The Taleweaver

The caravan, part one

Arthur gazed at the road from atop his horse. It had taken a day or two to get used to riding again, and he ached in places he didn't remember had muscles.

There was a smell of travel. The distinct odor of sweat, horse and earth, even though none of the last could be found on the road. That was as meticulously clean as the streets in Verd. As if it was nothing but an extension to those streets. At close to twenty meters wide it looked strangely deserted as they slowly added kilometer after kilometer to the days travel. The road looked more out of place here. A glittering white line contrasting with everything as it cut through farmlands and fields with grazing horses and cattle.

By now Arthur understood why they used lamps as a way to measure shorter distances here. The lampposts were still lining the road making traveling in the evening a pleasant experience.

Arthur recognized the uniform ahead of him and rode to catch up with the escort captain.

"Captain Laiden."

"M'lord?"

Arthur chose not to visibly notice the stiff use of a title he didn't have. It was, he guessed, just Trindai Laiden's way of speaking.

"I wonder ... road good quality many... ah, standard unit time?" Arthur hoped the captain would be able to understand the question.

Trindai looked back, and Arthur could see him trying to make out the meaning of the words.

"Four days, M'lord."

That answered the question, but if Arthur wanted to expand on the conversation he needed Harbend. Sighing Arthur gave up the attempt to socialize and fell back to the wagon he shared with Harbend. It would be a long journey if he didn't learn some more De Vhatic. Long in a way he'd need time to accept, time suddenly available only to idle away. A far cry from his crammed schedule where each minute was a resource to be used for the benefit of Arthur Wallman in his role as an industry but all too seldom for himself. Now all he could do was to sit in his saddle and mentally try to scratch the itch of inactivity.

Been scratching it since I met Harbend, he admitted.

He remembered the first of the meetings with Harbend when the caravan became a possibility. He recalled the flowers drooping lower to the table as the evening proceeded while his trust in the man Harbend Garak rose. Of course he didn't trust the businessman Harbend Garak, but then he never trusted any businessman implicitly.

Still, Harbend, even when lying had conferred truth and a trust that reached to Arthur.

It had, Arthur mused as he rode on, been the starting moment of a growing friendship.