The Prophesy: Book 1 - Cave Lupus

Chapter 6 - The Boys' Story

 

"Harp, will you promise not to run away if the legionnaire lets you go?" asked Annabelle.

"I won't leave my big brother, but I won't promise to fight if anyone tries to hurt him again!"

That determined answer brought a smile from everyone present.

"This is acceptable; we agree if someone tries to hurt Sitar, you are allowed to fight, but you still must promise not to run!"

"I promise!" replied Harp, looking very serious and directly in the eye of Annabelle. "You sound like my mama, are you a mama?"

"Not yet, little one, but I am expecting a child."

"I miss my mama!" said Harp, with tears starting to burst from his eyes. "Do you know where she is?"

"No, but maybe if we heard what Sitar had to say, we would know," replied Annabelle, looking at the twelve-year old.

"Before Sitar gives us the story, I think the boys need to have some food. Since we are close to sext, let's halt the caravan and eat," suggested Dunbar.

"And clean up these two!" added Harold, "My cart smells like it's been invaded by a herd of goats! Paschal, prepare a hot water basin for these two piglets, on the forge!"

"I am not a piglet, I'm a boy! You are mean!" retorted Harp.

Paschal came to the defence of his hero with a scowl. "Harold isn't being mean, Harp! He is telling you that you need to clean up because you smell like your last bath was last fall!"

With that, Paschal added more wood to the fire, and brought some water from the barrels outside the cart. He kept the quantity of water to a minimum, to conserve both wood and water. Less then fifteen minutes later, the basin was filled with warm water taken from the kettle. The remaining water was left on the forge to boil, so they would have some hot drinks later.

Cleaning up Harp did not require a lot of negotiations. He stripped and let his big brother wash him with a sponge. His clothes were put in a bag, and a family that had a child about his age offered to cloth him afresh.

Sitar, on the other hand, refused to strip in front of Annabelle and any female around. His refusal extended to all male adults and the only persons he allowed to stay with him in the cart were Paschal and Harp.

As Paschal helped Sitar wash, he wondered about Sitar's story. Unable to hold his curiosity any further, he decided to ask what was bothering him.

"Sitar, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

Laughing, Paschal looked at the boy and said, "Yes, I just did, I'll admit. But this was not the question I really wanted to ask."

"Ask away, but I may not answer."

"That's fair. Tell me, Sitar, why are you afraid of adults?"

"It's a long story. It started well while I was still a toddler of maybe three or four springs, I think. See, mom told us to beware of men who were too kind for the circumstances. I had big brothers on the farm, and big sisters too. One day, a traveling man stopped at our farm. He told mom he was a diviner, and that, by law, he had to take every child above six to be trained in professions other than what their parent were doing. He was accompanied by a group of legionnaires, so mom and dad couldn't do anything. Not only did he take all, he left no one to help my parents mend the farm. I cried the loss of my siblings, and mama promised me this would never happen again."

"That is horrible!" sympathised Paschal.

"The next few years were terrible for us. Mom and dad worked hard to keep the farm going, and mom lost many babies before they were born, but finally Harp came and survived. I was eight by then, and mom feared the return of that evil man to snatch me from her. She had told me the story of the child snatcher, as she called him, and her hatred of the man."

"I understand your mom. I miss mine, and I have no idea where she lives. It's a terrible thing to be torn out of your family by a stranger that doesn't really care about you. I still cry at night, when everyone sleeps." Paschal blushed at his confession, but looked at Sitar and only found compassion there.

"Anyways," continued Sitar, "the man returned when Harp was but a baby of six months, alone. He wanted to take me with him. Mom invited him to stay overnight, playing nice hostess. During the night, mom used a kitchen knife to cut off his bollocks, and a red-hot iron to stop the bleeding. It took three days for the man to come to, and out of the fever he had grown. She put him in his cart, without the children he had collected in his peregrination, and sent him off, with his balls in a bag tied around his neck."

"Wow, your mom was a determined woman!"

"You can say that again. I remember telling him that the next time she saw him around the farm, she would feed him his wily. I remember her terrible words: You are more a child molester than a diviner, because if you had any real divining power you would not have shown your face here! Be gone, or so I swear, your next meal will include what is left of your virility!"

"Wow! I wish mom had done that to the one that took me. He was a terrible man. He was never happy with any of us. How did your dad react to this?"

"He was very proud of her. He said he wished he had the guts to do that when the man first came to get my big brothers and sisters. That day, dad decided to teach me how to hunt, fish, and how to fight with a poniard. That sword was his, he had a traveling Ironsmith make it for him and he tried to learn how to use it by practicing with the Ironsmith before the man left the farm. I miss my dad and mom."

"What happened to them?"

"Dad was killed by a wild boar during a hunting expedition, last winter. He had wounded the boar and it charged, gutting him. I was there. I finished off the furious animal by throwing everything I had at him from the safety of an oak tree. I was lucky one of my arrows got in his left eye and into the brain or I would probably be still in that tree!"

"This is sad, so sad!" replied Paschal, with tears in his eyes. "It must have been horrible!"

"Yes. I had to burry my dad, and it was hard work. I couldn't dig, so I piled up the biggest rocks I could move on his body to make a cairn. Then, I quartered the boar, and piled the meat on the toboggan. I took my dad's poniard, sword, and hunting bow and recovered as many arrows as I could. I then pulled the toboggan back home with its cargo. It was a long and hard trip, but I made it. Mom and Harp were inconsolable, but she understood why I had taken the meat back rather than dad's body. At least we would have something to eat until the spring came and I could go fishing on the river or the streams."

