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Authors: Rick Shelley
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the previous summer, but I didn’t expect that I would have any difficulty. I learned how to ride a horse before I got my first tricycle. We all got mounted. I did manage to get aboard without help, even with all the extra weight.
“I wish you every luck,” Baron Kardeen said, standing next to my horse—Gold—and holding the pommel of my saddle. “Your coming has meant a lot to His Majesty. Come back safely.”
“I’ll try. Thanks for your help.”
Kardeen bowed and backed off. I nodded—regally, I hoped—and clicked at my horse. Gold started up and I aimed him at the gate. Parthet moved into place at my left, about two feet below me on his smaller horse. Lesh and Timon got into line behind us.
I didn’t look back.
5
Precarra
Castle Basil was located on a prominence that looked remarkably like the Rock of Gibraltar in the insurance commercials. The rock was stained by water and waste that had dripped from the castle over the ages. There was only one road into or out of the castle. It wound back and forth through a series of wicked switchbacks down a steep slope to Basil Town. The town was more a village, maybe three hundred buildings—homes, shops, and whatnot. According to Parthet, there were two good inns. “They both brew a decent enough beer” was how he phrased it. The River Tarn came from the north, past the east side of the castle’s rock, and wrapped around the south end of the town. “It bends north again farther west to finally empty into the Mist,” Parthet said.
Basil Town was aromatic, but it didn’t smell like the herb. Smell? Stench. I guess all towns must have smelled like that before indoor plumbing and municipal sewage works. At least no one emptied a chamber pot into the street while we rode through.
People stared openly at us as we passed. Craftsmen worked in their open-front shops and directed apprentices. I saw a cooper assembling a barrel, a miller hauling flour bags to a small cart that was hitched to two dogs who didn’t look far removed from their lupine ancestry. There were women sweeping out their homes, a lot of them. They might almost have had a union schedule that said, “Sweep the dirt out the front door at such and such a time.”
We passed one of the pubs, stared at it with longing, but didn’t stop. Maybe we could have afforded time for a single drink, but I didn’t know how we would pay. I didn’t have any local currency, and I didn’t expect that Parthet did. I couldn’t impose on Lesh or the boy, even assuming that one or the other might have a coin or two.
A few minutes after we passed the pub, our horses clomped across a rickety wooden bridge over the Tarn into the Forest of Precarra. The bridge shimmied and shuddered as if ready to fall into the river, but none of my companions showed the slightest apprehension about using it, so I kept my worries to myself. The river wasn’t much of a stream, about forty feet wide and shallow. But the bank was steep and high on the town side.
The transition from town to forest was abrupt. There were only a few small farms on the east side of the river. Most of the Basiliers’ farms lay west of town, according to Parthet. We crossed the narrow strip of cleared fields and entered the forest.
“Precarra covers about a fifth of the kingdom,” Parthet said, “from the southwest corner to the middle of our border with Dorthin—a rough horn shape with the bell flat against the Titans and the mouthpiece sticking into the Etevar’s domain. Southeast of the forest the land is wrinkled with foothills and long valleys. It’s an area for sheep, cattle, and grapes, but mostly it’s left to wilderness. There are some evil places there. Northwest of Precarra is where most of our farmland is, and a few fishing villages along the Mist. Then there’s Battle Forest toward the isthmus, north and northeast of here. Few Varayans live in that quarter.”
Lesh snorted. “There are farms everywhere,” he said. “The forest
“I wish you every luck,” Baron Kardeen said, standing next to my horse—Gold—and holding the pommel of my saddle. “Your coming has meant a lot to His Majesty. Come back safely.”
“I’ll try. Thanks for your help.”
Kardeen bowed and backed off. I nodded—regally, I hoped—and clicked at my horse. Gold started up and I aimed him at the gate. Parthet moved into place at my left, about two feet below me on his smaller horse. Lesh and Timon got into line behind us.
I didn’t look back.
5
Precarra
Castle Basil was located on a prominence that looked remarkably like the Rock of Gibraltar in the insurance commercials. The rock was stained by water and waste that had dripped from the castle over the ages. There was only one road into or out of the castle. It wound back and forth through a series of wicked switchbacks down a steep slope to Basil Town. The town was more a village, maybe three hundred buildings—homes, shops, and whatnot. According to Parthet, there were two good inns. “They both brew a decent enough beer” was how he phrased it. The River Tarn came from the north, past the east side of the castle’s rock, and wrapped around the south end of the town. “It bends north again farther west to finally empty into the Mist,” Parthet said.
Basil Town was aromatic, but it didn’t smell like the herb. Smell? Stench. I guess all towns must have smelled like that before indoor plumbing and municipal sewage works. At least no one emptied a chamber pot into the street while we rode through.
People stared openly at us as we passed. Craftsmen worked in their open-front shops and directed apprentices. I saw a cooper assembling a barrel, a miller hauling flour bags to a small cart that was hitched to two dogs who didn’t look far removed from their lupine ancestry. There were women sweeping out their homes, a lot of them. They might almost have had a union schedule that said, “Sweep the dirt out the front door at such and such a time.”
We passed one of the pubs, stared at it with longing, but didn’t stop. Maybe we could have afforded time for a single drink, but I didn’t know how we would pay. I didn’t have any local currency, and I didn’t expect that Parthet did. I couldn’t impose on Lesh or the boy, even assuming that one or the other might have a coin or two.
A few minutes after we passed the pub, our horses clomped across a rickety wooden bridge over the Tarn into the Forest of Precarra. The bridge shimmied and shuddered as if ready to fall into the river, but none of my companions showed the slightest apprehension about using it, so I kept my worries to myself. The river wasn’t much of a stream, about forty feet wide and shallow. But the bank was steep and high on the town side.
The transition from town to forest was abrupt. There were only a few small farms on the east side of the river. Most of the Basiliers’ farms lay west of town, according to Parthet. We crossed the narrow strip of cleared fields and entered the forest.
“Precarra covers about a fifth of the kingdom,” Parthet said, “from the southwest corner to the middle of our border with Dorthin—a rough horn shape with the bell flat against the Titans and the mouthpiece sticking into the Etevar’s domain. Southeast of the forest the land is wrinkled with foothills and long valleys. It’s an area for sheep, cattle, and grapes, but mostly it’s left to wilderness. There are some evil places there. Northwest of Precarra is where most of our farmland is, and a few fishing villages along the Mist. Then there’s Battle Forest toward the isthmus, north and northeast of here. Few Varayans live in that quarter.”
Lesh snorted. “There are farms everywhere,” he said. “The forest
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