2It was not yet morning as the cart slowly ambled its way along the wide, well-traveled road, a small cloud of dust billowing out behind as the wheels creaked and bumped over rocks and ruts, bouncing the cart pleasantly.
Only one horse, a massive old mare that plodded slowly and tirelessly, hooves pounding the packed earth of the road with a quiet clop-clopping sound, drew the cart. The driver was old as well, and like the mare, still strong. He sat, slouched comfortably in his seat and reins held loosely in one hand; Mary was a good horse, and knew the way to town well enough.
The man was dressed plainly; a pair of soft trousers tucked into well-worn boots and a faded tunic belted at the waist with an aged leather thong. A wide-brimmed hat woven of grass and hay perched on top of the old man's gray head, a long strand of wheat poking out of the corner of his mouth. He made a clucking noise in his throat, and gave a small flip of the reins. Mary snorted, and pulled her large shaggy head away from the side of the road, where she had begun to chew on small tufts of grass as she passed them.
The rolling hills and plains passed slowly, dark forests beyond and a long range of jagged mountains even farther off, faded blue in the distance.
Dawn came, and the sky changed from pre-morning gray to a shade of gentle blue. There was a small movement beside the old man, and a bright blue eye, framed by bangs of fine golden hair, peeked sleepily out from under a rough wool blanket.
"Gran'pa? Are we there yet?"
The old man's wrinkled face creased into a warm smile. He patted the girl's head, ruffling her hair.
"Not yet, l'il one. We've a few hours yet."
Satisfied, the girl yawned, closed her eyes, and went back to sleep. Soon, the sound of her breathing mingled with Mary's hoof beats, and Jonathan Granger found himself once more in quiet solitude.
The town, called Tsirith by its inhabitants and "Tinker's Valley" by everyone else, lay on the outskirts of the Greatwood, an old forest that stretched for miles and miles in nearly every direction. It was a two day trip to Tinker's Valley from Jonathan's farm; he lived in a large clearing at the base of the mountains.
It wasn't often he made the trip, and when he did, it was more or less for trading purposes. Mostly, he sold or bartered any extra crops he'd grown for either small sundry items, or for repairs on his wife's various pots and pans. As it was, the harvest had been unusually good that year; Jonathan couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a haul. Jonathan began to hum.
He glanced at the girl sleeping next to him, his granddaughter, Merissa. She had turned eight that year; old enough to help plant the seeds in spring, and old enough to help bring in the harvest during the fall. Nancy had suggested that Jonathan bring her to town, as a type of reward for working so hard. Jonathan had had no objections.
Merissa had only been to town once, as far as Jonathan knew, and that had been years ago, back when both her parents had still been-
Jonathan ceased that line of thinking, almost before it could get started. He had loved his son and daughter-in-law dearly, and their deaths had not been gentle. That Merissa survived what had happened that night was a miracle in itself, a favor Jonathan thanked the goddess Nici for every day. That she remembered almost nothing of that night and its bloody conclusion was an added blessing.
The sun continued to climb, and by eight o' clock, the girl had already been up for hours. As there was little else to do, she watched the passing scenery, occasionally asking questions about this, that, and the other, or listening to Jonathan as he whistled, hummed, or told stories. The two (three, counting Mary) stopped every few hours, sometimes to eat, other times simply to stretch aching muscles.
It was almost six when they arrived in Tsirith. Jonathan steered the cart past the town's tall wooden gates, where a guard (an old friend of Jonathan's) waved him into the street. The sun was going down now, the sky a red-orange glow in the west, and while there were still many people out and about, Jonathan knew that the next day there would be nearly three times as many more, buying, selling, and passing through. The gates began to shut behind them, and torches began appearing up and down the streets. Soon, it was dark.
Jonathan drove up and down various streets, some cobbled, some dirt, passed through the town square and eventually ended up in front of an inn. A large sign, painted with the image of a soldier dressed in royal Azyrian colors, proclaimed it the King's Man. Climbing out of the cart, Jonathan gently shook Merissa awake as two stable boys ran up to take Mary's reins.
"Keith, Ivan. Good t'see yeh."
The two boys smiled at him in the weak light spilling from the inn's windows.
"Good to see you too, Master Granger," Keith said, ducking his head in a small bow. "Master Yamas is waitin' for you an' your guest inside." Mary neighed, and shoved the boy's hand with her nose.
"Good to see you too, Mary." Keith reached into his pocket, and soon produced a small lump of sugar, which Mary ate greedily.
Jonathan picked up Merissa, sent the boys on their way with his cart, and entered the inn. The ground floor was essentially one big room, with stairs leading up to bedrooms on one end. Inside, it was fairly crowded and noisy, the smell of cooking meat and pipe smoke hanging in the air. Most of the light came from small oil lamps on the tables, but on one end was a rather large fireplace, in which burned an equally large fire. At the other end of the building was a long counter that served as a bar, attended (at the moment) by only a few solitary drinkers. Most of the remaining space of the room had been filled with tables. Jonathan walked towards the bar.
