Sylvia rode near the front of the Fri caravan, where Aimo and his wagoners dominated the road. The variety of carts and wagons was great. Some were light, requiring but a single horse to pull them, and carried mostly grain and cloth. Some were heavy, hauling large wooden crates and chests, the contents of which Sylvia could merely speculate about. Some carts bore the Fri emblem, while others bore scratched and vandalised Wolf markings. The wagon which Aimo steered had four strong horses in front. The body of the wagon resembled a simple hut. There was even a window, with a brown curtain obscuring the view. The cart was Aimo’s home away from home. Sylvia strongly suspected the most valuable items were kept inside, in Aimo’s personal care.
Thorun rode at the very tip of the caravan, accompanied by her loyal sworn. Most higher ranking Fri had at least one man under oath, who was sworn to serve her. At any time, one of the Fri’s sworn was designated as her shield. The shield on duty had the absolute responsibility to protect their liege, and to lay down their life in this pursuit if need be. If a Fri died in battle while her shield lived, this mistake would swifty be corrected. The woman acting as Thorun’s shield today was keeping in sync with her at all times, never straying more than a sword length from her side.
Yri kept switching places, slowing down to reach the back, and then hurrying to the front again. She jested with Fri and sworn alike, and exchanged occasional quips with the waggoners. By evening, she was riding near the head of the caravan again, and engaged Sylvia in conversation. She quizzed Sylvia about her knowledge of the Fri, and lectured her on the border between Holmen and the lands of AudOlafsson to the north. She explained that they also shared a small border with Guld, who controlled the great river to the west.
“In truth, Holmen is a rather small part of Sev, and we only took control of the entire headland after the collapse of the Crown. Finding Nyberg was a lucky coincidence. We used to go around the mountain on the northern side, but a storm blew up so we had to stray south. It was a terribly bumpy ride before we found the road.”
Sylvia listened closely. It was hard to imagine the Fri as a minor power. She had never know a world where the caravan did not come past. She had heard of the Crown before, of course, and of the Great Rove, which connected all of Sev, how its construction enabled the Crown to maintain control over all of Sev for centuries, but these tales were as foreign as any work of fiction. She was young when the last king died. At that time, she was barely aware that a world existed outside of little Nyberg.
“So, if Nordborg is one of the old castles of the Crown, and it is still being protected by AudOlafsson, then how do you reckon the Wolves made it past? How could they come so far south?”, Sylvia wondered.
“Tell me if you find out”, Yri huffed. “Bloody pest. They are like cockroaches. You kill one and five more crawl from the corners. They have spread all the way down to Holms Fäste.”
“Is that where we are headed?”, Sylvia asked.
Yri nodded grimly. “We are.” Taking a measured breath, she smiled anew. “But worry not, we will crush every last one of them. Every pest can be exterminated, even rats and cockroaches.”
Sylvia offered a smile in return. She was not sure how to react to such a statement. She focused on something simpler instead. “So, Fristad is not central to Fri territory, then? You have the river East Cut, marking where Sev ends, and the ocean to the south. If the fallen city of Söderborg marks the border with AudOlafsson to the north, and the border west of Fristad stretches only to the first arm of the river Guldader, that leaves Fristad rather far west for a capital.”
“It gets worse. Our western border is not all the way at the first arm. It is merely close to the river. We do not want to step on Guld’s toes, now do we?”, Yri corrected.
“Why not?”, Sylvia jested.
Yri barked a laugh. “Oh, do not start trouble already. There will be plenty of time for that. But, yes, you are right, it is far west for a capital. However, combined with our uncontested ownership of the Söderborg ruins, we have a road which neatly cuts across all of Holmen. It makes patrolling rather easy.” She grumbled a little. “Or it did, before those rats got too brave.”
“Why is it called Holmen, anyway? This a cape, rather than an island, right?”, Sylvia questioned.
Yri looked back at her blankly. “What do you mean?”
“The tip of Holmen was an islet in times of old”, Aimo explained.
Both women turned their attention to the waggoner, so Aimo humoured them and elaborated, “Holms Fäste is an ancient city. It has been there since before people can remember. The inhabitants would throw their waste toward the mainland and, eventually, the islet became connected. Now we call the entire cape Holmen.” Meeting Sylvia’s eyes, he added, “Names travel. Especially famous ones.”
