by Kya Lind
In frustration at his thoughts, Traven stuffed the sweets back in the saddlebag. He needed to get over this idea that what he did made a difference. That he made a difference. He was just a soldier, and a second son at that. He scoffed at his recurring daydream that someday he would enter GloryLand, and everyone would cheer his contribution to the kingdom. Traven laughed at his own stupidity.
The approaching barge was drawing abreast. Traven looked through the dimming twilight to see which horse had caused the delay. Traven’s tired brain skidded to a halt and then clamored into action. A large warhorse stood on the deck of the opposite ferry. His head had been covered with a blanket. The huge, red horse stood in quivering silence as the two boats passed each other. Traven tried to comprehend what he was seeing. What was his horse doing on that barge? Traven quickly scanned the other passengers and cargo. No soldiers were on the ferry. No other war horses. In the gathering dusk, Traven could not make out the identity of the person holding Barn’s reins. Traven blinked in concentration; there was no doubt that horse was his. Traven moved down the side of the barge, pushing his way through the other passengers as the opposite barge slid away into the river night.
Traven thought briefly about jumping overboard and catching up to the other barge, but he realized his armor would pull him down in seconds. Traven watched as his horse moved farther away from him with each passing moment. He had very few things in his life that he valued, and Barn was at the top of that short list. He clenched his fists in disbelief and resolve. Someone had stolen his horse, and they weren’t going to get away with it.
Traven found the ferryman and, after a long discussion, found that no other ferries would be crossing tonight, not even for good money. The old ferryman had puffed on his pipe and explained that no one crossed in the dark for fear of River Darkcanes. Traven conceded that this was probably wise and resigned himself to waiting until morning to pursue the horse thief.
The river inn was booked full, and Traven had to pay a king’s ransom for a place for himself and his horse in the stable. Traven tended Crossbolt and climbed tiredly into the loft to bed down in the lumpy hay. He settled down as best he could with his back to the corner of the old stable roof, and tried to sleep with one eye open and one ear listening. A lone Kingdom guardsman was sometimes thought to be an easy mark. His armor alone was worth the trouble of waylaying a trained guard. He had already had one run-in this trip and didn’t look forward to another one tonight.
Traven smiled into the darkness. If he had been with Barn, he would have just bedded down under him and gone to sleep. Barn would have kept watch. Traven grunted. If he tried that with this horse, he would probably be stomped to death. Traven sighed tiredly. If he left on the first available ferry, he should be able to catch the thief first thing in the morning and be back on the ferry before breakfast. He was already one day late. He cursed his luck as he slid into a light sleep.
Traven was the first one on the ferry the next morning. He led Crossbolt onto the platform and waited impatiently for the slow moving townspeople to load. Several handcarts and a small wagon pushed their way onto the ferry. The big warhorse did not like being crowded and showed his displeasure by stomping and snorting. Crossbolt had been too exhausted last night to care, but this morning was a different matter. He laid his large ears back and glared menacingly at those closest to him. The passengers jostled for position in the crowded and limited space around the cargo.
Traven frowned as the pushing passengers, rearranging themselves, left a young mother with three small children clinging to her skirts as the closest ones to the big horse. Crossbolt stomped and twitched. The young mother tried to maneuver herself away from the horse, but the advancing crowd and the little ones made her retreat impossible. Traven growled at his fellow passenger’s selfishness, and dropped his cape over Crossbolt’s head. The children, frightened by the horse’s nearness, begin to cry. Crossbolt started moving back and forward in agitation. The crowd had shoved the young children almost under the big horse’s hooves. Traven, without releasing the blindfold or the reins, reached down and scooped up the oldest boy, a child of about five, and placed him on Crossbolt’s back. Startled, the boy became instantly silent. Traven rescued the next child, placing him behind his older brother. The young mother picked up the youngest and held her from harm’s way. Traven instructed the two boys to sit still. They looked at him with huge eyes and nodded solemnly. The older of the two quickly overcame his fright and sat proudly, surveying all from his lofty perch.
