Las Almenaras y el Correo (The Signal Towers & the Messenger)

I am the chain of watch-fires on the hilltops, and the rider who waits at the last tower. When word must reach a distant court, the first almenara lights; the next sees it and lights; so the coded flame runs over the hills faster than any horse. And where the flame cannot carry the thing itself — a sealed letter, an invitation to a feast — the rider takes it the last mile and puts it in the right hand. Fire for the signal, a horseman for the letter. Between them, no distance is too far.

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A caravaner far in the north wished to join a feast in Granada. No horse could carry word in time — so the towers lit, hill after hill, and by nightfall the mill knew he was coming. Then the rider set out with the sealed invitation, the date and the place written plain, and put it in his hand three days later. 'How did you prepare before my letter came?' the caravaner asked. The scribe said: 'The fire told us you were coming. The rider only brought your name.' Some news travels as light; some must travel as a letter. We send both.