Drawing the corners of her lips down, Yri nodded. “Thank you, Aimo. I learned something new today.”
“Always a pleasure to be of use”, Aimo responded playfully.
Yri chuckled and spurred her horse on. Joining the very tip of the caravan, she let her horse fall into step beside her sister’s and struck up a new conversation. Sylvia figured she was promptly enlightening Thorun about the origin of the name Holmen.
Sylvia steered Rise closer to Aimo’s wagon. “How do you know that?”
Aimo shrugged. “People love to talk. I just make a habit of being attentive.”
In the evening, the caravan made camp in a clearing near a small village called Boa. The people living in Boa had taken the warning of the Fri to heart and armed themselves. Eyeing the fortifications, Yri frowned to herself.
“What is on your mind?”, Aimo asked.
“I am trying to figure out what these rats are up to. They must have come past here. Maybe they did not think it was worth the effort. A small settlement offers little to no strategic advantage, not like a city, and the pickings are meagre during a drought. Nyberg was completely defenceless, but even a Wolf would loose a few teeth coming at this place.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Seems reasonable enough”, Aimo agreed. “Shall we?”, he asked.
Yri shook her head. Looking around, she whistled to get the attention of the nearby soldiers. She pointed to a man and beckoned. He sighed, dropped his still folded tent, and came to her side.
“Sworn, go with Sylvia and Aimo”, Yri instructed, pointing between the three of them.
“Giving me an escort?”, Aimo teased.
Yri merely patted him on the shoulder, and took her leave.
“We better be on our toes then”, Aimo commented.
The soldier fastened his belt a little so he had his sword neatly tucked to his waist, and nodded toward Aimo. The man was young and well groomed, wearing chainmail under leather armour. He had small ears and eyes, with which he pointedly ignored Sylvia’s presence when she attempted to introduce herself.
Ignoring the rude man in turn, Sylvia helped Aimo clear one of the smaller carts, and load it with bundles of cloth and bags of spice. Aimo also hefted a crate of metal tools onto the cart, before harnessing a horse to it. Sylvia inspected the crate. There were axe heads, knife blades, tongs, all kinds of pieces which merely needed hafting. Ready and loaded, the three of them walked past a farm, and into the village of Boa itself.
At the opening in the paling, they were welcomed by the mayor. She was an old woman with sunken eyes and thin hair. She accompanied them to the mill. Her mere presence kept curious children away. They peeked around corners and through gaps in the fences. The adults bowed and greeted politely, and made sure to step aside for them.
The roads of Boa were narrow and uneven, clearly only paved as an afterthought. The mill, which towered over the surrounding roofs, was so old that it still had a waterwheel with buckets attached to it, rather than using angled planks. The slender riverbed in which it rested was completely dry. Instead, a small horse mill had been erected beside it. The miller was a big middle aged man. He shook Aimo’s hand with warm familiarity, eyed the two young fellows the waggoner had with him, and then began unloading the bulk of cloth.
“Excuse me, Mayor. How old is Boa?”, Sylvia wondered.
The mayor raised her head with pride and declared, “At least a thousand years.”
“Wow. My village was only three generations old”, Sylvia said, inspecting the mill again.
“Where are you from, Young Lady?”, the mayor wondered.
“I am from Nyberg.”
“Up on the mountain?”
A frown settled on Sylvia’s brow. “What do you mean?”
“Nyberg”, the old woman said, now confused as well.
“The mountain is what most people call Nyberg. Only the inhabitants of the village of Nyberg called it ‘the mountain’. It is not much of a name, is it?”, Aimo explained.
“Oh. Oh, no, we lived at the foot of the mountain, just south of it. So the village Nyberg is just south of the mountain Nyberg”, Sylvia clarified.
“How curious”, the old woman said. “What urged you to leave home?”, she asked.
Sylvia tensed.
“How about you tell Sylvia the founding history? She has never heard it”, Aimo interrupted.
The mayor’s face brightened. “Why, of course! See, the first mayor of Boa, my grand-grand-grand-grand—I do not really know how many grands-grandmother—founded Boa, many many years ago. She was a trader, much like Aimo. When she travelled along the Great Rove, she made rest by a broad river and went to take a bath. As she set foot in the river, she noticed a shimmer. She found gold, a big lump of it, enough to buy tools and seed for an entire village. So, she sold her wagons and sought fertile land to settle.”