Behind it stood a rather large friendly-looking man, wearing a spotless white apron and sporting a thick, bushy mustache.
"So, Jonathan," he said, smiling broadly. "I heard you were visitin'. Got your room all ready, o'course, and a meal besides, if your hungry." He absently wiped the counter top with a rag from his pocket. "Got a bard for th' night too, if your interested. Interesting fellow, that one, really a fine chap…"
"Much appreciated, Perrin, really 'tis" Jonathan interrupted. "But it's been an 'ard day o' travelin', and…" He nodded towards Merissa, who had fallen asleep again in Jonathan's arms. Perrin held up his hands in surrender.
"Say no more, m'friend! The room's right upstairs, to your left. Here's your key." The innkeeper fished around in one of his pockets, and drew out a large key ring. After a few moments of searching, he produced a dull iron key, and pressed it into Jonathan's free hand.
"Now if there's anything else you need, a spot of tea, a plate of dinner, just ask for it, an' I'll send Maggie right up wit' it."
"Thank yeh," said Jonathan, and made his way for the stairs.
The next morning was bright and hot, and as Jonathan had expected, the streets were packed. Merchants and peasants, nobles and foreigners, all filled the square with color and noise. Jonathan set up shop (nothing more than his cart with a large canvas top set up as a type of "roof") near the inn, and the day went by fairly quickly. Business was brisk, and profitable; neither Jonathan nor Merissa lacked in things to do, or customers to attend to. By noon, half of the surplus crop was gone; by four, all of it was.
Jonathan leaned back in his driver's seat, and lit his pipe. After a few moments, a fine curl of smoke appeared, hovering around the man's head before drifting off with the wind.
"Gran'pa, can I go play?"
Jonathan glanced at the sun, then at the lengthening shadows filling the market. It was nearly five o'clock.
"For a l'il while, but don't go too far, and don't stay too late." He puffed out a small cloud of smoke. "We're leavin' at dawn, an' li'l girls need their sleep. Now go on." He waved her off with his pipe, and the girl ran off, giggling.
Jonathan took another puff of his pipe, old eyes settling on the horizon beyond the low walls and buildings of Tinker's Valley. Far off in the distance, a long dark line inched its way along the road, raising a great cloud of dust behind it.
Another puff. Most likely a caravan, Jonathan thought, some merchant train on its way to some other town, maybe a city. He took a final drag from the pipe, then turned it over and shook out the burnt remains of the tobacco as he exhaled. A caravan. Almost certainly a caravan.
Had the angle of the sun been different, Jonathan might have actually believed that. But his eyes told him better, and so did his long years of experience. Every now and then, bits and pieces of the line would light up in bright, sparkling pinpoints of light. Light bouncing off of weapons, and armor. In a word-soldiers.
Jonathan sighed, and got slowly to his feet. Stepping down from the cart, he began scanning the crowd for Merissa, fully intent on leaving as soon as possible. It was never a good thing when soldiers marched, especially when they marched in your direction. He knew; after all, he'd been a soldier once.
The soldiers arrived just before nightfall, with the setting behind them. People lined the streets as they marched slowly by, feet dragging. Up close, their armor and weapons were not so bright when Jonathan had first seen them; Metal plates and rings were missing in many places, blades were notched and leather was torn. None of the soldiers bore a standard, but their uniforms (though caked in mud and dust from the road) told who they were easily enough- the blue and gold branded them Azyrian infantry-king's men.
There were, all in all, roughly fifty of the men, led by an officer on horseback. Neither of them looked as though he had slept in the last few days. In the eyes of every soldier was a look of exhaustion tempered with fear.
Jonathan paid little mind to the soldiers as they shuffled past, too intent on finding his granddaughter and half afraid she had been trampled. When he found her, she was standing on the edge of a fountain, watching the sad procession with a look confusion and pity.
"Ah, there y'are, lass. I was beginnin' t'think yeh'd gone an'-"
"Gran'pa? Was there a battle?" She switched her gaze from the soldiers to him. Jonathan scratched his chin.
"Well…maybe…" by which, of course, he meant yes.
"Did any body die?"
Jonathan took a look at the troops.
"I don't know," he lied. "Perhaps." The girl nodded, mostly to herself.
"I'm sorry they died."
"Why's that?"
"I don't know," she said miserably. "I just am."
The two stood in silence, watching the ragged line of men pass by until the last one had marched out of sight.
"C'mon, lass," Jonathan said, taking the small girl's hand in his larger one.
"Let's get home."