“W-well, I think that’s everything. I hope the rest of your t-trip goes smoothly.”

“Me too kid…me too.”

The youth from before nodded nervously; clutching the paperwork to his chest, he spun on his heel, and dashed back through the city gate. Despite himself, Pavel couldn’t help but grin at the boy; he remembered when he was nervous about his first guard position. A simpler time.

Last night, before he had crawled into the Zultan’s carriage – now the new guard wagon – Jo had requested that they force the caravan to move out the following day. She firmly believed that the city shouldn’t get a coin more for the dues they had to pay to park outside Daggerford. Pavel agreed, and when the caravan guards returned before the sun had come up, looking somewhat worse for wear, Pavel had instructed all of them to comb the city and inform teamsters and wagon owners alike that they were shipping out. By the time everyone was informed and ready to move, the sun was already high in the sky.

Pavel leaned back in the saddle and watched as the caravan slowly began to roll by. He had stopped his horse at the front, enabling him to see the entire train roll by. Not a soul aboard was having a pleasant morning. Each caravan guard had the decency to look embarrassed about what had happened the night before and did their best to make up for it today. Their enthusiasm was not mirrored by the caravan members who had slept in Daggerford; Pavel could tell them apart by their looks of annoyance or anger. From the sounds of it, his order had interrupted quite a few business dealings, ruined a few excited plans of fun for the following night, and had even gotten in the way of a moment of true love. Though Pavel doubted the courtesan felt the same.

Their anger and frustration clashed with the depressive mood that hung over the rest of the caravan members; those who slept in their wagons last night still seemed to feel the effects of the incident. The death of Lord Zultan felt different than the death of Bo, the caravan’s only other casualty. Bo had been doing his job, and though many were saddened by his death, the entire caravan honored him for his courage and willingness to lay down his life for the good of others. But Lord Zultan…

Pavel sighed, and rubbed his face, just as the middle section of the caravan began to roll by.

Lord Zultan had been a fluke, an accident that shouldn’t have happened. Pavel and Jo had failed in their duties, the rest of the guards weren’t even present at the time, and the entire event demonstrated that they could make mistakes. Mistakes that reminded the entire caravan of the dangers of the journey.

It didn’t sit right with him.

Cruck’aa’s wagon slowly ambled by with no sigh of the Aarakocra; Pavel assumed that he had hidden himself in the back of his employer’s wagon, no doubt calming the birds within. Or perhaps he felt no desire to interact with others today, not after the meeting last night.

Behind his, Serena and Werond’s wagon rolled by. Werond was the only one on the driver’s bench today, Serena no doubt hidden in the back, just like Cruck’aa. Werond gave a small wave to Pavel, and he returned the gesture; from the length of the bags under her eyes, it seemed as though she hadn’t slept at all last night. He had to believe that Serena was the same.

As her wagon went by, for the first time since he’d been hired onto the caravan, Pavel felt a growing frustration at the train’s snail pace. He’d wish to leave Daggerford before noon, and insofar, they wouldn’t get close to that.

Directly behind Werond’s wagon came Keenblade’s entourage, all three wagons owned by him. Pavel narrowed his eyes as they went past; Larion, like everyone else, seemed to have hid himself away in one of the wagons. He’d refused to go into the city that night, unlike most of his personal guards who’d camped in one of the taverns. But from what Pavel had seen of Larion, he didn’t appear as someone to mourn the death of a stranger.

He’d need to find a chance to tell Jo about him. Larion was their suspect, named directly in the report they had received when the caravan was formed. Perhaps Jo would know of some way to begin tackling their investigation. As of now, Pavel could only watch as the trio of wagons slowly rolled by.

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“Excuse me,” came a deep voice behind him. “would you be the guard captain of this –”

“Of course, he is!” came the shrill voice of another. “What, you think someone with that kind of air is just a regular ole guard?!”

Pavel squeezed his eyes shut; he hadn’t heard of anyone sneaking up behind him this far from the city’s main gate, and for a moment, he debated on urging his horse forward, feigning sudden deafness. Instead, he twisted about in his saddle, until he faced the two people behind him.

And people they were.

