The Good Counsel
of Alban
Missing Trade Goods
Owen sat under some trees on a little hill at the end of a low spine of land reaching back towards his home and the mountains beyond. From this vantage point above the river he stared across the valley into Alban. There was something about the place that left people from outside the Fastness feeling uneasy. It was not just those bare hills and mountains in the distance. Cymru had bigger mountains of its own, mountains with legends of fanciful creatures and mystical doings in the dawn of the world.
No, the feeling came from the emptiness of the land on the Alban side of the river. There were no humans or animals for most of the time, often no birds either. It looked like good land in places, but it was shunned. A couple of traders — known locally — had been to Alban in the last couple of years, but had not been seen in Wrecsam again. Then that drige had gone astray, it was said. Iwan Griff had told him those things should know where they were. Not lose their way. As for its cargo bay coming open and raining goods around the place that too was queer. No, even he did not fancy crossing the river into the strange Fastness, let alone expect others to do it for him.
He bit into the cold pie he had in his hand, chewed at it thoughtfully, and swallowed. He had to decide whether to send people across, and how, and where. The border was there, at the riverbank, nagging at him. Owen picked up the vuglas and scanned the flatlands. He spotted two teams of his searchers close to the riverbank. He lifted his head slightly and looked into Alban, moving his field of view slowly along the track set way back beyond the far bank. He’d seen the occasional wagon moving along that from time to time, but not today. As he swung further round a group of people flashed into focus. That made him jump. The area was supposed to be uninhabited. What were they doing there so close to the river? Five of them altogether. What were they up to?