Never did the horses seem confused; never did they seem to put a foot wrong. It was almost like a dance, forward while turning, then back, then forward while turning, until the caravan was completely turned around, all in a space that wasn’t much bigger than two of the caravans put end to end. Mags was impressed.
So was Jakyr. Mags could tell it from his face. He didn’t say anything, though, just gave a hand-gesture to Mags to follow, and skirted around the wagon and onto the path out as soon as Lita was ready.
Mags had been a little afraid that the horses would just plod along, but their pace was a good, steady, brisk walk. They seemed to enjoy their work and weren’t straining at all. Lita didn’t use the little seat; she sat on the “floor” of the porch with her feet braced against a beam that separated the shafts, both hands full of reins, her Scarlet hooded coat wrapped and tied tightly around her, with the hood snugged down with a Scarlet wool scarf. It was clear that of all of them, she was probably the best prepared next to Jakyr for the trip. In her Scarlets, she was the brightest bit in the landscape; the color of her uniform and the few spots of blue on the Companions’ tack, and the faint pastels of the vines and flowers on the wagon were the only touches of color in all the gray and brown.
:It isn’t as if she’s never done this before, you know,:
Dallen chided him.
:She’s more used to living on the road than you are. Before she was a teacher or the Dean, she was a Journeyman, and then a Master Bard, and Bards wander. And before
that,
she was a drover.:
Jakyr forged on ahead, though he at least had the courtesy to stay within about five lengths of the caravan. Mags asked Dallen to drift back to Lita once they were properly on the road. Fortunately, that river below them was moving along placidly, or the noise of rushing water would have drowned out any attempt at conversation. Even the river was gray, moving along with scarcely a ripple on its surface. There wasn’t much sound other than the clop of the horses’ hooves, the faint chime of the Companions’ feet, and the sounds of the wagon. There was the steady creak of wood, the sound of the metal-rimmed wheels crackling through the layer of dead leaves on the road, and the steady breathing of the horses in time with their pace.
It was peaceful. Just as peaceful as the slow, ambling pace he and Jakyr had taken on the first leg of their journey. If it hadn’t been so cold, it would have been perfect.
I better get used to the cold again. There’ll be a lot more of it afore there’s less.
“Dallen says you was a drover,” Mags said, as he caught Lita’s eye, and she nodded cordially enough to him. “What’s a drover?”
“A drover is anyone who drives animals,” she said, “Now, that can just mean someone who herds them for long distances, when you take a herd of sheep or cattle or horses to market, for instance. That’s done afoot sometimes, sometimes ahorse. But in my case, it literally meant that I was a
driver.
My whole family worked as wagon, cart, and caravan drivers over great distances. We were the ones who got trading caravans where they were supposed to go. I used to live in a van like this one, only not nearly as new.” She chuckled. “Six of us, my pa, ma, and me and my three sibs. Two girls in the cupboard bed below, parents in the bed above, two boys in hammocks slung over the benches. I had reins in my hands at the age most farming younglings are toddling after their folks for their first planting.” She raised an eyebrow. “Probably the same age they put you down in that mine.”
He nodded. Suddenly he felt as if he had a lot more in common with Lita than he’d had before. They were both working at an age when people like Amily, Bear, and Lena were still allowed to be children.
“Don’t get me wrong, I loved every moment of it,” Lita continued, and chirruped to the horses, who cocked their ears back at her. “I drove a vanner just like these fellows. They’re a breed apart, I can tell you. Smart, steady, calm, and gentle. Willing, oh, you’ll not find a horse as willing as a vanner. We used to play among their feet and never a care that we might get stepped on. That’s one reason why I stepped in when I got wind of this. I went down to the Horse Market, called on my old friends, and looked over a good many pairs before I picked these two. I knew you’d need the right horses, and I knew you’d need someone who’d done more in the way of driving than take the reins on a pair now and again.”
“Well, I’m mortal glad you did,” Mags told her sincerely. “I dunno nothin’ about horses. I reckon I’d’ve had to ask Dallen.”
