A Gathering of Fools

by James Evans

  “How will you know when it is safe to ride on to the town?” Krant had asked at one point, desperate for anything to break the monotony of hills and farms and fields and orchards.

  “I have travelled this way before, sir, many times, and there is a toll bridge over a small river four or five miles east of the town. I will ride ahead once we have cleared the toll bridge, sir, and find lodgings for us at an inn on the market square. There is, if memory serves, an inn called the Golden Perch where we might secure a small room.”

  “Many times? Why, what is so interesting that you would travel this road ‘many times’?”

  “Family, sir. Some of my extended family farm the land some miles north west of the town of Averley, through which we will pass in the next few days. I try to visit them at least once a year.”

  “Oh. Well, yes, that sounds, er, nice.”

  Krant wasn’t sure what to say. The idea of visiting family members that not only lived outside the city but that also worked the land filled him with horror.

  “And, er, do your relatives ever visit you in the city?”

  “Yes, sir, but rarely because it is difficult for them to be away from the farm for very long and they can normally find all that they need in Averley. Sometimes the younger family members travel to the city in search of work or adventure but it is not a regular occurrence.”

  Krant wasn’t sure what more he could say. He knew little of the countryside and nothing of farming but he didn’t want to appear ignorant before his servant so he was reluctant to ask further questions. Instead, he lapsed back into silence and watched the hills and farms and fields and orchards slide slowly past as they made their way steadily toward the next town.

  Around mid-afternoon they reached the toll bridge, a stone structure with a gatehouse at one end through which the narrowing stream of travellers was slowly easing. Krant and Gavelis made their way up onto the bridge where two gatekeepers were taking pennies from everyone crossing and tuppence from those with a cart or animal. Krant pulled his purse out and flicked through the various coins but the gatekeeper seemed to recognise Gavelis and just waved them through. As they passed over the bridge, moving more quickly now that they had cleared the melee at the gate, Krant stopped fiddling with his money and put away his purse, confused about what had just happened.

  On the far side of the bridge Gavelis walked his horse onto the muddy edges of the road and dismounted so that he could unhitch the packhorse from his saddle. As he was tying the rope to Krant’s saddle, Krant suddenly asked, “Might it be better for us to travel this next stretch of the road together so that we reach the town sooner?”

  Gavelis finished securing the packhorse before answering.

  “No, sir. Two men travelling with a packhorse might draw unwanted attention. One travelling alone will move more quickly and appeal less to bandits.”

  Gavelis swung back into his saddle.

  “If you follow on with the caravan, sir, I will meet you in the market square outside the Golden Perch.” And with that he kicked his horse into a canter and rode off down the road. Krant watched until Gavelis disappeared from sight then walked his horse back to the road and re-joined the informal caravan of travellers.

  Another hour without interest or entertainment dragged slowly by.

  Krant, ignored by his walking companions and unable to bring himself to talk to the cart drivers, found himself constructing ever more elaborate revenge fantasies featuring Lady Camille, Rincon, the awful courier from Heberon and his jumped-up servant Gavelis. His most cunning and desperate efforts, though, were reserved for the traitor, Abaythian Marrinek, whose crimes and subsequent implausible escape from justice had led directly to Krant’s current discomfort. Krant was busily imagining an underground torture labyrinth filled with obscure mythical creatures (the study of myths and legends was one of Krant’s few pleasures, a leftover from a childhood spent in the company of an eccentric uncle with an eclectic taste in reading material) when he was interrupted by the sight of a tall spire emerging from behind the low trees at the side of the road.

  Finally, finally he was able to nudge his horse away from the crowd and kick it into a brisk trot. The packhorse followed gamely behind and together they chopped and bounced their way along the final stretch of road at the greatest speed they had reached all day. They slowed at the edge of the town where a bored watchman waved them through an ancient gatehouse and then Krant was at last able to feel that he had successfully navigated the wilds of the countryside and returned, a hero, to civilisation.

  Actually, though, when he looked around, it was clear that this wasn’t quite the same level of civilisation that he was used to. The buildings were smaller and less grand, the roads narrower and unswept, the alleyways darker and more obvious, the people poorer and less fashionably dressed. He followed the main road as it kinked through the small town, peering cautiously at locals as they went about their business and waving away vendors, beggars and small children by the score. The exhilaration of the last mile of the open road, crowded and busy though it had been, faded as he struggled to make headway through the mass of people and animals crammed into the small town. By the time he reached the market square and caught sight of the Golden Perch, he was definitely feeling the stress of the last mile of travel through a crowded and unfamiliar town.

  At last he was able to steer his horse into the inn’s courtyard and escape the crush. His relief at seeing Gavelis standing at the door with a stable boy ready to take his horse was far greater than he would have imagined possible. The news that there was a small hot bath waiting for him in the inn’s modest bath house almost reduced him to tears. He thanked Gavelis, gladly handed the reins of his horse to the stable boy and headed straight for the bath.

  An hour later, the pains of the day’s riding had been soothed away along with the dust and grime and sweat of the journey. Krant, dressed in fresh clothes laid out for him by Gavelis, sat down in the common room to a supper of bread, cheese, potatoes and roasted beef. Later, alone in the small room he was to share with Gavelis, Krant thought back over the events of the day and tried to fit all he had learnt into his established world view.

