by Nelson, J P
Some might think a well-established town would grow, and sure enough, Tin Horn has several solid businesses. But the country is still extremely rough and requires people with the bark on their hide to survive. A gold or silver mine would attract huge numbers with the thought of getting rich and getting out. But all the folks in Tin Horn, Rooster and the surrounding area don’t total up to a thousand people. Nonetheless, Tin Horn is the place most left alone by the orgs and cutthroats of the Jutte Mountains.
René’s grandpap stayed in the original settlement and worked the family farm. When René’s pap died in a logging accident, grandpap just naturally took over as the father figure, kith & kin being important things among the family. They were a regular clan.
With four healthy older brothers, René knew early on he wasn’t going to be in line for any significant inheritance, nor did he really mind. From the beginning he found his great loves to be horses, hunting, fishing and exploring the wilderness. It was nothing for him to be gone for days at a time, even as a child. Sure, he had the six years of obligatory schooling, but nature was his teacher.
When he found an ancient bow up in the mountains, he knew he wanted to be an archer. It was broken, but the construction was fascinating and different from the customary crossbow. Later, he found an arrowhead which turned out to be made of Mythril. Sitting at the breakfast table in Kynear, he was wearing the arrowhead around his neck as his good luck talisman.
When he was thirteen years of age, René left home and didn’t come back for two and a half months. While he was out he had snuck into an org camp, eased a stone handaxe from aside the bedding of one who was sleeping, and got out clean free. When he finally came home, supper was cooking and his ma looked around and said, “You’re late. Now go clean up and set down to supper. We want to hear all about it.”
“It ain’t that they didn’t care,” René said to me one time, “there was just so many younguns around, and everyone knew I had the wanderlust in me. It was only a matter of time before I left for good. Just make sure I do it right, grandpap always told me. And ma, she always hugged me and made me give her a kiss before I went anywhere, ‘cause she said she never knew when it might be the last time.”
A few months later a group of five people wanted to explore the mountains looking for iron ore, René left with them to serve as their scout and never went back home.
At twenty-one he had seen and done more than most men twice his age. Less than average in height, he stood maybe five inches over five feet tall and was lean and tough as rawhide. Bare hand fighting was not his forte, but it was said he was a hellcat with a short blade and hatchet.
He had taken the job hunting for the road crew without knowing much about Stagus, and in fact had never met the man. Due to his brusque manner, Stagus wasn’t popular in Kynear, but he bought well and his money was good. Most of what was known was that he was responsible for building the trade route through the mountains, and that was it.
The taskmaster of camp two had done the actual hiring of René. But after learning about the master road builder’s practice with young boys, René had planned to quit when his contract ran out. That would have been two weeks after the attack by Mahrq’s brigands.
Wearing his blonde hair down to his shoulders, a neatly trimmed mustache and clean buckskins from head to toe, René was something of a dashing young human male and well known and liked in Kynear. Seven times out of seven starts he had ridden a local horse, Madigan’s Pride, to victory. His most memorable race being the prestigious Henley Cup, the number one steeplechase on the western Phabeon coast, and horseracing was a big thing.
After sitting down at a still empty table in the diner, a buxom young lady of about fifteen came over to take his order. With a hint of flirtation and a wistful voice she said, “Hi René, it’s been a while.”
He blushed a bit and smiled, it seemed this young lady always had that affect on him, and they had danced a few times at town socials together.
Without thinking he replied, “Whatever you have,” he said with a smile, “and plenty of it. I’m really hungry.” Immediately he turned red and thought about his words. They could easily be taken the wrong way.
She flashed him a wink and walked away with a little swish of her skirts.
‘Whew,’ he thought as he shifted nervously in his seat. Watching her walk away, he wondered if anyone else thought it was hot in there and he began to inspect his nails. ‘Breathe deeply,’ he thought to himself, ‘just breathe.’
