News From The Road

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 15th April 2018

Characters: Galveden
Description: Galveden shares news with a tavern worker, causing a message to be delivered to his neighbour Terren
Location: Emerald Falls Hold
Date: month 4, day 5 of Turn 9
Notes: Mentioned: R'fal

The tavern was deep in Emerald Falls territory, on a busy trade route
but far from the main Hold, and its custom was varied. Some days it was
quiet, with just a few travellers, runners and local cotholders dropping
in for an evening drink, but at other times, when a trader caravan
passed, it could be crowded and the tavern-keeper and his family were
rushed off their feet keeping everyone supplied with drinks, meals and
conversation.

Business had been slow that afternoon, but a little convoy of wagons had
pulled up outside just as the light was beginning to fade. The holder in
charge greeted the tavern keeper by name and once he'd seen to the draft
beasts and made sure the wagons were secured for the night, he settled
down with a mug of ale to catch up on the latest news from the road.

"Ahh - nothing better than a cold drink after a long, hot day of
travelling," he said to the man who stood polishing glasses across the
bar from him. He didn't recognise the face - must have been hired since
his last visit. The fellow looked rather skinny and undernourished, his
clothes worn and patched and his face weathered from a life outdoors.
Down on his luck, perhaps, and grateful for the work. "Or a long, hot
day of serving drinks, I'd imagine. Why not have one on me?"

"Thank you, sir!" The man grinned, his smile gap-toothed, and went over
to the barrel to fill a mug for himself. "It's not been too busy a day;
no large groups until you. Have you come far?"

"Yes, but I've not got much further to go now. My name's Galveden, and
I've a cothold about fifteen miles from here. Ovines, and some runners.
We're just back from tithing, so the wagons are almost empty and
travelling light," the cotholder said pleasantly. He'd heard rumours of
holdless thieves on his journey, and it was only good sense to make it
clear he wasn't carrying anything valuable. They might get their
information from tavern gossip.

"Ah, tithing. No-one's favourite task."

"I don't begrudge the Weyr their share, not in a Pass. If it weren't for
them, there wouldn't be much left of my pastures." Galveden sipped his
ale, his brow furrowing. "I know my duty, unlike some."

"Oh?"

"Well, I get together with my neighbours to send the tithe to our
nearest large hold, so only one has to travel and the others can stay on
their farms. This season it was my turn, and so it was my job to go
around each of them and collect the goods. Some have it set aside ready,
like sensible folk. Others, you'd think it came as a surprise to them
that they had to tithe at all." The holder rolled his eyes. "The fellow
with the holding on my eastern border, Terren, was the worst. He claimed
not to have the full amount, and no amount of arguing could get it out
of him. What could I do? I didn't want to be late."

"You had to make up the difference?"

"Aye, but he'll pay me back when I return, or the Lord Holder will hear
of it. I made him sign a paper, so I've the evidence on my side. There's
always some excuse with Terren," he grumbled. "Foot rot, the price of
feed, holdless folk stealing from his barns. The latest is that the
dragonriders took his boy. No disrespect to the lad, but I hardly think
one teenager had much of an effect on that farm's profits. If he'd stop
whining, lay off the drink and get some work done alongside his men then
he'd easily make up the loss of a hand and be better liked too."

The other man's eyes narrowed slightly. "Terren's son is at the Weyr?"

"Yes. Impressed, too - a brown!" The young man's achievement reflected
well on all of the cotholds in their community. "Many's the time I've
chased the little scamp out of my orchard with his arms full of fruit,
and now he's a dragonrider. Do you know Terren, then?"

"Our paths have crossed. Don't worry," he said, seeing the cotholder
looking rather uncomfortable. "I've much the same opinion of him as you.
But you can pass on my congratulations, if you like."

"I would, but it's rather a sore topic at the moment," Galveden said,
clearly relishing the opportunity to complain about his troublesome
neighbour to a willing listener. "To hear him, you'd think the riders
had snatched the boy from the fields and carried him off without so much
as a word to his family. Well, my granddaughter was there and she says
it was all done properly. They asked permission to Search, and chose
Renfal - R'fal, I should say - and he agreed to go, which he had every
right to do. That kind of talk stirs up bad feeling against the Weyr,
and it's not right."

"It's not, indeed."

"Speaking of the Hatching, did you hear that the new goldrider is from
Emerald Falls?" Galveden asked, relaxing as he switched to a more
cheerful subject. "Our Hold's done well this time. They say it was a
fine big clutch - 'course, more young dragons will mean they'll need
more of our ovines to feed them, but I'd rather too many dragons than
not enough, any day. That time when they had the bad Fall and were
bringing in riders from other Weyrs...I was worried about my land and my
orchard, I can tell you."

"I can imagine. Another?" He reached for Galveden's mug to refill it. "I
don't suppose you met any traders on the road, did you? It's always good
business when we get them visiting, and it's been a while."

"No, but they were expected. I thought I might meet them on the way,
since they were supposed to be going to the Hold. Thanks," he said,
accepting the filled mug. "It'll be good if I can get back to my hold
before they pass, though, or else my eldest will spend half our savings
on gifts for that wife of his. What does a cotholder's wife want with
fine jewellery, I ask you?"

The serving man nodded in sympathy as the holder began on another round
of complaints, this time about his family, and sipped thoughtfully at
his drink. Later, after he'd served dinner to Galveden and his men and
seen them depart for their night's rest, he remained behind in the
tavern, clearing up the dishes and wiping down the tables, until after
the tavern-keeper and his family had gone to their beds.

Then he took a glowbasket and slipped outdoors, walked past the dark
shapes of the wagons and their snoring occupants, and headed a little
way down the road until he was out of sight of the tavern and into the
shadow of a stand of trees. Once there, he opened and closed the
glowbasket, generating a sequence of dim flashes of light. After a few
minutes' wait, another figure emerged from the cover of the trees and
they held a short, whispered conference before parting again, the tavern
worker returning the way he'd came and the other setting out along the
road in the direction that Galveden and his wagons would take on the morrow.

The next day, as the sun was setting, a man in dusty, travel-worn
clothes, very much like the one who'd met with the barman in the night,
came walking down the road past the turn-off to Terren's farm. He halted
there, but didn't take the path down to the cothold. Instead, he looked
up and down the road to check that no-one was in sight, then knelt down
by a needlethorn bush by the side of the road and scraped away the top
layer of soil underneath it, revealing the lid of a small metal box. He
opened it, took a scrap of hide from his pocket and slipped it inside,
then brushed the soil back over it again. Then he continued along the
road, eyes open for somewhere to camp until night fell and his message
was received.

Last updated on the August 21st 2018

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