  Firstly, he had confirmed that he was neither horseman nor countryman. This was not a good sign for the days ahead, when it might be necessary to travel through areas that lacked towns or even inns. It might, Gavelis had warned, be necessary occasionally to beg lodgings at a farmhouse; Krant shuddered at the thought and remembered with some degree of embarrassment the horror he had experienced at the suggestion. He had been sure that Gavelis was enjoying the situation and he half wondered if maybe it was something he had said just to see the reaction from his supposed master.

  Secondly, he was definitely not used to having a servant and he wasn’t really sure how to behave. He had plenty of experience with the servants in the palace, of course, but they had tended to regard the junior clerks with a mixture of amused contempt and pity. The experience of having someone who was, nominally at least, his to command was new and not entirely pleasant. Unfortunately, the only person Krant could talk to was also the one person whose advice he couldn’t ask on this particular problem. He filed it away for further consideration at a later date.

  Finally, he was forced to admit that without Gavelis he would have been at something of a loss today. Travelling between cities, which he had done only once before as a small child in the company of his parents, was considerably more complicated than he had remembered. He didn’t like having to rely on someone as completely as he was relying on Gavelis but maybe tomorrow he could assert himself a little more and get involved in the planning of the next stage of the journey.

  Happy that he had brought a little sanity and control back to his life, Krant laid down on the bed and was asleep within moments.

  The next morning, when Gavelis gently shook him awake, all thoughts of a happy day’s travel were pushed quickly from Krant’s head by the terrible pains in his back and buttocks and shoulders and legs
. It occurred to him then, as he struggled to sit up, that he had never in a day ridden one fifth as far as they had done yesterday and that, if you counted the return, they were barely a twentieth of the way through the journey.

  He groaned and forced himself into a sitting position. Gavelis passed him a tray of breakfast - bread, boiled eggs, cold meat - and then said, “I’m sorry to wake you, sir, but today I fear we must make haste if we are to reach the next town before nightfall. The weather has changed and the locals are predicting rain this afternoon.”

  “Oh god,” wailed Krant, “how far today?”

  “About forty miles, I’m afraid sir, rather more than we did yesterday. But at least the roads should be a little less crowded, meaning that we should make better time.”

  Krant groaned again.

  “You are a hard man, Gavelis, a tyrant.”

  Krant picked at his breakfast, his arms aching, then he set the tray to one side and slid out of bed.

  “Aargh!” he opined, as he staggered from his bed, “Why aren’t you suffering, Gavelis? What is your secret?” he demanded, leaning against the wall like an old man.

  “A lot more riding, I’m afraid. Another week or so and the pain should have faded.”

  “A week? Dear god, why does anyone ever leave home?”

  Krant stretched, dressed and finished his breakfast as Gavelis packed their things. Gavelis went ahead to prepare the horses while Krant stumbled down the stairs, clutching at the handrail and almost falling at the top step. By the time he reached the courtyard the stable boy was holding his horse and Gavelis was tightening the straps of the bags on the pack horse and checking that the riding horses were correctly saddled.

  Krant hauled himself into his saddle and sat gingerly while Gavelis fussed around the courtyard. A few minutes later they were on the move, Gavelis leading both Krant and the pack horse out of the courtyard and across the market square. They stopped just outside the gatehouse so that Gavelis could talk to the watchmen, apparently questioning them about other travellers on the road.

  “They say, sir,” said Gavelis, once he had re-joined Krant, “that there is a group of merchants carrying linen and wool and various other goods about half an hour ahead of us. There have been no reports of trouble on the first few miles of road for years so we should be safe to ride after them. We should catch them within an hour.”

  He pulled his horse around.

  “Are you ready, sir?”

  Krant looked at him, unamused.

  “Highwaymen again, eh?” he said, sighing, “very well, if we must.”

  He kicked his horse into a canter and they set off, the rising sun warming their backs and casting long shadows on the road in front of them.

  That first ride on their second day of travelling was amongst the worst experiences of Krant’s life. The pain in his thighs and back and buttocks from the previous day’s riding was amplified by a brisk canter along the road in pursuit of the safety of the caravan. By the time they caught the slow-moving mass of people and carts, Krant was in such discomfort that the thought of a highwayman’s arrow held considerable appeal. The casual grace with which Gavelis rode and his obvious lack of suffering simply highlighted the gulf in practical ability between them and enhanced Krant’s feelings of disgust with both himself and the journey.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of pain and milestones, which Krant counted to distract himself from the awful motion of the horse and the endless boredom of the ride. By the time they had reached the second town Krant was ready to hurl himself into the nearest river to end the suffering but Gavelis insisted that this would only make it more difficult to complete their mission. Krant relented, but he didn’t stop complaining.

  The third day dawned hotter than the previous two and without a hint of cloud in the sky. Boredom, exhaustion and unrelenting heat meant that the day dragged, the miles seeming to pass ever more slowly as the sun beat down, flattening the atmosphere. Gavelis pointed out the towers that marked the western edge of the Empire as they passed them late on day three but Krant barely noticed, entirely absorbed by his own suffering and misery.

