“To friendship.”
“Why do you call what we will be served beef Viscount?” asked Jessyla.
“Because it’s not quite what it seems, like the Viscount, although I wouldn’t tell him that. But then, he has a sense of humor and would appreciate any good dish named after him, unlike a ruler such as the Prefect of Gallos, who, I understand, has no sense of humor at all. His idea of a jest is more like an execution.”
“I’ve thought most rulers don’t like jests at their expense,” said Beltur. “Or am I mistaken?”
“It depends on who bears the expense,” replied Jhotyl dryly. “That’s why the Prefect of Gallos found it amusing that Saryn of the black blades conquered the rather boorish lords of Lornth, but a great deal less humorous when she and Ryba destroyed his entire army.”
“And what of the Viscount?” asked Jessyla, a glint in her eye.
“From what I know,” replied Greshym, “he laughs at small pranks played on him by his family, smiles at wordplay that does not always flatter him, and accepts certain playful behaviors by those of wealth and power. He still punishes those whose acts or pranks seek to undermine his authority.”
“At times,” added Jhotyl, “he even has forgiven a first offense.”
At that moment, the server, the same man who had brought drinks both in the parlor and earlier in the dining room, began to present each diner with a platter on which was a circular golden brown pastry, from the corners of which seeped a brown sauce. Each diner also received a small loaf of soft dark bread. The platters, however, were of a cream-colored porcelain, with a dark green rim, as were the smaller plates that held each loaf of bread.
Once the server retired to the corner of the dining room, Greshym said, “Beef Viscount isn’t as elegant a dish as one might find in Jellico, but I have a weakness for it. I find I prefer taste to elegance, especially in what I eat. See what you think.” With that, he cut into his pastry.
Beltur followed his host’s example, cutting through the browned pastry crust, and then took a small sampling of what lay beneath—a brown sauce covering thin strips of beef, along with chunks of potato, and two other vegetables he did not recognize, one slightly slippery, if buttery, and the other with almost no taste, except a tinge of bitterness that somehow just offset the richness of the sauce enough that the result was pleasantly piquant. He took another mouthful … and another.
The brown bread was slightly sweet. Molasses bread. And the molasses had come from somewhere else. Northern Certis was too cold.
“I see you like the beef Viscount,” said Greshym.
“I do,” said Beltur. “I didn’t recognize the vegetables.”
“Most people don’t, for different reasons. The ones that taste buttery are mushrooms—”
Beltur stiffened. Had he been wrong to trust Greshym? “Mushrooms? Aren’t they poisonous?”
“Some are. Most aren’t.” Greshym smiled. “I have a small cellar where I raise the safe kind.”
Beltur could sense the truth of that, but he still couldn’t help worrying. “And the other vegetable?”
“Oh, that’s quilla, cut into chunks. The cooks soak it in watered wine for a time. That takes out the bitterness, all but a touch. Now … I did promise to tell you about Certis while we finish dinner. If you were to travel the river road south to Jellico with Jhotyl, you would see that in most places the river walls are high. Those walls were built by the grandsire of the Viscount…”
Near the end of dinner, after Beltur and Jessyla had each lingered over an almond honeycake, Greshym said, casually, “You should stay another day before you start your trek to Vergren.”
“That wouldn’t be a problem?” asked Beltur.
“Stars, no. You did a favor to all of us by dealing with those brigands. We’re not crowded, and you need a day of rest. So do your horses. The grazing on the way will be slender. Please feel free to pack as much hay as you can carry.”
“Thank you.” Beltur didn’t like being indebted, even for information, but he wasn’t about to turn down such an offer. He also knew that they couldn’t carry that much hay, perhaps enough for two days, if that. “Are there places to buy hay and grain?”
“At this time of year, those who have it will be glad to sell,” said Greshym.
Beltur had almost forgotten that he wanted to bring up one other matter. “About the brigands … most of those in the second attack were wearing old uniform tunics that looked like uniforms of the Viscount’s guards.”