“Given that your lads can actually
talk
to horses, you might’ve been all right,” Lita replied, but she sounded dubious. “Still, things can go wrong in the time it takes to blink, and plenty of trouble can happen between a horse spooking and Dallen or Jermayan noticing. Still, I wouldn’t trust anything between the shafts of a caravan but a vanner. I won’t say that vanners won’t spook, but they trust their drover more than most horses, and if the drover stays calm, they settle pretty quickly.”
“Do you—would you teach me to drive?” Mags asked hesitantly. If Lita would—well, it seemed like a valuable skill to have. Did they make smaller caravans? They must; single traders wouldn’t need this much room, and a trader would make a good disguise. Too bad that Companions wouldn’t take dye . . .
:Don’t you dare even try.:
“I intend to,” Lita assured him. “I intend to teach all of you to drive. Even the All-Alone-Herald up there, if he can climb down out of his self-imposed isolation long enough.”
She said it with an ironic twist of her lips, but Mags caught the underlying bitterness. He deemed it prudent to pretend he hadn’t noticed.
“Vanners are all-arounds, and these two have been trained for riding as well,” she continued. “We’ll probably not be able to move the caravan until the snow melts once it sets in, so the Three Inseparables in there will have to ride out to the villages. That’s not a problem, you saw the muscles on these lads. They could carry two riders and four packs and not strain themselves.” She chuckled. “I’ll bet Bear and Lena and Amily are walking stiff and sore for a while, though, once they start riding. Striding a vanner is like trying to get your legs around a small house.”
Mags laughed, because he had noticed how broad a barrel these horses had. He didn’t envy his three friends one bit. Even
he,
who rode constantly, would have a little trouble adjusting to a horse that large.
“It feels good to get the reins in my hands again,” Lita mused. “You know, Mags, I think I was getting stale and bad-tempered, cooped up in the Collegium, spending all day solving everybody’s damned problems. I never got to teach anymore. I didn’t get to write or perform nearly as much as I wanted. If Purchell does well in my absence, I think I may just step down and go out on the road again for a while, at least while I’m still fit enough to do it. Or I will if I get to steal this caravan to do it.”
Mags had to laugh at that, because as cramped for six as the caravan was, it would be quite luxurious for a single person. “Not asking much, are you?”
Lita straightened up and struck a pose. “I’m a Master Bard, head of Bardic Circle, and Dean of the Collegium. If I don’t deserve it, who does?”
Mags had to admit, she had him there.
“And think how jolly this rig would look painted all in Bardic Scarlet! Pick out those vines and flowers in black and gold . . . she’d be a treat. I think, regardless, I’m going to see about keeping these boys for myself.” She grinned. “I just might commission myself a new caravan if I can’t have this one.”
He wondered what the other three were doing inside that rolling cottage. He was pretty sure he knew what Bear and Lena would have
liked
to get up to, but Amily’s presence would put a damper on that.
Amily was probably reading. Lena was probably practicing—the notes of a softly plucked gittern couldn’t be heard outside those stout walls. Bear? Either making notes, or maybe sorting out herbs into his kits. He had one full cupboard devoted to just the herbs for his kits in there, but he had explained that it was better, so far as taking up space was concerned, for him to store them in bulk and make up the kits as he went along.
Last night, the wind had blown most of the leaves down off the trees, and the sky had gone overcast. The wind had died down, but it was almost as cold as it had been last night, with the leaf scent gone bitter, and the air feeling even colder with the damp in it. There was the least little hint of fog, less fog and more a chilly haze in the distance and blurring the tops of the trees. The entire world was painted in shades of brown and gray now; autumn was nearly over, and winter right at hand.
Mags was glad that Lita had given in to staying at the inns Jakyr planned to choose.
I’ve gotten soft since I got to the Collegium,
he thought wryly.
Beds, regular hot meals . . . hard to do without ’em when you got used to having ’em.
He wondered just how well the Guard had stocked The Bastion—and just what the purported caves looked like. If they were just shallow indentations, enough to shelter supplies but not much more, it was going to be a very cramped and crowded winter, unless they could come up with some auxiliary shelter.
