Gypsy Caravan Novels & Stories

But even less fortunate caravaners tried to mark their carts and clothes - let people know and tell others who came to their city and what sign he has. Yarsi ran his eyes over the covered carts that had no distinguishing marks, over the plain harness of the horses, over the clothes of the caravaners - dusty and mostly of the same color, and returned to the warrior standing right in front of them. The horse under him danced all the time, tried to break into a run, shook his head, as if something made the animal uneasy. “This caravan has no insignia,” said the werewolf. - Dressed as ordinary travelers, gathered on a long journey. They don't look like merchants. Where do you think they come fro

"The heavy-tread sleds are still in the hangers. We don't have enough silver-oil for all of them, but we can cannibalize the engines. We build a caravan of iron. We haul the children and the elderly. The rest of us? We walk until our boots bleed. It’s either that or die in a beautiful graveyard." The Exodus began at dawn. It was a sight that would be remembered for generations: a line of thousands, stretching miles across the grey, ash-covered valleys. At the front were the massive, groaning steam-sleds, their chimneys belching black smoke into the sapphire-stained sky. Beside them walked the proud warriors of the Silver Pack, now carrying packs of grain and wood instead of swords.

The convoy turned off the highway just before lunch the next day, and followed the twists and turns of the road, mirroring the river and rapids the host pack was named for. Cara watched eagerly through the car window. It was the first time she’d traveled so far from home and she was enjoying the change of scenery. Cara thought her own packhouse was large and lavish, but this one made hers seem like a doll’s house. It was a goliath of a mansion, built in a folksy, farmhouse style that seemed to conflict with the scale of it all.

“Look.” Iyria looked around her and saw the familiar crest of arms on the gateway. They were at her home. “Daria Agrio’s caravan,” said Ilyria, “She would know who was in that caravan. She never let one leave the city without first checking it.” Daria Agrio was as trusting of others as she herself was trustworthy, which is to say not at all. “I can do that,” said Ilyria, “I can speak to her.” The ascetic nodded. “Only do that. One thing. Then perhaps another. And so on.” They smiled and patted Ilyria on the arm. A clumsily affectionate gesture that Ilyria nonetheless appreciated.

Tristan offered a weak, bloody grin. "Look," Vane said softly from the helm. The pirate had pulled the throttle back, allowing the train to slow as they entered the mouth of a massive, jagged canyon. Tristan and Saoirse turned to the viewport. The Cinder Pass was a narrow gorge flanked by towering cliffs of red rock. And filling the gorge, huddled together behind massive iron fences, were the refugees. Ten thousand miserable, freezing people. Men, women, and children wrapped in rags, staring in absolute, stunned silence at the massive, smoking black train that had just shattered the Imperial army to reach them.

When Kade had mentioned caravans, Thalia wasn't sure what to expect. As a kid she had seen plenty of tourists travelling from the likes of Germany or France with caravans or campervans. It seemed a bit claustrophobic but, in the summer, dozens if not hundreds would appear, trundling through the narrow streets of the old towns or villages or parking up in lay-bys near the sea. They were homes on wheels and yet despite being relatively small, they seemed to struggle to traverse the roads and streets of Greece let alone do it with any grace.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐧 The sun was a pale, frightened eye peering through the lingering violet haze of the Tuscan sky as the first "Analog Caravan" prepared to depart. It was a sight that would have looked more at home in the fourteenth century than the twenty-first. Three heavy wooden carts, salvaged from the monastery’s old agricultural stores were hitched to sturdy, broad-backed workhorses that had survived the Spire’s collapse simply because they had no circuitry to fry.

James with his mate Lilly, and Noah are already on the porch talking to a few of our warriors. Even Maximo, our head warrior, has made an appearance, but he seems distracted. He suddenly bends down and scoops something up into his blazer pocket. I don’t have much time to give it any thought cause just then, we see the caravan of sleek black SUVs and trucks pull up onto the main road towards the packhouse.

"This caravan is only werewolves. This isn’t the caravan that left the city." Adolph grit his teeth. Chasel was right. They hadn’t been in the imperial city. They had come from elsewhere to get to this road. That didn’t mean they weren’t in league with Eden and the vampire queen. Sam grabbed one of them and slammed them against the side of the carriage. "Where were you headed?" "T-The border… into the neutral zone. We’re just–" “No, wait!” Gold coins spilled out of the carriage as one of the knights opened the carriage door. He kneeled and picked up one.

How annoying! “Are you going to get down or what?” The driver asked me with a frown. Everyone else had already left and it was just me and Mariah remaining in the wagon. She was awake and looking around curiously. “Do you by any chance know where the Gypsy camp might be around here?” I asked him. He shrugged. “Not really but Gypsies are fond of camping on the outskirts of any territory they visit. Now, get off. I need to go home and rest after that long ride.”