by Kyra Halland
Lainie had been given bunk space in one of the two smaller wagons, and had moved their belongings to the back of that wagon, but Silas bedded down on the ground in his bedroll along with the other hands. He had two hours to get some rest before his turn on the night watch, while Lainie was still finishing up her chores. By the time he got off his watch, she would be asleep, and since the cooks had to get up before anyone else, he didn’t want to interrupt her sleep. So, like he had the night before, he contented himself with a goodnight kiss, then lay down and wrapped himself in his blankets against the cool spring night for a few precious hours of rest.
Chapter 4
AT DAWN THE next morning, the drive crew gathered in the center of the mustering grounds, many of them still sipping their morning cups of chickroot brew. Endis led them in a set of prayers to the Provider, the Defender, and the Gatherer, whose day it was, an auspicious day for starting the drive. After the prayers, the crew left offerings at a makeshift altar that had been set up – a coin or two, a handful of grain, an early flower, a portion of breakfast. With the gods’ favor thus secured for the long journey ahead, the crew stashed their bedrolls and belongings in the wagons and mounted up. Endis turned his horse to face the crew and the herd and called out, “Cattle forward! To the Gap!”
Cheers and whistles filled the air. With shouts and the barking of dogs and a loud mooing from the cattle, the herd began moving forward, taking the first steps on a journey that would last five months and cover nearly fourteen hundred leagues. Along the way, the Windy Valley herd would meet up with four other co-op herds from the north side of the Gap River and then with the combined herd from Bentwood Gulch and areas farther north before finally arriving at the Gap.
Silas was positioned with two other hands at the back of the herd, where his job was to nudge along any cattle who fell behind. As the tail end of the herd started moving, he looked back at where Lainie and the Bingtons were still cleaning up from breakfast and loading up the grub wagon. The wagons, driven by Bington, Mrs. Bington, and Landstrom, would travel near the rear of the herd. He waved at Lainie, and she waved back excitedly. All morning, she had nearly been bouncing with eagerness to get started. Silas couldn’t help smiling as well; at least for the moment, the prospect of the adventure ahead pushed his worries to the back of his mind.
Less than an hour later, Silas had come to the conclusion that the rear of the herd, eating the dust of more than three thousand cattle, with cow patties spread out for a league ahead, wasn’t the best place to be. He suspected that was the main reason why he and the other least-experienced hands, including the Bingtons’ second-youngest son, fifteen-year-old Byrom, had been assigned here. He kept his mouth and nose covered with his bandana to block out the dust and the smell, and reminded himself to watch where he set his feet when he dismounted from his horse.
Otherwise, this duty seemed pretty easy. The outfit’s half-dozen cattlehounds scampered back and forth alongside and behind the herd, tongues lolling from their grinning mouths as they reveled in this perfect doggy holiday. For the most part, the dogs were sufficient to keep any cattle from lagging too far behind or straying off to the side.
About mid-morning, Silas heard Lainie call out his name. He looked back to see her riding towards him on Mala. Silas himself was on one of the horses he had chosen for day riding; he saved his reliable, familiar, well-trained Abenar for night duty. He reined in his horse, a lively but friendly dun mare, and let Lainie catch up with him.
She pulled up alongside him, close enough that they could lean over and give each other a kiss. “Done with your chores?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she answered. “I figure it’ll be a few hours before the hands start coming around wanting lunch. I see they’ve got you back here with the dogs and the cow patties.”
“Afraid so. It’s not too bad, though.”
“When you’ve got more experience, they’ll let you take turns farther up. In the meantime, if any of these beefs or bossies give you any trouble, a good slap on the flank should set them straight. Or use the cattle quirt if they’re really being stubborn. A bullet in the dirt at their feet works too, but don’t do that unless you have to ’cause it might spook the others.”
“Thanks, I’ll remember that.” It was fascinating to watch her here in her element, in the life she had been born and raised to and that suited her so well. He knew she had missed it; now a small, uncomfortable thought pricked at him – could she ever be truly happy in any other life? “I’ve missed you,” he said, suddenly feeling strangely bereft.
She reached over and took his hand. “I’ve missed you, too. Maybe once the drive is under way and everything settles down, we can find a little more time to spend together.”
He kissed her hand. “I hope so.”
She craned her neck, looking at the valley around them. “The stingergrass is coming up. I thought I’d gather some.”
Silas looked around as well. Scattered among the new green grass covering the valley floor were clumps of red-tinged stingergrass. The plant was aptly named; used in just the right amounts, it added a pleasantly tangy, spicy flavor to food. It had to be applied by an expert hand, though; too much would burn your tongue right out of your head and leave your eyes and nose watering for a nineday. Stingergrass could also be made into a tea or powder to relieve congestion of the head and chest. “Are the Bingtons letting you cook now?”
“No.” She grinned at him. “I thought I’d just slip some in tomorrow’s beans and see what happens.”
“Good luck with that. I hope it works out.” He had to admit he wasn’t looking forward to eating Mrs. Bington’s bland cooking for the next five months. “Did you know that stuff sells for thirty drinas a grain in Granadaia?”
