All that Glitters (Stavin DragonBlessed Book 1) (7 page)

The town and fort had been well supplied, but after two more years they were running short of almost everything. The commander made up his mind and sent a strong force out into the shattered kingdom to purchase supplies. One hundred warriors had taken almost all of the gold and silver from the valley and went to the lowlands in search of food and news.

The warriors had returned fifty days later guarding a long caravan of wagons. When the wagons were unloaded, the caravan's master had approached the commander.

"These men of yours are the best warriors I've ever seen. Would there be a chance of hiring a few hands for next season? I can pay well."

"We are servants of the king," the commander had answered coldly.

"Then you serve a ghost, good Sir. Farindia has no kings anymore. Those with the blood slaughtered one another fighting over the scraps." The trader had spoken softly, but he had still been overheard.

That was how the tradition of sending the young men of the valley into the lowlands to earn honor for themselves in battle and gold for their people in service had been born.

* * *

The three days following the announcement were a blur of preparations. Of the forty-eight hundred inhabitants of the valley, one hundred young men and ten seasoned veterans were leaving their homes and families to earn the gold that would supply their people through the winter. There were twenty youths from each of the year-groups, from those who were making their fifth trip, to the first-year greenlings like Stavin and Karvik. Once they were in the lowlands they would split into groups of eleven: One veteran in charge of ten youths. It was called "Two Hands and a Brain," but only half in jest.

The Warmaster took advantage of the delay to run the men of the expedition through even more intense training. The hundred youngsters were kept in their year groups, sparring against one another under the supervision of the veterans who were going to be riding herd on them.

There were two very good reasons for this.

First, it let the veterans get an idea of the fighting skills of the men they were going to lead. Though each of the young men had been passed by the Warmaster, each veteran wanted to make his own assessment. Their lives depended on these young men being competent.

Second, it let the ten veterans get a good look at the twenty first-year men. Though it was seldom used, they had the power to reject any of the boys if they truly believed that they were unfit.

For Barvil, it was a hard job. He was sure of his son. Karvik had spent hours sparring with him, gaining extra experience with the Dragon's Tongue under his own experienced hands. Stavin was a different matter.

He
had
defeated Stavin, but he'd been hard-pressed to do it. Stavin's speed was phenomenal. Karvik had told him time and time again that Stavin was as good as anyone in their year group. He'd never believed it until the little imp was dancing in front of him, catching every strike he made, and returning as good as he got. He had been as mad at himself as he was at Stavin, and embarrassed to boot. Stavin the Runt had not only defied him but had proved him wrong in front of the entire town. Now, watching Stavin easily defeat every member of his year-group, even Karvik, he had to clench his teeth to keep quiet.

The other veterans were watching as well. They watched the boys, and they watched Barvil as he watched them. Whatever their opinions were, they kept them to themselves. Of all of them, only Charvil showed what he thought. Every time he watched Stavin fight he wore a small, satisfied smile, as if he was proud of the boy who had married his daughter. What galled Barvil the most was the fact that he obviously had reason to be.

* * *

The dawn of the third day found the draft of warriors standing beside their horses in the early morning chill. Chief Elder Kel'Davin walked down the line, clasping forearms with each of them before addressing the group.

"Men, and you are all men this day, we are indebted to you. It is your duty to leave, to earn the gold and silver that will provide our people with that which we cannot make for ourselves. Remember that if you fall, you will be remembered with honor." The Chief Elder looked at Barvil for a long moment, then moved his gaze on to a younger man. "Arvin Kel'Eves, I charge you to take them out and bring them back again."

Arvin bowed deeply, then swung into his saddle. "Mount up!" he shouted. Then, with a final wave to his wife and young son, he turned and led the way out of the valley.

* * *

The group rode with the veterans in front, of course, and the youths aligned behind them in order of seniority. That meant that Stavin and Karvik, along with the eighteen other first-year boys, were bringing up the tail.