As he was waiting for his meal and sipping hot tea sweetened with honey, a fellow came in right off of the trail. The traveler sat down at a long community table not far from where René was sitting. He then began talking to the farmer sitting next to him about priests who can’t be depended on. It seemed the Eayahnite Priest who was supposed to run services the upcoming Ohnday wasn’t going to make it. He was tied up elsewhere, the traveler reported, shaking his head as the young lady came to take his order.
René ate his meal and listened to the traveler talk about religious politics, how Eayahnite Priests went where the money was instead of the need and what makes Eayah special anyhow? After all, the gods don’t really care about mortals, do they?
How this traveler knew about the priest, René did not know or care. He also noticed Jinx had come in from his evening shift of guarding me. Laying down four bits to pay for the meal and a little extra for the young lady, René quietly got up and left.
Playing a hunch, he ambled his way around through the backstreets of town until he was between Ingrid’s Inn and Cassidy’s Dress Shop & Boutique. There were no doorways leading to the ally, and the ally itself was little more than a breezeway between the two buildings. Sometimes it was used to store crates and such, but that was it. Because this was the better end of town, bums and lewd women weren’t tolerated. So it was highly unlikely anyone would be sleeping in a crate, save animals, perhaps.
The shop wouldn’t even be open at this time of the morning, and it would be noon before a sliver of light would find its momentary path in the ally. Therefore, for the time being, the ally was very dark.
The inn had no ground floor windows on this side, and the windows of the second level had been built when there had been no neighboring buildings. A third level had been built only a couple of years before, and windows had been definitely added. These could see out over most of the town’s rooftops.
René remembered one of the boys commenting how unhappy Sormiske had been about not getting a room on the top level, then whining for having to look out his window at an old building. He also remembered Sormiske’s bragging how he liked sleeping in the open air.
Standing in the ally, René saw a few crates here and there. An old mutt poked his head out from one and René motioned for him to shush. Taking some ever present jerky from his belt pouch, he tossed the pooch a piece. Gratefully, the dog grabbed the morsel and contented itself with chewing on the dried meat.
Looking up, René saw one window half opened. Smiling with mischief, he thought, ‘Got nothin’ else to do at the moment.’ Limbering his muscles a bit, then looking about just to make sure no one was around, he silently leaped to the first box, to the opposite wall and back to a ledge just below the window.
Easing up, he looked into the darkened room and sure enough, there was Sormiske huddled up in his bed. René thought, ‘Needn’t have looked, he’s snoring loud enough to attract bugs.’
This eavesdropping stunt wouldn’t have worked if Wahyene were sharing the room, but he was staying in a converted loft at the stable for his own privacy. In a few minutes, René’s hunch paid off.
There was a pounding on Sormiske’s door and Jinx’s voice could be heard on the other side. Sormiske’s muttering was hardly the talk of someone entertaining thoughts of becoming a priest, and it took a few moments for him to make it to the door. In short order, Jinx told Sormiske what he had heard about the Eayahnite Priest not coming.
Sormiske then swore violently and profuse
ly. Ordering Jinx out, he suddenly called him back and asked if Hoscoe was still gone. Upon learning he was, Sormiske told Jinx to get the men up and ready to move out. They would leave as soon as they got packed.
René didn’t waste any time and quickly returned to the side street cottage he was sharing with Yank, Thad and Bernard. It was little more than a shed, but calling it a cottage made it sound nicer. All three were up and Yank was stomping into his boots as René quickly gathered his blankets, bow and three quivers. All the while he was explaining what he had heard.
Yank asked, “So what are you going to do?”
With a good-natured grin René said, “Goin’ to rent me a horse and take a ride. Hoscoe sets store by that Wolf feller, and he ain’t gonna like this one bit. That Sormiske is no good, and if he wants to get shut of town before Hoscoe finds out, I figure Hoscoe would want to know before the scat gets dry on the trail.”
He hefted the quivers and was visibly doing some consideration.
Thad asked, “What’s the matter?”
