Page 35 of Into the West

“Still not a bad plan.” She stopped to rub her forehead. “When we go back to camp for luncheon, we can make a better guess how much more fodder we’ll need to cut today, because we’ll see how much the horses ate.”

“Hopefully they’ll still eat it, since the sky threw it at them,” he giggled. Delia trudged toward the next bit of yarn, a bright spot in the brown and muddy-green foliage. She had discovered those little sticky seeds he had been covered in yesterday, clinging to the sleeves of her coat even though she didn’t remember encountering anything that had seeds like that. There didn’t seem to be any way of avoiding them.

“I hope it’s not an issue,” Delia offered. He trudged behind her, having the good sense to follow a trail someone else was breaking. Well, she didn’t mind breaking the trail for him. “I’d forgotten how hand-cutting grass uses muscles you generally forget you have. I have the feeling that by luncheon I’m going to be as sore as the first day I ever rode a horse.”

“Hyah, I’m already there. We should stop a while a’fore Amethyst has to relay, ‘Two overconfident idiots are dead, after a tragic grass-cutting mission. Their bodies were found nowhere near their camp, obviously worn down to the bones. They worked too hard to keep the horses fed, and didn’t even stop for tea when they should have’,” Ivar confirmed. “‘When interviewed, the horses were indifferent to their demise, and then asked for more food.’”

With the last of the boats through, and the Gate uprights from Crescent Lake and the Gate on this river both taken down, the folk at the tail end of the convoy were treated to a—well—literally magical sight. The uprights got strapped to a pair of basic hulls, a Tow-Beast was harnessed to each, and a mage who was also clearly an experienced rider mounted up. Then the horses trotted across the river to the other bank, barges bobbing behind them. Spontaneous cheers and applause erupted once the spectacle was in clear view of everyone below.

The mages had created a surface that the horses could walk on, of course, because there was a good strong ley-line to draw on here, and these two horses had been trained to trust that the surface would be there when their riders urged them to cross the river. But this was necessary if the Gate uprights were going to catch up with the scouts; there was no other way to pass the convoy, except through tedious shuffling of transfer barges.

This was important. The scouts had two sets of Gate uprights with them already, but those would eventually be set up when the convoy needed to get past a difficult stretch. Once the new Gates that the scouts put in place to get around bad patches of water or jump to new rivers were up, they’d need to replace the two sets they’d carried with them.

This was probably the most dangerous task that any two people in the convoy could do right now. And the most uncomfortable. They would be moving at the best speed they could, and the Tow-Beasts were formidable enough to make an entire wolf pack decide to look for easier prey, but they would just be two people, all alone out there. Which was why Kordas had chosen two mages who had been combat mages before they sickened of slaughter and sought asylum with him.

It looked like a miracle, the two horses at a brisk trot in the bright sunlight, seemingly walking on water, a barge behind each of them. They clambered ashore, and were off at remarkable pace. The size of the Tow-Beasts meant long legs, and long legs ate up distance even when the horse was pulling a barge against the current. Moving with the current as they were, the barges were scarcely a burden to the strength of the massive horses.

“The river moves away from the ley-line today, Baron,” Rose reminded him as he mounted Arial.

I hope we can find another. Or better still, a nexus. A nexus would be ideal, of course; any reserves of power that had been depleted could be recharged. If anything, the available supply of magic would be as critical for them as any other supply. With magic and food, they could survive almost anything that nature, or the unnatural, could throw at them. At least, he thought so. In fact, if the dangers out here were no worse than that pack of snake-dogs, things would be fine.

The blacksmith and his two apparently constant companions showed up as the last of the barges with the Poomers in it lurched into motion. He said nothing to Kordas, nor did it appear that he was doing anything other than making sure they all left. Or perhaps that was ungenerous thinking; the man gave Kordas a grave salute. Kordas responded with a bow from the saddle, and urged Arial up through the ambling herds.

Ambling was the right term; it was a slow walk, allowing everyone but the horses to snatch whatever bites of anything edible they could see. Geese and ducks swam alongside the barges, mostly snatching at stuff along the bank where the footing was too uncertain for even the goats to venture. Chickens sat grumpily on every available surface of their coop-barges. Like the geese and ducks, they were fed in the morning when they were let out, and in the evening when they went back in, but they were not allowed to forage on the way, and their charms kept them right on their barges. It was clear they were tolerating this situation, but were not in the least happy about it.

The guards were in the forest, forming a living fence to ensure no sheep, goat, or pig went too far inland, working in concert with the herders. They also formed a barrier against wild things, weirdling or not, that might be tempted to risk an encounter with humans for a chance at all the tasty stock.

