Steel And Flame (Book 1) (10 page)

No one spoke later in the day during their continued
travels, which suited Marik.  As Maddock had promised earlier, he remained
silent, giving Marik time to consider what he’d heard thus far.  Harlan offered
a rare comment during their lunch to the effect that everything held deeper
ramifications than a person might see at first.  A slight nod and thoughtful
expression from Maddock suggested he wanted Marik to think about what they had
spoken of in this manner.

Fine.  Well, to start with, any weapons knowledge
would be useful to a fighter.  That was the obvious one, so what was less
obvious?  It was nice to talk about legendary weapons or blades crafted so fine
they seemed works of art but what were the odds of him, a commoner with no
claims to any noble title, ever seeing one much less owning it?  Absolutely
none as far as Marik could see.

The only practical application he could see would be
in purchasing new weapons.  Knowing the differences in steel qualities or
craftsmanship would help him choose the best one.  That would also keep the
merchant from charging a higher price than the blade’s actual worth, except the
only blades he would likely find were the common ones; low quality and low
craftsmanship.  In the cities he might be able to find finer quality blades at
the established shops, the high swords Maddock spoke of.  It might be a good
idea to find a better sword when they came to a city of any size, considering
the blade he bore.  A weapon might not make the fighter, and a skilled fighter
might be able to use even a low quality sword effectively, but obtaining the
best weapon available would certainly be a boon.

This led Marik’s thoughts in a new direction. 
Recognizing the quality of an opponent’s blade might help him in a fight.  That
could be an application of such knowledge.  If one knew the particular
weaknesses in a blade’s design, then a skilled fighter might be able to attack
them directly.  He considered his own weapon, one giant piece of metal.

Anyone striking the blade sufficiently hard would numb
his entire arm; a serious disadvantage.  The leather grip wrapped around the
hilt helped, though not to any significant degree.  He would definitely need to
replace this blade sooner or later.  But hadn’t Maddock mentioned that better
quality weapons were harder to find?

He became convinced that any weapons he ever used or
faced would be these low quality common blades until a thought rose through his
grim convictions.  What about Maddock’s axe?  Or Chatham’s sword?  They
certainly did not fit his idea of common blades.  Their silver surfaces shone
much brighter than the dull reflections off his own, yet the metal seemed colder
at the same time.  Chatham’s hilt and the grip on Maddock’s axe appeared much
higher quality as well.  The leather and metal almost blended as one.  If they
were not common swords, what were they?

Obviously one type higher.  High swords.  Or high
weapons, actually.  This agreed with his logic.  As mercenaries, the men would
want to obtain the best possible weapons available.  He decided to ask Maddock
later about where to obtain a better sword and reasonable prices for such.

While this all might be good to think about, to
Marik’s mind it was mostly academic.  An iron edge separating your head from
your neck left you as dead as the best steel ever crafted.  He suspected the
true reason Maddock had encouraged him to think was to get him into the
practice of using his brain.

When he had been younger, his father once told him,
“A
man who uses his head is twice as effective as a man who doesn’t.  It doesn’t
matter if you’re a fancy courtier or a blood-soaked soldier.  It’s true in
everything a man does.”

So far he had never found reason to doubt the
sentiment, though he’d found little opportunity to practice the philosophy
under Pate’s loving care.

Marik felt he’d worked through as much as he would
without further discussion or actual study of weapons.  He needed to find a
weapons merchant in a town and observe the differences rather than imagine what
they might be, as he could only do while walking the road.

He shook off his introspective cloud to notice Chatham
and Harlan walking ahead again.  Marik wondered if they customarily traveled in
this formation or if they only chose to now in order to give Marik and Maddock
the chance to talk undisturbed.  The two conversed quietly.  A few petals still
stuck to Harlan’s back.

Maddock overrode him when Marik turned to renew the
discussion.  “I see that you have questions, but I would ask that you hold onto
them for a little longer.  We are nearly at the Varmeese ford.  We should reach
it very soon.”

*        *        *        *        *

Marik knew of the Varmeese of course.  One of the
larger rivers flowing through the kingdom, it was a major trade route.  The
Greenbanks River, which Tattersfield utilized to power its logging mills,
joined it further to the south after passing through the Rovasii.  When their
group followed the road around a rise, the river came into view.

At first Marik could hardly believe such a large part
of the terrain could have remained hidden until they were practically on it. 
Half a mile of water separated the two shores.  The churning waters off the
nearer bank revealed the shallow draft.  Midway across, the waters calmed and
flowed smoothly, concealing any depth from five feet to a hundred.

Short hills rose from both stony shores.  A hike down
a steep path would take them to the riverbank’s flats.  Trees had crowded forward
to the water’s edge as far as he could see except at the ford.

When they reached the bottom, Chatham asked over the
quiet roar of flowing water, “Impressive, eh laddie?  It looks like a real
challenge, but fortunately it’s one we needn’t rise to ourselves.”

Marik’s shuddered momentarily from the chilled breeze
off the water.  “Why?  Is there a ferry?”

“Not quite,
lad-o
.  But o’ course if you really
had your little heart set on a swim, I won’t try to change it.  Here comes my
bestest buddy.”

Not realizing Harlan had left, Marik glanced sideways
to see him returning.  He brought a huge, half-naked man with him, clad only in
a loincloth.  The best Marik could say about him was he looked strong.  His
muscles were hardened.  This stranger stopped outside their small gathering.

Harlan said, “We’re in luck.  There’s no line at the
moment.”

“How pleasing to see that the gods don’t dish it in
your face at
every
opportunity,” commented Chatham.  “We might even
stand a chance o’ getting to the Randy Unicorn before full dark!”

