Chapter 2

Aston did get his wish for a restful night’s sleep. He woke just as the first light glowed faintly on the horizon. He woke as long habit had him up early to care for his animals and chores around the home. He crawled out of the blankets that had become tangled overnight when he rolled around trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. He looked around his camp, noted the horses had gathered together by the water’s edge, and slept as well. The fire from the night before had burned down, only having a few live coals left. He added some twigs and dry leaves and was able to get a new cooking fire going in a few minutes.

He started some water heating for morning tea. While he waited, he rolled up his sleeping roll and returned it to the small cabinet on the wagon. He checked the horses and saw they seemed well-rested. He checked the mare with the cut on the wither and saw that it was going to heal if he kept it covered. Aston gathered a small bundle of cloth and prepared to wrap it when he remembered a lesson. A sock he thought. Returning to the wagon, he opened a drawer that contained different items of tack that was not often used. He found the rolls of the socks and took one out. It had four socks in it for each horse. He took one sock and the ointment to the mare. She looked at him, slightly annoyed at his continued attention to her one leg. She snorted once and went back to her chewing some grass she had cropped a moment before.

He rubbed the ointment into the cut, then carefully lifted the hoof from the ground. She didn’t fight this action. She knew thought she knew what he wanted, to check her hoof. He did check it again, and while he had it lifted, he slid the sock up over the hoof onto her leg. He drew the drawstrings tight enough to hold it in place and made sure it wouldn’t cut into her leg while she traveled. When he finished taking care of the horses, he settled by the fire.

From a box he had carried from the wagon, he removed a sealed jar. In this jar was dried and cut leaves. The mix was his favorite blend for his morning tea. He took a small spoonful and poured them into a small cloth bag. He secured it with a drawstring and placed it in a mug. He dipped the mug in the pan of near-boiling water. Once he had enough, he set it aside to steep for a few minutes. From another bag, he pulled out a handful of dried, cooked oats. These he added to the water, then some sweet root and a pinch of salt. He moved the pot away from the fire to let the oats soak for a few minutes as well. Next, he pulled out a loaf of bread that he needed to finish soon or it would go bad. He cut several slices and placed them on a stick that he hung over the glowing coals. They would finish toasting in the time the oats would finish soaking.

He checked the tea and saw the color was correct, the smell bitter but good. A sip and he could tell it was ready. He fished the teabag out of the mug with a small stick that had a hook on the end. He set it aside to be emptied and cleaned after he ate. Another look at the bread and he quickly pulled it away from the fire. It had almost started to get darker than he liked. He set the pieces on a plate, then checked the oats, they had softened and were ready to be eaten as well.

He sat quietly, listening to the birds as they sang the songs of the morning with the nearby burbling stream adding its song to the music of the forest, whispering its promise of a bright new day. He relaxed as he ate and wondered how his parents were doing. Being their only child, it had to have hurt to send him away in this manner. Healers had not been able to restore his mother’s ability to have children after the rough birth he had given her. She never held it against him and she loved him all the more.

His father had noticed his talent with the horses early on. He could hardly walk and he was riding ponies with little to no help. The horse seemed to be extra gentle and made sure Aston never fell off. Aston could tell if an animal was sick or injured. He proved especially good with the horses. Aston had also liked watching the blacksmith make the shoes for the horses. The first time he had watched shoeing, he had thought the man was hurting the horse. The horse though had not acted as if it was being hurt. It just stood there, stoic and calm. He had come to understand that once shod, a horse didn’t mind the moment of discomfort. It knew that its hooves had fewer problems after the human nailed the metal to its feet.

And so as Aston grew, he learned. He was given lessons on the care and treatment of horses. He had gotten to know all the equines on the ranch, their personalities likes, and dislikes. He noticed that some of the handlers were not as well-liked as others by the horses. Aston had seen this and wondered at it at first. It was when he spent time observing the treatment those individuals gave the animals that it became clear. The animals knew who treated them better than others. He had always tried to be nice to the horses, giving them the respect that is their due. The horses, in return, liked and respected him.