“I heard. Jhotyl provided me with one.”
Beltur looked askance at the purported fur trader.
“Mheltyn ran back and stripped one off one of the dead.”
“It might prove useful to all of us,” added Greshym. “Now … I do have some fine brandy. And let me tell you what I know about the road to Vergren…”
Beltur understood that what remained of the evening would deal with their coming travel and pleasantries.
XCIV
Both Beltur and Jessyla were glad to be able to sleep later on eightday, later being seventh glass, and they spent the morning washing clothes, grooming horses, and cleaning tack. After that, Beltur spent more than a glass working with both Taelya and Jessyla on magery, and in the case of Jessyla, with learning and holding containments, in addition to her shields. The later afternoon was spent in more pleasurable activities.
They did not receive another invitation to dinner, not that Beltur expected such, but the meals in the small public room were better than in most of the inns they had visited … and far less costly, as Jhotyl had pointed out. They also did not see Jhotyl, although they encountered all the others of the traders’ party on and off, and late on eightday, another two wagons rolled in, accompanied by two riders.
Oneday morning, Beltur gathered the others together, making sure that the bundles of hay were securely fastened to the mule, and especially behind Taelya, since she was so much lighter than the other riders.
Beltur finished that and turned to go find Jhotyl. He’d been reluctant to press for his golds on sevenday night, and no one had known where Jhotyl was on eightday.
He needn’t have worried, because the trader was standing outside the stable, as if he’d been waiting for Beltur. He immediately handed Beltur a small leather bag. “I would that I could pay you more, but I am not as wealthy as those who could. I trust you will find this sufficient. It is a little more than I promised.”
“I’m curious,” said Beltur. “You’ve gone out of your way to be more than fair. Might I ask why?”
“You might. It’s because I’m looking out for myself. I do not know where you will end up. I daresay you don’t either. But the odds are that you will do well and will find a position of power. In that position, you may be able to help me, at least in areas where our interests coincide. You have also gained me a young man who might become a good and loyal teamster.”
Beltur noted the slight emphasis on the word “loyal.” “He seems like he’s appreciative of an opportunity not to continue in past endeavors.”
“He also saw what you could do.” Jhotyl offered a rueful look. “Also, if I may be honest, for similar reasons, I do not ever wish to be considered your enemy, even if your future interests and mine do not align themselves.”
“I would not wish that, either.”
“Good. Then, we are agreed. I wish you the fortune of the black angels and the guidance of the Rational Stars.”
“The same to you, and may your journey to Jellico be most uneventful. I do have one last question.”
“Oh?”
“The other night you mentioned there was a ferry to the other side of the river. What is the best way to get there?”
“That’s something I can answer. Take the South Market Boulevard to the next wide avenue. It’s not marked, but it’s the one with a public house on the corner—the Green Pitcher. Turn left, and take it until it reaches the river. Then turn right. The ferry is no more than half a kay east.”
&n
bsp; “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.” Jhotyl offered a parting smile before turning and walking toward the warehouse where Faeltur was watching and listening closely as Mheltyn loaded one of the trader’s wagons.
“Who is he?” asked Jessyla, as she edged out from the stable.
“Someone who is much more than he seems, and who has created friends and allies everywhere. Beyond that … in time, we may find out.” And I really don’t want to be on the other side. It could be far too costly. Beltur smiled ruefully. That was what Jhotyl had as much as said as well.
Because the bag felt heavier than it likely should, unless some of the golds were in the form of silvers, Beltur untied the leather thong holding the bag closed and gingerly poured out the coins, his mouth opening. Then he counted them and looked at Jessyla. “Four golds and ten silvers.”
She nodded as if unsurprised. “It’s only fair.”
“I’m still surprised when someone I don’t know that well treats me fairly.”
“That should tell you something.”
“I think it says more about Jhotyl than me.” Beltur put the silvers in his belt wallet, and two golds in the notches in his belt, holding on to the other two. “I need to pay Lhadoraak his share.”
