After his humiliating first fight against Ehran Tokugawa, Eric was more than happy to return to his normal job. The long road between Milagre and Sheran was the perfect place to sort through his thoughts and wonder exactly what his plans for the next step of his journey might be. Strictly speaking, since his fight with Ehran, his mind was already more or less set. He was determined to have Ehran teach him his own style of fighting. He couldn’t entertain any other option, now that he’d seen the deadly skill of the warrior with his own eyes.

The trip to Sheran had been wholly uneventful, save for the familiar hot sun beating down on them and reducing them all to crabby, sweaty, exhausted shells of themselves. Eric had reclaimed his position at the head of the party, keeping his eyes and ears strained for any sign of attackers lying in wait for the caravan to approach. He kept his Hide skill up constantly, as it had already proven useful in catching ambushers out.

Moran had paid him yet again, and Eric had used some of his gold, four pieces, to buy a bottle of vinegar. It was a welcome surprise to Moran, who took it with a look of awe, promising to bring Eric a sandwich once his wife had figured out the rest. Eric grinned widely and spent a night on the town with Johan. Jess had taken the night off, and the three of them had gone on a short tour of the finest food stalls by the harbor.

And now they were on their way back, having just cleared the checkpoint at the gate and pushing the horses back to full speed. It was a blustery sort of day, with heavy clouds in the sky, and a constant strong gust of wind coming in from the shoreline. It cooled the back of Eric’s neck, and, when the cold rain started, it coated every inch of his body in freezing wet. His fellow guards hunched in their cloaks uncomfortably, but he was mostly untroubled. The weather got much worse than this in Alaska, and his body could still remember some of the harsher winters.

“How is this cold not bothering you?” Johan shouted at him over the sound of the rain as they took their first break. “I’m about to freeze solid here.”

“I’m used to worse,” Eric said with a shrug. “My home is much colder than this.”

They had attempted to make a small fire to brew some coffee for the group, but by now the rain had become a proper downpour, and it drenched their few pitiful attempts to light the kindling. Johan cursed loudly, the sound of his voice nearly drowned by a clap of thunder overhead and threw his flint and steel down into the mud. The rest of the small break was spent with all of them huddled against the second cart, hunched over in a futile attempt to ward off the cold rain.

“We still need someone to keep watch!” Eric told his comrades, having to shout to make himself heard. “I’ll go first! You might lose sight of me in this storm, though!”

“Don’t go further than twenty feet!” Moran shouted back at him, pulling Eric closer so his words were more audible. “Else you’ll lose sight of the carriages!”

Eric nodded rather than try to speak and sloshed his way through the rain. It was just as bad as he’d expected. The sound of rain slamming into the earth drowned out every other noise, and when he glanced back, he could barely make out the dark shadows that were his fellow guards. A glint of silver showed as Johan took off his drenched cloak and emptied the water from his hood. Grinning in a morose sort of way, Eric turned back and went onto a small patrol, striving to keep the carts in sight at all times.

He’d been in a heavy snowstorm before, where it was difficult to see further than ten feet in any direction. But the snow was quiet when it fell to earth, and it had a tendency to mute any sound made by others. But this rain felt more solid, and he couldn’t even hear his own breathing over the sound of it striking mud and puddles. It was a moot point to try and keep watch in this, he realized. But still, he had to keep an eye out, so he tried his best.

Thankfully, metal still reflects what little light is around, and that small fact helped him spot the approaching men with enough time to gather himself. The men, whoever they were, approached from the coastline, presumably coming from Sheran itself. There were ten that he could see, six of them mounted on drenched, tired horses. Eric kept them in view as he backpedaled quickly towards the caravan.

“Sergeant!” He hollered over his shoulder. There was no reply, so he tried again. “Sergeant!”

The sound of splashing footsteps sounded, and Johan and Moran appeared out of the rain without warning. Their weapons were drawn, and they scanned the area quickly, spotting the mounted men. Sergeant Moran squinted to try to find some identifying marker, but the rain defeated him, so he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Eric and Johan, his broadsword raised defensively.

“How many did you see?” He asked loudly.

“At least ten!” Eric replied, turning to see Johan’s face set into slightly worried yet determined lines.

“You there!” A voice, one of the mounted men, called out. “Queen’s Guard! Sheathe your weapons!”

Moran made a small motion of surprise. Eric thought he understood. There was no reason for a large party of the Queen’s guard to move this early, nor to attack or detain strangers on the road. After all, the shadows of the carts loomed behind them, making it obvious that they were guards for a trade caravan. Moran lowered the weapon slightly but did not sheathe it.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Come closer and identify!” he shouted back. “I won’t be tricked by bandits!”

There was a slight pause, then the man that was riding in the lead dismounted. His feet splashed into the deep puddle under his horse but made no noise with the distance, and handed the reins to one of his men. Then they saw a burst of light as the man summoned fire into his hand, and he stomped forward. As he drew closer, they could more clearly make out the drenched uniform of the Queen’s Guard of Tyrman. Feeling slightly dizzy with relief, Eric sheathed his weapon.