“Really? And here I can just pick it right up off the ground.” Lainie’s face lit up with an idea. “I heard there’s always people buying and selling things around the cattle market. I bet I could make some good money selling dried stingergrass.”
“Good idea. Just don’t ride out of my sight while you’re gathering it.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t get lost.”
“I’m not worried about you getting lost.”
She patted her gun, holstered at her hip. “You know I can take care of myself.” She turned and rode off across the grassland, away from the herd.
Silas watched her, not daring to take his eyes off of her. Neither of them had found a trace of any other mages so far, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any out there. And, of course, there was always the threat of Plain rustlers, not to mention lonely, lusty cowhands, who presented their own dangers to young women riding out alone. But as long as he kept an eye on her, and she kept her gun loaded and close to hand and didn’t wander too far, she should be fine.
Now, if he could only make himself believe that.
* * *
“SO,” MRS. BINGTON asked the fourth morning of the drive while Lainie was helping clean up after breakfast, “how long have you and Mr. Veldon been married?”
Lainie didn’t correct the mistaken name; even the best name-slip charms lost effectiveness if someone heard your name often enough. “Since last summer.”
Mrs. Bington eyed Lainie’s stomach. “And you’re not pregnant yet?”
“No.” Why did people who hardly even knew her want to talk about that? First Kesta, of the Ta’ayatan clan, and now Mrs. Bington. “Where should I put these cups?” she asked, even though she knew perfectly well where they were kept.
“In there.” Mrs. Bington pointed to a box.
Lainie finished putting the dishes away while Mrs. Bington heaved herself up into the largest wagon and poured a sack of beans into a big pot of salted water, where they would soak all day before cooking overnight for the next day’s meals. Lainie climbed into the wagon as well and dropped a handful of stingergrass into the pot.
The first day of the drive, Mrs. Bington had caught Lainie slipping some stingergrass into that day’s pot of soaking beans.
Lainie had been mortified, but Mrs. Bington had told her to go right ahead, clearly expecting that the reaction from the hands to the spiced beans would be unfavorable and that would put an end to that. Instead, the next day, the hands had enthusiastically praised the improvement in flavor. To avoid trouble with her boss, Lainie had tried to give Mrs. Bington all the credit, but Landstrom and Endis had seen through her protests and insisted that Lainie be allowed to take on the duties of a full assistant cook, an order the older woman hadn’t welcomed.
“I still say you’re ruining it,” Mrs. Bington grumbled.
“It comes out just right when you put it in the soak water like this, not too spicy at all.”
“It’s bad for the digestion.”
“If anyone complains, I promise I won’t do it any more.” She gave Mrs. Bington her friendliest smile, hoping to soothe her boss’s ruffled feelings.
“Hmpf. Well, it’s not for want of trying, I’ll warrant.”
“People complaining?”
“You not being pregnant yet.”
Lainie suppressed a sigh; so much for changing the subject. She forced a polite smile. “Sometimes these things just take a while.”
“That’s the truth. Still, a little help won’t hurt anything. Hang on…” Mrs. Bington dug around in a box filled with herbs, bandages, and other medical supplies, and came up with a small pouch. “Put a sprinkle of this in your chickroot brew every morning, and you’ll get your belly filled in no time. I’d advise you to wait till after the drive to start using it, though, if you haven’t took pregnant by then. A cattle drive is no place to spend the first few months. Nothing like the smell of cattle droppings and unbathed cowhands when you’ve already got the morning sickness. I’d rather birth a baby on the drive than that, which I can tell you, having done both.”
Lainie would have rather died than tell Mrs. Bington the problem wasn’t with her but with Silas, even aside from the uncomfortable questions it would raise about how she knew. Some people might think it made him less of a man, and that wouldn’t do at all. She made herself smile again as she tucked the pouch into her pocket. “Thank you, Mrs. Bington. That’s right kind of you.”
* * *
THE NEXT NINEDAY or so passed quietly. Silas still rode at the rear of the herd; most days, Lainie joined him when she could get some time away from her duties. At night he kept watch during the second shift, which ended around midnight. Lainie, who had to be up before dawn to start breakfast, was sound asleep by the time he got off watch. In the few moments of privacy they managed to steal, they determined that so far neither of them had found any sign at all of any other mages.
Then came the first Darknight of the drive. Darknight, the dark of the moon, was the one night of the month that didn’t belong to a nineday and a god, a night when the gods hid their faces while demons from the underearth and restless spirits walked the surface of the world until they were banished by the sunrise. It was a night when anyone with any sense and any choice in the matter stayed indoors. According to the hands, if something was going to go wrong on the drive, it would be on a Darknight.
The crew made camp as dusk spread slowly across the grasslands. Everyone spoke in nervous whispers, and even the most seasoned cowhands jumped at every unexpected sound and movement. Usually the cattle, worn out from a long day of walking and grazing, would bed down easily for the night, but tonight they seemed to pick up on the crew’s nervousness. They lowed plaintively and continuously, and instead of bedding down they kept trying to wander off. Watch shifts were doubled, Silas being assigned to the first watch as well as the second, and everyone was on the alert for trouble.
