Young Warriors (Wine of the Gods Book 10)

by Pam Uphoff

  The innkeeper, the same thin man who'd served the wine, handed over keys and they crawled into bed sometime around midnight. Clean beds. Clean rooms. Hot water in ewers. No wonder the troops liked it up here.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fall 1390

  The Old North Road through the Great Divide

  An equally unseasonable week of warm sunny weather freed the high pass of ice.

  Garit managed to finagle a place in the half company the colonel took on his first trip through the mountains. Very obliging of Harrbon to slip on the ice and break his leg. Garit had worked with the poor bruised officer for a week, showing him the record keeping job, then gleefully mounted up and rode off into the still chilly dawn.

  Joker was fresh and bouncing like a foal. Garit had gotten a letter from the Royal Horsemaster, to let him know that Clowny was doing well, and that he'd breed her to one of the finest stallions at the Imperial Stud Farm, come spring.

  So when he got home, he'd have two youngsters to work with, possibly three, although breeding Clowny three years in a row might not be wise. He should set up his own household, not just live in the palace as one more hopefully useful drone prince.

  Or maybe he'd stay in the Army. His nephew Prince Rebo would be twenty-one by the time he was reassigned, with his adult reconfirmation as the Crown Heir behind him. Pity Rolo only had the two sons. Garit's next oldest brother was married with two daughters. If he'd have a son, Garit would be even further down the list. And, of course, they'd marry Rebo off soon enough. So maybe, eventually, they'd treat Garit like just another officer. After all, the colonel had loosened up considerably in a bit under six months.

  The colonel walked the column until the horses were warmed up, then trotted them long enough to burn off the extra energy.

  The sun gleamed off the snow on the peaks, the towering Mount Frost ahead to their right.

  He'd only gotten out twice again with the troops, and no bandits to be seen either time. This time was no exception, but the ride was worth the cold. Three days took them across the mountains, and they explored a bit on the far side, examining the long strips of alternating hard black lava and friable, dangerous ashstone. According to the maps, the strips were continuous for a thousand miles, closing up gradually until the black lava strips squeezed down into the faults that had disrupted the terrain east of Farofo. Well, almost continuous. There were supposed to be east-west faults that broke up and offset the strips here and there.

  They talked about it; he and the colonel had both served down there and the colonel had studied the faults. "Incredible natural forces, shaken up by the comet impact." The colonel pulled out a map of the World, a bit sketchy in the Old World, and tapped a circular symbol. "The largest impact crater is right here. Diametrically opposite the Rip, at the widest part of the New Lands."

  Garit translated the flat 'orange peel' map into a globe and shivered. "Damn well cracked the World, didn't it?"

  "Yes. Hard to believe anything survived. I heard that the crater is sixteen thousand years old. These other two are just a thousand years old, they may have caused the Dark Ages. Not that I necessarily believe any of it . . . apparently this 'Earth' place figured all this out." Colonel Trick looked around the desolate lands. "And now I know why so few people have moved out here. Two new provinces, and this northern one only has two of the land grants colonized."

  Captain Barros grinned. "The infamous Rip Crossing. And I suppose Gemstone?"

  "Yes, the northeast and southwest grants of Desolation Province. Well named. Then to the south, Gold Rush Province. Equally well named."

  They headed back up and over the mountains the next morning, with the older hands pointing out the ambush points that had been used in earlier years.

  The Feather River Gorge was a deep, steep canyon. The road wound down through hairpin turns to the bridge. They'd stopped to inspect it on the way east. Now they stopped again. The bridge was amazing. It was tall, cutting across two thirds of the way down. And it appeared to be a single piece of rock.

  The colonel muttered something about thermal expansion.

  Garit eyed it as well. "How does the shape affect that? I mean, if the supports expand too, it would arch higher which would use up the heat expansion of the roadway, wouldn't it?"