  Days four and five were much the same and Krant now rode automatically, hardly thinking about where the horse was going or what he should be doing to guide it. The pain in his legs and lower back was as bad as ever and five days tramping through the heat and dust of the summer roads had pushed Krant to his limit. His attempts to talk to Gavelis had petered out when he realised the older man wasn’t really interested in conversation and shared none of his interests.

  Finally, late in the afternoon of the fifth day, the weather broke and a sudden thunderstorm rolled in from the north bringing variety, if not relief, to the lives of the weary travellers. Clouds raced across the sky, dark thunderheads chasing away the bright summer sun and when the rain arrived it fell fast and heavy. Large droplets splattered noisily on dusty road, dusty animal and dusty person alike and within minutes the road surface was slick with mud. Krant was soaked through in minutes. His coat, so elegant on the streets of Esterengel, had offered no more than a token resistance and now leaked at seams and collar and cuffs.

  Much as he had cursed the heat of the summer, the sudden downpour was worse. The temperature had dropped markedly and Krant shivered as he sat on his horse, watching morosely as the scenery passed slowly by.

  At some point, as the rain came down in sheets and the road grew every muddier, Krant found himself alone on the road; Gavelis had disappeared. He must have ridden ahead with the packhorse to secure their lodgings for the night but Krant honestly couldn’t say how long he had been alone, hunched over the neck of his horse and barely noticing the other travellers on the road. The storm eventually passed and the rain stopped just as Krant reached the edge of the town of Rayvale. He looked around, suddenly aware that he had no idea where he was supposed to be going or what Gavelis had told him about the night’s accommodation.

  He stopped the horse, panicking slightly, his mind racing through the awful consequences of being separated from his servant so far from home and outside the Empire. He had only a little money, no spare clothes and no idea at all about how to get to Vensille.

  Krant was wet and cold and tired and he didn’t even know the name of the town, let alone the names of people who might be prepared to help him. He snatched at the reins when his horse started to make its own way along the street, walking with the flow of people. He was about to turn around, thinking maybe he could retrace his steps to the edge of the town, when someone grabbed the bridle.

  Startled, he jerked around. A man leered up at him, smiling out from under an oiled leather hood.

  “Are you looking for an inn, sir?” asked the man in an ingratiating tone, “Somewhere dry and warm to stay the night, maybe? Somewhere you can get out of those damp clothes?”

  “Er, what? No, I er, just need to find my, er, servant,” said Krant, looking around and tugging on the reins but the man held tight to the bridle and the horse declined to move.

  “Why don’t you come this way, sir,” said the man, snatching the reins from Krant’s distracted hands and turning to lead the horse through the crowd, “I’ve got a nice room you can have where we can take care of you and your horse.”

  Krant made a grab for the reins but missed and almost slid from his saddle. He threw his arms around the horse’s neck to keep his seat and the man said, “Don’t be like that, sir, we’ll look after you. Oh, yes we will.”

  He leered up at Krant again and turned off the main road onto a side street, dark with overhanging buildings.

  “Gavelis,” shouted Krant, “help, Gavelis!” He twisted in the saddle, searching desperately for someone who might be able to help but his cries were ignored as his treacherous horse carried him further into the gloomy alleyway.

  Then the man pulled the horse’s head around and punched Krant hard on the leg.

  “Shut up,” he snarled, pulling the horse further into the alleyway. Krant scrabbled for his dagger
but the man just slapped it out of his hand. Krant squealed as his was grabbed by the collar and dragged from his saddle. Krant yelled out in shock as he slid into the mud and muck, falling heavily on his shoulder. The man kicked him in the chest, knocking him onto his back, then turned back to lead the horse further from the main street. Krant groaned and rolled over, grasping at the man’s rancid cloak and trying to pull him back.

  The man staggered as Krant tugged on his cloak, then he turned back, yanked the cloak free. Then he drew a knife.

  “You scrawny little runt!”

  He kicked again as Krant tried to scrabble back, catching him in the chest. Krant screamed as a rib cracked and then the man kicked him again and again.

  “Stay away from me you little prick and keep your hands to yourself,” he yelled, punctuating his sentence with more kicks.

  Then the man turned and collected the reins, pulling the horse further into the alley.

  Krant, lying on his back and struggling to breath, could do nothing but watch as his horse abandoned him to his fate. The man gave a final sneering look at Krant as he lay on the ground, then there was a noise like a side of beef flopping onto a butcher’s block and the man stopped. He dropped the reins and poked briefly at a strange hole in the middle of his chest, then he collapsed into the mud and lay still.

  “Let me help you up, sir,” said Gavelis to the astonished Krant.

  Gavelis helped him first to sit and then to stand. Krant stood, propped against a wall, while Gavelis retrieved his horse. Gavelis didn’t even glance at the corpse, he just led the horse back to Krant.

  “I just happened to pass the mouth of the alley, sir. I became worried when you didn’t arrive at the inn and, knowing that this town is a little on the rough side, came looking for you. It seems I was just in time.”