Chapter Thirty-One

Harnesses jingling and jangling, interspersed by braying oxen complaining about being put yokes, roused Tarn from his drunken slumber. Sunlight hurt his tender eyes when he opened them, sending shooting bolts of bright pain straight to his brain. His head thumped and throbbed, and his tongue had swelled until it overlapped his bottom teeth. When he tried to gather enough saliva to coax a swallow, his throat felt as though two sheets of sandpaper rubbed together. Walking past the wagon where Tarn had crawled out from beneath, Ludvic gave him a cheerful and energetic slap on the back. Summoning what little energy he had, Tarn growled at Ludvic who just laughed and kept walking, shouting back as he went, "Break thy fast and report to the last wagon. We leave within the hour. No time to be under blankets. Lively now!"

When Torrocka caught Tarn's bloodshot eyes, he bestowed him with a 'now ye know better' look. Knowing the pain of trying to speak, the big youth just frowned at Torrocka and walked gingerly to the stream where he stripped off his clothes and immersed himself under the water's numbing embrace. After drinking his fill of cool water, he felt reasonably ready to brave food. If only his head would only halt its incessant pounding.

Yakuth had assigned him to the last wagon, and it was there he headed, disdaining to speak unless spoken to. For the first half of the day, Tarn suffered the ill-effects of too much ale. When they stopped at dusk, he wore a trail-dust cloak. Ludvic seated himself beside Tarn, his crippled leg thrown comfortably over the tailgate of the wagon. The veteran offered him a mug of ale to wash down the spicy-hot pepper steak. Grimacing distaste, Tarn refused the foamy spirits, the morning's headache still fresh in his mind. Ludvic howled with laughter and slapped his knee, overbalancing. He caught the wagon tailgate and steadied himself.

"Quaff a mug in the morning and the sickness will pass." At Tarn's doubt-ridden stare, Ludvic swore it was true, and then asked, "Have ye heard the tiger on the hill tale?" Tarn shook his head. As he gnawed off another mouthful of pepper-marinated steak, Ludvic said, "There was this old and very brave tiger reputed for his prowess. All the young tigers gathered on the hill beside the old tiger to watch the lady tigers on the plain. When the female tigers ventured close enough, the young males flew down the slope and gave chase. Now if they were fast enough, two or three generally managed to catch himself a mate. Given the long chase, they was too tired for more than one tryst."

"One particularly smart tiger cub noted the old tiger never did no runin', but he was famed far and wide for his tigerishness, ye understand," Ludvic stated, winking. "One day the smart young tiger finally worked up the courage and asked the old tiger how come this was. And do ye know what the old fellow?" Tarn shook his head. Ludvic went on, "The tiger said, 'Why run down the hill and expend all that energy to catch only one tigris when ye can walk down the hill nice and slow like and have them all!'"

Understanding showed on Tarn's face as his mirth of a moment ago faded. Putting aside the humour of the tale, he said, "Ye be meaning that I was one of those young tigers when I charged across the glade and that it would have been wiser to let them tire themselves in the running and calmly await their arrival with full energy and strength."

"Ye acted bravely, lad, so I'll no gainsay thy methods, but ye be well advised to consider more than one style, eh? Being surrounded by angry bees ain't the only method of harvesting honey, now, is it?"

"Aye, thy words hold merit."

The pair ate their meals in relative silence, exchanging information on the land they had passed through, and that which lay in front of them, as men are wont to do with an eye toward future hunting and traversing unfamiliar terrain.

"Ye be minding the middle watch tonight. Get some sleep. I'll wake ye when I come off mine,�� announced Ludvic standing up.

Tarn yawned, nodded his companion a silent farewell, and went to lay down under a wagon. He wrapped his cloak about him and fell asleep almost instantly.

* * * * * * *

At the sound of hard leather soles scuffing dirt, Tarn's eyes snapped open, wide-awake and alert, questing the direction from which the soft noise originated. He did not wake gradually from a deep sleep, for he never truly slept heavily, but came to full alertness immediately. Too many nights sleeping beneath the stars of Asgard's mountains, vulnerable to any number of night predators, had taught him how to keep a small part of himself conscious of his surroundings. Before Ludvic spoke a word, Tarn had rolled out from underneath the wagon.

The next seven days were a slow repetition of the first. Tarn occupied his place in the rear wagon and rotated through sentry duty. Ludvic was correct, the food was plentiful and the duties light. The inactivity of the trade caravan bored him. Hour after hour he sat on the wagon bench seat rocking to the rhythm of the walking oxen. Only the rutted, uneven twin cart paths kept him awake and alert lest he gets bounced off the bench seat to the ground. At least Torrocka rode in the lead wagon with Yakuth, where he need not listen to their civilized prattle.

Once the caravan departed the forested foothills and entered the lowlands, the landscape remained constant. Freshwater streams abounded, bisecting the old-growth forest and the thick bed of pine needles and leaves that carpeted its floor. As the wagons neared Galpernia, the rutted trail became a flagstone road. Farms sprouted up on cleared sections of land like shriven priests, innocent and peaceful, piously yearning a bountiful yield. Those they passed on foot, walked beside yoked oxen, or rode barrel-chested plough horses. The farmers shouted warm greetings, exchanging pleasantries with drivers and guards, sharing city news.

Now that Galpernia lay upon the horizon, its highest towers in sight, they no longer feared an attack. The tension of remaining alert for weeks upon end ebbed. In its place, electric excitement rippled through the wagon train when Galpernia strove into clear view; eight days after Tarn joined the caravan. Ludvic approached him with a wide grin stretching from ear to ear, brimming with the same contagious alacrity that afflicted the others.

"I'll show ye the honest taverns where a soldier can tip a tankard without fear of losing his purse, and where the wenches be clean," Ludvic exclaimed, waving his hand with lordly airs.

"No. I have duties to attend."

"Have ye chanced to glimpse a city, lad?" When Tarn shook his head, Ludvic said, "Just as I thought. Ye canna shimmies up to a stranger and expects them to bleed news. Yakuth has many contacts in Galpernia. For all his boasting, that much be faithfully spoken. The merchant guild be as thick as thieves, loathe to spread tidings beyond kith n' kin lessin' there's gold to be had. Hearken to an old soldier's wisdom, son. Grant Yakuth two days n' nights. A gold sovereign says he'll bend thy ear in less time."

"Aye. What ye say makes sense, but ye'll no separate me from my wage that easily, ye grey-haired fox," Tarn jostled the veteran without malice.

Ludvic laughed heartily and slapped Tarn on the shoulder. "Have ye by chance ever rattled the ivory bones, lad?" At a shake of Tarn's head, Ludvic scratched his bearded chin, donned a surreptitious glance, and commented, "Well then, 'tis something we shall remedy."