"And you managed to find your way home alone, at eleven?"

"Dad taught me how to use the stars and the sun to know which direction I was travelling. It came in handy."

"What about your mom?"

"That's more recent, Paschal. I had gone with Harp to collect the traps I had set along the streams for small animals, like rabbits. We had been gone for half a day when Harp noticed smoke coming from the direction of our farm. We hurried back to find the farm on fire, attacked by a bunch of orcs. Everyone was already dead, and the orcs were ravaging the farm. I held Harp tight and we hid in the forest. Unfortunately, our return had left tracks; an orc scout found them and followed them to our hiding place. He caught Harp and was getting ready to do horrible things to him when I managed to free myself from the ropes he had tied us with and throw a poniard at his neck, cutting the windpipe. He died silently. We stayed there until nightfall, and, when we went back to the farm, I told Harp to stay back in the ditch while I did some exploration. I found my dad's sword under a pile of debris. We couldn't stay there because the orcs were marauding. I took everything I could salvage, including the toboggan and we took off across the forest, with Harp sitting on the toboggan when he grew too tired of walking in the snow."

"How long did you walk before you found that shelter?"

"About three days. I managed to keep us warm at night with a small fire, but I was always afraid the orcs would find our trail. Maybe the snow that fell the first night we left the farm took them off our scent."

"Maybe. And how long had you been in that cave when we found you?"

"About a month. We could at least light a fire without it being seen from far away, and the cave afforded us a protection from the wind. I had been hunting for rabbits when I saw your caravan coming. I returned to the hideout, and I was hoping you wouldn't see me as I peeked over the rock edges. Some of you must have eagle eyes!"

"What happened to the toboggan?"

"I had to reduce it to spinsters to start the fire, and we kept the fire going at all times. It was hard work, but I explained to Harp that I did not have the expertise to start a fire with wet wood and that finding dry stuff until winter was over would be a hard bet."

"I sure know about this! I've been supplying Harold with wood for the forge, and it's been a nightmare. How do you know it's been a month you have been here?"

"The moon looks similar to what it did when we arrived. Dad told me that the moon kept changing shape and cycled through these shapes on a monthly basis. You didn't know that?"

"No, but I bet Harold knows. He seems to know everything!"

By then, Sitar had finished washing himself, and was wearing some clothes from teens about his size.

"Sitar, why are you named like a music instrument, and Harp as well?" wanted to know the always inquisitive Paschal.

"Mom played the sitar, and loved music. I think every one of us was named according to a different musical instrument. Had she known Harp would play the flute one day she would have named him Flute or Piccolo."

"How poetic of her. I wish I had known your mom."

"I wish you could have too. She was so nice, notwithstanding what she did to that child robber."

"This will be good in a way, Sitar. If you ever meet someone named like a musical instrument, you will know he or she is probably one of your siblings!"

"I did not think of that, but you are right, Paschal!"

"Do you play an instrument?"

"Yes, I play the Pan flute. It's different from the piccolo you saw that my little brother is hugging tightly. I made mine myself, and I bet you didn't even recognize the Pan as a music instrument in the stuff that the legionnaires brought back."

"Can you show me how it looks?"

"Sure, here it is!" Sitar said, pointing to a very ornate Pan flute.

"This is a beautiful instrument, Sitar. I would like to hear you play."

"Later, please, I'm getting hungry."

"Let's go eat, Harp and Sitar. I'm hungry too!"

***

Annabelle, Dunbar, and Harold seemed to be strolling towards the Ironsmith's cart but they had actually been standing quietly near it, listening in on the three boys chat. Harold had figured out one thing about this whole mess: If Sitar would trust someone it would be a kid slightly younger than him, not an adult. And he knew that Paschal would get all the relevant information because of his inquisitive mind. On the other hand, he had not explicitly asked for Paschal to do this, because then, Paschal would have lost his biggest asset: spontaneity. It had to be innocent chitchat between them, especially the two oldest, because Harold counted on a budding friendship to keep Sitar in line.

Annabelle had been deeply moved by the story, as had everyone that had listened to it. She felt sorry for all these lost lives, but more for Harp, who did not seem to understand that his mom was dead. Yet, Sitar probably knew her fate even more in depth, because his voice had changed to ice as he talked of the orcs. No one needed a drawing to imagine what the poor boy had found as he searched his home after the orcs had left. He had kept quiet, and probably never told the truth to his little brother.

The three men took the boys to where the rolling canteen was installed for the day, and they ate the day's fare, rabbit stew with herbs, and a hot tea.

The caravan continued until nones, and stopped, as had been its policy for a while now, so it could take defensive measures, and let the members of the caravan train in their weakest weapons.

Harold, Yamato and Annabelle monitored the ability of Sitar and Harp. Both boys were good with poniards, and Sitar showed promise with a short bow. He was still too young for the longbow or the crossbow. His dad's sword was still too heavy for him, and Harold decided to make a small sword more adapted to the boy's size. If this turned out right for Sitar, he would endeavour to equip the young teens of the column with this type of equipment. It would be better than to be in battle with only poniards, however good they were at their use.

