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Geralk was leading his mule through the different groups that were traveling away from the late Festival. He had been able to get to the Merchant’s tent right before the battle had spread to that area of Lord Falmir’s lands. The merchants that had not left to see the closing ceremonies were packing up, including the female assistant that Pillar had left at his booth. Geralk spread the word briefly of what had just happened and the speed the merchants were packing at tripled. Pillar’s assistant looked at the stuff in the booth and just left. The last Geralk saw of her was when she paused at the opening to the outside before disappearing into the battle noise.
So, because he was a good person at heart, Geralk had burdened his mule with both his stuff and Pillar’s potions and salves. But, Geralk was not above selling anything that was strapped to the beast as they traveled from caravan to caravan. Several of the salves that were labeled were sold to various households, and Geralk was able to glean information as well as a few coins.
The merchant was coming to the last cart in a fairly large caravan when he recognized the shaman striding alongside one of the wagons. There was a momentary flash of guilt before Geralk called out, “Hoy! Pillar!”
The shaman turned at the call and stopped walking. Wagons, servants and horses passed by him until he started his pace with Geralk at his side. “How be you, Geralk?”
The merchant motioned with his head to the mule. “Thought you may want some of your stuff.” A twinkle was in his voice and eye as he said, “You have already paid cartage.”
Pillar smiled. “I told you to keep out of that cream. Last time-”
Geralk made a swipe at the shaman which would have missed even if Pillar had not sidestepped it. “Your wench dropped and ran when the news came to the merchants.”
Pillar’s face fell slightly. Whatever he was thinking darkened his eyes for just a moment before he simply said, “Thank you.”
They all walked and rode for several more hours until Edgar called for a stop. The sky was fully dark and the waxing sliver of moon above them showed little of the different travelers near them. There was a small stream that was close to the road and they pulled the wagons in as close as possible together to make room for a household gathering. Orgia directed the setting up of a cook fire as Edgar talked with the remaining wardsmen. The dancers were crying in a heap around the Dance Master. Laun and Fount were both taken from the Wagon and put next to the stream, for comfort as well as to be able to get to the household items that had been beneath them.
Within minutes, the smell of cooking was making everyone in the group ravenously hungry. Some of the younger servants and wardsmen were sent into the stream and surrounding country for anything that would help them pad the little food they had been able to throw into the wagons before they fled. A small reorganizing of the wagons by direction of Edgar made more of a protective wall from the road for the household. Armed wardsmen were in the wagons to watch others passing by in the night. This was what they had always trained for, but as war games and fake battles in tournaments, not actual hostile actions. They were all on edge and gave menacing stares to the few who dared to look over from their own traveling groups.
Lanterns and candles were showing the long and haggard faces of the last of the Salam-Dir household. It was close to midnight when food was passed around. Cider and mead filled tankards, though many did not want to become impaired incase Falmir’s people came calling. Shifts were changed on the wagons, some of the dancers and servants standing guard with the wardsmen. Pillar stood his shift along side Edgar as Geralk nodded next to Laun and Fount.
It was a long night but without more than one call to arms to start the household awake. The men who thought the parked caravan would be an easy mark found otherwise when one of the dancers on duty came out from under the wagon they were sneaking up on and tripped one with her dancing cane. On the cry from the fellow as he fell to the gravel, wardsmen appeared around the bandits.
One of the bandits was dressed in the colors of Falmir, with the false crowned crest on the Dark. He made an oath that he had only been hired to show the King that Falmir had a larger presence than Dreng could fight. The thief had cut and run from the battle when he knew that he was going to be killed if he did not leave right then. The false crest was stripped from him and the two bandits were sent on their way with a warning to not bother the Salam-Dir household again. If Laun had been awake and aware for the interrogation, she would have recognized him as one of the bandits from Flora’s house.
Clouds had covered the sky by dawn. In the light grey of the morning, the encampment was packed up in a more orderly manner than the previous day, to the satisfaction of the chatelaine. Both Laun and Fount were awake for the journeys continuation. Laun was placed in one wagon with Disa and several of the other women to attend her, Fount in a wagon with several of the wardsmen who were soon asleep with the motion of the wagon.
Laun insisted on seeing the new wound. It was uncovered and the red, puffy line sewn into her chest would leave one of her breasts with quite a scar when healed. With all the wounds and blisters and scrapes Laun had endured in the last two weeks, none had really had much of a psychological impact on her. They hurt. She knew that the shoulder wound was going to trouble her for the rest of her days. Her feet still felt as though her feet were made of eels sliding around in the bandages. But...
Disa held her Lady as the sobs came out. Lady Laun was trying to speak, but the medicines that Pillar had given her were still affecting her. Finally, after the sobs had calmed down, Laun was able to say mostly intelligibly, “...the others, ya! But! My breasts!” There was another sob as Laun looked down at the wound and held her barely covered chest with her hands. “I like my breasts!”
One of the dancers could not hold back the snort of a laugh that came out. Laun looked at her, hurt that someone was laughing at her. But then she saw the compassion in the dancer’s face. Laun smiled and started laughing, too. A half-sob, half-laugh that had an edge of hysteria in it. The women in the wagon all hugged and held each other as they all cried and laughed and sobbed and let the feelings from the last day flow around and out of them.
Edgar was mounted on one of the horses and came alongside the wagon with his Lady when he heard all of the women start to caterwaul. There were tears and weeping but also laughter and smiles, all the emotions that had built up and came out all at once for the women beside him. He wished for a catharsis like that, but only allowed himself a tear before he backed off and went to another of the wagons to check on it.
No one really felt like small talk and Geralk was more than happy when they finally came to the crossroads with the Inn he knew so well. Marie was out front watching as the smaller groups tiredly straggled by, the concern on her face and in the crossed arms easy to read.
She called out and waved when she saw Geralk in the midst of the Salam-Dir caravan. Edgar called a halt and took conference with several people, including Geralk and Markle when he came out of the Inn before directing the wagons, horses and people on foot to the space behind the Inn.
There were more people in the caravan than could easily be in the Inn. Tents were put up and several of the wagons were arranged to provide some shelter and sleeping space for the coming night. The injured, not just Laun and Fount, were brought into the curtained rooms off the main room, several of the guests that had been there first being bodily moved to the common area. The hearth in the common area became a cook fire to help the amount of food Marie intended to make to feed all of the Salam-Dir household that had suddenly appeared.
It was going to be a long night, but the Innkeepers knew any comfort would make a difference. And from what they had been hearing from those traveling by, it was worse than they had suspected. The greyworlders found themselves on the side of the Kingsmen and liked it.
Chapter 12 A familiar Inn welcomes the household
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