After a couple days on the road, Heppa finds that her skin hurts, particularly her ears. She feels heat radiating off herself and is surprised at how red she has become. Her first thought is that this is a fever of some kind, but after consulting with some of the humans, many of whom are wearing long sleeves and broad-brimmed hats, she learns that it is a condition known as sunburn. That night, instead of updating her map, she pulls out her alchemy kit and sets about working on an ointment to soothe the ache and protect her skin from further damage. Once she develops something she is confident in, she shares it with the extremely fair Ffion as well.
Another person with the caravan, a woman who announces herself as Lily the Pink to everyone within earshot, seems to also be an alchemist or apothecary of some kind. Hepalonia’s attempts to learn more about the active reagents in her “medicinal compounds” are met with angry rebuffs, though. Not liking confrontation, Heppa quietly leaves her to market her wares to the inhabitants of the small villages that the caravan passes through.
The terrain, as the Beard warned the elves, is indeed dusty rolling plains. Tric looks around with curiosity at first, hoping to find interesting landmarks about which to base future outlandish tales. But there is just not much here other than fields of crops. The wheat is still green and growing, but sometimes dust clouds roll through, giving everything a coat of light brown. When the caravan left Weldyn, the Dulatus Hills could be seen to the south, but since they faded into the distance, it has all been flat. Anything that a human might claim to be a tree, Tric would argue is really more of a shrub. It is a turnaround from his early days in the Estmark Hills.
The plains in this region of Wesnoth are at least natural, not the result of humans chopping down every tree in sight. Perhaps the bedrock is too high for trees to really take root here. I can see why when the humans first landed on these shores, the elves gave this land to them. ‘Cause there’s just nothing here. There are occasional farmsteads and even small villages now and then. Tric does not think farming would make for a good story though. He will stick with his horsefolk tales for now. Maybe this is where they would go on vacation to graze.
Guard work on a caravan is not just a time for idle chit-chat and taking in the scenery, particularly not when it is one transporting prisoners. Efa and some others make a break for it at one point, and Rhodri’s forces join the king’s to get them back under control. Some will be riding the rest of the way inside the prison wagon while they heal up from Tric’s arrows. Others who might have thought to run are cowed by the dust storms Heppa creates. The whirlpool she made to trap the myrmidon worked so well at the ferry that she tries something similar here, using Lady Sabine’s rune to hasten the air across the field, whipping up stones and chaff to pelt the fleeing criminals. Those escapees are halted, but the wind gets a little out of control. A minor tornado tips one of the carts, spilling its contents and smashing a wheel. Once the prisoners are all back in irons, a few hours are consumed righting the cart, mending a broken wheel, and reloading the goods.
Heppa is a little embarrassed by the mess and deeply apologetic. Many others, though, are impressed with her power even if she does not seem to know its full extent. Some of the criminals realize that she could have crushed them rather than a wheel. Sir Sior is glad to have a powerful elvish sorceress fighting on the king’s behalf. Tomos is also amazed. “Wow,” he congratulates Heppa afterwards, as Ffion looks on with wide eyes. “That elvish magic is something! It’s amazing what you can do when you have decades to just study and study.”
“Yes,” Heppa agrees weakly. She is sure it would be, she just has not put in the time.
Soon the caravan reaches Dan’Tonk, the largest city in Wesnoth in both area and population. Its outskirts spread much farther than Weldyn’s, as this city is in the plains, rather than being constrained to islands along the edge of a river. Tric is dismayed to see there is no river here at all and wonders why anyone would build a large settlement in this place. The people must get their water from wells, or perhaps there are springs in the hills to the west. Dan’Tonk has none of the political power that Weldyn with its royal palace does, but Knots points out that it is at the crossroads of several important trade routes across Wesnoth. Additionally, many refugees settled here after the war with Mal-Ravanal. Huts and shanties with little square purple flags sprawl well beyond low walls that would be dwarfed by Weldyn’s great fortifications. Even within those walls, the buildings are not as tall or grand as those in Weldyn, though one does fly the national blue and gold standard as a demonstration of loyalty. Here in Dan’Tonk there are many more buildings, and the streets form a twisty maze through them. The largest building is a House of Light, which has bells that chime the hours.