After the training session, Paschal resumed the camouflaging of the horses into fantasy animals, showing those he had done to Sitar's amazed gaze. There were only two left to finish, and it was a question of details before he placed the final lacquer coatings on these areas. Everything would be finished by sunset, and let to dry until morning.

By vespers, the three boys were around the main fire of the caravan, and Paschal remembered that Sitar told him he would play music for him.

"Sitar, you told me you would play music with your flute. Would you mind playing some now?"

"Certainly, Paschal. Let me get it. Do you want to play, Harp?"

"Yes! Please get my flute for me!"

A few minutes later, Sitar came back with the two instruments and sat down on a log near the fire.

A haunting music escaped from the Pan flute, and, at some point, Harp's piccolo entered the theme, giving a counterpoint to Sitar's play. The two played a long, moving piece, which was finished by the piccolo's sound rising to the stars. By the end, every eye was wet with tears, and a few sobs could be heard in the darkness.

"This is a beautiful piece, Sitar, Harp. What is it called?" wanted to know Annabelle, after taking a sip of her tea to clear her throat of the embarrassing ball she had felt during the whole performance.

"Despair and Hope: An Hymn to the Stars," replied Sitar.

"I had never heard it before," commented Harold.

"It would be very unlikely, unless someone read our minds and played it before," replied Sitar. "I composed half the piece, Despair, about a month ago, as I was remembering mama. As I played it in the cave, Harp took his flute and began playing the counterpoint, the lively part, Hope, and he out-winded me, showing me that Hope would always overcome Despair."

The members of the caravan were floored by this story. Here were two children, one a toddler, and the other barely a teen, that had created this masterpiece out of circumstances beyond their control. Everyone wanted to thank the boys for this beautiful moment and it took an hour for the situation to calm down. By then, bedtime was due, and the three friends retired with Annabelle to the cart, while Harold did his last round.

As Harold was doing the rounds with Yamato and Dunbar, the three talked about the events of the day.

"Harold, I don't know what is going on here," started Dunbar, "but something is definitely up."

"What do you mean?" asked Harold.

"Well, first, I meet you, and you turn out to be a first class Ironsmith; and then, later on, I find out you have an innate sense of military strategy, and represent an untapped reservoir of knowledge. Without your help, we would have been stuck in the bog, and maybe have lost a few carts if not men and horses. You impress Annabelle to the point she turns command of the legions to you and votes in favour of you becoming a Legate, a high-ranking military station. Your sense of leadership is so overwhelming, even I defer to you on decisions concerning the caravan. I am amazed at my own reaction, to be honest. I'll come right out to you, here: before meeting you, I was a right prick, who would have shamed the worse dictators of the past. I have learned my trade not from the masters and grand masters of my Order, but from you, Harold."

"Here, I must concur," added Yamato. "Annabelle was a good strategist, but you far outshine her. She is like a star trying to compete with the sun."

"Aren't you two putting it a bit thick here?"

"Not really," replied Dunbar, "How many have won battles with the odds we had against us, Yamato? I am asking you because of your deep knowledge of history, including the Ancients' history."

"None that I can think of. Caesar, on whose army the legions' structure is based, had disciplined men fighting disorganized Barbarians; Genghis Khan had mobility and vast numbers; Blood and Guts, whose real name got lost to time, had mobility and a vast source of industrious people supplying him; the battles between Europe and its colonies were lopsided: they had superior firepower and crushed people like petals in a prairie. Advances in technology coupled with its proper use outweighed numbers regularly. But never, ever, was a battle won with such disproportionate odds against the winner."

"And it doesn't stop there, Harold. Who do we pick up as we wait at Newbridge? A very competent carpenter, whose ability coupled with your sense of design get us out of trouble and let us literally convert the vehicles into armoured personal carriers! As if fate had decided things, we capture - rescue Paschal, not knowing his hidden talent at drawing would create this caravan of terror that probably has the devil in hiding!"

"There, for Paschal, I would agree. These animals look so real when the caravan is on the move, I've heard the cavalry complain about having trouble controlling their horses!"

"And now, what do we pick up?" continued Dunbar. "Two boys, who, we discover, are marvellous musicians. Let's not forget that Harp, even for his diminutive size, gave legionnaire Seiko a run for his money! I've talked to him and he said if everyone had the fearlessness this kid showed, no parent would be able to raise a kid with threats."

"Yes, I noticed," confirmed Yamato. "I watched him during training, and believe me, he inspired the fear of his voice when he yelled 'Die!' and came charging into the melee. Luckily, I had taken Seiko's advice and given the little monster a wooden blade, or we might have lost a few valid men today! He doesn't fake it, believe me! It's a little killing machine that, once trained properly, will probably hold his own against any of us."

"I still don't get your point, gentlemen."

Dunbar gave a few seconds to Yamato, and since nothing seemed to be forthcoming from him, decided to supply the answer. "The point is this, Harold: You attract the best like honey attracts the bees; you get the best out of each of us, without even asking for it. Did you look at Sitar when he threw the knives? None missed, even the most difficult targets. And I saw him kill a rattlesnake from thirty feet, as the animal was moving towards one of the children. The blade nailed the snake to the ground with a shot straight through the head. I heard you want to make him a short sword? Do it, by all means. If he is as good with this as he is with the blades he has at his disposal, I pity the orc or the priest dumb enough to come within reach of his blade."

