Chance had underestimated just how long it would take to search through the camp to recover all the stolen loot, for the bandits had accumulated more than they could have imagined. More than they and the horses combined could carry, certainly. Much of it turned out to be farm produce that had been stolen or extorted from the farmers nearby; bags of grain, sides of dried meat, wheels of cheese, sacks of turnips and onions, bushels of herbs, kegs and jars of wine and spirits, all of it easy to store but not so easy to carry.
Besides the farm produce, there were spare weapons and tools amongst it all, bundles of ropes, cooking gear, rugs and hides and fleeces, and, tucked away in the hut that had belonged to the slain bandit, the leader of the camp, a small chest that was locked up tight. After a search on the body, Snarl found a small iron key. They clustered around to look as Snarl opened the lock.
The lid popped open and they were treated to a display of wealth, of gold and silver coins as well as a few rings, necklaces and bracelets, all made from gold and silver and some with gems set into them. All the really valuable ones at least, for the bandit leader had hoarded them for himself, relegating the lesser jewellery to the other bandits, the ones made of iron or bronze, while none of them carried any coins more valuable than copper.
“None of the others were overly fond of the man,” Snarl told Chance as they inspected the recovered treasures.
Chance looked curiously at the gnoll. “How do you know that?”
“I had a few words with them while you were busy foraging.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I was giving them some food and water. They’d been there a while and we couldn’t just starve them. So I had a bit of a chat with them at the same time. It's amazing what they will say when you smile at them.”
Chance raised a brow at that. Snarl’s idea of smiling was a bit different, being very toothy and prone to cause concern from those who weren’t used to it. It had a predatory look to it. “Such as?” he asked.
“Many of them aren’t bad sorts, really, just in bad company. They feared the man. Him and the sword he had. He took what he wanted, leaving just the dregs for them. He won’t be missed.”
The rest might feel way but it didn’t make Chance feel any less guilty about his death. He had been the one who had made the mistake that had ultimately led to the man’s death. Again. Just like what had happened with his brother. Just like what had happened with Amber.
The sun was rising by the time they were done with searching through the camp and collecting all the stolen goods together in one place. Snarl even took some time to sweep around the camp a bit, more out of habit than anything.
The long night of work had left Chance starting to feel tired, amplified by the guilt about the death that weighed upon him. He wasn’t done working yet, though. As the others had a rest, Chance took it upon himself to dig a grave for the dead bandit, using a shovel they had found in the camp, one that would be nice and deep. He selected a spot on the far side of the camp, away from the pool of water.
He took to the ground with a manic energy, attacking the ground with the shovel so that the earth flew up into piles nearby. It was repetitive and exhausting and he deserved to do it alone, driving himself on, digging until his limbs ached from the effort, until his brain was left in a fog so that he could not think.
My fault. The hole went deeper.
My fault. The piles of earth grew taller.
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My fault, my fault, my fault.
It is not, you know.
Chance became aware that he was not alone. He looked up from where he stood in the pit he was digging, to see that Shags had joined him. He had not seen or heard the wolf approach, so preoccupied in his work had he been. Shags perched on the edge of the pit, resting his head on his paws as he observed Chance with his golden eyes.
“I was the one that panicked and set this all in motion.”
It would have happened sooner or later, Shags told him. Bandits, by their very nature, tend to live short and dangerous lives. But I sense that this is not just about the bandit, is it? You carry a lot of guilt around in your heart, even before this. You need to let it go before it destroys you.
“That is easier said than done,” Chance responded, looking down at the pit he was in. It was deeper than he had realised, so lost had he been in the repetitiveness of the task he had lost track of progress. He clambered back up out of it. “I am going to need some help moving the body.”
We will find it.
Though the other bandits may not have been particularly fond of their leader, a couple still volunteered to help carry his body when asked, if for no other reason than to have their hands and feet untied for a while, Chance felt. They picked up the body and followed Chance to where the grave had been dug. Shags shadowed them the whole time, to make sure that they didn’t get up to any mischief. The presence of the large wolf had a dampening effect on the bandits; they were nervous around him, having seen what he was capable of first-hand. If they had considered taking the opportunity to escape, they never attempted it with the wolf watching them closely.
The body of the bandit leader was set down in the grave, and the two men were escorted back to re-join the others, secured with the grass cords again. Chance took up the shovel again and began to shift the piles of dirt back into the grave, bit by bit, covering up the body. Even when it was done he did not stop, for he collected large stones from around the place and laid them out on the grave, building a small cairn to mark it. His whole body ached by the time he was done.
He stood for a moment after he had finished the cairn, looking over the grave. “Sorry, mate,” he said simply. “I didn’t want this to happen. Just one more thing I’ve messed up on.” He knew it was inadequate but he didn’t know what else to say, what else he could say.
With a last look over the grave, he trudged back to the camp, utterly exhausted by his efforts. Not even the famed dwarven endurance was adequate to cope with how hard he had driven himself, not to mention having worked all through the night and into the next day.
He found himself a place to lay down, in one of the unoccupied tents and collapsed there, so tired that he was asleep almost before he touched the ground. He slept for a while, in a deep, restful slumber, so weary that he was untroubled by dreams, mind and body too tired to do anything but recuperate.
When he woke later on in the day, he was feeling famished. He hadn’t really eaten much during all the activities of the night and on during the day. He had been too preoccupied. When he emerged from the tent, he found Yrip and Snarl, accompanied by a couple of bandits who had their restraints removed, loading up the horses with as much as they could carry. Shags remained a distance away so as not to spook the horses. Shags nodded to Chance. “There is food waiting for you,” he said, motioning to where a plate sat near the tent entrance. “We took it out of the supplies. Bread, cheese, dried meat, pickled onions, dried fruit. Fairly basic I am afraid.”
“Thanks,” Chance replied. “You have been busy.”
“Oh, just doing some organising,” Snarl grinned. “We have worked out a way of getting everything back as well,” he added.
“Oh, how?” Chance asked as he picked up the plate of food and began to eat.”
“We get this lot to carry it,” Snarl replied, indicating the bandits. “They are coming back with us anyway, so they might as well be useful on the way.”
Chance considered it as he chewed on a piece of dried meat. It was, he realised, a good solution to their problems that he hadn’t considered. “How do we keep them from running?”
“They will be loaded down with enough so it shouldn’t be an issue, but we also have enough rope that we can keep them all together.”
Chance nodded. “As soon as I’m finished eating, let's get them all loaded up. We have been here long enough and the sooner we can hand them over to the villagers and to return their goods, the happier I will feel.”