He and Dallen mulled that over as they trotted alongside the caravan. Lita seemed perfectly content just to drive, humming to herself under her breath. Jakyr dropped back a little, riding just in front of the horses, but he didn’t seem inclined to conversation. That left Mags and his Companion free to consider options.
:It might just be best to make a second bedroom under the caravan. We could wall it all around, give it a floor. Use the canvas to cut the wind, back it with firewood or pack straw in between canvas and, say, some laths. Then Bear and Lena would have some privacy and you’d have privacy from them.:
Mags thought that over.
:Might could do the same sorta thing with a wall for one of them indentation caves. If we did that, could put a fire in there, wouldn’t be so cold.:
Neither option seemed particularly comfortable however. He went over what he remembered from the reports. Surely the brief descriptions had suggested
real
caves. . . .
:That’s how I remember it,:
Dallen agreed.
With real caves they could have real comfort. Real beds, even; easy enough to make a fine bed with a little wood, a lot of hay, and some canvas. Why, if the cave entrance was big enough, they could move the caravan inside, and whoever was lucky could sleep in it!
:What’m I thinking? Bear and Lena’ll get it, sure as sure.:
As the morning turned to noon, the terrain on either side of the river turned hillier. Mags didn’t envy the farmers who had to plow their fields here. Though most of the land seemed to be given up to orchards and grazing, there were still fields that had been cultivated, the plowing following the contours of the hills, giving them a slightly terraced look. He spotted more than one farmer out covering the fields with old straw or beanstalks or even leaves.
:That’s to hold the soil on the side of the hill over the winter,:
Dallen told him. It seemed a sensible precaution.
:In the spring, all that will be plowed under. You won’t find anyone burning leaves or straw out here; no one wastes anything.:
Lots of sheep here, which moved slowly away from the strangers on the road in an uneasy, woolen cloud, as their guardian dogs kept a wary eye out.
By contrast, the cattle paid no attention to them at all, and the few horses—ponies, really—that were out in the fields came up to the fences to stare. Some whickered at the vanners, who replied but didn’t stop moving.
:This is where some of your Kirball ponies are from,:
Dallen told him. Well, he could see how they would have to be sure-footed on this terrain.
Around noon or a little after, Mags spotted a thin stream of smoke rising from somewhere near the road ahead. Since Dallen had made a point of saying that no one burned leaves or brush here, or fired their fields before winter to burn off the stubble, he guessed it must be an inn.
And so it was.
They didn’t stop for long—just long enough for all of them to go into the kitchen for a quick washup in hot water, drink down some excellent soup and mulled ale, and take away some packets of roasted vegetables in crust. Not quite a pocket pie, but not unlike one either. When they got back on the road, Lita had Bear sit beside her for a driving lesson. From the way he was handling the reins, with confidence instead of hesitation, Mags guessed it wasn’t his first.
The afternoon was much the same; gradually the hills got steeper, but they never left the river road. When they saw people in the fields or at farmsteads in the distance, no one seemed at all curious about the strangers. Not even children came down to the road to see who it was.
Mags was beginning to get a sense of why this district was considered a challenge. Only at infrequent public houses and small inns did anyone show any curiosity about them, and even then, it was just to stare at them. None of the waving and calling out of greetings he had seen coming back from the Karsite border or on the first leg of their trip.
The sun was just setting when another plume of smoke heralded another inn, and this was, indeed, the one at which Jakyr intended to stop.
Mags couldn’t tell any difference in this one from any of the others they had passed; it was built of rough-hewn timbers, a single low, broad building all on one level, with a stable around the back. But there was a very great difference once they had pulled into the stable yard. A stable boy appeared immediately to help Lita position the caravan and unharness the vanners, and he pointed out two open, capacious loose boxes to Mags and Jakyr.
“Help yourselves, Heralds. I’ll be along with water and fodder shortly.” He grinned, showing a gap between his front teeth. “There’s only me, but I’ll get to it.”
Well! At least that was friendlier than the folk they had seen so far on this road!