"I agree there, Dunbar. But do not underestimate that little Harp. He plays to the same tune his big brother does! He knows how to use a poniard, believe me. The wooden one gained him a lot of respect; and, when he recovered the real thing, he went hunting with those poor fellows who aren't good at bows, and killed 6 rabbits they had missed, by throwing the knife at them! I just couldn't believe it! I had to rub my eyes a couple of times, and see him retrieve the poniard from the carcass to realize what I had seen!"

"Talking about priests, I think I should show these two the pictures that Paschal drew, and indicate the vulnerable point in their shell!" remarked Harold.

"Yes, it may come handy as we will have to travel near more of their holdouts later," noted Dunbar.

Harold returned to his cart and slid besides Annabelle, looking at the two boys asleep. Angelic faces that could kill in the blink of an eye, yet they hugged each other tightly, Sitar trying to protect Harp, or was it the other way around? And what else lay in reserve for him? What if Dunbar and Yamato were on to something? Could he be like the tree that attracts lightening because it stands out in the forest? These thoughts occupied his mind as he fell asleep for the night.

***

The next morning, Paschal was up before Harold and finished putting on the final layer of lacquer on the last box that needed transformation. The weather was cold and bright and he had done it within a cart, away from the winds and cold.

As he walked back to the cart he occupied with Williams, some things Sitar had said the day before kept coming back to him. First, he knew it took Sitar three days to walk in the snow, under the trees, pulling a toboggan carrying stuff and, sometime, Harp. That did not mean the farm was three days walk from the road. Sitar would have had to trudge through the snow cover, and even if it was lighter under trees, it was also softer and would have created a load of obstacles for the boys. Then, another idea crossed his mind. Sitar had said it took three days, but from which direction? Were they getting closer to the farm or further away? Finally, what really bugged him came to the surface: Sitar's offer to Harold. What was he offering? Harold had refused the offer, taken aback. Was it something bad? It had to be if Sitar had told everyone he was willing to kill to protect his little brother from it, it just had to be. And was it what the orc had tried to do to Harp? So many question, so few answers. Paschal resolved to ask Harold. He trusted Annabelle, Dunbar, and Yamato, and even Williams, or he wouldn't have been able to sleep in the carpenter's cart, but he trusted Harold even more. If someone would tell him the truth, and the whole truth, it would be him, without trying to hide facts because he was supposedly too young to hear them. But so many questions needed to be prioritized. He figured the most important were the ones concerning security of the caravan, so he decided to bring them up at prime, when everyone would be up and ready for breakfast.

By then, unwillingly, he had passed Williams' cart and was approaching Dunbar's. He saw the man jump off the cart and make a dash for the latrines. Morning pee was an inescapable fact of manhood, decided Paschal. He wondered if Dunbar was in the same situation he was every morning, but decided it was not his business.

He waited for the man's return from his morning ritual, sitting on the driver's seat of the cart. Dunbar spotted the young boy on his way back and decided to go see what he wanted rather than do the customary inspection of the carts he did every morning before people got up. It could wait; the road had been kind for the past month, so there were little damage to wheels or suspensions; Harold or Williams immediately fixed any damage.

"What brings you so early to my humble abode on wheels, Master Paschal?" enquired, jovially, Dunbar.

Paschal reddened somewhat from the honorary title.

"I am no master, Master Dunbar," replied, in a formal tone, Paschal.

"Maybe not on the Crown's record, young man, but in my book you are. You are a master of the visual arts, and I shall personally defy to battle anyone that claims otherwise, be he King or pauper."

Paschal blushed even more, as Harold, who smiled at him from behind Dunbar, had heard the last statement.

"Master Dunbar, Legate Harold, I've been thinking about what we learned from Sitar."

The formal introduction triggered all sorts of alarms in both men's brains. Something was really bothering the boy, so they decided to encourage him to say his thoughts, right then and there.

"Let's climb in my cart, Harold, and you too Paschal. We're all ears to what seems to be bothering you."

The three climbed and seated themselves comfortably against cushions. Harold and Dunbar looked expectantly at Paschal, letting him organize his thoughts. This was definitely something serious, because his gaze was looking at both men with a firm steadiness they had found matched his most serious thoughts.

"Sitar said his farm was three days away. I do not put his words in doubt. But three days away for him, what distance does this really represent? He travelled in the forest, in snow, pulling a toboggan, and had to hide, keep pace with his little brother, or pull the toboggan loaded with his brother. Now, Harp is small, but by no means a lightweight for Sitar to pull around."

The two men looked at each other, catching what he meant right away, but the intensity of Paschal's gaze told them he was not finished yet.

"Continue on, your reasoning is sound," noted, softly, Dunbar.

"There is another question relative to the farm. Sitar never told us in which direction he traveled. Are we getting closer to it, or are we getting further away? The orcs may have left the area, since he said it's been a month, but maybe they have raided other farms. We have no idea what direction they were headed and where their base is. They may well be right over the next hill, coming back to their home base. For that matter, where is the home of orcs? Does anyone know?"

Harold took a pensive posture, his right hand under his chin, and scratching his head with the other. Dunbar lay back and put his left hand in front of his mouth. Paschal had learned their body language and knew the two men were deep in thought, so he kept quiet, while they reasoned things out on their own. The vague, absent, look in both men's eyes told him the implications of what he had said were carefully weighted.

