The Deepcombers

Chapter Forty Six

Lon strolled uphill on the riverwalk. He passed through the construction site which had been packed away clean and crossed under the apple trees in the orchard behind Atar's lodge. He cut through the vegetable garden until he came to the base of the lookout tower.

One step at a time he made the climb. The young lad felt light-headed as he neared the top of the structure. The air was thinner up here and he slowed his ascent so he wouldn't be totally winded when he met the camp commander on the observation deck.

"Just in time," Atar stood beside the enormous ram's horn suspended from the ceiling beams and passed Lon the copper looking tube. "Take a gander." He pointed east.

The sea drover held the brass tube in his hands and studied its slender form. He'd wanted to look through one of these cylinders his whole life. He eagerly raised it to his eye and gazed east. He studied the dark horizon filled with black smoke. Atar rolled the front barrel forward and he immediately understood how to adjust the focus. He gasped at how well the gadget magnified his eyesight. Was this Varget? No. The device was lifeless; he could feel no smilk inside, but it still worked magnificently. Now he could see tiny figures moving on the most distant hilltops.  

The fiery origin point of the black smoke columns was still not visible. A flash caught his eye in the foreground. The young lad lowered the scope and saw a rider much closer to the settlement. He refocused the glass lenses to solidify the sight of a solitary horsefeigor on the port road. "I see one of them." Lon broke out in a sweat. "He's coming!"

"Hah. Of course, he's coming," Atar laughed. "That's Mendel Fernswart. He's one of ours. He'll bring me more sketches like what I showed you last night."

Lon looked again, more calmly this time. He saw the rider had full saddlebags which must include art supplies. The horsefeigor galloped through the crop fields, a two mile stretch of garden plots to the east.

"You will climb to the shrine this morning." the hulk said.

"Yes." Lon agreed.

"Give this to Ephram when you see him." Atar handed him a wax paper package on a loop of string. "Put it around your neck. Don't worry. It's waterproof. Do not take this off for any reason until you get there."

"Okay." Why did it matter that it was waterproof?

Lon glanced down on the settlement's sturdy front gate and saw a group of templekin cross the bailey, the cobbled courtyard just inside the main entrance. He watched the sentries unlock the small door and then shuffle aside to let the group pass. One by one the excursion stepped through the small door and exited the compound.

Clyde of Barobell was in the center of the pack. The noblekin wore the same silk gambeson he'd destroyed on the night they arrived. He'd torn it apart to retrieve its secret cargo, but now it'd been repaired and there was something else; Clyde also wore two red toll stones! Lon raised the looking tube to his eye and trained it on his friend. Sure enough, the handsome young healer had two blood red tablets strapped over his neck.

He was escorted, carefully, by senior templekin in brown smocks plus six Calbian infantryfeigors who kept the appropriate distance. There can be no doubt this was a special escort to the base of the falls where he too would climb to Ephram's shrine. The young noble from Barobell was full of surprises.

"Clyde. Also climbs?"

"So they say..." Atar turned to look but rather than gaze down at the front gate, he studied the waterfall. "I can watch you both from here."

"Clyde is a healer?"

"He's something..."

"He seeks the Samardina?" Lon attempted, "or he did when we first came here?" The youth fished for more insights, awkwardly.