miThal.”
Gawain nodded, and turned his attention to the window again,
and gave a slight twitch of his head for the ranger to join him there.
Venderrian understood at once, and stepped forward to cast
his Sight over the gathering throng below labouring to restore order to the
marketplace. A slight and commendably discreet shake of the head told Gawain
all was clear, and a slight hand gesture in return marked the spot as the
ranger’s duty-post for the time being.
“Serre Mayor,” Gawain announced, turning back to the office
and its anxious incumbent. “I am sorry for the chaos below. It was our
intention to pass quietly through West Forkings about our duties, and we were
grateful that the good folk here were kind enough to allow our passage
unhindered. But the nature of the Rangers’ Oath meant we could not possibly
ignore the threat we saw mingling with the townsfolk, irrespective of our
purpose.”
“Aye milord, of course not! Beg pardon milord, ‘tis us as
should be apologising to you, for the panic and the mayhem which obstructed you
all in your duties milord. I’m sorry. They’re good folk, but after the ‘weed
was sown...”
“I know. We all of us know at Last Ridings. Our own
settlement there would not be half so comfortable were it not for the good
people here. The ferry and landing stage alone are worth their weight in gold
to us. If not for them and for Morkel, we’d still be paddling a raft across the
river while a foul creature passed through your town unseen and unhindered.”
“Morkel’s a decent fellow, milord, and though fond of his
beer he earns it, and with the work he does it’s not in him for very long. We
were glad to help, milord, more than you know. If there’s anything you need…?”
“No, thank you Serre Mayor. I expect some of our people will
arrive soon to purchase provisions and winter stores. You mentioned you have
horses and riders?”
“Aye milord we do, and they’re at your service should you
need them.”
“I learned from my lady that Mornland has a guild of
newsriders, fellows who go about bearing news from place to place, helping
remote villages and communities remain abreast of events in the wider world.
Perhaps you and the council of West Forkings might consider such a service. I
understand homesteads are springing up on the north shore of the river, for
example.”
“Aye, milord, that they are. It’s good grass hereabouts and
good land for farming near the river. Town’s growing, East Forkings is, too.”
“We can sometimes feel cut off in Last Ridings, Serre Mayor.
Waiting for boats to bring news is almost an occupation in itself, and unless
supplies have been ordered there’s little traffic on the river stops at our
quay since you took your wool to Sudshear and returned home. Doubtless there’ll
be even less come winter.”
“Aye. Aye, milord, I can see that, now you’ve mentioned it.
And with the station built now on the south bank and Morkel the ferryman
dwelling therein, it’d be a simple thing to send a rider once each day or two
for word to be carried across.”
“Good. The riders would need to be reliable, Serre Mayor,
and trustworthy.”
“I understand milord. Last thing Last Ridings needs is false
alarms and other such mischief to distract you from your duties. I’ll attend to
it, milord.”
“You almost finished, Allazar?”
“Almost, Longsword,” the wizard mumbled, scratching the page
rapidly with his pen.
“And speaking of news, Serre Mayor, has any fresh arrived?”
“Depends what you mean by fresh, milord?”
“Last we heard was of the ‘weed being cleared from around
Porthmennen in Callodon, and a good yield expected at the vineyards outside
Juria Castletown in spite of their earlier blight.”
“Oh, then the last you heard is stale now indeed, milord,
and now I understand clearer your request for newsriders and a reputable
source. Aye, Porthmennen was cleared by a lowly wizard from Callodon Court, so
it’s
Gawain nodded, and turned his attention to the window again,
and gave a slight twitch of his head for the ranger to join him there.
Venderrian understood at once, and stepped forward to cast
his Sight over the gathering throng below labouring to restore order to the
marketplace. A slight and commendably discreet shake of the head told Gawain
all was clear, and a slight hand gesture in return marked the spot as the
ranger’s duty-post for the time being.
“Serre Mayor,” Gawain announced, turning back to the office
and its anxious incumbent. “I am sorry for the chaos below. It was our
intention to pass quietly through West Forkings about our duties, and we were
grateful that the good folk here were kind enough to allow our passage
unhindered. But the nature of the Rangers’ Oath meant we could not possibly
ignore the threat we saw mingling with the townsfolk, irrespective of our
purpose.”
“Aye milord, of course not! Beg pardon milord, ‘tis us as
should be apologising to you, for the panic and the mayhem which obstructed you
all in your duties milord. I’m sorry. They’re good folk, but after the ‘weed
was sown...”
“I know. We all of us know at Last Ridings. Our own
settlement there would not be half so comfortable were it not for the good
people here. The ferry and landing stage alone are worth their weight in gold
to us. If not for them and for Morkel, we’d still be paddling a raft across the
river while a foul creature passed through your town unseen and unhindered.”
“Morkel’s a decent fellow, milord, and though fond of his
beer he earns it, and with the work he does it’s not in him for very long. We
were glad to help, milord, more than you know. If there’s anything you need…?”
“No, thank you Serre Mayor. I expect some of our people will
arrive soon to purchase provisions and winter stores. You mentioned you have
horses and riders?”
“Aye milord we do, and they’re at your service should you
need them.”
“I learned from my lady that Mornland has a guild of
newsriders, fellows who go about bearing news from place to place, helping
remote villages and communities remain abreast of events in the wider world.
Perhaps you and the council of West Forkings might consider such a service. I
understand homesteads are springing up on the north shore of the river, for
example.”
“Aye, milord, that they are. It’s good grass hereabouts and
good land for farming near the river. Town’s growing, East Forkings is, too.”
“We can sometimes feel cut off in Last Ridings, Serre Mayor.
Waiting for boats to bring news is almost an occupation in itself, and unless
supplies have been ordered there’s little traffic on the river stops at our
quay since you took your wool to Sudshear and returned home. Doubtless there’ll
be even less come winter.”
“Aye. Aye, milord, I can see that, now you’ve mentioned it.
And with the station built now on the south bank and Morkel the ferryman
dwelling therein, it’d be a simple thing to send a rider once each day or two
for word to be carried across.”
“Good. The riders would need to be reliable, Serre Mayor,
and trustworthy.”
“I understand milord. Last thing Last Ridings needs is false
alarms and other such mischief to distract you from your duties. I’ll attend to
it, milord.”
“You almost finished, Allazar?”
“Almost, Longsword,” the wizard mumbled, scratching the page
rapidly with his pen.
“And speaking of news, Serre Mayor, has any fresh arrived?”
“Depends what you mean by fresh, milord?”
“Last we heard was of the ‘weed being cleared from around
Porthmennen in Callodon, and a good yield expected at the vineyards outside
Juria Castletown in spite of their earlier blight.”
“Oh, then the last you heard is stale now indeed, milord,
and now I understand clearer your request for newsriders and a reputable
source. Aye, Porthmennen was cleared by a lowly wizard from Callodon Court, so
it’s
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