Everyone rode in armor, and soon Stavin's golden armor was the same dust-grey as everyone else's. The road to the trade-town near the old city of Skykon was six days by horse from the valley, so long as the weather held. Previous expeditions had established campsites along the road at one day's ride intervals.

Near sundown, they reached the first campsite. It was a large clearing off the side of the road that had been widened and improved by generations of warriors. A nearby spring provided them with a ready supply of fresh water, and the first thing everyone did was water and feed their horses. Then, and only then, were they allowed to see to themselves.

Everyone paired up to help each other with their armor, and Karvik and Stavin immediately chose one another. "Here, Kar, let me get your straps," Stavin said, reaching up to unbuckle Karvik's side straps and one shoulder.

Karvik returned the favor, then both of them stripped out of their plate, but kept their mail on. Once they were away from the safety of the valley, none of the warriors really felt safe without at least some armor.

The rule of the road was that you kept your armor clean all the time, and Stavin had begun cleaning his armor almost immediately, but Karvik interrupted him. "Leave that to me, Master Stavin. It's my duty."

Stavin was about to argue when Barvil walked up with an armload of firewood. "Here is wood for your fire, Master Stavin. Where shall I set up your tent?"

Something that had been festering in the back of Stavin's mind came to a head and burst as the men around them stared. Standing, Stavin raised his hands and called out to the rest of the group.

"Hear me! Comrades and friends, I call on you to gather around and hear what I have to say so there can be no confusion." He waited until he had everyone's attention, especially that of the plainly irritated group of veterans, before he continued. Turning to Barvil, he bowed.

"Barvil Kel'Carin, you are my servant by the customs of our people until you regain your honor. However, it does none of us honor to have a warrior of your stature serving a greenling in front of strangers. I therefore order you, in front of these witnesses, to stop being my servant until we return to the valley." Looking to the side, he glared at Karvik. "Stand up, Kar," he snapped and Karvik scrambled to his feet.

"Karvik Kel'Carin, you and I are both as green as spring grass. The purpose of this expedition is to make warriors out of us, but I can't do that with you being my servant. As with your father, I order you to stop being my servant until we return to the valley."

Stavin looked around at the faces of his people and asked, "Does anyone know of a reason why Barvil and Karvik should not obey my order?"

Barvil was looking at him with a hint of new respect when he answered, "No, Master Stavin, you are quite correct that it does not serve the honor of our people to have a young warrior with servants. We will obey your orders until we once again pass through the gap into the valley." Barvil looked around and shouted, "Everyone back to work! Your armor is to be clean before you eat! Get to it!" Then he turned and walked back to the veterans' fire.

Stavin sat and grabbed his breast-plate and began cleaning as Karvik sat next to him. "Gods Below, Stave, that was some speech. Green as spring grass? Where did that come from?"

Stavin chuckled. "I heard Charv—I mean, the Warmaster call me that when he was talking to my dad. You done?"

"No, I was working on yours," Karvik said sourly.

Stavin shrugged and grabbed Karvik's back plate and started scrubbing. When they were both ready, they made their way to the cook tent.

Beans boiled with elk bone, a piece of hard sausage, and hard journey bread made up the standard fare of the warriors on the road. Everyone grumbled about it, the veterans loudest of all.

T
HE TRADE TOWN WAS SIMPLY CALLED
Trade Town. The ruins of Skykon were off to the east, but no one spoke of them. It was considered bad luck. A band of raiders had slaughtered the inhabitants and torched the town during the civil war, and it had been considered a haunted place ever since.

The group split up into teams of eleven: two boys from each year-group and one veteran. No one was surprised when Stavin and Karvik were put under Barvil's watchful eye. The eight other men were all older, with progressively more experience. That made Stavin and Karvik the group's do-boys, but it was a role they were both used to. Stavin was the youngest in his family, and Karvik had been the only boy in his family for years as well as being Stavin's servant for a hand of days.

The groups of youths milled about, laughing and telling forbidden jokes, while the veterans went in search of employment. Mid day had passed and it was well toward sundown before Barvil returned.