Finally, Harold moved and, looking at Dunbar and Paschal alternatively, spoke calmly, in an emotionless tone that both knew meant to hide his emotions behind a mask of steel. In truth, Harold was furious at himself for having neglected these basic questions, especially the location of Sitar's farm.

"Young man, I am impressed. Your analysis shows a depth of thinking that leaves me voiceless. Dunbar, I shall go get Sitar, and we will get this vital tidbit of information out of him. And yes, Paschal, we all thought three days gave us ample margin of safety, but in truth, he may well have travelled less than a day for a man carrying what amounted to no burden for an adult. His farm may well be within a day's walk in any direction."

With that, Harold left the cart to get Sitar. He woke up Annabelle, and Williams on the way, and asked Williams to get Yamato for him. The tone of voice made Williams run like fire was on his heels to find the Centurion, and Annabelle's eyebrows rose up. Something was definitely bugging her husband, something serious. He asked her to wake Sitar and Harp for him as he quickly got his weapons ready, including the precious katana. This alone scared Annabelle. Something was up, ant it was very serious indeed.

As Annabelle, Harold, Harp, and Sitar made their way to Dunbar's cart, Yamato and Williams converged on it as well. Yamato and Williams both took a deep breath as they spotted Harold in full war mode.

All climbed on the cart and joined Dunbar and Paschal.

Looking at Sitar, Dunbar asked gently the question that burned his lips, trying to keep calm.

"Sitar, in what direction is your farm? Are we headed that way?"

"Yes, but it's still three days away. It took me that much time to travel the distance."

"Sitar?" asked Paschal. "Is your farm near the road we are following?"

"Yes, we could see caravans pass once in a while. Some even asked for shelter, against payment."

"And is the road straight to your farm?" Paschal already knew the answer to that question, because he could actually see the road curve up ahead of them as it took a more southerly direction.

"Well, no. It curves."

"And you told me you traveled in the forest. You never used the road?"

"No, I stayed hidden. The road is too open and orcs seemed to be using it."

Paschal looked at Harold, wondering if he should continue the interrogation or leave it to adults. Harold gave assent, and Paschal resumed the interrogation.

"Sitar, does Harp travel as fast as you when you walk in the woods?"

"No, he has smaller legs, and he tires more easily, especially in the deep drifts we find between clumps of trees."

"And did he always sit on the toboggan?"

"No, I had to ask him to walk or else he would have frozen his feet, and, sometimes, the drifts were so high I couldn't pull the toboggan over them with him in it. He had to get off and literally swim the drift behind me. It was slow."

The others listened to the boys' ordeal with respect but also with increasing worry.

"Sitar, have you ever considered that you might in fact be very close to home, not three days walk? Even under the best conditions, Harp doesn't walk as fast as you do, you stated earlier. And the conditions you described are less then ideal. I suppose you had to stop often to let Harp rest?"

"Yes, we had to stop many times, because he was all red in the face and I feared he might die of hyperventilation, as mom called it."

"This clinches the debate as far as I am concerned," stated Dunbar. "Sitar, you may have worked your ass off for three days, but I suspect that by road, given the current condition, your home may be less than a day away, Things being the way they are, I'll even estimate that by sext, we should have what is left of your home in view."

Sitar looked at the man, and suddenly, comprehension downed on him. Travel in the forest may have been safer, but it had made his progress so slow he had overestimated the traveled distance. That had been dumb, and had put both him and Harp in danger. His dad would have been royally pissed at this oversight. Tears began falling as he realized the extent of his misjudgement. Annabelle just couldn't bear to see the courageous boy cry, and she took him in her arms, hugging him tight.

"No harm done, Sitar, You did your best, and no one can ask more of you. You protected your little brother, and saw to it that he was safe to the best of your ability given the circumstances."

Harp looked at his big brother crying and was taken aback. He had never seen Sitar cry before, and before long, he joined him on Annabelle's lap, crying his soul out. Annabelle looked at the men defying them to say anything with her incendiary eyes.

"They have been through too much, and the tears are the best remedy. I think that Harp knows more than he lets on about what happened, but not to embarrass his big brother, has been bottling up his emotions. Now he is releasing them. Gentlemen, while I handle these two, I think you have things to do. And, Paschal, may I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You seemed to have hit on something us adults had completely overlooked."

***

Everyone left the cart to Annabelle and two protégés, and held a war council as to what to do immediately. Paschal, having been the mastermind behind the discovery of the situation was included, much to his surprise. The war council included the other centurions, and the masters of the caravans that had merged with Dunbar. As the caravan got breakfast underway, strategies were discussed and discarded, ideas proposed and disposed. Finally, Harold took the floor.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Whatever strategy we decide upon, we know for a fact that we cannot go back. All indicates the road behind us is closed. I believe so because, even with our repeated delays, no caravan has caught up with us. Furthermore, I suspect the legions behind us are engaged in battles with orc hordes and are too deep in trouble to be of any help. I pray for our friends we left behind at Riverside and Newbridge, but we cannot do anything to help them if they are under siege. We are way too far and even under best conditions, it would take us months to reach Newbridge. If battle there is, or will be, we could only either fall on the orcs coming back across the mountains, or, if we are lucky, on ruins and desolation. We must keep going forward."

This sobering assessment of the situation had the expected effects. The debate was now focussed on getting to Lois with the minimum risks and losses. After a while, it was Dunbar's turn to take the floor.