A deep scowl creased Harlan’s face, as it usually did
in the wake of Chatham’s running commentary.  He rebuked, “I’m not paying your
debts this time.  I’ll leave you to wash dishes for a month.”  With that, he
turned to walk with the half-naked man toward the shore.  Marik wondered what
that last comment had meant as he followed an exaggeratedly wounded Chatham.

They were led to what Marik could only think of as a
staging area.  A large bonfire blazed in a patch of shoreline nearly level with
the water.  Around it sat a host of other exposed men.  All were clad in
loincloths like the first.  Also near them, sheltered by several pavilion
awnings, were stacks Marik took to be wooden pallets.

His thoughts were corrected after they walked past the
tableau.  He could see a group of travelers who had arrived on the main road
before them.  Several pieces of baggage were piled on one pallet and the
travelers took seats atop two others.  Rails protruding from the front and rear
of each pallet.  While he worked this out, the men in loincloths hoisted them
off the ground, resting the padded rails on their shoulders, four men per
pallet, one on each corner.  The pallets acted like the sedan chairs he had
heard were used by Perrisan’s nobility.  They carried their passengers into the
ford above the water.  Three other men followed the pallets into the water
leading a pair of horses each.

How terribly interesting!  In all the tales he’d heard
at Puarri’s over the years, never had he heard of this method for fording
waterways.  He glanced at Maddock, who curtly told him, “Rivermen.  Not the
same as ferrymen.  If they give you any trouble, put your hand on your hilt and
narrow your eyes.”  With that, he focused on their guide, who had stopped at a
pallet pile.

Wary,
what was that supposed to mean?
, Marik
studied the men around him anew.  All were large like the first, unshaven,
heavily muscled.  They could have passed as bandits anywhere in the world.  At
least they were clean from their regular bathing by walking through the waters
of the Varmeese.

Harlan spoke to a different man who wore actual
clothing.  He handed the stranger several coins.  The clothed man took the
coins inside a small tent attached to a pavilion.  Most likely he acted as the
rivermen’s version of a caravan yard superintendent.

The first half-naked man made a gesture at the
bonfire.  Seven others rose to shuffle over.  Small river pebbles scattered
away from their dragging, bare feet.  They looked unhappy, probably because
they were damp and trying to warm themselves.  It made Marik uneasy when they
eyed his quartet in the manner of a jeweler appraising a stone.

Harlan spoke to them.  “If we get to the other side
without mishap, we’ll give you some drinking coin as a bonus for your care.” 
This obviously pleased them, which made Marik happy as well.  Chatham had torn
away his assumptions that he possessed any real skill with a sword.  He did not
wish to test his abilities in combat against these men.  “You go with Maddock. 
You are the lightest, and he the heaviest.”

The rivermen brought two pallets from the stacks and
laid them down near the water.  Maddock took off his pack so he could hold it
where he sat.  Marik emulated him.  Railings that were only six inches tall
lined the four sides.  They would hardly prevent a rider from falling over the
side but they gave the passengers a handy grip to cling to.  With one hand on
the railing and the other holding tightly to his pack, he felt unprepared to
handle any problems which might arise.

Maddock’s axe remained strapped to his pack.  Marik’s
blade was sheathed at his belt.  The sword stuck out at a very awkward angle
and he would have trouble drawing it if he needed to.  He might have missed
considering the potential problem if Maddock had not mentioned trouble
earlier.  Marik berated himself for his lack of vigilance.  If he seriously
intended to travel the roads, he must be aware of such things without thinking
about them.

After the pallets were settled on the rivermen’s
shoulders, the ride progressed at a surprisingly smooth pace.  The men stepped
to the same rhythm and he found the experience intriguing.

The rivermen stumbled occasionally over underwater
obstacles, but they recovered so the two passengers were spared an unexpected
swim.  In places the water came level with the porters’ shoulders.  Their
pallet appearing to be a raft floating on the water, and yet the rivermen
evinced no signs of worry.  Walking the route several times a day kept them
familiar with the lay of the underwater land.  They knew the safest unseen
paths.

At one point the group reached a post protruding from
the water.  There they turned upriver.  They walked against the current for
several minutes before reaching a second post, where they resumed their journey
for the far shore.  Near the midpoint they passed another riverman-borne
entourage heading the opposite direction.

As much as Marik enjoyed the relaxing sounds from the
water and the cool breeze flowing off it, he kept his attention centered on his
porters.  They did not look to be planning any mischief, yet Maddock would
never have put him on his guard for no reason.  Chatham might have thought it a
funny joke, but not Maddock.  At times a riverman on his side would glance at
him with an expression falling an inch short of hostility.  Marik kept his hand
near his hilt.  The tension detracted from the pleasant ride.

In spite of Maddock’s warning though, they attained
the far side without trouble after half a mark.  Upon emerging from the water
and setting them down, seven left the travelers, heading straight to a large
fire twining the one on the western shore.  The final riverman stayed near them
until Harlan made good on his promise.  Still dripping, the riverman rejoined
his comrades, who immediately demanded their share of the coin.

Only one path led away from the rocky shore.  They
followed it up the low, tree covered hill where they found the road.

A thrill of exhilaration rippled through Marik.  It
was a sense of having successfully completed his first adventure.  “That was
interesting!  I’ve never heard of fording a river like that.”

“Sure you have,
lad-o
!  You must have heard
lots o’ stories in that tavern you fancied.  Probably your unworldly mind
thought when they said they crossed with the rivermen, it meant the same as
being ferried on a nice,
safe
boat!”

“Probably you’re right,” he replied.  It was easier to
agree with Chatham than argue the point.  The mockery in the man’s acidic
comment doused his thrill as if Chatham had upended a bucket over his head. 
Instead, he asked Maddock, “Why did you tell me be careful?”