"We have our first caravan, men. The Weaver's Guild of Arinston is sending twenty wagons of goods south to Twin Bridges. It spreads us a little thin, but not enough to warrant a second group. Our employer is already south of town, so we need to make our way down there. Lead your horses and keep a tight rein on them—and a tighter hand on your pouch." Barvil smiled because the last was supposed to be a joke. No sane cutpurse would try a mercenary this early in the season. They were all broke. After they had escorted a few caravans, that would change.

Stavin and Karvik gawked as they walked through the town. They couldn't help it. There were literally hundreds of new sights for them to absorb, and even more new smells. Languages from all over the continent were spoken here, and for the first time in their lives they overheard voices shouting words that they didn't understand.

Their caravan was waiting and Barvil had them set up their own camp before he led them in amongst the wagons. A portly man with more salt than pepper in his hair greeted Barvil loudly.

"Ah, there you are at last. Come, bring your men. The cook prepared extra. My, a fine-looking bunch of—Is that
gold
?" he suddenly asked as Stavin came into view.

"No, it's dragon scale," Barvil answered lightly. "Gold's too soft and heavy to make decent armor."

"Dragon scale indeed," the trader mused. "How is it that you came to be so magnificently outfitted, young man?"

"That tale will wait until we are on the road, Master Trader," Barvil said, preventing Stavin from answering. "Trust me when I say it's well worth the wait."

The trader looked him in the eye and nodded. "I look forward to hearing it. I hope this lot isn't like the last bunch of you I hired. Those boys ate so much I almost had to slaughter a mule to feed them." One of the older boys sniggered and he focused his attention on him. "Were you in that group?"

The boy answered, "No, Sir, I was in the one before. You made the same complaint then."

The trader smiled at that. "Still true, nonetheless. Come along now. "

In spite of his complaint, the trader fed them well. The meat in the stew probably wouldn't bear up under too close an inspection, but it was tender and savory, well-seasoned, and thick with vegetables and tubers. The bread was hard-crusted, but soft in the middle, and they each received a measure of sweet butter with it.

Lavin Kel'Farin, the man who had traveled with the trader before, grinned and said, "He'll feed us like this the whole trip. He says he wants us happy with him so we'll take better care of his goods."

Stavin and Karvik shared glances with the other junior members of the group as Barvil sat down with his plate and nodded. "He will indeed. It's part of our pay, and it's the same as his men get. Don't gorge, though. Just because we're still in Trade Town doesn't mean we're safe. We'll be setting sentries once we've eaten. Stavin, Kar, I'm splitting you two up for this. You'll pair with Davel and Kahndar." He nodded to the two fifth-year warriors. "I count on you two to keep these impetuous youths on a short leash."

Kahndar Kel'Horval spoke first. "I'll take Stavin. Shari will never forgive me if I let something happen to her husband."

Stavin blushed as he looked up at his big-brother-in-law and said quietly, "Thanks, Kahn."

Barvil nodded sharply. "Good, then you can take first watch. Carry your weapons, but don't use them unless you have to."

"Yes, Sir," Kahndar and Stavin snapped in unison, then Kahndar led the way back to their tents. He let Stavin get his Dragon's Tongue first, then belted on his sword. Once they were ready to go, he led Stavin to the outermost wagons.

"We want to be seen, Stave. In Trade Town or near a city the caravan is really pretty safe. Our function is mostly to discourage youngsters and ne'er-do-wells from trying to sneak little things off the wagons. Even harness rings can be valuable in quantity."

Stavin nodded. "That is especially true if you
have
to have them because someone stole yours. That's your father's standard lecture."

Kahndar laughed and clouted him on the shoulder. "You're pretty spunky for a greenling. It's still true, and the advice bears repeating."

They walked side-by-side with Stavin on Kahndar's left. That kept Stavin clear of Kahndar's sword arm, and Kahndar clear of the point of Stavin's Dragon's Tongue. The fact that their direction of travel put Kahndar in the more dangerous outside position was lost on Stavin. He was overloaded with new sights, sounds, and smells, and it never occurred to him that Kahn would try to protect him.