The Jongurian Mission (11 page)

They kept up a good pace, and Halam mentioned that if the weather stayed good, they’d reach Lindonis by nightfall.
Little changed throughout the day, and few words were exchanged. Most conversation had been exhausted in the first couple of days. There was not much Bryn could say; his life had been so uneventful. Halam was not talking, his head on the business that was now little more than a day ahead of him, and Rodden had run out of topics touching on geography and history with which to test Bryn’s knowledge.

As the sun began to descend over the mountains, Halam led them off of the main road and down a smaller tract to their left.
“It’ll be nice to have a hot meal tonight,” he said, the others quickly agreeing.

The road wound away from the mountains, but could not escape their towering gaze, and soon farmhouses and other settlements began to sprout from the plains around them.
They saw more and more people, and then a large city was spread wide before them. Unlike Coria, Lindonis had walls made of large stones, with battlements evenly spaced along their length. A large gate was set in their center, an iron portcullis raised up around it. They entered the city, and Bryn thought that it was about the same as the other two he’d now seen on the journey. Market stalls were spread out here and there, people milled about on whatever business they had, while guards patrolled the streets, no doubt bored from their routine patrols.

They wound through the streets until arriving at an inn called the ‘
Peak’s Rest
’ where they handed their reins to the stable boy and headed in to find a table in the near-empty common room. They ordered hot plates of potatoes and greens with a beef stew and a large tankard of ale. There were no worries about sleeping in the stables this night; the inn had rooms aplenty. When the meal was finished they retired to a large room with three beds, cleaned up at the washbasin, and lay down on something much softer than ground.

They got up early as usual and broke their fasts on milk, fresh bread, and bacon.
Halam bought an extra loaf to replace their dry bread from Plowdon, and soon they were out the door and on their well-rested and fed horses, heading out of the gates. They traveled back the way they had come on the winding road heading toward the King’s Road, and were soon heading south once again.

Rodden was excited this morning.

“We’ll be in Baden tonight,” he said, a grin on his face.”

“Although I don’t think we’ll have much time for rest once we get there,” added Halam. “I’ve a mind that the council’ll be meeting on the morrow or the day after.”

“Yes, more than likely,” Rodden agreed.
“I’m sure many of them are already in the city, talking amongst themselves at dinner parties, gauging the other representative’s feelings, and anticipating any problems that may arise.”

“W
hile we’ve been on the road making no progress in gauging the others’ intentions,” Halam snorted.

Bryn had a feeling that Halam and Rodden would be in a better position to begin their negotiations if they
’d had more time to spend in Baden before the conference began. As it was, they would have a day, maybe, but probably no more than a night’s rest, depending on how the road treated them today. If Halam hadn’t come all the way east to Eston, then he would have already been in Baden for a good three days by now. Bryn was thankful his uncle had come to get him, but also felt a little guilty at the inconvenience his presence had no doubt caused.

When the sun was high in the sky they ate the last of their sausage and cheese with most of the loaf of fresh bread they bought that morning, washing it down with water from Lindonis’s wells.
Bryn wondered how the journey back to Eston would fare when the council was completed, and what food they’d eat then. He hoped they weren’t in such a hurry, and that perhaps they could travel just half a day, while exploring the cities he’d barely seen on the way south. Maybe they could even travel east from Baden and visit the Duldovian capital of Pardun before heading north back to Plowdon. It’d be nice to visit the Duldovian Sea, even if it was just the small portion that touched the city.

A while after lunch Rodden pointed out a feature on the horizon to their right.
They had passed the last of the Montino Mountains earlier that morning shortly after leaving Lindonis, their much smaller peaks still clouded behind them.

“We’ll be on the Montino River in no time,” he said, pointing ahead of him.
“It’ll be running strong and swift this time of year, flush with the snowmelt deep in the mountains.”

Sure enough after the
y’d gone further, a roaring sound filled their ears, growing louder and louder as they continued on, until ahead of them on their right the first signs of a fast-moving river, blue waves flecked with white, rushed along to meet the road. It was nearly two hundred feet across, Bryn judged, and moving faster than a galloping horse. The sound was deafening. It bent at an angle, and the road turned to follow its southeastward course.

Not long after, scatterings of trees to their left began to break the monotony of the plains that had
been their constant companion over the past two days. The King’s Wood, Rodden pointed out as the scattered trees turned from thickets to copses, then into a heavily wooded mass. Tall oaks and sycamores seemed to battle with the dirt and stones of the plains, eventually winning as they continued on. Elms and beech trees were nestled amongst stands of grass, and now and then Bryn was able to see a deer flit about their edges, or a hawk circling high above. Rich green grasses now surrounded the road, the bright blue and white of the river contrasting sharply with the dark greens of the forest.

Bryn was struck by how quickly the landscapes could change.
Not an hour earlier they had been surrounded by the same ugly depressing plains that they’d traveled for nearly two days. Now they were in the middle of an enchanting setting straight from the books of princely tales. Even if the conference in Baden proved to be a total bore and the city uninspiring, both of which he greatly doubted, he’d already seen enough amazing scenery over the past week to more than satisfy him for many years to come when the time finally did come to return to the flat farmland around Eston.

SEVEN

The sun
nearing the horizon when the travelers crested a hill affording them a clear view of Baden. The King’s Wood and Baltika Forest both fell back to reveal a large valley of rich green grasses. The King’s Lake could be seen in the distance, the city touching its southeastern edge. Large walls were erected around the city. Unlike the walls they’d seen in the other cities, the walls of Baden didn’t stretch along straight. Instead they were made up of segments, each no more than twenty-five feet in length, and set at a different angle than the segments next to it, giving the city the appearance of having hundreds of different sides. Guard towers rose from the walls at each of these changes in direction, their turrets made from the same stone as the walls, a flag fluttering atop each.