As Aston grew older and learned more, his skill in care and handling improved. By the time he was twelve, he had mastered the art of hot forming shoes for the horses. Each horse had a different size and shape, meaning each shoe had to be hot-shaped and the hoof trimmed to match each other. In time he had worked out how to tell which horse had passed by from the print in the dirt. He had reached the point he could make shoes for a horse and just set them aside until needed. As he grew older, Aston grew to become a large and strong young man. He could handle even the most grumpy of the horses in the pen. When it came time to break one, he had a knack that had the horse behaving in no time at all. He didn’t so much as break, but teach the horse to trust him and want a person nearby. Befriending meant he trained then to both the saddle and gentry.

Leather took more work to learn, but he learned. By the time he was ten, he had made his first saddle from a fresh bull hide. He learned the ways of sewing and tailoring to make and repair his clothing as well. His mother had insisted on that, and for that, he was grateful in the coming years. Some of the other boys teased him at his ability to sew so well, but when he came out in new clothes he had made himself, they saw that he was correct in knowing the skills. It was when he turned eleven on Gardallen and puberty hit that life became interesting in new ways. He started noticing girls.

According to his mother, he went from girls are icky, to being slack-jawed and constantly horny overnight. She was happy that the girls had not yet taken much notice of Aston in return. She knew that in time that would change, but not today thankfully. She wasn’t ready for grandkids yet.

The changes did not slow his love of learning and horses any. He was happy that he gained six inches in height in one summer. It made mounting horses and handling them easier. He had begun helping care for the horses of others and was doing an excellent job at putting new shoes on the horses that needed them. His ability to tell if an animal was not well helped even more. He could tell if a horse had worms or some other disorder that could be treated. A mare with a foal due would come to him when she was due to deliver.

It was when the Barons son killed the stallion that things went wrong. The boy and that is what he was, disobeyed his father about where he was allowed to take any horse out to ride. The lead stallion was supposed to be off-limits to him as well. The boy did not care and the horse was lost. He blamed Aston for his mistake and wanted to kill him to cover his own stupidity. He was also listening to the voice from the gem in his hand, it wanted Aston dead at any cost. The Baron didn’t want to fight about it and sent word of what happened and asked that Aston be sent away for his safety.Aston’s father was reluctant at first, but on hearing the way the boy had acted, he had his men prepare the shop wagon for a long trip and had it fully prepared and supplied so Aston would not be leaving empty-handed. he hid his journal under the bench, hoping Aston would find it and read it. he had to understand that this was more his destiny than working a ranch his entire life.

Now Aston was on his own in the wild. He had four horses, Frayn, the Stallion, and three mares. Lida, Gran, and Mina. He had helped raise and care for them since they had been born. They knew him and he knew them. It was a case of mutual love and respect. He cleaned his camp, made sure to shovel any horse dung off to the side where it wouldn’t cause problems for anybody else that might camp here. The horses were ready to go this morning after a good night’s rest and feeding. He knew he would need to find a town or large village soon. He only had so much food and supplies and they would both run out in another week, even with the careful husbanding of them.

He came back out on the main road late the next day. He had not seen nor heard a living person the entire time while on the detour. He wondered if the plague had killed the entire region. He had been back on the path towards his destination for another full day before he came across a farm that was alive and well. He stopped and asked if he could refill his water barrel. The farmer was willing to allow him to do so. He told the man, Webber, what had happened back along the road.

“Yeah, we heard too. Nasty thing, filled the lungs until you drowned according to the one healer that made it out alive. Happened fast too, fine one minute, choking to death the next.”

“That is a bad one. All the farms out that way have been marked and are being burned out as the patrols reach them.” Aston was happy to see this family had a hand pump. He hooked a waxed-cloth-hose to the pump and was able to fill the barrel in a few minutes of pumping. “I hope it stays out that way,” said Aston.

“So do I, mister, so do I,” said Webber.

Aston was back on the road a short time later. He did ask if any of his horses or mules needed looking at but was told they had been shod and checked a few weeks back and were still doing fine. Being on the go suited Aston now. He hadn’t realized it at home, but he enjoyed traveling. The chance to meet new people, see new places. He had found that he was actually enjoying himself, despite the way he had to leave.