  The colonel was laying over the rail looking down and across. "Or there's some flexibility in the whole. Look at where the roadway hits the road on each side. It allows movement there. The rest of it looks as if it were a single piece of rock. The Ancients who first built the Old Roads were incredible."

  One of the old hands chuckled. "Legend has it that the Gods fought demons from the wastes here. Gods on the west, demons on the east, throwing fireballs across. Of course the old man that told it to me tried to tell it like it happened recently. He said that was why bandits never hit wagons climbing up the west side. No bandits dare commit a crime where the Gods stood against Evil."

  "Hmm. I expect the story's a bit less likely than the bandits not hitting wagons where an injured driver means a runaway wagon smashed at the bottom of the gorge and no profit." The colonel pulled himself back from the edge. "Beautiful work, just beautiful."

  Back at the Fort the colonel headed off to read all the reports of the other patrols. Nothing had happened, or he'd have heard about it verbally already. Garit sighed and walked back to the Quartermaster's domain.

  Lieutenant Harrbon had his swaddled foot up on a stool, and admitted that this paperwork thing might not be all bad and he might as well continue doing it until his leg healed completely.

  Garit grinned all the way to Colonel Trick's office, to report that.

  The colonel nodded. "Very well, can't coddle you too much."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Late Fall 1390

  Hester Mountain Province, Kingdom of the West

  Fort Stag's area of responsibility included a good deal of the big valley, nearly to the Crossroads.

  Fort Crossroads, unlike most forts, was concerned with the gates and nothing else. They patrolled about a thirty mile radius and no further.

  So all the little farms and trappers' cabins and tiny clusters of homes throughout the mountains, foothills and down into the rolling grasslands of the central valley were the responsibility of Fort Stag.

  When another storm closed the high pass, the colonel ran patrols down low and up to the northern extent of their area.

  "I did six months in Fort Iceberg." Garit commented. "They've got lower, more accessible mountains, and the bandits can retreat and circle and attack from behind. It was a real mess, although we did clean up one major encampment."

  Captain Robanik nodded. They were bundled up in their winter gear, the chilly wind just above freezing. "That's why Tanner's got us out here. If they raid now, they can get enough to last the winter, all snug back in a valley somewhere, and within a week or so, the snow will be too deep for us to get to them, even if we knew where they were."

  Garit nodded. He'd ridden with the troops as often as he could. The administrative work of the Fort was minimal this time of year. Payday being the main thing. Supplies were laid in for the winter, and while unforeseen circumstances could leave them short of something, what those would be was impossible to predict ahead of time. So he could justify bolting from his assigned position to freeze his ass off out here.

  "I'm surprised they don't farm down in the valley."

  "Lack of water." The sergeant put in. "All these little streams dry up before midsummer, and the ground water's too deep for wells, unless you've got the money to pay for drilling a tube well and putting in a windmill pump. Easier to just move into the hills, with their lakes. They send their herds down here and graze them through the spring, and then in the fall after the first rains."

  A flicker of movement caught Garit's eye, and he stared hard at the trees for a moment before one of the scouts loped out of cover. He was moving a lot faster than usual, and the captain booted his cold horse up the hill toward him.
<
br />   "Trapper killed, throat cut, about a day ago. Tracks come and go from the north northeast, might end up toward Yellow Dog."

  "Right." Robanik turned and snapped orders to his lieutenants, sending half the troops to Yellow Dog—an otherwise unnamed cluster of houses full of four interrelated families, whose most memorable uniqueness was a large yellow dog with a friendly grin.

  The captain kept half the troops and led off after the scout. He sent Garit with Lieutenant Cooper in command of the other half to follow the trails making as good a time as reasonable, to Yellow Dog.

  Cooper pushed the horses on the rolling open land, slowing as they turned up into the steeper hills. It was another five miles, winding a bit around hills and gullies. Garit pulled up at movement to his right. A big yellow dog snarled silently and slunk away.

  "That dog was fat and friendly, just three weeks ago." Cooper commented. "Scout out, hostiles expected ahead."

