Episode 15: A Change of Style

Gundar leaned wearily agaisnt a rock by the roadside, dropping his sack onto the ground with a thump. The sack moaned and burped.

"Did you have to drink all the wine?" Gundar remonstrated, wiping the sweat from his brow. Scaramouche made no reply except a snore.

I should dump him onto the ground and leave him to his own devices, Gundar thought. He has brought me trouble enough.

Their departure had been delayed until the sun was almost at its zenith because Scaramouche insisted on completing his sewing project. Tired as he was, Gundar had found it easier to lounge on the bed and doze, rather than using up his depleted energy to enforce his will. When they finally set out, the sun was an fierce ball of burning heat. At his first rest stop, Gundar discovered that he had forgotten to procure water. The only liquid he had brought along was a bottle of wine, which had found its way into Scaramouche's gullet. Despite his annoyance, Gundar felt grudging admiration that so small an individual could contain so much.

The sun was hanging low, and Gundar was hungry. However, he could not imagine swallowing dry bread and salted meat and cheese without something to wash them down. It occurred to him now that he had not thought to inquire exactly how far it was to the palace. He had assumed that it would be a day's walk, no more than two, with inns along the way. But he had seen nothing but woods and pasture lands -- not even a sign of human habitation.

The road was supposed to be safe and well-travelled, but it seems unaccountably lonely and ill-kept, and growing narrower all the time. Could it be that I mistook the way? It seems that I have been walking more up hill than down, and the palace is supposed to be beside a great river, not in the mountains.

Gundar considered returning the way he had come. But it would be dark before he reached Calligena.

Why did I not think to buy a horse, or even a mule? There was money enough, and to spare.

Gundar stared balefully at his packsack, thinking how much easier the walking would be without it. Except for Scaramouche, there was nothing in it that he could not easily replace.

His thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of horses' hooves and wheels on the cobblestones. Someone was coming from the direction of Calligena.

Gundar came to attention and shaded his eyes. A carriage of some sort, drawn by a pair of handsome blacks with red plumes bobbing on their heads, had just crested the slope and was approaching at a smart trot. So the road was not completely untravelled after all.

Might the owner of such a princely conveyance be willing to carry a passenger? Gundar wondered. He straightened his clothes, hoping to appear more presentable, eased the sack on his back, and waited hopefully.

Gundar squinted. The vehicle was a light open carriage, shiny and black like the horses, but no one was riding in it except the driver, who was lying precariously across his perch, his flaccid limbs wobbling like a rag doll's.

Gundar took a deep breath. Should he intervene, or leave well enough alone? If the rig had been attacked by robbers, they might be hot in pursuit. The team was a substantial prize.

Even if no one attacked him on the road, what would happen when they reached civilization? He might himself face accusations of highway robbery and murder. From what he heard, the prince's troops were not prone to listen patiently to long-winded explanations, especially now that they were on the hunt for a kidnapped princess.

Gundar considered shedding his pack again to allow himself freer movement, then decided against it. He might be half a league down the road before he managed to stop the horses, and it might not be convenient to return.

When the team was almost level with him, he leaped forward, grabbed the bridle of the nearest horse, and hung on. "Whoa!" he said soothingly, hoping that the word was universal in all languages. "Steady, my pretties! Steady!"

The horse leaped sideways away from him, crashing into its mate. For a few moments, all was a tangle of hooves, harness, and swearing. However, all managed to keep their footing while he fought the animals to a trembling stand-still.

"Whoa. Steady," Gundar murmured, standing between them and petting their noses.

"Who's there?" a tipsy voice bawled out. "Where are we? Why're we stopping? Giddy-up!"

The horses surged forward, and Gundar barely managed to restrain them. "Be quiet!" he called. "Yer like to get me killed!"

The driver was not dead or injured after all, but intoxicated.The reins had falled from his hand when he lost consciousness. Gundar set himself to untangling them from the harness while the driver fired a barrage of questions. He declined to attempt any answers until he had climbed up on the seat beside his interlocutor, reins firmly in hand.

"You had best let me drive," Gundar said, shrugging off his sack and stowing it in the empty space under the seat.

"Done," the driver agreed, and nodded off again, his head lolling on Gundar's shoulder.

Gundar set the team in motion. Hopefully, the driver be sobered up by the time he reached his destination. If not, he would catch hell from his master for endangering such a valuable rig.

Gundar hummed to himself. It was a long time since he had handled horses, especially such fine ones. It had been nigh impossible to separate him from his horse's back as a child, even for meals or sleep, to the point that his father had dubbed him "Gundar the Centaur."

When the team was settled in a steady gait, Gundar shifted the reins to his left hand, groped under the seat, and found a wine skin still half full. The vintage was common and vinegary, but it served to slake his thirst. He reached into his sack for a piece of newly-baked bread. If he was travelling the wrong road, at least he was travelling it in style.