Webber had told him a large city was only a day’s ride ahead of him. That made Aston even happier. He knew he was getting close when farms and small warehouses started to appear along the road. What shocked him though was the size of the river the city was sitting along. It was wide, several hundred feet across. He could see the flow of it as he approached it. He could also smell it. Not a bad smell, just a smell of something different. The road came to a stone bridge that arched up over the river to allow the boat and barge traffic on it to pass freely. The water line on both sides of the river had dozens of docks along a ten-mile stretch of the bank. He would learn this later of course. He could see cranes lifting and lowering cargo on and off the docked vessels. Hundred of men and women worked to keep the cargo flowing from this major shipping point.

Looking off in the distance, he could see several other large roads converging on the town from hills beyond. Farmers would bring their sellable crops for cash and in return by the supplies they needed to keep the farms going. This was a major support town for the region.

When he arrived at the foot of the bridge, he was stopped by a guard. “Where you from, where you going,” was all that was asked.

“I’m out from the Ice Spines, heading to Fairham’s Cove.”

“Going the right way then. If you plan to stay a spell, check-in at the city hall. We’ve had a lot of problems with highwaymen lately,” he said.

“I will. I just need to re-supply to continue,” said Aston.

“Plenty of that here.” He paused before lifting the gate arm. “Did you happen to hear anything about a plague back the way you came?”

Now Aston hesitated. His having come from that way might make him suspect as a carrier of the disease that had killed everybody in the area. “I did have to detour around a town that in the process of being burned out for that. I never came within half a day’s ride of it though.”

“Good, had you been nearer than that, I would have had to turn you away. Welcome to Riversbend.” He opened the gate and Aston snapped the reins lightly to get the horses moving over the bridge. The roadbed proved to be bonded cobblestone. That meant it was bumpy as hell as the steel-rimmed wheels rolled over it. He passed several other wagons going the other way as he crossed the bridge. He gave a friendly wave to each and they replied in kind.

He took it slowly, he didn’t want to risk any of his team breaking a leg on the uneven surface. As the bridged descended to the far shore, he got a better look at the town ahead of him. “Ok, not a town, a full-blown city,” he thought. He could see many high buildings and towers scattered throughout the city. All up and down the shore on both sides of the bridge, he could see hundreds of warehouses. He looked at the barges and boats, some had sails, others with teams of rowers. One though, it had wheels on the sides, like water wheels at a mill. He watched as several mules walked in a wheel in the center of the barge and the turning wheel, in turn, powered the mill wheel’s, which moved the large boat up and downstream quickly. It didn’t carry cargo, it pushed other barges along.

When he made it to the far side, the guard waved him through. He stopped as he cleared the end and asked the guard where he could find a good place to stay for a few days to rest. “Since you have the wagon, you need an Inn downriver near the edge of town. The caravans park out that way, so they can handle teams and wagons.” The guard pointed to a wide road that went south along the river. “Just follow it down. You will be able to see where you want to go when you get to the end of the wharf’s.”

“Thank you,” said Aston. With a flick of the reins, the horses started onwards again. He steered them down the indicated road and soon he had to pull to the side to allow a group of heavily laden wagons to pass in the other direction. The number of people amazed Aston. The part of the Kingdom he lived in didn’t have any cities of this size. The cargo’s he saw varied as he carefully steered his way south. Many had massive fresh-cut tree’s loaded and being moved to mills further upstream. He wondered about that and asked a passing driver, “Just to the north the river shallows out and turned rough. Barges can’t get through.” He thanked the man and drove on. He spotted a group of two dozen carts being pulled on metal rails toward what had to be an iron foundry. Some of the carts had coal in them. The rest he could see was raw iron ore. It wasn’t the fact a smelter was here, it was the ingenious way they moved the carts in a long chain at once, on metal rails. He could envision a line of rails going from city to city, hauling cargo and people quickly and safely from place to place. The big question though, what would supply the power to move the wagons. He put the thoughts aside for later consideration and continued his trip along the edge of the city.