Traven’s patience was very worn by the time the two ferries drew abreast. Traven called to the approaching ferryman. “Ho, you had a problem with a big warhorse on the last run yesterday?”
“Aye, what of it?” came the distant, wind buffed reply.
“Who was with the horse?”
“What, say again?”
“Who was the rider?”
“What rider?”
“Of the warhorse? Who was the rider?” Traven yelled in frustration over the sounds of the two barges, the chains and the passengers.
“Aye,” yelled back the ferryman, as the two ferries slid past each other and started traveling in their opposite directions. “Just a young slip of a boy . . . . not much older than my . . .”
“Was anyone with him?” Traven’s question was pulled away by the wind. The other ferry slid away in a clamor of sounds. Traven settled back frustrated, but willing to wait this ride out.
When the ferry docked, the other passengers quickly pushed their way off the barge and departed with little care for the young mother and her small charges. Traven shook his head at the abysmal manners of this region. When the last of the travelers had departed, leaving only the large warhorse, Traven removed the cape from his eyes. Crossbolt blinked at the return of the sunlight, and realizing that he was no longer crowded, relaxed his tense muscles. The young mother stood in indecision waiting on Traven’s next move.
“Is someone meeting you here?”
The young woman nodded, “me pa.”
Traven nodded and indicated that she should start down the levy before the approaching wagon made it to the ferry. He turned Crossbolt and followed her down the incline, holding a hand onto the legs of the two boys to make sure they didn’t slide off.
A large man rushed toward them with an anxious look on his face. The young woman smiled at him and waved, indicating that nothing was wrong. When the party had reached solid ground away from the crowd now beginning to load the ferry, Traven reached up and swung each boy down, making sure they were well away from the horse’s hooves. Traven bowed formally, wished them good day, and led his horse away. As he departed, he couldn’t help smiling as he heard the high pitched childish voices telling their grandfather of their grand adventure. A tale he was sure would be told for many years to come.
An hour later, Captain Traven growled in frustration. No one had seen Barn since last night which meant that the thief had left the settlement directly after reaching the shore. That put his horse a possible ten hours ahead of him. He stood in indecision. He was already two days late. He needed to report to his station. Traven looked at the ferry that was almost loaded for another trip across. Then he looked at the open road that led away from town and his responsibilities. If he did not catch up with Barn now, he would never see him again. Traven cursed under his breath and mounted Crossbolt, kicking him into an easy canter. Traven turned them toward the open road. No one got away with stealing his horse.
Traven quickly found Barn’s hoof prints. Kingdom guardsman used a distinctive metal shoe pattern that made the hoof prints easy to track in the soft dirt of the road. Traven traveled all day at a good pace. When night fell the tracking became more difficult, but he pushed on. Early the next morning, Traven followed the tracks into a midsized settlement. Crossbolt was exhausted and stumbling. After finding out from the stable hands that he was mere hours behind Barn, Traven paid the stable to hold Crossbolt, and purchased another mount. The new horse was a lan
ky roam with a bad temper, but Traven felt he had little choice in the matter. He was so close he could taste victory. After questioning the stable hands about the rider, he lit out after him. The hands described the rider as a young noble dandy, complete with a top hat. Traven shook his head. How had Barn been stolen by a man the stablehands described as a milksop? Barn had always been a one man horse. Traven frowned and concentrated on following the trail. Now he was three days late. Time was running out.
Later that night, Traven lost the trail. After circling for an hour, Traven gave up and followed the lights to a small cozy roadside inn. Traven handed the roan over to the stable master and stumbled his way into the common room of the inn. Traven noticed wearily that there were only two other occupants in the room: a drunk draped across the large sturdy table in the center of the room, and a young blonde-headed boy sitting in the corner, shoveling food into his mouth as if he were starving. Traven knew the feeling. He made his way to a table in the back of the room and slumped into a chair with his back to the wall. The innkeeper quickly brought him a meal of hearty soup and bread and told him where the room was located.