Once full darkness fell, the cattle finally settled down except for the occasional quiet moo and snort. The hands who weren’t on first watch stayed close to the campfires, bantering with each other with forced good cheer. As usual, one or two of the hands on watch sang to the cattle, old ballads and rounds and drinking songs from Granadaia or new songs that had sprung up in the Wildings. Tonight, though, the singing seemed louder than usual, defiant, an attempt to chase away the terrors of the night.
As Silas, on Abenar, rode his circuit around the herd, he checked several times for mages in the area. Darknight would provide the perfect chance for some opportunistic renegades to make trouble. He didn’t find any, though, and the evening passed quietly.
Towards the end of his double shift, he caught himself starting to nod off in the saddle. Then a high, eerie noise – the keening of a lost spirit or the howl of a coyote – split the silence of the night and startled him back to full alertness. A panicked lowing arose from the herd, and, in the space of a few heartbeats, what seemed like all thirty-two hundred and some head of cattle were on their feet and running, the pounding of their hooves nearly fit to break the earth.
Silas kneed Abenar into a gallop and they began racing alongside the cattle. At the start of the drive, Endis had given the less-experienced hands a lecture on how to handle a stampede. There was no stopping a stampede when it first started, he had said; the best they could hope to do was prevent the cattle from trampling the camp and keep them together as much as possible until they ran themselves out.
The herd bore to the right, the side Silas was on, towards the wagons and the rest of the drive crew. Nearly a quarter-league of open land lay between the running herd and the camp, but all Silas could think about was what would happen if even a few of those stampeding animals crashed through the camp and into the wagon where Lainie was sleeping. The flashes and loud reports of gunshots broke through the night as a few of the hands fired their guns to alert the rest of the outfit and to try to direct the herd away from the camp. His own gun to hand, Silas kept Abenar running alongside the cattle, ready to force any that tried to break towards the camp back into line before they could lead dozens more cattle into the camp.
By the time he came up even with the camp, the rest of the hands were grabbing lit torches, mounting up, and riding out. One cow and then another angled towards the tents and wagons. Silas fired three shots into the ground next to the straying cattle and they merged back into the herd.
As he galloped past the camp, he heard Lainie’s voice above the thundering of thousands of hooves and the bawling of cattle. “Silas!”
He glanced back; she was racing towards him on Mala, carrying a torch. “You ever had to deal with a stampede before?” he shouted.
“Not this big! All we can do is stay with them till they give up.”
A full league passed beneath Abenar’s hooves as they ran alongside the stampeding herd, then another. A sweat born of nerves and the effort of keeping the running cattle in line trickled down Silas’s back, and his breath came hard and fast. Abenar was starting to smell of sweat as well, but the big gray’s breathing remained steady and his pace strong. The light of the torch Lainie held was starting to waver. Among the Darknight horror stories Silas had heard were tales of cowhands whose horses stumbled in gopher holes while running with a stampede, resulting in both man and horse being trampled flat as pancakes into the ground. A mage light would provide better light than the flickering torch, but it would also give him away as a mage to the rest of the crew and to any other mages who might be hanging around.
“Hand me your torch,” he called to Lainie. She reached over and gave it to him. He fed a little power into the flame to help it burn a little brighter and steadier, then handed it back to her. As another safeguard, he touched Mala briefly and set a charm on the mare to increase her sure-footedness, then put the same charm on Abenar. If the Plain settlers hadn’t been so dead-set against mages, he thought, all the hands and horses could have had protective charms and better lights. Four or five skilled mages working together could have laid a large-scale keeper spell on the herd that would keep any of the cattle from being lost or stolen during the drive, and could even cast a shield or a net that would bring the stampede to a halt. Mages in Granadaia were powerful, wealthy, and privileged, but they hadn’t gotten that way doin
g nothing but eating tea cakes and doing parlor tricks.
A group of forty or so cattle broke off in front of Silas and headed right. He and Lainie turned aside with them. Abenar’s pace was starting to flag after the last few leagues’ running; fortunately, the cattle were also starting to slow down. Lainie had fallen a short distance behind; now she caught up to Silas and said, “I think we can just follow them now instead of trying to head them off.”
Silas nodded and let Abenar slacken his pace a bit more. Now that he had a chance to catch his own breath and think a bit, he turned his thoughts to the cause of the stampede. Had it been a Darknight spirit, or just a coyote, or something else? A stampede would offer rustlers, magical or Plain, the perfect opportunity to split off part of the herd and make away with it undetected. In the dark of the night, with all his concentration focused on staying with the running cattle and keeping himself and his horse out of trouble, he never would have noticed if someone was around the herd who didn’t belong, and neither would any of the other hands, he had no doubt.
He hadn’t sensed any mages out there, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any; they could be Wildings-born mages, suppressing their power as Orl Fazar had done. He supposed it was possible that some Wildings-born mages might decide to rustle themselves some cattle, but he couldn’t help wondering if the people behind the breeding project that had produced Fazar might also have an interest in disrupting the cattle drive and insinuating themselves into the Wildings economy. When he and Lainie had some privacy and could do more than shout a few words at a time, he would ask her if she had detected any Wildings-born mages earlier that evening.