“And she came all the way here to build a village?”, Sylvia questioned.
“Indeed. In those days, you did not need permission, either”, the mayor stated. Her tone was scathing and her nose wrinkled a little as she spoke, but a smile soon followed. “They still call the river Guldader and even the city at its delta is named after it”, she proclaimed proudly.
“Guldader gained its name from Guldhamn, not the other way around”, Sylvia corrected.
“That is a myth”, the old woman stated matter-of-factly.
“I am pretty sure it is not”, Sylvia insisted.
Aimo chuckled and put an arm over her shoulder. Addressing the mayor, he jested, “It is curious how that goes, is it not? We can grow up thinking things are one way, when in reality they are the other way around.”
“Oh yes. When I was young I thought Söderborg was to the south”, the Mayor laughed.
“Is it not?”, Sylvia frowned.
Smiling widely, Aimo gave Sylvia a gentle push toward the wagon. Taking the hint, Sylvia closed her mouth and used her arms instead. Aimo counted the coins he was given by the mayor, before making a note in his booklet and pocketing the money.
“I brought some tools as well. I have some new knives—”, he began, but the miller held up a hand.
“No need. We have all the metal we need for now.”
“Oh? Has one of yours taken to smithing?”, Aimo inquired.
“No. Another caravan came by just a few weeks past”, the miller explained.
“I see. May I ask what banner?”
Saying nothing, the miller looked to his elder.
Sighing, the mayor admitted, “They were Wolves.” She patted the miller’s arm. “But they saw we have strong hands and did us no harm. They were polite and traded fairly, just like you do.” Looking toward the paling, she added, “Only they did not camp as close by.”
The words crawled up Sylvia's spine. There was so much spite in this single statement. It was folded in polite calm, cushioned by the frail soft voice of an old woman, but at its core it was all distrust and destain.
“Thank you for your honesty”, Aimo smiled. His mouth curved up further still. “I also thank you for an honest trade and bid you farewell.”
“One note, if you do not mind”, Sylvia interrupted. “I recommend you connect the horse mill to the watermill. All it takes is a horizontal rotating rot, fit to both.”
The miller looked up at the sedentary water wheel. “You think?”
“We did it in Nyberg. Sepp came up with the idea. An ox, or a couple of horses, are enough to make up for the difference.”
“I just might try that. Thank you”, the miller nodded.
“Yes. Thank you for your influence”, the mayor scowled.
Aimo’s smile grew wider still.
Smiling with the same fake warmth, the mayor accompanied them back to the entrance of the village. She stood there and watched until they were a good bit down the road.
When they passed the farm again, Sylvia noticed a family leaving the house, with blankets and backpacks. They waited until the three strangers had passed, before stepping onto the road and heading into Boa proper. Watching the group over her shoulder, Sylvia sighed. “They really do not like us, do they?”
“They are careful people This road is little travelled and they are glad for it. If I remember correctly, Boa was burned down a few times, back when it was young. I suppose these memories become attitudes over time”, Aimo said softly. “Make sure you do not mention their trade with the Wolves to anyone”, he added.
“Why not?”, Sylvia wondered.
Aimo met her eyes, making sure he had her full attention before he spoke. “Thorun is proud and does not take kindly to those who stray.”
“That woman is a hotheaded”, the soldier accompanying them spat.
Sylvia’s gaze fell on him with anger. If there had been any doubt before, she was now convinced that she did not like this man. How dare he speak of the Fri this way? It was Thorun Fri he insulted, the honoured, the righteous. It took all of Sylvia's restraint not to engage with the soldier’s comment any further.
When they returned to camp, the soldier left them without bothering to help Aimo block the wheels of the cart, or to unharness the horse.
“Is he really a sworn?”, Sylvia wondered perplexed.
Aimo waved a hand. “Do not mind him. He is young and foolish. He will learn to mind his manners soon enough. Everyone does, one way or another.”
Sylvia shook her head. If she had behaved that way at home, her mother would have her scrub the entire the house, top to bottom, and then the barn as well.
Pulling a silver from his pouch, Aimo pressed it into Sylvia’s hand. “Thank you for your help. Never have I had a conversation with the mayor of Boa that was quite as pleasant as this.”
“That was pleasant?”, Sylvia asked.
Aimo laughed aloud. “Quite.”