Traven’s tired eyes kept returning to the young boy. The boy appeared to be eleven or twelve years of age. His unruly hair covered his forehead. A smattering of golden freckles covered his cheeks. He was long and lanky, and just a bit on the gangly side. The boy watched Traven with a worried expression. Traven tried ignoring him and ate more of his soup, but he found his eyes returning again to the kid. What was it about this kid? Something was out of place. Traven studied the child closely, trying to identify the source of his unease. After a moment Traven shrugged; the kid was just an ordinary kid. He was just tired. The boy startled and jumped when Traven clambered to his feet. Traven stumbled, and all but crawled up the stairs. Traven locked the door, stripped out of his armor, and fell across the bed, instantly asleep.
Chapter 6
Traven groaned and rolled over the next morning. He could tell without opening his eyes that it was late morning. Four days of hard riding and no sleep had caught up with him. He struggled up and dressed without really opening his tired eyes. He stopped downstairs long enough for coffee and cold coddled eggs before paying the landlord, and making straight for the stables.
The stable master informed him that his roam had come up lame. Impatient, Traven inquired about another mount. The only one available was an old swaybacked nag that Traven didn’t consider worth making into boots. He threw up his hands in disgust and marched back toward the inn. Suddenly he stopped, and examined the tracks coming from the stable. Traven spun around and marched toward the stable master. The man was stunned and frightened for his own safety at the look of rage on the young guardsman’s face.
“A warhorse was here last night?”
The man nodded mutely.
Traven growled in frustration and anger. He had been in the same town as the thief all night and the fiend had gotten away again. Why hadn’t he checked the stables last night? “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!,” he ranted at himself. He spun on the stable master again. “How long ago did the horse and rider leave?”
“A good three hours ago.”
Traven felt like punching something. “Describe the rider,” he ordered.
Shaken, the man complied, “Young nobleman about twenty-five. Fanciful dressed, I’d say.”
“What was his name?” Traven barked, tossing his saddle into the back of the nag.
The stable master scratched his head, “No name, didn’t say a word, just paid extra for all the apples that horse got into and took off.”
“Sounds like Barn,” Traven grimaced. If there was an apple around Barn would find it and eat it. He gave the stable master coin for the nag and mounted up. The scoundrel had a three hours head start, and Barn fresh rested. He was never going to catch up with them now. The fact that Barn never seemed to tire had never worked to his disadvantage before. He pushed the nag into a lop-legged, gallop-trot, bone-jarring canter and set out after his horse.
It was nearly noon when the rains started. Traven was sweltering under a leather cape in a vain attempt to keep most of the water off his metal chainmail. He was tired, wet, and frustrated. His teeth had been jarred loose by the gait of his stead. Traven groaned as Barn’s tracks were quickly erased in the mud of the road. Traven just kept trudging on down the road through the downpour. If that thief had not chosen Barn, Traven would have caught up with him days ago. Traven shrugged at his own foolishness. If the thief had not chosen Barn, Traven wouldn’t be out here tracking him. The dandy didn’t think anyone was following him. He never left the roadway or tried to cover his trail. He would have been an easy catch if he hadn’t been riding Barn, the wonder horse that never stopped.
About dark, the rain slowed and then stopped altogether. Traven rode into a small settlement consisting of a main house and a barn with a corral. Traven checked the barn - No war horse. He entered the main house to find it filled with locals drinking and playing games of dice. The rowdy bunch eyed him suspiciously until he chose a seat in the rear of the room and sat with his back to the wall. Most of them decided he was no threat, and ignoring him, they went back to their loud games. Traven did not like the way several of the rougher ones were looking at him. He decided it might be safer for everyone if he took his meal in his room. Traven settled back as though unconcerned and waited for the proprietor to come his way. He cautiously paid the man in advance for the meal and the room, and waited impatiently for the food to arrive. The smell of hot roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air. He was so hungry he could eat a whole sheep. He tried to take his mind off his hunger by scanning the room.