Jessyla nodded and followed Beltur back into the stable to where Lhadoraak stood waiting by his mount.
“What did he want?”
“To pay us.” Beltur extended the two golds. “Here’s your share.”
The blond mage’s eyes widened. “That’s what he promised for all of us.”
“He decided we were worth more after we got rid of the second group of brigands.”
“You didn’t have to…”
“He gave us five.”
“Then two is too much. You’ve paid—”
“Two is fair. Just make sure Tulya knows.” Beltur grinned. “Are you all ready to leave? We need to head out.”
He walked back to where he’d tied Slowpoke and stroked the big horse, getting a nuzzle in return. “You ready for more riding?” Then he led Slowpoke out to the courtyard, where he mounted and adjusted the visor cap to best shield his eyes.
Jhotyl’s directions were easy to follow, and two quints later, Beltur led his party toward the ferry slip, following the gestures of a man standing at the end of the slip where the ferry would dock. He reined up in front of a wooden gate on the left side of a stout wooden fence.
The ferryman stood on the other side. “You’re fortunate today. There won’t be much of a wait. It’s a copper a horse. You pay as you pass, once we’ve offloaded. Keep your mounts behind the fence railing there. When the ferry comes in, they’ll be offloading steers, and you don’t want to get in the way.”
“Offloading steers?” said Tulya.
The ferryman grinned. “Where do you think the beef comes from?”
While that response didn’t exactly answer the question, the ferryman turned to watch the river and the large capstan from which a heavy cable ran.
Beltur looked to the far side, where, after a time, a large green banner rose to the top of a pole.
“Boat’s ready!” called the ferryman.
Beltur looked down to see that two oxen were yoked to capstan bars on the lower level, and they began to move, turning the capstan. Slowly the rectangular ferry moved through the water toward the west shore. As it drew nearer, Beltur made out the forms of ten black steers, behind the solid hull planks of the ferry.
When the ferry reached the slip, the entire pier and slip shuddered. Then the two ferry hands threw lines around bollards, and seemingly in moments, two drovers guided the steers into a chute that led to a sturdy-looking corral, presumably a holding pen.
Shortly the ferryman opened the gate. Beltur handed over seven coppers.
“No more than two mounts side by side!” The deckhand looked at Beltur and added, “Ser, move him forward to the bar.”
“Healer, a little more outboard. That way.”
Again, before long, the ferry was moving across the river, swaying in a motion that was part up and down and seemingly side to side.
The deckhand closest to Beltur kept looking at him, then finally said, “Mage, not wanting to pry, ser, but where might you be headed?”
“East,” Beltur replied. “There’s something we need to do there.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Beltur didn’t want the deckhands spreading exactly where they were headed, although he couldn’t have said precisely why, just that if somehow the Viscount’s Guard did inquire, he didn’t want them to find out more than anyone could have seen.
The ferry soon docked on the eastern shore, again with the thudding shudder.
As they led their mounts off the ferry, Beltur glanced around. Outside of several largely dilapidated piers, two buildings that looked like warehouses, and a row of shops—and almost a score of corrals, some with sheep, but most with steers—all he could see were small cots, and a few larger houses, none of which looked to be more than half a kay from the ferry slip.
Ahead of them was a road leading eastward roughly through the middle of the village.
Although the road was graveled and smoothed, Beltur couldn’t help but worry how far they could travel before it turned into a rutted track.
He urged Slowpoke forward.
XCV
Five days later, as the sun burned off the late-morning spring mist, Beltur and his party were still in Certis, but riding across rolling plains toward hills that seemed to recede with each step that Slowpoke took. They’d passed a handful of traders heading west, most with two or three wagons, presumably with enough men to discourage small groups of brigands, but had not overtaken anyone heading east, except near hamlets.