Chewing his jaw in thought and not liking his mental conclusion René replied, “I’m gonna have to do this light. What I put on my back is all I can carry.”
Yank whistled softly as they all watched René put down two of the quivers, and regretfully take his long sword off. Whatever he was about to do, he was going armed with only boot daggers, hatchet, 18” short blade and one quiver. René was known far and wide as a fellow who liked to go well armed, and he really liked his arrows. He took his time and pulled the Mythril tipped arrows he carried from each quiver and put them all into the one.
Bernard remarked, “René, you have the look of someone about to go out and do something really dangerous. You should let me go with you as back-up. I’ve got a feelin’ you’re goin’ to need it.”
René looked up and breathed deep, then said, “Nothin’ personal, but can’t no-one do what I’m fetchin’ to do but me, and I ain’t plumb sure I can. But I’m a’goin’ for it.
“Yank, Sormiske’s gonna need a driver, what with Letcher and Dugan dead. I know these town folks and they don’t cotton up to Sormiske, won’t nobody drive for him. And someone needs to stay here, just in case I don’t make it, so they can tell Hoscoe when he gets back.”
René didn’t waste any more time, “Daylights a’burnin’ boys.” With a quick forearm clasp to each man, he hurried out of the door. As he stepped out he heard Thad ask, “Just where are you a goin’?”
Over his shoulder René made a quick answer, “I’m ridin’ the Cody Buck and visitating the haunts.”
He heard Yank stomp the floor and exclaim, “Dammit to Hades …”
Bernard exclaimed in surprise, “The C-o-o-o-d-y Bu-u-ucks?! You’re goin’ to try Banshee Canyon Trail. Son, there ain’t no way through. It’s a dead road …”
But there was no stopping René, he was down the path and on his way, his mind resolute even as his friends were caught off guard.
René went straight to the home of a man named Foxill, a prominent citizen and owner of three businesses including Gertrude’s Diner. It also happened that Foxill was the owner of Madigan’s Pride, who just happened to be named for the buxom young lady in Gertrude’s Diner, Foxill’s youngest daughter.
Knocking on the back door, it was a matter of short order until René explained quickly his need for a fast horse. Foxill had taken a moment before asking, “You aren’t involved with this Sormiske character, are you?”
“Actually, he’s the problem,” René explained quickly and added, “I need to find Hoscoe.”
Foxill lead the way to his private stable and asked, “Is it true Hoscoe is General Hoscoe Val’Ihrus?”
“I’m afraid so, I didn’t know it neither. You just wouldn’t know, the easy way he is around the fellers. He’s just a down to ground guy.”
“There is a story here; I would like to hear it one of these days.” Foxill remarked while glancing at René. Opening the stable door he indicated down the corridor, “Take Sir Kowan. He’s the flea bitten grey on the right. His trot will beat your buffer and he doesn’t have finish line speed, but he’s a stayer with lots of heart and plenty quick on the long distance.
“He was a chance breeding, fellow stopped at Turn Key with one of those Arab stallions about four years ago. That stallion must have been feeling frisky, because he broke loose and covered a carthorse. I was down there and heard the story, so I found the vendor and tried to buy the mare. He wouldn’t sell, and when this fellow was old enough the vendor tried to run him. Anyway, when I heard the vendor died a couple of months ago, I made the seventy-five mile trip south, myself, to get him.
“His feet are in excellent condition and he’s just been shod. He can jump a five pole fence as well.”
René was impressed, “How much for …?”
“He’s yours,” Foxill said as he looked at René with a grin on his face,
Stunned, René faltered and asked, “But, why? You have plans, you obviously want to …”
“Changed my mind,” Foxill said with a shrug. Continuing he said, “You’re a solid young man. You work hard and never whine, and you jump up to take responsibility. You’re going to make big tracks on the land. Besides, he’s already covered three of my mares including the Pride.”
