image [https://i.imgur.com/d21tO36.jpg]
Upon nearing Fort Krek, Fabulosa broke off from the group to retrieve Iris, Jahid, and Sami. The renegades and I bivouacked south of Krek beyond patrol range. Beaker and I kept watch, tended the campfire, and cooked while everyone else hid in the Dark Room. The wait lasted much longer than I expected, almost a full day, but it ended happily.
When Fabulosa returned alone, the smile on her face eased fears about more bad news. She carried a collie puppy in a sling against her bosom.
“You bought a dog?”
“It’s for Murdina. Ida asked me to pick one up from Fort Krek.”
I grunted. “I see. It’s nice to see loose ends tied together, I suppose.”
“I spoke to Iris too. She’s glad we found survivors and will link up with us directly.”
This news struck me as no surprise, as we expected to kill Thaxter and his people, but it made no sense why Iris hadn’t joined her. Fabulosa showed the tact not to go into too many details, and I had the discretion not to ask. While we couldn’t see into the Dark Room, we knew we had a twelve-person audience.
When we left earshot of the Dark Room, I lowered my voice. “So, where is Iris, anyway? Has she reenlisted or something?”
Fabulosa shook her head, grinning. “Guess!”
“I dunno. What?”
“We have our first caravan tomorrow!” She smiled and thumbed behind her.
Fabulosa gestured to the wilderness. “That means a lot of work for everyone. We’ve got a road to clear.”
The eavesdroppers had better hearing than I gave them credit for and slid down the rope. The soldiers scrambled down the line. News of hard work hadn’t deterred them. Instead, it seemed to lift their spirits.
I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re kidding!”
“Iris is with the merchants now. That’s where I left them. Salt! We’ve got a salt wagon going all the way to Grayton. Spice traders from Jarva brought it to Krek. They sat on the fence with only Iris and her three employees. But when I told them we had a dozen more escorts, the traders decided a trial run to be worth the risk. We’re meeting them at the end of something called Blister Path.”
The soldiers climbing out of the Dark Room cheered and high-fived the Sternways’ mercenaries.
One officer belted out lines in a drill cadence, each followed by a chorus of soldiers.
“Captain Jay ain’t giving us leave,
Captain Jay ain’t giving us leave!
I’ve seen things you can’t believe,
I’ve seen things you can’t believe!
Save us from O’ Bliss’s wrath,
Save us from O’ Bliss’s wrath!
Ain’t got time to take a bath,
Ain’t got time to take a bath!
On patrol and doin’ the math,
On patrol and doin’ the math!
Counting miles on Blister Path.
Counting miles on Blister Path!”
Beaker fluffed his feathers, extended his wings, and bobbed his head to the chant’s beat. Instead of screaming along with the soldiers, he opened his beak wide and excitedly dilated his eyes.
The soldiers pointed at the griffon, clapping with approval. “He’s got it! The griffin looks good to go!”
Corporal Turan ignored the revelry but smiled while she pulled her hair into a knot. “Old Bliss! We know that road very well. That’s the westernmost road. As recruits, we carried well water from there for punishment.”
One soldier raised his voice. “Not a punishment, ma’am! It’s for motivation! Right, captain?”
Jourdain grinned, shook his head, and gestured into the wilderness. “It’s nearby. Not even a half-hour away.” He turned to the troops. “Last one there draws Old Ruthy’s bathwater.”
Loud laughter followed. I didn’t know Ruthy and dismissed the comment as another inside joke I would never understand.
Fabulosa caught my eye. “I can’t blame Chickers for being so excited. Hearing them makes me want to march. We ought to adventure more. It felt good to leave town. You had fun, right?”
“Fun? Yeah, sure.” My grin and nodding seemed to satisfy her.
We reached the rendezvous point and cleared a westward trail with machetes and hatchets. While we waited for the caravan to appear, a soldier carved words on a piece of lumber in the Dark Room—“Hawkhurst 70 miles” and “Fort Krek 4 miles.” She whittled two wooden pegs, drilled holes into a tree next to our trail, and hung the sign. It made for an encouraging first step for travelers.
The following morning, Iris and the mercenaries appeared with merchants driving a torodon cart. The civilians in the procession expressed relief at seeing so many guards and asked us about the trade route.
When Iris arrived, she firmly shook my hand. “Thank you, governor. Harboring the mutineers lifted such a weight off my mind. It’s a miracle you two saved as many as you did.” Fabulosa had already debriefed her about Thaxter’s recovery and our decision to take the renegades to Hawkhurst.
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Since many eyes fell upon us, I didn’t delve into the specifics of the rescue. Thaxter or Captain Jourdain could tell the tale. Instead, I spoke about Hawkhurst’s additions. “I think the soldiers will be comfortable in the barracks, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. And if any want to join the private sector, we’ll happily bring them to the guild. We’ll need as many mercs as we can get, eh?” Iris gestured to the torodon cart. She lowered her voice and took me to the side. “My only reservation is Thaxter. I can’t take him. I can’t put him in command, and he’s a liability as a footman. The others still regard him as an authority figure.”
“That’s fine. The commander wants to retire. I might use him as an advisor and nothing more. How is Fort Krek?”
“It’s stable for the first time since winter.”
The high summer season dated her timeline by about seven months. “Is that when Thaxter started losing it?”
Iris nodded. “Fischer will be a good chief. With the crisis resolved, things will return to normal—which amounts to Krek thumping the orcs back to the mountains. The enemy is disorganized, and they have no significant imperial support. The emperor is engaged with elves in Little Arweald, so Krek faces no more credible threats.”