"Ladies and gentlemen. What we need now is establish the best road available given the situation. Each master of the road had travelled these parts. I suggest we put together our experience to figure out the best path, the path of least risk and resistance, to reach our common goal. We must realize that this is no longer a peaceful expedition, but a walk in a war zone. I suspect some have forgotten this aspect, given it's been a while since we had trouble, but rest assured that the upcoming spring season will see a resurgence of orc and priest activity. Let us put together our maps, and ask our resident artist, Paschal here, to merge them into a coherent representation of what lies ahead. The time of secrecy is over because our lives are at risk. Any bit of information may be important, from rarely used passes to the navigability of rivers. Do not forget to note where the Silent Forests cross our path and if there are ways to go around them. What we learned from our passage into the tip of one encourages me, no, forces me, to consider any road better than one that even skirts such a forest."

The normally secretive caravan masters looked at Dunbar, open-mouthed. Finally, one of the others rose.

"Master Dunbar. I have followed you because of the Rules of the Road. However, I must now confess that I shall follow you by conviction. You have earned, in my books, the Grand Master title of our Order, and I shall abide by your recommendations. My books are open to your inspection, and no map will be off limits. I strongly encourage my fellow Masters to entrust their destiny to Grand Master Dunbar." He sat down, in a stunned silence.

A minute passed and another Caravan Master rose.

"My colleague has spoken well. I propose a vote to recognize Dunbar as Grand Master. By law, it takes twelve of us to do so, and we are short by a single vote, since Dunbar cannot vote for himself. However, I am sure there are rules of exception, and we could call on them to enforce this change of status upon the Order's hierarchy. Let us vote. Here is an opaque bag. Each of you carries two marbles, as part of your promotion to Mastery, one is black, the other white. I think that, for the benefit of those who are not members of our Order, black means no, and white means yes. If I remember the Charter, a unanimous vote must be held for a situation like this to take effect. If a single black marble is found in the voting bag, the promotion will not be confirmed, and the current situation will prevail. Dunbar's leadership could be contested if such was the case, but I, personally, find it very unlikely, whatever the outcome of the vote. Ladies, gentlemen, get your marbles."

Two others stood up and stated clearly, for all to hear.

"I second this call for the vote. Ladies and gentlemen, get your marbles."

The form having been respected, every Caravan Master, except Dunbar, voted. The result came out as expected, not a single black marble, and no marble were missing, which would have marked an abstention.

The observers applauded Dunbar's in the field promotion to Grand Master. The symbols required of a Grand Master would have to wait for more favourable circumstances, but, nonetheless, the Masters walked to their respective carts to retrieve their maps and bring them to Paschal for consolidation.

Paschal had been duly impressed by the process, but finally piped up as the Masters returned.

"Legate Harold, I suggest we implement the Terrible Dragons plan from now on. Everything is ready."

"Agreed. As everyone returns to his cart after breakfast, install the decoys. We must look like a bunch of horrors on the move! Paschal, do you have a number of apprentices you trust to implementing the disguises correctly?"

"Yes, about two dozen, or so."

"Then, from now on, they are under your command when it comes to mounting and dismounting the disguises. Any protests?"

Silence met Harold's question.

"Then get going Paschal. Your promotion is approved by unanimity. Once this is done, meet me at my cart. Gentlemen, I suggest Paschal starts working on the consolidated map as we travel. Williams, can you set up a movable table in my cart that would be easily displaced if we had to lift the shields?"

"Certainly, Legate Harold. I'll get right up to it while Paschal gets his teams organized and the process started." It may take until sext, because working while a cart moves is not easy, but it is feasible."

"Dunbar, can we stop at sext today? I really need a stable forge to create a sword for Sitar. It is too dangerous to work red hot metal in a moving cart."

"Certainly, Harold. In fact, I think we will implement this, if only because the animals under their shells will tire more easily and need more water as well."

Annabelle came towards the group of men and figured some decisions had been taken. The military issues were next, and her arrival with Sitar and Harp to the meeting could not fall at a better time. With her arrival, the full complement of centurions was present.

Harold quickly got her up to speed as to what had been decided so far, and informed her of Dunbar's promotion by his peers. The debate now focussed on military issues. They were few, as the legionnaires had already insulated the caravan in an extended blanket of early warning patrols. However, in an effort to extend the range, Annabelle ordered the packhorses discharged of their loads and converted to cavalry use. The cargo was moved into oxcarts that had grown light from the progressive consumption of the food reserves. The saddles, bridles and that had been carried by some of the packhorses were taken out of storage and inspected as the rest of the equipment got moved to the carts. In went tents, bedrolls, and reserve weapons, all neatly organized by type for easy access and frequency of use.

While this was going on, Sitar sat near Annabelle, while Harp was in her lap, getting comforting hugs. Harp soon fell asleep, but Sitar was looking around like a trapped animal. Who were these people? What were they talking about? He understood the fears they expressed about orcs, and to a lesser degree, of priests, but why was the word lizard associated with the priests and such scorn and hatred felt towards them? And why were all these men exchanging black books, and writing down some mysterious notes and asking each other to verify the exactitude of the contents? Why must it be so exact? And where was Paschal? Oh, there he was! But why was he with all these older boys? Was he in trouble? They seemed to be talking animatedly about something. Maybe he should go help Paschal? After all he had been friendly with him, and had not tried to hurt him. But there was Harp. Could he trust Annabelle with his safety? She looked like mom, smelled like mom, sounded like mom, but was it a trick to gain his trust? It was apparent that Harold, Annabelle, and Dunbar were important people, but why where they? And now, Paschal seemed to be too, or, again, was he in trouble?