He couldn’t help but think of those things that had attacked the village. Whatever they were, he was certain of one thing that they were not, and that was natural. Unlikely they’re from a Change-Circle. They are mage-made, I’m certain of it, he thought, and the consensus among all the mages was the same. The question was, if they were made-things, then who had made them? And when? Recently? If not, how far in the past? And why? Such things were possible, although he did not personally know anyone who was capable of it. There was only one way to answer those questions, but he was not inclined to waste power they might not have to spare on it. Past-scrying. It would be easier to do with some bits of one of those things, and his curiosity had been aroused to the point that it was like an itch he wanted badly to scratch. But no. Not unless they met up with more of them. Indulging his own curiosity was no excuse for wasting magic. Two days ago, Kordas couldn’t have imagined such things existing. Two days later, and they not only existed, but outsmarted him, too. And they were met far away from where they should be, if the blacksmith’s information was true, which was also where the flotilla was now headed.

Morale was good, all things considered—and there was a lot to consider. They had lost three dozen barges to fire since massing at Crescent Lake. Twice as many as that had outright sunk once they’d reached the lake, though most slowly enough to unload in time. Collisions, bad landings, or simple breakage of equipment put sixty more out of commission, to be dismantled for spares or used as roofs for buildings. There had been over two hundred deaths—not an abnormal amount given the timespan, but since it was on this side of a Gate, it was taken as more ominous than if they’d just died on the other side. The number of fights and thefts had gone up steadily while the whole expedition was at Crescent Lake.

And that’s the hidden truth of why we’re on the move now, and I’m keeping it hidden. Putting everyone on barges in motion means each vessel is a container. People aren’t mixing at close quarters, they’re divided into little packets that aren’t meandering off or looking for fights. It makes census quicker, which makes rationing immensely easier. It keeps groups from forming factions against other groups, which prevents more confrontation. And, while on the boats, people are crafting, and learning new skills that will be useful when we do settle. Just . . .

Well, that only accounts for known issues, Kordas thought while riding for the front of the expedition. They were sailing into the unknown.

The end of the first day left Delia absolutely wrung out, and the muscles of her arms lamented that there would be more scything tomorrow. I thought I was in good shape! She was no stranger to hard work—not since the evacuation to Crescent Lake, at any rate—but Venidel had been right; this had used muscles she didn’t remember ever needing to use before.

Why? I seriously mean it, why? Why do I have muscles to pull my palms sideways or pull my shoulderblades down? Why are they so loud about being unhappy?

She gritted her teeth and fought through it during supper, comforted a little by more fresh bread, but was about to beg Alberdina for help when Venidel broke down first. Even in the flickering firelight, his expression was equal parts pained and begging. “My arms wish to part company with my body on the grounds of abuse,” he said firmly, as they all drank the last of the tea, and Sai buried tomorrow’s breakfast in the coals and ash—having found his coat, after all. “Please tell me, kind Healer, that there is something you can do, or I’ll be tempted to dis-arm myself.”

“Me too,” Delia spoke up quickly.

Alberdina had the grace not to laugh at them. Instead she went to the barge and back, and gave them pots of something that smelled suspiciously like the stuff Stablemaster Grim used on horses suffering from strained muscles.

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, although it did make her and Alberdina sneeze when she smoothed it on in the shelter of their barge. But it was worth it! Whatever was in the stuff soothed the aches and numbed them. Although she had expected to spend a wakeful night, listening for any sort of suspicious sound, she dropped off immediately.

She woke to hear Alberdina stirring, and stifled a groan as her arms protested stiffly. Today was going to be hard . . . and she was not in the least looking forward to it.

But when she emerged for breakfast into a brighter, lighter fog than yesterday’s, she discovered that Endars was waiting for them with a hand-scythe at his belt. He shrugged when Delia looked at him quizzically, but said nothing, and when she and Venidel headed downstream, he came with them, leaving Alberdina and Sai to take care of camp chores.

“Thanks for coming with us,” Venidel said, though with a faint hint of a question, as if he wasn’t sure why Endars was with them either.

Endars shrugged again. “Might as well,” he said, and nothing else.

Frost coated every stem and twig with a thick, white fuzz, and although there was no wind, the air warned that there was no chance of warmer weather until spring.

Endars bent and worked with a will, cutting the time needed to clear the tiny meadow in half. When Venidel did his little grass-ball spell, Endars didn’t stop the young mage, but he did ask for Venidel to speak more clearly the next time, and every time after that, he stared so intently that his gaze seemed likely to burn a hole in Venidel’s hands. Endars was not someone that Delia knew at all, but Sai had picked the mages to scout, and Delia would have trusted Sai even if he’d told her to set her hair on fire. Endars didn’t speak much, and on the surface he seemed a little grumpy, so until this moment she had been hesitant to say much of anything at all to him.