There had been grass that had sprouted in sheltered places, allowing some grazing, and they’d been able to buy some hay along the way, but Beltur worried that the horses weren’t getting enough to eat, and he’d insisted on more stops wherever he saw grass that looked good. Slowpoke seemed perfectly willing to feed on most grasses, and that also bothered Beltur, because he doubted he knew which were best, but the fact that there were grasses the gelding didn’t like reassured him a little.
By the time the sun had neared its zenith, the hills had stopped retreating and were beginning to grow larger. Then Beltur saw a keystone, half buried in the withered grass of the past year, with the barely discernible inscription BORTAAN 5K.
“According to the people in the hamlet we left this morning, that’s the last town in Certis, isn’t it?” said Jessyla. “They weren’t as friendly as they might have been. But everyone seems wary of mages and the Viscount’s guards.”
“Except we haven’t seen any, except for dispatch riders. The last one circled around us, as if we carried the green flux.” That also bothered Beltur, because the longer they’d been in Certis, the clearer it was that mages were kept under very tight control by the Viscount. That suggested that, like the Prefect of Gallos, the Viscount had a group of very strong mages at his command. While it was unlikely that any would show up on the road from Rytel to Bortaan, it still concerned him. “I think the people are more uncertain about us, because we’re not supposed to be here, and they don’t know what that means. I’m more worried about the border post ahead.”
“No one mentioned a border post.”
“This is a trade road. It’s not a busy one, but it does go to Montgren. I can’t imagine that there isn’t a post with tariff inspectors there, at least on the Certan side. If there’s not, I’ll be relieved, but I wouldn’t wager on it.”
“Neither would I,” said Lhadoraak from where he rode behind them. “What do you have in mind if they give us some difficulty?”
“First, we need to see if they have any mages here and how many armsmen or guards. After that, we’ll decide.”
Almost a glass passed before the group came over the top of a gentle rise and saw a small town set on a flat that extended almost to the bases of two rugged hills that showed frequent rocky ou
tcrops, and occasional steep but short cliffs. Beltur reined up and gestured for the others to join him as he studied Bortaan. The road ran straight to the town, bisecting it almost evenly, and there was a wall on the far side of all the buildings that extended almost a kay on each side of the road, seeming to turn right into the steep inclines and ending there. A larger brick building stood between the wall and the other buildings in the town, and Beltur thought he could make out a gap in the wall where the road seemed to go through it.
As the others moved their mounts closer to Beltur and reined up, he said, “Take a look and tell me what you think.”
After several moments, Tulya said, “That wall is like the walls on each side of Axalt, except smaller.”
“There’s a fort there,” added Lhadoraak. “That means armsmen and tariff inspectors.”
“Couldn’t people just walk around the wall?” asked Taelya.
“I was just thinking that, dear,” said Tulya.
“They could,” said Beltur, “but people aren’t the reason for the wall. Those hills look pretty rugged. People and horses could get around the wall, but I don’t think wagons could. Even for people, it doesn’t look easy. The wall’s to make sure it’s hard for traders to avoid paying tariffs. I’m not sure they care that much about travelers who aren’t armsmen or traders.”
“They might care about mages,” said Jessyla dryly.
Beltur looked over his party. “Any other thoughts?”
“What do you think?” asked Lhadoraak.
“I’d like to get out of Certis as soon as possible. When we get into the town, we should stop at the square or wherever we can to water the horses and give them a little rest. While we’re doing that, I should be able to tell if there are any mages there. If there aren’t, I think we should just ride up to the gate as if we were what we are, travelers on our way to Montgren.”
“What if they try to stop us?” asked Tulya.
“I don’t think it will come to that, but if it looks like trouble, we just agree to turn around, and we ride away and then use a concealment and make our way around Bortaan.” For Beltur, that was very much the last resort. He really didn’t want to blunder through rocky hills in a land he didn’t know. On the other hand, he also really didn’t want to have to use magery against the Viscount’s Guard, not unless he had to. It somehow seemed wrong to use order/chaos force against the lawful authority of a land that hadn’t done anything against him or those in his party. Unless they try to detain us simply because we’re mages.
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