Finally the group of twenty-four that had been around Paschal split up and moved away from him to Sitar's relief. He noticed that six groups of four moved along the caravan, and began installing the funny boxes Paschal had so masterfully disguised in the shapes of dragons his mom had told him about. Paschal kept moving from one group to another, and making sure the installation went as expected, commenting, encouraging and, in all appearances, directing the group of much older teens and young adults. Sitar just couldn't understand all this. How could a young boy, who was quite apparently at least two springs younger than him, get obeyed by people that were, in many cases, twice his age? These people were strange people, very strange people, concluded Sitar. As the group worked under the watchful gaze of Paschal, some called to him for counsel, and further directives. Some addressed him as Paschal, but an increasing number called him Master Paschal. Master Paschal? That was impossible! How could Paschal be a master of anything? Sitar was not even apprentice! How could this boy be a Master? What could Paschal be the master of? Weapons? No, it did not make sense. Paschal was good, but certainly not a master of weapons. Nonetheless, no one seemed to laugh at Paschal's title. It had to be real. This was another mystery to unravel.

Sitar's attention was distracted from Paschal by the arrival of a girl carrying some red wax and a portable candleholder; she was accompanied by two teens carrying a portable table. What was up?

"Grand Master Dunbar, the logbook of each of the Caravan Master was updated. Each now contains the signed copy and seal attesting to your election. Your own logbook is now presented in front of you so you can update it and seal the logbook with your own seal of Master."

Ah, thought Sitar, so those are the mysterious black books: The caravan logbooks. But what was that election the woman was talking about? It seemed that Dunbar had been the focus of some changes. Then it flashed to him. When he had met Dunbar for the first time, someone had referred to him as Caravan Master Dunbar; now that lady called him Grand Master? As Sitar watched, fascinated, the logbook with Dunbar's seal on the cover was brought forth, and opened to a page. The contents seemed highly official, with the waxed seal of every Caravan Master clearly visible at the bottom of a text that Sitar couldn't read from where he was. But, at the bottom of the list of signatures and seals were a short text, and a place for further signatures.

Dunbar signed his name at the reserved place, and signalled the girl, who let a bit of the red molten wax fall on the right of his signature, upon which Dunbar pressed his seal, to the applause of every member of the Order of the Road.

Then another signature was requested, this time from Harold; he too signed at the bottom of the document, and sealed it with wax and mark. The precious logbook was then closed and brought back to Dunbar's cart by the girl, as the boys removed the table. Sitar wondered why Harold had been involved in this process, but decided to keep those questions for a later day.

Annabelle got up and moved back to Harold's cart, with Harp in her arms, and trailed by Sitar. Food had been brought from the canteen to the cart and the boys devoured it, along with the hot drinks they sorely needed. The side shields had been raised and interlocked, which gave the interior of the cart a dark and gloomy look, but everyone seemed to find this totally normal and expected, so Sitar sat near Annabelle. Harp was feeding up like there was no tomorrow, under the amused but watchful eyes of Harold.

"Do not eat too much, Harp, or else you might get transport sickness. The cart isn't open today, as you see, and being so, you might feel sick. If you do, tell us, and we will have you go sit in front with the driver," commented Harold.

Paschal came to the cart and looked inside.

"Legate Harold, all carts report ready to move. The canteen cart is now closed and secured. The dragons are ready to fly."

"Thank you, Master Paschal. Update Grand Master Dunbar."

"I have done so already. He told me to join with centurion Annabelle. Sitar, would you and Legate Harold please join him in his cart where he expects Centurion Yamato to be joining him shortly? He wants Sitar to be with him."

"What about Harp?

"Harp should stay with Annabelle for now Sitar. I think he sent me here so I could take your place beside him, should you feel it necessary because of Annabelle's presence."

Sitar blushed and looked guiltily at Annabelle, who simply smiled at him.

"Go, Sitar, we are almost ready to move, and there must be a good reason for Grand Master Dunbar to ask you to his cart."

Sitar left, accompanied by Harold, who took his horse by the bridle and tied it behind Dunbar's cart, besides Yamato's horse, before climbing in with Sitar. As soon as the two had joined him, Dunbar gave the customary signal of departure and the caravan resumed its slow trek on the road.

***

"Sitar, I would like you to sit behind the cart driver and tell us what you see as we progress. I especially want to know when we go by your home. We will not stop, because I do not wish to rekindle bad memories to you or, especially, Harp. However, we will send a group of legionnaires to inspect the buildings. Maybe there are things that are still recoverable."

"Yes, I understand. I'll tell you when I see the farm."

As the caravan progressed, the legionnaires would come on horseback and report to Harold or Yamato of their findings. An hour before sext, the legionnaires sent forward reported a burned down farm Yamato ordered a detachment to explore the farm, while Dunbar informed the caravan's members the sext pause would be delayed until they had passed the farm for an hour. No use working so hard to distract Harp to have him hop on a bench to see what was left of his home profiling itself on the horizon.