Peasants milled about on the final section of the King’s Road leading into Baden from the north, carrying materials in and out of the city, talking amongst themselves, and going about their business.
There were no fields to be tended outside of the city walls, just flat grassland in all directions. The lake was teaming with boats of all sizes, many with sails but some with oars. Most were smaller fishing craft, some hauling in or throwing out nets; others with lines cast from long poles firmly attached to their decks and railing; many heading toward the docks to unload their catch or going back out for a chance at more. The docks were not clearly visible from the hill, but they appeared to be a bustle of activity, people running every which way in a made dash to carry out their commercial activities.

On the western side of the city another road led outward over the fields and into the Baltika Forest.
Bryn was told earlier when he asked about the city that this was the Western Road, which led to the Regidian capital of Atros, before pushing on to Hedling, over the vast Klamath Plain of Equinia and Oschem to Tullin; then up to Warren on the edge of the Shefflin Mountains, the most western city in Adjuria. Before the King’s Road reached the large city gate, another road branched off to head eastward. This was the Eastern Road, stretching to Pardun in Duldovia, then skirting around the Duldovian Sea before plunging southeast toward the Ithmian garrison city of Fadurk. Way off in the distance the King’s Road continued south away from the city to Portinia.

Three gates led into the city: the South Gate, leading further on down the King’s Road, the West Gate to Warren, and the North Gate, which lay open before them.
Two immense turrets rose up on the walls where the gate’s opening was, larger than the towers spaced out elsewhere on the wall. A walkway stretched between them over the open space of the gate, which itself was comprised of two thick wooden doors, currently opened inward into the city. A portcullis rose above the doors and became lost in the stone walkway above the gate.

“O
ne journey ends…another begins,” Rodden said as the three sat in their saddles staring down on the city they had traveled hundreds of leagues to see.

Bryn turned his gaze from the city to Rodden, an
inquiring look on his face. Rodden turned his eyes to Bryn.

“I mean, lad, tha
t we’ve a much more difficult and perhaps even dangerous journey ahead of us now.” He looked from Bryn back to the city below. “The royal council will hold all kinds of machinations and pitfalls, scheming and maneuvering, intrigues and politicking. Isn’t that right, Halam?”

Halam too was staring down at the city, but he shifted in his saddle at Rodden’s question.
“Aye, that it is.” He paused, blowing out his breath, before continuing. “It will be a trying few days, maybe longer, as we try to move forward amicably toward renewing trade with Jonguria. I’ve a mind that most of the provinces favor it, so what I’m seeing as the problem is reconciling the conflicting attitudes the different provinces have toward each other.”

Bryn thought a few moments as Halam went silent, then spoke up.

“But
Uncle Halam, if all of the provinces agree that they want to trade with Jonguria once again, then what’s the problem? It seems to me that there’s really no need for a conference at all if that’s the prevailing attitude.”

Rodden chuckled.
“I wish it were that easy, lad, I truly do. You see, Bryn, the thing is, most of the provinces are still nursing their wounded pride from the Civil War. Sure, they all agree about renewing trade with Jonguria, they need it, but they don’t want any of their neighbors to have better deals than they do, especially those they fought against not too long ago.” He too blew out his breath in a sigh of exasperation. “No, it will be a contentious conference, to say the least, with lots of old animosities and grudges brought back up to the surface. I’ll be happy to see it end.”

“Aye,” Halam agreed as he heeled his horse on down the final stretch of road before the gates, Rodden following close behind.

Bryn waited a few moments, thinking about what the two men had said. He’d seen a lot over the past week, more of Adjuria than he thought he would ever see. Now he’d see the inner workings of the government, a prospect which somehow seemed equally dull and exciting at the same time. His journey through the lands of his country was coming to an end, but his journey into the hearts and minds of his countrymen was just now beginning. Bryn dug his heels into Ash and together they sauntered down the hill toward the capital.

Halam led the way through the North Gate and along the cobbled streets of the city.
Lots of people milled about the gate: sellers unable to get a stall in the market district were hawking goods from distant provinces; peasants from the surrounding countryside sold fruits and vegetables; citizens browsed for goods or waited on others; beggars begged.

The streets held n
othing new to see, as far as Bryn was concerned. They made their way through the jumbled mass of people and onto some side streets heading further into the city, the horse’s hooves ringing on the rounded cobbles as they sauntered past. After winding through the streets a ways, they came upon another city wall, made in much the same fashion as that which surrounded the city, but smaller in size. This time the gates held doors made from strong steel and covered with large metal rivets for added support. Several guards stood about manning the gate, watching passersby, and inquiring as to the business and intentions of anyone wishing to pass through. They were garbed in resplendent white uniforms of metal greaved-leggings with a well-spun white tunic under shiny breastplates bearing the sigil of Culdovia, a diving eagle with talons bared. As they approached the guards tensed up.

“Ho, there,” called Halam to the nearest man.
“We’ve need to enter the government district. We’re here on business concerning the trade conference.”

“Is that right,” the guard responded, looking all three up and down.
“A little late, aren’t ye?” he asked, a questioning look on his face.

“The
conference hasn’t convened, has it?” Halam responded, concern in his voice.

“Not if you count eating the city’s larders bare and draining the royal wine
cellar convening,” the guard replied. “The council is set to officially get to business tomorrow morning.”