Most of the locals were farm boys come in out of the rain for a little drinking, fighting, and a little fun, but there were about four that he was concerned about. Two looked to be brothers, and the other two were with them. He had seen the quick, silent signals that passed between the four. Traven heaved a bone-weary sigh. He had let himself get too tired. He was in no shape to fend off four big brutes if they decided he was their mark.
The inn’s front door opened, and in slipped the kid Traven had seen the night before at the last inn. “How did he get so far in one day?” Traven wondered. He then realized that the whole room had become silent as every eye watched the newcomer. Traven frowned. He hadn’t drawn that much attention when he had come in, and he was a lone kingdom guardsman in the out country. What was it about the kid that caused such a strange reaction?
The boy froze and then looked around the room while backing slowly toward the door. The room resumed its earlier chatter. The boy paused and sniffed the air. Traven shifted in his seat, drawing the boy’s eye. As if the pull of food was too much for the kid, he scampered across the hall and slid into the seat facing Traven. Traven studied the boy’s bowed head. The kid probably figured he was safer with a guard. Traven felt the gaze of the four men. He couldn’t tell if they were interested in him or the boy. Why would they be interested in the boy? Traven felt uneasy about the whole situation.
The landlord appeared with Traven’s food. The kid, with his head still bowed, carefully laid a copper on the table. Traven knew the meal cost twice that amount. The proprietor looked at Traven with a question in his eyes. Traven nodded, and the innkeeper scurried away only to return moments later with another bowl for the boy. Without ever looking up, the kid dug in and quickly devoured the food. Traven ate his own meal, watching the kid in his peripheral vision. There was something odd, a piece of the puzzle that Traven was missing. He shrugged to himself. He was too tired. The kid was only a kid. His exhausted mind was playing tricks on him again.
Finished with his bowl, the boy scooted out of the chair and headed for the front door. One of the locals, a loud drunk, blocked the boy’s exit. The kid paused and then tried to go around the man. The drunk blocked his way again. The kid tried the other way; the drunk stepped into his path once more. Several others had noticed and shouted encouragement to the drunk in his game of cat an
d mouse. Realizing the gravity of the situation, the boy retreated back towards Traven. The locals formed a loose circle around the boy, and the drunk blocked the kid’s escape. One of the others pushed the boy from behind into the drunk, causing them both to stumble. The drunk came up fighting mad, no longer in a playful mood. The kid ducked and dodged his way through the circle and started for the stairs to the second floor. The drunk, in hot pursuit, nabbed the boy by the ankle as he climbed up the stairs. Traven had stood up when they had started his way and now overbalanced the drunk by pushing him hard on the upper arm. The drunk stumbled sideways, losing his grip on the boy. The kid scrambled up the stairs and disappeared at the top into the second floor hallway.
The drunk moved toward Traven, but the sound, of ringing steel as he unsheathed his sword, seemed to sober the man instantly.
“What, you that brat’s nanny?” the drunk sneered. Traven frowned. Many times Kingdom guards were confused with Royal guards. Royal guards protected the nobility and their children; Kingdom guards settled disputes and kept the unlawful from running rampant in the land.
Traven pointed at his blue uniform. “I am a Kingdom guardsman,” he proclaimed as haughtily as he could manage. “I am no one’s nanny.” His face held a sneer that he hoped would convince his audience. He didn’t want anyone to get the idea that the kid was worth a ransom. He shrugged and re-sheaved his sword. “I just thought the fight should be more even.” He shrugged again and resumed his seat at the table. It had been a calculated move to disarm the situation and give the drunk a way to save face without a fight.
The man took it. “How quaint. A thug of the kingdom sticking up for the little guy,” he sneered as he strolled away. Traven continued to eat as though unconcerned. He was aware of every movement in the room. His nerves quivered with awareness. He needed to get out of here.