caravan. It's a big one, Olly, tell Master! Go! Run!" Give Olly some credit, he did move faster than his normal shuffling gait. She smiled. Olly was okay. When he wasn't evesdropping or snitching.
She brought the men to the front doors of the main house, the doors she never used herself. Servants used the back doors, of course. But this was official business, these were important guests. They come in through the front doors.
The doors were open, so she ushered the men inside straightaway. Directly inside was the main hall, and already people were there. Well, that was to be expected. The men had hardly made their approach to town a secret. There were town guardsmen about, so Master probably already knew what was afoot. All the better, as Olly was not always a reliable messenger. Master was seated in his high chair of state at the head of the hall, as this was a formal occasion. They had few enough of those in this little town. He was probably enjoying this immensely. She quashed the unworthy thought and brought the visitors forward to him.
She bowed to him, "Master, the visitors from the caravan." She bowed to the men, and turned away. No one called her back, so she continued all the way out, hearing faintly behind her the murmur of male voices. She saw Olly lurking in the shadows, listening in on the proceedings. Well, peeping and lurking was his specialty after all. He was quite the slink. She, on the other hand, had work to do. She had rabbits to fetch, and the day was growing late. Cook would not be well pleased. Uma hurried.
That last rumor caught on. The boys chattered together with wide, shining eyes, their minds full of fluttering banners and galloping horses, though the truth was the travelers' horses were only walking and the men were dusty and had no banners at all. Boys liked the idea of going off to war, being selected for glory and battle and riches. Dreams these were, for the urchins who worked in the fields and gardens and stables of the townspeople, boys who didn't realize how much better life was when blood wasn't spilled and drums were unbeaten and banners were kept furled in the corner.
She knew better. She had no desire to be called to war, and hoped fervently that the appearance of the men meant nothing martial was looming on the horizon. But it meant some kind of change, that she did know. A quiver in the air, a shiver in the dark corners of her mind, she could feel it. A cold breath on her shoulder. Something was coming, she knew in that weird way that she wished she didn't have. She shrugged her shoulders as if to ward off a sudden cold breeze even though the air was perfectly still. The chill was inside her mind.
"Maybe they've come to recruit for an army! Maybe I can go and learn to ride a horse and swing a sword," one of the smaller urchins daydreamed aloud in her hearing. She was putting herbs out on the screens to dry outside the kitchen door. Said urchin was loitering on the kitchen stoop, gnawing on a bread crust he'd wheedled from Cook. He usually worked in the fields, but spring planting was done and harvest a ways off, so he was underfoot a fair bit just now.
She was tempted to say something about how he was too small to be much use to an army, but she held her tongue. Still, her small involuntary sniff caught his attention.
"Oh, you don't think so? Well, at least they'd want me! They wouldn't want you for anything! You'd frighten the horses and curdle the milk!" He ran off with his crust. She frowned after him. Curdle the milk, indeed. She sighed. It was all too close to the truth.
The sun was warm, but she felt cold. She went back inside.
Cook spotted her. "I need some rabbits. Go round to the butchers and fetch some. Four outta do." Cook's meaty hands made shooing motions. She took the hint and hied off back outside. Truth be told, she was not entirely displeased to be sent to town center just now. She might get a chance to see what the foreign riders were about after all.
A small knot of people had indeed gathered in the town square around the pair of horsemen. Even as she approached, one of them dismounted. Town guards were all about, but their relaxed demeanor told her that these strangers were not deemed a threat to the town. She edged closer to listen in.
"...will need space for twenty five wagons to camp outside your town. Probably five or six days. Who is in charge here? Whoever that is, will need to decide where we set up camp." she heard. She eeled her way toward the speaker. It was the stranger who had dismounted. Next to him was a town guardsman she knew, not one of the brighter ones unfortunately. The guardsman spotted her, and scowled.
She bowed to the stranger. "I serve the town's master, ser. I can take you to him, if you please." She tried to ignore the guardsman's grimace. One of the onlookers hissed softly, but the riders seemed not to notice.
"Does this one speak true?" the stranger asked the guardsman, and the man frowned but nodded and grunted his assent. She glanced a thanks for his honesty, but he looked away.
"Lead us, then," the stranger smiled at her. The other dismounted, and both gathered their reins to walk their mounts. She bowed and turned back the way she'd come. People moved out of her way, though not without a few dirty glances. Was there some muttering? She tried to ignore them.
The strange man had smiled at her! She hugged the feeling close inside her. Who had ever done so? Cook, rarely, when she had done something exceptionally clever or had anticipated something the older woman needed before she could ask it. But any man, any boy, ever? No, she could not remember so.
