It was also slower them his parents had thought it would be. They had left Shieldhaven—Bevaldruor in the old tongue—well before the spring rains were due. They wanted to reach their destination in time for the spring planting.
The army had traveled north, planning to ford the Maesil a few miles south of the border between Mhoried and Cariele. The heavy settler wagons had gone south to use the ferry that crossed the river between Mhoried and Elinie.
Their journey would be lengthened by more than a hundred and fifty miles, but the wagons could not ford the river. The plan had been for the army to arrive first and clear the area of humanoids so the settlers could plant their crops in safety.
For Cald, the journey was also marred by having to travel in the wain, wrapped in furs in the chill mornings while the other children walked with their parents or ran about, exploring the grasslands. Cald had been born with breath-rasp, struggling to breathe when he played too hard, when the weather was cold, or when pollen filled the air. Since his parents had lost three children before he was born, they were determined that he should live, and his life was a constant irritation of overprotection.
The rain had ceased three days before, and that morning the ground was drier, so everyone in the caravan was riding, and Cald was enjoying his mother’s company. He had discovered a terrible disadvantage to the “Great Adventure.” He missed Sermer, the playmate he had left behind in Shieldhaven.
“I don’t see why we have to move,” he said. As he thought about his friend, he forgot he had been excited and anxious for the journey.
“Sometimes I think it’s in our nature,” his mother said thoughtfully. “Our ancestors traveled to this land from far in the south, from another place, far across the southern sea.”
“Did they have to leave their friends behind?” Cald asked, thinking of Sermer.
“I don’t think they left their friends, but they left almost everything they owned, or so the story goes. They were running away from a terrible evil that turned creatures into monsters, and no one was safe.”
“Like goblins?”
“Worse than goblins.”
Cald looked out at the plain, then to his right, at the dark wood that his father and mother did not seem to like. “Can that evil come here too?” he asked.
“It came many years ago,” his mother said. “All the people gathered together and there was a terrible battle. The evil was destroyed, so you don’t have to be afraid of it.”
“Tell me about the battle,” Cald said, shivering at the thought.
“One day, when you are older, your Uncle Mersel can tell you. He is a soldier and will make a better story of it.”
“Can’t you tell me some of it?” Cald teased, wanting a new tale to ease the boredom of travel.
“Not until you’re older,” his mother said, her voice firm.
He would have teased for more, but up ahead his father slowed the first wagon and climbed down from the high seat. His mother tied off the reins and gathered her skirts in preparation for climbing down.
“Rough ground ahead,” his father called back.
“You sit still and hold on,” his mother said. “We’ll lead the teams.”
“I want to walk, too,” Cald complained, but his mother was guiding the left horse around a washout that had nearly caused the lead wagon to overturn.
“Stay where you are for now,” she ordered, “Or you’ll be hacking and gasping before midday stop. And keep that fur around your shoulders. The wind’s still chilly and …”
Cald’s mother was interrupted by a scream from the rear of the caravan. She brought the horses to a halt and looked back as someone shouted. They heard the clash of steel on steel.
“Gnolls!” The alarm traveled up the length of twenty wagons, accompanied by screams from women and children.
Cald stood up to see over the piles of goods on the wagon. To the left of the caravan, from the concealment of the bushes at the side of a gully, bestial forms with bodies like men but hyenalike faces hurled spears at the settlers. Some of the monsters had used all their throwing weapons and were running toward the wagons with axes, clubs, and swords.
Elder Worsin, Arthy’s feeble grandsire, fell when a spear struck him in the chest. The gnoll that threw it rushed forward to hack at Arthy, who was just a year older than Cald. While the boy ran away screaming, his father appeared around the end of the wagon and, lifting his axe, chopped the arm off the dogfaced monster.
“Cald, get down! Hide!” his mother shouted at him before pulling a hoe from the back of the wagon. Too frightened to object, he climbed over the seat and crouched down among the sacks of clothing and bedding.
A gnoll leapt from the bushes and thrust his spear at Sima, but she jumped aside. She brought the work-sharpened blade of the hoe down on its shoulder. Cald looked in the other direction as blood spurted from the creature’s neck.
A spear sailed over Lido, the left wheeler dray horse, and struck Drens, slicing open the right wheeler’s rump. The horse screamed with pain and panicked the rest of the team. They bolted, fear giving them the strength to pull the wagon at a dead run. The heavy wheels bounced over the uneven ground, throwing out baskets of seedlings, bundles of bedding, and food.
Cald gripped the side of the wagon and wiggled farther down among the cooking pots and leather sacks of clothing. In the distance, he heard his father shout his name over the screams of others in the caravan. The clamor of battle drowned out his father’s words. Was he telling Cald to stay in the wagon or jump out before the horses carried him far away? Since both alternatives were unpleasant, Cald decided his father wanted him to stop the wagon.
“Stop! Whoa!” he shouted to the horses, but he had no reins to stop them, and even if he had, he would not have dared turn loose his grip on the side of the cart.
The ride seemed to last forever. The horses, terrified by the screams from behind them, raced east, into the forest. Cald had held his grip on the side of the wagon and stayed down, just as his mother had ordered. The horses slowed as they forced their way through the thorny undergrowth, but they were still moving at a fast trot when the right rear wheel of the wagon hit a root. The cart slid sideways, slammed into a tree, and broke its rear axle. The sudden jolt started the frightened beasts into rearing, and they slammed the wagon into a second tree. The collision splintered the shaft and freed the singletrees. The horses raced off into the woods, pulling the broken shaft with them.
The wagon overturned, and Cald tumbled onto the ground, protected from injury by the fur wrapped around him and the thick leaves of the forest.
At first he huddled where he lay, too frightened to move. Then, the worst of his panic drained away, and he climbed from the wreckage and looked around. Still fearing the gnolls, he moved away from the wagon and dug down within the bed of leaves, covering himself and the fur. He had no idea of time, but he waited a long while, hoping to hear his father’s or mother’s voice.
They would beat off the creatures and come searching for him; at first he was sure of it; later he grew irritated that they had not yet found him; when the sun sank low on the western horizon and the shadows of the trees began to stretch away as if retreating into the forest, he crept out of his hiding place and trudged toward the only safety he knew, the wrecked wagon that had overturned a hundred feet away. Behind him he dragged the fur that had been wrapped around him. He crouched under the wagon until nearly dark. Then he crawled in among his family’s spilled belongings and slept fitfully.
The next morning, he dug through the pile and found a raw tuber that would probably have been his dinner the night before if the wagon train had not been attacked. He ate enough of it to take the edge off his hunger and put it aside.