  The scout dismounted and trotted ahead. They followed at a walk, and the man galloped back to them, grinning. "The farmers are forted up and the bandits are spread out besieging them. But the farmers have got bows, so they're not rushing in."

  "Think we can get close enough to use our bows before they see us?"

  "Good chance afoot."

  "Right." Cooper surveyed his troops and pulled out ten who dismounted and opened their bow cases. He eyed Garit. "You are in command of the mounted I'm leaving here. Three sharp whistles, you charge in, prepared to wheel right. Four whistles, be prepared to go left."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Lots of screaming, yelling and sword clashes, just come quick." He grinned at Garit's enthusiasm, and dismounted to take the short bow his curb had strung, and a quiver of arrows.

  The troops left behind started to automatically close ranks, two men tying the extra mounts. The sergeant glanced at Garit, who nodded.

  "Carry on. Ranks four wide, do you think? I recall this path closes in a bit just before the farms."

  The sergeant flashed a grin. "That's right, sir. Go on lads, form up."

  A distant scream, then four whistles. "Be prepared to wheel left. At the trot." Garit kicked Joker into motion with more force than strictly necessary, and led the file over the rise and through a bit of woods that did indeed close in on the path a bit. Then they emerged from the trees to see the troops afoot in pursuit of bandits, some running for their picketed horses and others already hastily mounting. Garit sent a look to his right; scattered bandits were making for the woods on foot. "Troops, wheel left, lances."

  His thirty-five troops wheeled nicely and got their lances set. "Charge."

  It was a slaughter. The bandits were used to roughing up farmers and only a few had any serious training with the swords they held. The bandits outnumbered the troops, but were scattered and disorganized. The experienced troops took them on two to one, one small group at a time. Garit took aim at one of the few who'd made it to their picket line. The bandit ducked, but the lance took him in the shoulder, tumbled him from his mount. He tangled swords briefly with another before a trooper took the man from behind. Looking around, it was all over but for chasing down the few who had made it into the trees.

  Captain Robanik and the other half of the company came up from the south, prepared for action, having met two fleeing bandits a mile away. With the main force taken down, patrols were set on the trails of the running bandits with strict orders to return before nightfall.

  The farmers had had enough warning to get everyone inside, but had had to watch as half their sheep were driven off.

  "Mind you, that's better than all." The patriarch of the family looked tired. "Where the hell do they come from? This was only half of the ones we saw, and they sure had a definite place they took our sheep off to. Glad you came, though. I don't think they'd have waited much longer."

  Captain Robanik nodded his agreement. "They'd want to finish up and leave before the next storm, which, the way the wind is shifting around may be tonight or tomorrow. Do you want to move out of here?"

  "No. We've no place to go, and no way to transport our goods and stores, nor the hay for the sheep." The men around the patriarch all nodded agreement.

  "As soon as the snow's deep, they'll be as homebound as any of us." One of the young men looked north. "And I think you're right about a storm coming."

  He was. The company abandoned the search for the bandit's base and on the sergeant's recommendation rode through the night and camped below a low bluff that cut the icy wind that came up about daybreak. They sat out the blizzard that day and night, then when the wind dropped, trudged home through the snow drifts.

  Home had never looked so good to Garit as Fort Stag, as they labored up the last slope and into shelter and warmth.

  Colonel Trick took their first report informally, letting them stand around the iron stove in his office, with cups of hot tea in their hands.

  "Excellent. I wish we'd had more time to track them down. Umm, and those sixty were only about half the bandits that showed up on the initial raid. So there's at least another sixty off somewhere.

  "The last courier had briefs of reports from the other regions. Fort Mendo on the coast had been having problems with a group that started as City toughs who decided to try their act in the country, added some local bullies, then joined up with several of the small bandit groups in the coastal mountains. The report was just that they'd lost all contact with them, and that they might be headed inland, and that Fort Iceberg needed a heads up about them. It may be that they came a bit south instead.