After the caravan rolls into the warehouse district and begins to unload, Rhodri pays the guards and dismisses them all. Knots and the Beard still walk away with the largest purses, and Heppa finds that hers is even lighter than Tric’s. Although Rhodri appreciates that she is a capable mercenary guard, they advise Hepalonia that perhaps some restraint or improved focus might be required in future engagements. She has had eight coins knocked from her pay to account for the delay and expense associated with the obliterated cart wheel. That seems quite a good deal to her, and she does not object.
The caravan manager tells the cousins that they are welcome to reapply for the next leg of the journey at their current pay rate. Rhodri will have their own hands full for the next few days preparing the caravan for the trip northwest to Carcyn. They grumble that it will still involve prisoner transport, at least as far as the fork near the Great River where a road splits off to head east to the Ford of Abez. Tric feels the complaints are unwarranted. Rhodri keeps getting steady pay for prisoner transport, and other guards—not paid for by Rhodri—bear the bulk of the responsibility for watching the criminals. The wagon wheel lost during the small uprising on the way here is simply the cost of doing business.
Knots and the Beard offer handshakes and shoulder claps before parting ways with Tric and Heppa. The veterans will be continuing on with Rhodri in a few days, and the Beard says that once they get up to Carcyn, they might cross the Great River and see what is going on these days on that side.
“Going north of the Great River? What are you planning on doing there?” Tric asks. “You get hired as mercenaries by other people, right? You’re not just going to go fight necromancers of your own volition—” Hearty laughter from the veterans interrupts him.
“Fighting necromancers ain’t a hobby,” the Beard says when he has calmed down.
“Are there nobles or merchants or other people who hire mercenaries for that purpose? Or is it the king’s responsibility?” Tric presses. “What are you hoping to find up there?”
“Like I told you, there are would-be nobles trying to carve out baronies on the other side of the river,” the Beard says. “Second or third children who aren’t likely to inherit their parents’ land.”
Heppa has heard of people like this before. “They might be Alduin-trained but not mages. Their parents are glad for them to find something to do,” she tells her cousin.
“Yeah, they’ll find a cluster of farms that no one is ‘protecting,’ then claim them and submit some sort of documents,” the Beard explains. “They need people like us to secure the area around so that they can justify setting up their borders.”
“Such bureaucracy!” Tric says.
“Not our problem,” Knots throws in. “Who cares how they set up their titles? But if someone’s doing something like that, they will have coin for making the area a little safer. A small little hamlet on its own isn’t going to have that kind of coin, even if it has the same actual problems.” That is an issue for next week, though. For now, the Beard and Knots are headed into town for some recreation.
“Oh, have you been to Dan’Tonk before?” Heppa asks. “Do you have any recommendations for anything we must see?”
“The Beard’s got recommendations for places you must drink,” Knots says with a laugh, “but we’re not really sightseers. We can point you to a few flophouses that are relatively cheap. Don’t know about places for your pony, though.”
The elves are grateful for the advice. As they part ways, Tric tells the Beard, “If you ever need a trim, just let me know.” Knots laughs, but the Beard shakes his fist at the magpie on Tric’s shoulder. He gets a pixie dragon taunt for his troubles. Mate then quickly ducks behind Tric. “Just remember that enemies can come from above as well as below,” Tric adds sagely.
The Beard grumbles that he has learned his lesson. “Don’t trust a bird,” he mutters.
Heppa smiles and wishes them well. “You always have friends in the Estbryn Forest,” she tells them. As she and Tric head through the streets, she reflects that it is too bad that Mate and Knots did not spend more time together. Mate probably could have learned how to do his hair, if only there had not been conflict between the magpie and the Beard right from the beginning.