“Apologies!” Moran said loudly, as he and Johan also stowed their weapons away. “We’ve been attacked in the swamps before, and we’re not far off.”

The leader of the party made a brief gesture dismissing the need for apologies and stepped closer so that he could be heard. “Are you men escorting Marvin Rainhall?”

“Aye,” Moran agreed, looking slightly suspicious. “Why do you ask?”

“We’ve come to take him into custody,” the soldier explained. He gave a signal for his men to come up level with them. “Your men are to stand down and step aside while we search your carts.”

Moran looked as if he didn’t think much of this idea, but he clearly thought it best not to argue. They were outnumbered two to one, with most of the other party being mounted on battle horses, and most likely more skilled than the guards in his unit. He shrugged heavily and gestured for the others to follow. As they came within proper sight of the cart, he signaled for the other two to stand down and explained the situation.

One of the Queen’s Guard directed Eric and Johan away from the cart, ordering them to sit beside the track. There were actually eighteen men in the group of Queen’s Guard, with the eight he hadn’t seen formed up at the rear of a heavy wooden wagon with barred windows. It was clearly intended for transporting prisoners. He swallowed nervously, wondering what this meant for the guards.

It didn’t take long for the men to find what they were looking for. After pulling Rainhall out of his wagon and restraining him, they conducted a quick and thorough search of both carts. After only a few minutes, they retrieved a small wrapped parcel, which was handed to the leader. He unwrapped it, revealing a glint of gold. He handed it back to the soldier, who carried it away for safekeeping.

Moran came over to them then, his face set into defeated lines. At Johan’s question, he shrugged again. “He’s been taken in for selling and transporting stolen goods.”

Even over the sound of the rain, Eric could hear Johan’s quick intake of breath. “Again?”

Moran nodded. “That’s the final strike, I’m afraid. I’ll have to notify the Guild.”

“He’s done this before?” Eric asked, leaning closer to join the conversation. “Why?”

“He’s always had a taste for the more extravagant goods,” Moran explained. “His family is known for dealing in less than legal trade.”

Their conversation was interrupted as the leader of the Queen’s Guard approached them, leading the two other guards. They were ordered to stand in a line, several feet apart, with their hands above their heads. Two soldiers went down the line, giving them a pat-down and searching through everything on their persons. Evidently, they found nothing suspicious, and the leader waved them away.

“You five are free to collect your things and depart,” the leader said. “Rainhall will be coming with us to Sheran to await his charge.”

“Understood,” Moran said promptly. “Are we clear to carry his carts home for him?”

“Yes. Be sure to return them to his estate, and you can collect the fee from the Magistrate.”

Moran nodded his understanding, and the men departed, returning the way they had come, quickly swallowed up by the rain. Moran shook his head slightly and gestured the others back to the carts.

“Johan, you ride with Max and keep an eye out. Eric, you’re on the rear. We can’t afford to have an advance guard in this rain. I’ll drive the second cart.”

“Why didn’t they arrest us?” Eric asked. “We’re Rainhall’s employees, right?”

Johan shook his head. “We’re employed by the Guild, on contract with Rainhall. As long as we’re not part of the crime, we’re treated independently. We’ll have to report back to the Guild before we can take on further assignments, but we’re fine. They just have to question us to make sure we’re not complicit.”

Eric went to his assigned position then, his head still teeming with thoughts. The others had hinted at the fact that Rainhall was less than honest, but he’d been shocked at the obvious sign of contraband being removed from the cart. He wondered briefly what the item could have been, but pushed the thought from his mind at once. Whatever it was, there were people far more qualified to deal with it.

They had to leverage the carts free from the mud they had sunk into, putting long planks under the wheels to pull them free. The rain had turned the entire dirt track into a treacherous expanse of mud, and their feet sunk several inches into it with each step. Eric compared it to the exhausting heat of the previous day and felt certain that, oddly enough, he preferred the heat.

Well, he thought to himself, that was just his luck. He’d found a decent, well-paying job, and had enjoyed a few weeks of normalcy before it was yanked away from him. He wasn’t really nervous about the questioning he’d face from the Guild, but he did wonder if it was possible to find another posting just as good. Perhaps he’d seek out his first training before looking again, he told himself. That would probably increase his chances.

The rain didn’t let up as they continued, trudging slowly along the long straight path to Milagre. Even the waterproof covers of the carts proved ineffective, and rivulets of water made it into the protected insides. Thankfully there weren’t many goods left, and all that happened was the piles of coin and materials got a little wet. As they were mostly metal and wood, this posed no real problem.

The thunder of sound the rain created caused them yet another problem, just as they reached the edge of the swamps and broke out into the plains proper. Eric could only just make out a strange clicking sound, like a huge cicada, coming from behind the wagon. He turned just in time to see the creature approaching, and had his weapon out in a flash to parry the first strike from its massive claws.