As the road curved and the carcass of the home came into view, the hiccup and sudden blenching of Sitar was all the confirmation Dunbar, Harold, and Yamato needed. It was indeed the boys' home that had come into view. Sitar's eyes watered at the memory of his mother and what he had seen as he explored the property. His breathing grew laboured and his jaws tightened to the point Harold worried he might break some teeth. The boy's fists gripped the backrest so tight Yamato thought the wood would spinster. His haunted eyes burned into Harold's memory more effectively than a red-hot iron would ever do. No one said a word, but a hand signal to a legionnaire propagated the news faster than a yell. Fortunately, the silence that fell on the caravan was missed by Harp, who had been lulled to sleep by the continuous movement of the cart and the comforting heat meaning from Annabelle's body. It did not, however, escape the ever attentive Paschal, who knew intuitively where the caravan was. He did not, however, look outside, for fear that Harp would choose that moment to wake up and peek outside.

The legionnaires had returned to the caravan from the burned out shell as it crossed the farm path that used to lead to the property. The report was whispered to Harold and Yamato as Dunbar hugged the crying Sitar. The legionnaire understood this was a sensitive topic for the boy that was in the cart with them, so he kept the gruesome parts for his written report he would give to Annabelle the next morning.

"There is nothing to salvage, sirs, the cold storage has been breached, and the food was eaten or has rotted. The metals of the property were few, and not worth the trouble fighting for. The kitchenware was wood, and burned almost completely. Whatever linen there might have been burned or has been torn to shreds by animals for nesting material. The hay was exposed to weathering, and rotted, so it's unrecoverable for our use. The only inhabitants of the farm were owls, rodents, and a family of coyotes, who were not too happy to see their den invaded by us. We looked at the fruit trees. They might have produced an abundant crop once, but they had been neglected as of late."

"That gives credence to Sitar's story. It's probably his dad that saw to the trees, and he dead, no one knew what to do," thought aloud Yamato.

"Any fresh traces of orcs?" wanted to know Harold.

"No sir. The last snowfall in the area was three days ago, and it was undisturbed. We can only hope this means the orcs are at least three days away, but only an eagle would know."

"Is there anything else to report?" wanted to know Yamato.

"We found what we found at the farm where we picked up Master Paschal, sir."

Everyone understood that the legionnaire was referring to the killing field that had so disturbed everyone at Paschal's farm.

"Should we try anything?'

"The scavenging animals have spread things out far and wide, and it would be impossible to differentiate who was who even from different species. By next fall, nothing will show but the longest. It is an ossuary that is a living testimonial to the orcs' savagery, and would deeply trouble our young charges."

"Agreed," decided Harold. "We will leave this in state, and spare our two new addition further misery."

"I took the liberty to have a cenotaph with the family members' name inscribed on it be placed at the entrance to the area. I used the name list I found in your logbook, Grand Master."

"Yes, I noticed you writing down the names from that list. That was thoughtful of you. I am sure Sitar and Harp will remember this kindness."

The caravan continued traveling for an hour after sext, and then stopped for the day. The sudden halt woke up Harp and Paschal.

"Where is my brother?" wanted to know a panicky Harp.

"He is with Harold in one of the carts ahead of us," replied Paschal. "He should be here soon."

"Oh, OK. I'm hungry!"

"Me too, but let's wait for the all safe signal before getting off the cart, Harp."

A few minutes later, the signal was heard and Paschal helped Harp off the cart, and took his hand to bring him to his big brother in Dunbar's vehicle. Sitar was still in the front, with Dunbar and Harold, as Yamato had taken to his horse in order to inspect the defence system. Harp, with the help of Paschal, climbed in the cart and ran to cuddle with his big brother.

After a few minutes, Harp backed off and looked at Sitar.

"You have been crying again, Sitar. What's wrong?"

"Nothing and everything, Harp."

"You have been thinking about mom and dad and the children at the farm," said, matter-of-factly Harp.

"How do you know that?"

"I slept every night in that cave and woke up to your cries and listened as you called for them and their help. I am young, but I am not deaf! I noticed that every morning, you woke up with red eyes, and a tremor in your voice. The bright eyes I saw before mom died have lost their light; I know I was a big burden on you for the past month, Sitar. I tried to help, but there is only so much I could do."

"Oh, Harp! I feel so overwhelmed! I am ill equipped to protect you, and see to your education. I am but a child myself!"

"Sitar, I know mom is dead. I saw what the orcs had done to her and the others. I did not stay in the trench, as you asked that fateful night, but followed you. I did not want to stay alone. These images will haunt my sleep and feed my rage and my will to kill orcs far better than mom's horror stories will ever succeed in doing. Maybe it was a mistake of my part, but I didn't know until I saw her how huge a mistake it was."

The shocked looks of everyone in the cart spoke volumes at the newfound respect the little boy had earned by being so strong for his big brother. This one was to be counted. The two brothers hugged tightly, sobbing at their common loss.

Looking at Dunbar, Harp shocked them further. "I know we have passed the farm while I was asleep. The silence that came over everyone in the caravan woke me up, and I sensed we were home. I did not move, because I did not feel the courage to face this memory. Maybe, later, when I grow old, I shall come back, if only to honour those that died that day. However, I must thank you for not stopping right in front of my home; it would have been really hard to walk the road while seeing the ruins."

Every adult in the cart learned a valuable lesson that day: never underestimate a child's intuition.