“What’s going on in Arweald?”
“Orcs are pushing into the forest. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but they’re leaving the Doublespines and making headway into the forest, but the elves are holding them back.”
“And you’re saying the orcs have never done that before?”
“Not to my knowledge. Some say they have a pact with the deep elves who are stirring trouble with the dwarves and gnomes under Grenspur.”
“And that’s far up north, right?”
Iris nodded. “Their misfortune is none of our own.”
Despite our slow progress, almost everyone acted upbeat and talkative during the six-day crossing. Morning and evening campfires turned into social occasions.
Beaker luxuriated in the soldiers’ attention and flew to the front of the procession as if we followed his lead. The soldiers thought him less amusing when he screeched at us to hurry whenever we slowed to clear a stump or hack through bushes.
Thaxter removed his uniform and military insignias and did his fair share of the work. He worked quietly, as if performing a penance, and his powerful build made him one of our go-to people for moving tree trunks.
Thaxter and Iris spent much of the trip talking, making me glad to see them on cordial terms.
Our pace didn’t put off the spice traders. They did little to help us, but their lack of complaints lightened our workload. A pair of level 20 dinosaurs followed us for a while, but a few well-placed spells persuaded them to hunt elsewhere.
After six days of arduous labor, we reached the Eastern docks of Hawkhurst. Tied to it floated a newly constructed ferry. Its broad span offered a flat deck and featured a gate that doubled as a gangplank sturdy enough to hold laden wagons.
An inn stood next to the dock. Fabulosa and I inspected it. It featured full furnishings and a working kitchen. The entire building stood vacant, and we felt like new home shoppers appraising a prospective property. If Hawkhurst built an inn on the eastern shore, it meant an inn on the western shore awaited. Our salt merchants had a place to stay.
The inn’s silhouette disappeared in the mist over Otter Lake as we sailed for the west. When traffic picked up, would the settlement or a private party run the eastern shore? I braced myself for a lecture from Greenie about open economies.
The ferry turning in circles supplanted my thoughts on economic development. Steering the ungainly barge proved the most challenging part of our week-long journey. The wind worked against us, pushing us into the mouth of the river, whose gentle current spun us around. Our uncontrolled turns depowered the sails, and we drifted further into the lake.
Only Beaker enjoyed our time on the water. He took wing and explored its surface. When he returned to the ferry, he landed on the bow, shrieking at all the commotion on the deck.
“Home! Home!” he projected the words into my head while he screeched and screeched.
I mentally replied to him while the wind luffed our sails. We had enough excitement trying to reach the western dock without my Familiar’s contribution. “Shush! We’re trying to get there. Stop with the racket.”
No one in charge knew what to do, and we spent nearly two hours on the water before being rescued by a canoe. Adolescents from Arlington paddled, but our embarrassment in front of the merchants heightened after seeing the canoe’s only passenger. None other than Lloyd Sternway rescued our vessel.
Rebukes carried over the water. “To the lee and drop me a line, ye unsat landlubbers!”
I wasn’t sure if Lloyd yelled at the paddlers propelling his canoe or us, and not knowing what he wanted didn’t take the sting out of his reprimands.
Captain Jourdain shouted another set of directions on our vessel. He pointed to the leeward side of the ship. “He’s coming aboard, I think. Hand him a rope so we can pull him up.”
“Thar’s nary a rope be on me vessel, bucko. Ye call ‘em lines! Lines!”
Unaccustomed to being dressed down, Captain Jourdain awkwardly saluted the sailor. “Right. Sorry, sir—lines.”
Lloyd shook a finger at Captain Jourdain as the canoe approached. “I’ll push ye off slow, lad. After a fortnight of swinging lead, I’ll promote ye to swabbin’.”
Jourdain endured the insults with a suppressed smile, but the surrounding soldiers looked nervous. He held one end of the line and braced his foot against the ferry’s gunwale, preparing to pull Lloyd onto the ferry.
Lloyd wrinkled his nose and thrashed the line, implying he didn’t want anyone holding the other end.
Jourdain released it.
Lloyd deftly flipped it up and around the beam, yanked it tight, and swung himself aboard. He turned to the canoe. “Cast off, mates! Much obliged for the tow.”
The paddlers paddled from the ferry faster than necessary, heading for the western dock.
Lloyd squared the ferry away, caught the wind, and tacked back and forth until we reached the western docks. We almost beat the canoe.
Lloyd waved away my thanks for the rescue. “I share a large measure of the blame. ‘Tis a poor design—the keel isn’t deep enough. The next ferry’s tracking will fare better.”
I nodded, not following him, but it seemed a good thing that a better ferry awaited on the horizon. We couldn’t depend on Lloyd being the only harbormaster. We needed regular people to handle the shore-to-shore transfers as well.
Beaker left the ship first. He launched himself into the air long before we moored to the docks. His telepathic screams echoed in my head. “Home! Home!”
“Yes, Beaker, but behave.”
Without signs that he’d heard me, the griffon rocketed along the shoreline and disappeared between the buildings in town. His flying improved, but his exuberance made me worry he might get into trouble.
The kids who brought Lloyd over in the canoe helped tie the ferry down. Everyone unloaded and helped disembark the wagon onto dry land. Once the wheels hit the ground, the beasts pulled the haul to the western inn.
With the torodons leaving, Lloyd beamed at the ferry’s first successful voyage. He slapped his cap on the ferry and waved to the merchants as they departed. “She’s a maid, n’more. And the honeymoon is over. Back to trudging mud, ye sutlers.”