Fort Steele, Columbia Valley
August 2nd, Change Year 2The night passed without interruption. Wolves had prowled the circle of wagons but never come close enough to be a bother. The dogs they had with them were the only ones who didn’t manage to grab a few hours of sleep, they spent the entire night with their hackles raised and snarling into the darkness.
As dawn began to split the horizon and the sun touched the peaks above them the wagon train packed up and formed up on the highway again. John gathered the his men around him for a quick word before they went on their way.
“Right lads,” he was speaking from the saddle, standing in his stirrups so everyone could see him. “We are going to be riding west towards Cranbrook, then cutting south on the 93 towards Fernie. I don’t know how Cranbrook is holding up and to be honest, I don’t want to know. Questions?”
A thin man with a bow nearly as big as he was raised a hand. “Sir. If we are attacked?”
“Just keep the wagons moving. We don’t want to get snarled up in something bigger then we are.”
The man nodded and was quiet. John looked around but no one else had anything to add.
“Right, to your wagons.” As the horses were spurred away John took his place at the head of the column with Alexander. “Onward and upward eh?”
The other man grinned and winked. “Oh yea, I love climbing. Its my favourite thing to do right after getting hit in the balls with a wallet.”
The two men laughed and John nodded. “That was hilarious!”
Both were still chuckling when John waved the wagon train forward. They would cross the bridge first and John could not help but wonder who was going to build bridges over this massive rivers when the concrete ones at last collapsed into nothing. It felt weird to even consider such things that he had taken for granted before the Change. Mind you, before the change he would have made this trip on a motorbike and been there by now.
The column crossed the bridge and began their westward turn towards Cranbrook. All of them rode with an arrow on the string of their short recurve bows. All they knew is that people were there, what kind and who was a different story.
For the first couple of kilometres they could see nothing but the small ridge that stood between then and Cranbook. They were several hundred yards from it when John spotted movement in the brush on the ridgetop and swiftly took up his binoculars.
The face that stared back at him was grotesque. Matted hair, filthy skin and a scarred nose and cheeks told him all he needed to know about the people further west. He drop the binoculars and leaned over towards Alexander.
“Savage on the ridge. Warn the lads, we’ll try to avoid them.”
Alexander didn’t reply except for a quick nod as he turned his horse and rode down the wagons to tell the others. They tightened up the column, so that the horses pulling the wagons were almost nose to the tai of the wagon in front of them. John didn’t expect trouble, 100 mounted, armoured men was hardly an easy target.
He kept an eye on the figure as they rode past but it did nothing to try and bother them. He doubted it had seen anything like them in over two years probably. Military in these forces had been rare pre-change, let alone now.
They came to the highway junction and turned south, it was a long days ride but they were nearing the hardest part of their journey.
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Port Albion, Vancouver Island
August 2nd, Change Year 2Laurent Morin patted the neck of his horse as they rode slowly through what had once been Port Albion proper. Most of the buildings had been pulled down for their material, or moved altogether to the new townsite at the extreme southern end of the narrow peninsula. Here the land narrowed to about 450 yards . A ditch had been dug from side to side to allow the sea to flow into it, 20 feet deep and 20 feet wide it was a formidable obstacle, made even more so by the twenty foot wall on the other side. A heavy drawbridge lay across the moat; heavy chains ran from its nearer end and up into the gatehouse. The tips of a spiked portcullis showed just beneath the edge of the gateway and the two solid steel gates in the centre had once been the plates on a ship in the harbour.
“Morning Cap’n,” said a smiling, saluting sentry as Morin approached the gate. “Top of the morning to ye.”
Mornin returned the salute and grinned as he passed through the gatehouse. “And the rest of the day to you.”
The gatehouse was a massive beast of a structure. The gatehouse was flanked on either side by U shaped towers that allowed defenders an unrestricted field of fire on anyone trying to cross the drawbridge or fill in the moat. Round towers were spaced every 50 yards down the wall to the sea, the furthest towers actually sitting in the water below the low tide mark.
Upon exiting the gatehouse you had two choices, you could go left towards the merchant docks or right into the town itself. Everything building here was made of stone with a solid roof that supported slate rock. The influence of Knight’s trip to the United Kingdom could be seen everywhere.
Morin took the right hand road. He could smell the woodsmoke and the first faces were appearing as people rose for the morning. To the left the harbour that separated the merchant docks from the rest of the town was full. All of the tallships were in and the fishing fleet had yet to put to sea.
“Morning Captain,” Called a voice and he twisted in his saddle to see a young woman waving at him from a second story window. She had raven black hair that fell frame a slightly oval face with black eyes. She was one of the original natives of the town who had joined them when Knight and Morin conquered the place a year and a half ago.
“Morning Migina. How are you?’ He turned back, riding beneath her window and grinning up.
“Wonderful that I get to see you!” She giggled and flushed slightly.
He winked. “Are you busy today?”
There was a pause as she seemed to think about it. “I guess not. Why?”
“I am having supper with the Commander. Would you care to be my guest?”
Her eyes seemed to double in size as she nodded vigorously. “I would love too! What time!?”
“Five bells in the dogs.” Port Albion used the old Royal Navy method of telling time by sounding bells on every watch. The use of the bells to mark the time stems from the period when seamen could not afford a personal time piece and even if they could, they had no idea on how to tell time with such an instrument. The bells mark the hours of the watch in half-hour increments. The seamen would know if it were morning, noon, or night. Each watch is four hours long.
“I’ll be ready!” She said with a dazzling smile, vanishing inside with a shriek of delight. He could hear her calling her mother to tell her the news.
People were beginning to fill the streets and they all offered him a brief bow or a salute. He was a man who demanded respect as second in command of the town and its accompanying Navy.
He passage through the town constantly reminded him of his own trip to Europe. The buildings looked so similar to those he had seen in British towns on the coast, and the accents of the various people never failed to amaze him.
All the while he could see the Castle rising beyond the town. It was a hulking building built in two parts, half on the mainland and the second on an island that was attached to the first part by a solid stone bridge. The first half housed the naval barracks and allowed access to the military dock while the second housed Knight and his family. It was a functional fortress. The main keep was were Knight lived but the rest of the fortress was essentially a giant artillery battery.
There was no way into the harbour with passing by it and siege weapons lay in wait for any who dared to try without permission. A second, smaller fortress, sat on the main shore across the harbour mouth to add its own formidable siege weapons to the defenses.
At the Castle gate sentries again saluted Morin as he rode through another gatehouse. Inside he dismounted and allowed a groom to lead his horse away. Another gate and he was on the long stone bridge, only wide enough for two men shoulder to shoulder, that led to the inner keep. His boots echoed on the stone as he moved, the waves crashing below him to make the bridge shiver.
A final set of gates before him bore Knight’s coat of arms in red over black and they split apart to allow him entry, a sentry announcing his arrival.