Pointing down the breezeway he added, “Take the third saddle on the left. It’s an experimental saddle which has seen little use.” Foxill began to turn to leave the stable, “I’ll get a bag of supplies for you. Madigan was looking forward to your dancing with her at the social next week, you know?”
René hesitated for only a moment, “Tell her I’ll make it up to her.” He added humorously, “If I live I’ll bring her a present.”
“If you don’t live, she will hold me accountable. So you better live,” Foxill replied with a pointed finger, and then walked into his house grinning.
Within fifteen minutes René had quickly made preparations and was in saddle. Madigan had just stepped out the back door of the house when René settled into the leather. Not knowing what to say, he just looked at her for a moment. With an impish grin he touched his finger to his head and reared Sir Kowan on hind legs, holding him there for an instant in a dramatic fashion. Then he left the stable yard at a canter. The sun was just rising as he was leaving town, riding fast.
Chapter 25
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THERE IS TALK that a horse can’t go more than twenty or thirty miles in one day with a rider. But the properly conditioned mount of the right configuration, ridden by someone who understands endurance riding, can go much farther.
René knew where Hoscoe had gone, to an independent keep off of the Charlamae Road heading north. The beaten path avoided the worst hills and it was about one hundred and forty-five miles from Kynear to Wadsworth Keep.
Hoscoe had hoped to make the trip in three days, with switching horses along the way. René was aware of another route which was two-thirds the distance but infinitely more dangerous. With Sir Kowan, he planned to make the ride in one day.
While Sormiske was practically begging people to drive his wagon, René had already crested his first rise. Taking time to learn his horse, he was thoroughly pleased. Checking out his lines and feeling the action, René figured Sir Kowan’s dam must have been a Pamberdine, a solid animal which easily adapted to harness or saddle and known for their characteristic smooth temperament. They were also intelligent and sure-footed with great endurance.
René had the feeling his horse might not have the speed to close a tight, one mile flat race, but over a long distance could run down anything with a hoof. Standing about fifteen and a half hands he had inherited the best of both bloodlines, was beautifully muscled and extremely well conditioned. René found himself wondering how his grand-pap would like this stallion to cover his mares.
Sir Kowan’s gate was tireless and he seemed to really enjoy running. With uncanny skill, René altered the pace to save his mount and maximize their time. René’s plan was to take b
reathers, drink water when needed and be prepared to run all out at a moment’s notice.
Three times René planned to make what he called pit stops. During these stops he planned to strip tack, rub his mount down, and do what for years his ancestors had been calling vet checks. While Sir Kowan was eating a small amount of specially prepared feed, René would carefully go over his entire body and apply an herbal liniment to the legs. He had been carrying this liniment with him in a carry pouch for as long as had been old enough to ride.
An old saying René knew went: “With eight hours to cut wood, spend six of those hours sharpening your axe. A sharp blade will cut ten times that of a dull one.” He had been raised to believe that in taking care of your mount, in the long run your mount will take care of you. René was depending on this horse, and he owed him the best care possible.
Occasional flurries were just starting in this area, so thankfully there would be no large drifts to fight. René had been on the trail as far as Tercel Lake five or six times, but the rest of the trail he knew only from talking with an old trapper he had known as a boy. It was little more than a game trail, and in two places so narrow a rider’s foot would hang over the edge of a long drop.
Kynear was nestled amongst the foothills where they became mountains, and the region this old trail wound through was called the Cody Buck Hills. Nothing human had lived there for as long as anyone knew, although there were some ancient ruins of cliff dwellers, and was said to be frequented by all manner of undead.
The only flat place for miles around was Jabberdine Mesa. Otherwise everything was saddlebacks, ridges, dips, hollows, ravines and sharp cliffs.
René’s trapper friend thought the trail could have been part of the Ghost Road. Sure enough, the northwestern most part would skirt Banshee Canyon, which was mentioned in old tales of the Ghost Road. Just the name puts the sammies in most folk.