Dan’Tonk, the largest city in Wesnoth, is closer to Weldyn than South Tower is, and there is a proper road between the two cities. Rhodri’s caravan makes the trip in four eventful days. Although there are some familiar faces along for this leg, right from the beginning there are some changes. Namely, with hairstyles. Heppa notices that Rhodri’s long straight hair is now in two brown braids held up around their head with ribbons. This might not have seemed notable if the Beard had not also adopted braids. When Tric and Heppa join him and Knots to ask how they spent their downtime in Weldyn, they find the previously unruly mass of red facial hair well-contained.
“We thought maybe you might have gone drinking, but it looks like you spent all your time with Knots,” Heppa says, appreciating the many small plaits.
The Beard snorts. “We’re about to roll through the dry and dusty plains of central Wesnoth. Loose hair is just going to get filled with filth. It’s going to be hot and sunny with dirt blowing everywhere.”
“Good thing I’ve got a headband,” Tric says. Turns out it is for more than hiding ears and storing feathers.
“Yeah, you might end up wanting to open that up to full-on bandana if it gets bad,” Knots suggests. Tric has already turned down having his hair put in twists, so Knots does not make the offer again.
Tric leaves his frizzy hair down for now, but Heppa heeds the warning. Although her hair is much paler than Rhodri’s it is of a similar thickness and length, so she takes her cue from the caravan manager. After all, it has already been demonstrated that she cannot wear her hair like Knots does. Before she starts on the braiding, though, she cuts off a lock of the section still green from that failed experiment. She ties it with a ribbon and sets it aside to send to Alric so he can see how her attempts at alchemy are going.
Tomos and Ffion are also both continuing with the caravan. Now that her family is gone, the child has attached herself to Tomos to get a head start on her education. Compared to her, he is a knowledgeable sage and one who is happy to talk at length. When the elves come across them, Tomos has a book out and is showing it to Ffion. “In another year’s time, you’ll be able to read this,” he tells her. “Not many can. Not even the nobles learn how to read this!”
“What is it?!” Heppa asks curiously. She glances at the pages in his books and sees slashes and squiggles that look vaguely familiar. “What kind of writing is that?”
“It is called shorthand. We learn it at Alduin. It is much faster to write than normal letters, which for students taking notes is of great importance. Manuscripts and letters have to be written very slowly and carefully so that the ink does not smudge. That is much too slow when great mages are teaching. See all these different symbols? There are far more than there are letters in the alphabet. Some of these represent blended sounds, even entire syllables, so that words can be written more quickly.”
“How interesting!” A lot of what Tomos points to look like slashes at just slightly different angles. Heppa would be hard-pressed to distinguish them from each other. She wonders whether Kachen’s journal was written in this same shorthand or if he modified it some. Maybe every student develops their own slightly different style over their many years of notetaking.
Tric is not surprised at the obscure writing. He figures that secrecy among mages is probably pretty common. Even if they write books for others to read, they likely keep some of their research to themselves.
In addition to just the friends they made before, there are additional repeat customers in Rhodri’s caravan: Efa and the other prisoners from South Tower. Their numbers have been bolstered by the two duplicitous ferry operators and a collection of criminals from other towns. Mounted troops now guard the several wagons with prisoners chained behind them. Although most of the guards have simple spears and are armored with just a breastplate and helm, their leader is decked out in plate and carries a lance and sword. Given the similarities between this and what the elves saw on display during the Full Bloom Festival’s joust, this must be a knight.
Because they were hired as more experienced mercenaries, Tric feels justified in appointing himself the liaison between the caravan guards and the king’s troops. Before he does so, he tells Rhodri that he will be making sure the knight has a clear understanding of the different groups’ responsibilities. With the caravan manager’s permission, Tric heads down the line to shmooze. He introduces himself as part of the security detachment for the caravan and makes the claim, “Rhodri commanded me to make sure we work appropriately with the king’s forces. As you may have heard, we had some trouble on the way to Weldyn, but we dealt with it carefully. I trust these prisoners won’t give you much trouble.” He then asks the knight what lord he serves or if he is part of the entourage of the Knight Commander, Sir Owaec—Tric is not at all sure how that all works.
“I am Sir Sior, a knight of Lord Uchal. And I have no time for your elvish tricks,” the man in charge says. It is impossible to see any of his features, hidden as they are behind his helm.
Ah, I really did get under the skin of that noble, Tric realizes. He feels a little bad for Osian that he upset one of his customers. That had not really been his intention. This trip is perhaps a chance to learn something useful about Lord Uchal in order to smooth things over, to apologize for Tric’s whimsical elvish ways. Tric resolves to worm such information out of Sir Sior. Rather than interpret the knight’s words as a dismissal, he continues the conversation.
After a while, Sir Sior mentions that Tric has a familiar scent about him. “Do you partake of clove incense like my lord does?” he asks.
Interesting… Tric thinks. Cloves must be part of the Dunefolk spice blend he has on his person. “Well, I’ve been known to dabble from time to time,” he says evasively, pleased to have uncovered exactly the sort of information he was looking for.
Having accomplished his goal, Tric parts ways with the knight for now. As he passes the chained prisoners, he is a little disappointed to see the fellows from the ferry in among them. I tried to warn them! he thinks with some dismay. At least he has the consolation that one of their number took the hint and fled before the fighting started. He feels a little bad for the other two though, and during the evening meal, he has Mate deliver them some extra food. The bird is a model of restraint and resists gobbling it all up himself. A magpie was involved in their undoing, so the former ferriers may connect this with Tric. However, Tric feels there is little risk of him getting caught; a bird is undoubtedly beneath Sir Sior’s notice.