The strangers were clad the same, in dusty but well made uniforms, in good repair. The durable cloth was of a fine weave she hadn't seen before, dyed a rich deep blue. Their boots were similarly well made, dirty from heavy wear on the road but finely crafted of high quality leather. These were people who worked hard for their keep but were well compensated for their work. Both wore swords at their hips and daggers at the opposite. She supposed smaller knives would be hidden elsewhere on their persons. They were obviously martial, guards or scouts of some sort, if not from an army (she hoped not!) at least some kind of guard like what her own town employed.
She steered their steps toward her master's stable. She had little knowledge of horses herself, other than the basics of feed and water, grooming and hoof-picking, but she knew that a good horseman always takes care of his mount before himself, and she judged these men to be good horsemen. At least, she hoped they were.
The brown horses snorted softly as they walked, whuffing the unfamiliar scents of the strange town they found themselves in. The man who had spoken walked beside her, his horse on his other hand, his companion behind. He asked her "What do they call you?"
She stiffened. It's an innocent question. He doesn't know. They called her "Ugly" mostly, sometimes "Pox" or "Plague." But he wouldn't know that. Although he had seen her face true enough. He might guess.
"My name is Uma," she answered as levelly as she could. She was proud that her voice didn't waver. She stared straight ahead.
"Uma, daughter of...?" he prompted.
She shook her head. "Just Uma."
She could see from the corner of her eye that he nodded his head, as though he accepted this fact of her unacknowledged bastardy as easily as he had accepted her appearance. She involuntarily nodded once, and caught herself. Damn, it sure was easy to feel comfortable with people who treated you like a human being, though.
"I am Troy son of Daniel," he continued easily, as if speaking with someone of equal status. She almost smiled at his easy familiarity. "You may know from our uniforms, if you can see under all this dust and grime, that we are Templars. That's Eric son of Eric back there," waving his hand at his companion behind them. Eric grinned and nodded back. "We are in the employ of Caravan Master Dack son of Dar, the Dar Caravan being one of the largest and finest caravans ever known to mankind. You have heard, surely, of the Dar Caravan?" He glanced at her.
She caught the lightness of his tone and glanced at his half-smile. It was easy to feel comfortable with this man, sure enough. She gave him a rueful smile, playing to his light mood, "No ser, I've not had the pleasure. We have only had small caravans visit of late, and few enough of those as it is." She had heard enough complaints from her betters to be able to recite that complaint verbatim.
He chuckled. "Well then, you are in for a treat. Master Dar, may his soul rest in peace, was an amazing caravan master. He built the caravan from a small ragtag bunch of wagons into a real traveling city. It was astonishing! Ah, you should have seen it. Glaziers, masons, acrobats, puppeteers, poets, knifemasters, fullers, dressmakers, broomers, tinsmiths, so many specialties he found and brought together. It was masterful. And they all prospered under his guidance. And now, well, Master Dack is fine, just fine, and the caravan is still very big, really it is very big, but back in Master Dar's day, oh, you should have seen it, the acrobats, the dancers, huh..." the man's reveries seemed to take him over, his eyes focused on something far distant. She would have liked to hear more about the caravan, but just then a stableman came out to take the horses and so the spell was broken.
With the horses seen to, they turned toward the main house. It rose before them, built in stone and thatched above, sturdy and squat. She spied the elder houseboy, Olly, lurking near the corner by the well they were passing. "Olly!" she called out, and he could no longer pretend that he wasn't there. She beckoned him closer and stepped near so the men couldn't hear. "Olly," she whispered, "run and tell Master there's a big caravan coming. These men are from the caravan. They're some kind of guards from the caravan. It's a big one, Olly, tell Master! Go! Run!" Give Olly some credit, he did move faster than his normal shuffling gait. She smiled. Olly was okay. When he wasn't evesdropping or snitching.
She brought the men to the front doors of the main house, the doors she never used herself. Servants used the back doors, of course. But this was official business, these were important guests. They come in through the front doors.
The doors were open, so she ushered the men inside straightaway. Directly inside was the main hall, and already people were there. Well, that was to be expected. The men had hardly made their approach to town a secret. There were town guardsmen about, so Master probably already knew what was afoot. All the better, as Olly was not always a reliable messenger. Master was seated in his high chair of state at the head of the hall, as this was a formal occasion. They had few enough of those in this little town. He was probably enjoying this immensely. She quashed the unworthy thought and brought the visitors forward to him.
She bowed to him, "Master, the visitors from the caravan." She bowed to the men, and turned away. No one called her back, so she continued all the way out, hearing faintly behind her the murmur of male voices. She saw Olly lurking in the shadows, listening in on the proceedings. Well, peeping and lurking was his specialty after all. He was quite the slink. She, on the other hand, had work to do. She had rabbits to fetch, and the day was growing late. Cook would not be well pleased. Uma hurried.