On the afternoon of Day 151, the northern escape column dropped from the forested foothills into the broad, sun-drenched valley where the high pine timber gave way to pastoral meadows and stone-walled cattle pastures.
Ahead, at the junction where the rough cart road from the Spine met the broad, gravel-paved carrier highway of Joric Thane’s freight network, stood the junction milestone. A massive, six-foot pillar of dressed granite carved with the country mileage marks.
Pitched in the meadow around the milestone was a village of canvas awnings and wool tents, flying the green-and-white pennons of the Freight Master’s guild. Smoke curled lazily from half a dozen open-air camp kitchens. He carried the rich, savory smell of roasted mutton, boiled field peas, and fresh rye bread.
The lead echelon of the Alderfast column rolled out of the timber. Then, a chorus of shouting voices rose from the encampment.
Men, women, and children came running across the clover pasture toward the road. Their arms waved, their faces alight with joy. These were the early departure groups from Alderfast. The four families who had sent their young children and elderly grandparents out through the narrow southern gallery with Kezra’s ordinary paper maps on Day 113. The small-pack households Kezra had met climbing out through the drainage tunnels on Day 137 during her return from Empty Choir.