A bald man, covered in layers of crimson robes, stood behind Pavel, his brown eyes furrowed in annoyance. Accents of gold streaked across his robes in various patterns, the largest of which was a sun that blazed on the front of his chest. The coloring of his clothing accented his dark skin, the color of it being a shade lighter than Werond’s.

The woman behind him, a halfling, stood barely up to his waist; in stark contrast to the man, she was dressed in a set of dark tunic and pants, with leather armor strapped about her chest, arms, and shoulders, her light brown hair pushed behind her long ears. A short sword was strapped to her waist, her only weapon, once again in stark contrast to the red-robed man, who appeared unarmed.

Making him someone to watch out for.

“Sir,” the man continued; his face was smooth, exceptionally so, and out of place outside the city. “I ask that you ignore the halfling, she’s been following me for quite some time.”

“That’s cuz we’re going to the same place, you bald idiot!” the halfling yelled, a grin plastered on her weathered face.

“Yes, yes.” The man waved a hand. “Would you be the captain of this caravan?”

“Look,” Pavel began, urging his horse around to better face the pair. “I know exactly what you two are going to ask, and the answer is no. We’re not taking anymore people on right now.”

“On the contrary.” The man replied, reaching into a section of his robes, pulling out a folded piece of parchment. “I have a letter of passage, from the company itself.”

“As do I!” the woman said, pulling her own letter from a pocket on her armor.

Pavel accepted both, refusing to hide his annoyance. The company had made no mention of any pickups in Daggerford, or anywhere for that matter. The caravan’s goal was to reach Waterdeep so that the various merchants could sell their stock; any pickups along the way was not in the contract.

And yet, as Pavel read both letters simultaneously, both appeared as genuine articles. The company’s seal lay stamped at the bottom, and the man who had hired Pavel and his friends had appeared to be the one who’d drafted the documents. The bald man, one Azbara Jos, was to travel with Larion Keenblade’s entourage, who were already made aware of the arrangement back in Simont. As for the halfling, one Jemna Gleamstone – a name Pavel swore was made up on the spot – was to travel with a stonecutter on the caravan, a man by the name of Lasfelro, who Pavel had never heard speak before, but again, was made aware of the arrangement back in Simont. According to the letter.

Pavel lowered the documents and glared at the pair. “These both check out. Got the seal of the company and everything. But why the hell wasn’t I made aware of these arrangements back in Simont? Both make mention of your rides accepting the terms in the village, yet I was never made aware. And I should have been. And now you come to me at the last hour, just as my caravan is pushing off, demanding to be let on? I don’t give a rat’s ass what the company dictates, I’ve half a mind to say no to both of you anyways.”

“Well maybe –” Jemna began.

“Well, nothing.” Pavel cut her off, causing both her and Azbara to widen their eyes. “The only reason I haven’t told either of you off is because of these seals. But I don’t trust this as far as I can throw these.” Pavel twisted back towards the caravan, the rear of which had almost passed them. “Jo!” Pavel yelled. “Come here!”

“Sir, while I can’t speak for hers, I can assure you that my arrangements are genuine.” Azbara said. “Why you weren’t informed is beyond me, but the last thing I would attempt to do is deceive you.”

“Uh-huh.” Was Pavel’s only reply. Jemna snorted.

“Excuse me Mr. Captain,” She said. “why’d you have such a burr up your ass about this?’

“Because one of our members was slaughtered in his bed last night and I am in no mood for two potential freeloaders trying to take advantage of my caravan, Ms. Gleamstone.” Pavel raised his voice as she began to talk back. “And I’d ask that you refrain from speaking further on this matter before I tear up both of these documents.” He turned towards Jo as her horse walked up. “Jo, take these,” he handed the documents to her. “and walk Jemna and Azbara to Lasfelro’s and Larion’s cart. Get approval from both that they’re supposed to be with them. If either one is unwelcome, keep our guests off the caravan. Something happens, let me know.”

Jo glanced over the documents, then looked over the two behind Pavel, both in a state of shock.

“Sure thing.” She said, urging her horse around. “Come on you two,” she shouted over her shoulder. “hands to yourselves.”

Azbara and Jemna were forced to jog after Jo, as her horse began trotting after the caravan.

Pavel urged his horse behind them, and began to follow in their wake, a frown on his face.

It wasn’t even past noon, and already he was ready for the day to be over.