“The merchanters we travelled with kept going west and south; they say there’s another trade route that way . . . and they’ve always wanted a shortcut. Do you think your—Khartazh, was it?—are on the other end of their road?”
“Oh yes. They talk about a time—probably before we were born—when caravans went east to Fintha every year. As near as I can tell, that trade declined after the fall of Old Aare, and stopped almost completely after the war started. If that trade resumes—and I hope it will—I would like to see caravans here; it would be a shortcut for them, and good for us. That’s why we built the trail you climbed up, from the lower plain; I hoped to bring in caravans. But the trails are so rugged, maintaining them would be difficult.”
Now they were off the last switchback of the trail, into the pines. He watched as Cob drew a deep breath. “Ah—this is better. Some shade for my face, a cool breeze.” Here, two horses could go abreast; Luap reined in to let Cob come up beside him. “This is the last time I make this trip, mind. You can travel the mageroad with no more trouble than walking out of a room; I’m not blistering my old skin again just to see you.”
“I’ll take you back the mageroad, if you wish,” Luap said.
“We’ll see,” said Cob, eyeing the green terraces, the flowering bushes, the berries, “Maybe I’ll just stay here and live off your mercy.”
Luap pointed. “Up there—that’s one of the lookout posts Seri had us build.” Cob squinted upward, blinking against brilliant light.
“Good to see out of, but cold in winter, I’d think. And if a wind blows—”
“No one’s fallen off yet.” Luap enjoyed Cob’s awestruck look. He liked knowing he’d surprised the man; he heard the murmurs from those behind with the same pleasure.
It was just on midday when Luap turned across the stream to the sunny side of the canyon; the walls seemed to shimmer in the light as if painted on silk. The little arched bridge, so delicate against the massive rock walls, rang to the horses’ hooves. Cob stared at the narrow cleft of the side-canyon as if he could not believe it. “We’re going in there?”
“Yes. It’s not all a tumble of rocks; there’s a trail.” Again in single file, they rode up, into the cleft with its hidden pockets of old trees. The lower entrance stood open, as always in good weather. One of Seri’s junior yeomen stood guard beside it, proudly aware of his good fortune.
“Go in and tell them the caravan’s come safely,” Luap said. “We’ll need help with the horses.”
“Yes, Luap,” said the boy; Luap was glad for once that Seri’s young trainees tended to scamp the courtesies. He slid off his horse, and took Cob’s reins.
“Here—go on in and let Aris put a salve on your face if he can’t heal it. I’ll water your beast.”
“I’m all right, here in the shade.” Cob leaned against the rock, watching the others come up, and Luap handed the reins of both horses to one of his people who had come running out. That one did murmur “my lord” as he took the horses away; Luap hoped Cob hadn’t heard it. Another appeared with a tray and tall cups of water slightly flavored with an aromatic fruit from Khartazh. Luap handed one to Cob, who was looking up at the great pines, around at the rock walls. “I wouldn’t have believed it without seeing it, that’s certain. And how you’ve managed to raise food in it—that’s another wonder. Gird would have been proud of you, Luap.” He sipped the drink, then smiled and emptied the cup. The servant took it and refilled it.
“I’m glad you think so.” He wondered if Cob would still think that way when he’d seen how comfortable a life he and his people had achieved in so few years.
“Luap . . . I’m not here to check up on you.” Cob’s shrewd glance widened to a grin as Luap felt his face burning. “There—you see? You did think I would act as the Marshal-General’s spy.”
“Sorry,” Luap muttered. So he had heard the servant’s words.
“You should be! When have I ever agreed with him? No, if you and your folk are happy out here, and living comfortably and at peace, this is what I hoped to see. And if you transgress some one of the Marshal-General’s many little rules, he won’t find out from my report—not that he could do anything if he did. You’re growing your own food; you’re not taking anything from the granges any more.”
“I see him when I report,” Luap said. “I suppose I’ve come to think of you—of the others—as mostly like him.”
“We’re not. At least, not all of us. So settle down, will you, and quit looking so nervous. If you’re playing prince out here, and all your people kiss your feet, it’s your business. I won’t, but if they want to, they can.”
Luap forced a chuckle. If only he could believe that—but Cob, he knew, would not lie. Perhaps he did have a friend in this sunburnt old peasant. “I confess, then, to allowing more deference than I would have in Fin Panir.”
“Deference! Is that what you call it?”
Luap shrugged. “If you mean showing respect—”
“For rank and not for deeds. Yes. Although I suppose you have shown them deeds enough, out here, even if those deeds were magery.” Cob nodded to the growing cluster of Girdish riders now dismounting and milling about the stronghold entrance. “We’re making a tangle here—where would you have us go?”
“Which is greater, fatigue or curiosity?” Luap countered. “We have guest chambers, of course, and bathing chambers to wash off the trail grime. Or you can begin with food. Or you can let us drag you all over, showing off.”
“I must admit food sounds good,” Cob said. “I want to see that grand hall you told us about, but then food . . . and that lot had better start with something to eat.” He beckoned to a younger man. “You may remember Vrelan, my yeoman-marshal.”
“I do indeed,” Luap said, smiling. Vrelan looked old for a yeoman-marshal now, and he wore the blue tunic of a Marshal.
Cob nodded. “Yes, he’s Marshal Vrelan—just finished his training this last winter. We’re finally training Marshals faster than establishing new granges, so we old ones can have replacements and the younger ones can get experience before taking on a whole grange. Considering my age and failing health—” by the tone of this voice, he was quoting someone he did not like, “—the Council decided that a younger Marshal should come along to report on your settlement. The Marshal-General would have sent Binis—”
Luap almost choked. Cob was grinning broadly.
“I thought that would get your attention. But I insisted on Vrelan, for his expertise in horsemanship and wilderness travel; Binis still rides like a sack of redroots.” He cleared his throat and spat.
“Marshal Cob!” That was the Rosemage; Luap was surprised that it had taken her this long to appear. He had half expected her to meet them in the upper valley. She hugged Cob, then turned to Luap. “Seri says there’s another gang of robbers holed up in those canyons somewhere; the Khartazh had a caravan attacked north of Dirgizh. We got the message yesterday. She’s taken half the regular guards the long way around, and I’m about to leave to take the high trail and try to spot them from above. She wanted me to wait until you were back in the stronghold with your guards.”
“Is Aris with her?”
“Yes, but Garin’s here if anyone in Cob’s group needs help.”
“Then I suppose we’d better set the usual doubled guard, and let you go. Who’s your second this time?”
“Liun, and he’s up on top checking all the guardposts. He’ll be down to report to you.”
“Well, then.” Luap shrugged at Cob. “I’d better get to work; come along if you like, and we’ll get something to eat as we go past the kitchens.” He felt almost pleased by the otherwise bad news. Cob would see how well Seri and the Rosemage had organized the militia; he would see busy, hardworking people, not idlers. The Rosemage turned away and strode rapidly up the passage. “Just let me tell Jens—” Quickly he gave his orders to one of the boys to provide food and a guide for Vrelan and the others. Then he headed for his own office, with Cob trailing.