  "Get me a report describing anything that stood out about them, and general description of their actions, I'll send a copy to Fort Mendo and ask if they think these are their troublemakers."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Late Fall 1390

  Ash, Foothills Province, Section Two

  Ash was beautiful in the snow. Riding down the final slope, Tanner frowned at the big house.

  Garit had spotted it too. "I don't remember that house at all."

  "Well," Tanner shrugged. "It didn't spring up overnight, but it certainly is odd . . . it's quite a large house to have been overlooked."

  "Oh, I don't know, sir. No shrubbery around it, and the front drive is obviously freshly graveled. Perhaps the witches magicked it up since our last visit."

  Tanner snorted. Two months and the witch jokes hadn't stopped yet.

  There were certainly a lot of women out today, walking down from the east where he understood the hot springs were found. Good to know that all the women went there together, without any men.

  They rode around to the back of the Tavern and turned their horses over to the stable girl.

  Too many women and not enough men in this village.

  There were women in the tavern as well, and Tanner looked over in surprise as Garit walked over to two of them, a tall thin pale blonde and a tall thin dark blonde. The boy hadn't shown any tendency to be forward with women, ran from them, generally. But apparently not always.

  "Lady Heliotrope, Lady Sandy." The Prince grinned at Tanner. "Colonel Tanner Trick, Lady Heliotrope Trumpdaut, and Lady Sandy Trumpdaut. I'm sure you remember their sister, Lady Azure."

  Tanner straightened. Azure! "I most certainly do remember her. No one's been able to tell me where your family home is. "

  The pale girl, Lady Heliotrope, looked momentarily absent minded. Then she smiled. "I'm so pleased to meet you. Father just had the house built, so no one knows us yet. This is the first year we've spent the winter anywhere but Karista. Azure's meeting us here for dinner, if you haven't already eaten . . . "

  "No, we've only just arrived."

  "Then you should join us . . . "

  An elegant brunette swept through the door, and stopped dead. A smile spread across her face and Tanner stepped in to take her hand and kiss it.

  "Lady Azure. I'm so glad to see you again."

  "Colonel Trick . . . "

  "Tanner, please."

  "Tanner." She blus
hed, a lovely warmth in her cheeks.

  He wanted to touch them. He wanted to be alone with her. He didn't dare be alone with her. "Will you join me for dinner?" He blinked, as practical matters returned to his mind. He looked around. Garit was sitting with his two friends, and talking to a waitress. Excellent.

  The pale girl grinned at Azure, and gave her a thumbs up signal.

  Azure led him to an empty table in a corner.

  He needed to find out all about her and her family. To not lose her again. "Heliotrope, Sandy . . . And Beige, Inky, and Scarlet, if I recall. Are you all named after colors?"

  "Oh yes. Silly isn't it? Azure's a nice enough name, but my eyes are more hazel than blue. And poor Heliotrope feels obliged to wear purple."

  "And your father, Lord Hell. Where is he from, where do you live?"

  "In Karista. Mother decided we need a dose of country life, this is where she grew up."

  Karista. Excellent. He needed to write to his father. Tell him all about having finally found the woman of his dreams. Perhaps his father could ask around about this "Lord Hell" the next time he was Karista. Maybe even meet the man, if Lord Hell was in Karista attending to business while his wife and daughters spent the winter here.

  "Did you see the new house when you rode in? I can't believe they built it so fast. We're still finishing the inside."

  "That big one? I was here a month ago and I swear it wasn't there."

  She chuckled. "I expect you didn't notice the foundations, and just missed all the stone being delivered." She shook her head. "Oh dear. I'm treating you like a visitor, aren't I? Actually, we're all witches here, and we used magic to raise it in a single day."

  He snickered. "Oh yes, you moved here from Karista a few weeks ago, but you've already become one of the local witches."

  "Oh, Tanner. You poor man." She gazed happily into his eyes, and food seemed to be happening without anyone giving any orders. "And you're from the south, you said? Obviously some of your people are from Farofo."