4

Guard Duty

Kathiya liked guard duty. You simply sit there just in case something may happen, instead of causing something to happen and dealing with the fallout. It was like earning money for nothing.

She especially liked it when they used wagons. Now she was earning money for nothing while they progressed without the need to move themselves.

Some traders didn’t like it when the guards would take the back seat, but Ludgar convinced them that the best guards are the ones you never see. She had no idea how this logic worked, as there was a whole plethora of places that had very visible guards that made her think twice, thrice, and many more times after. Yet the merchant seemed convinced and let them sit in the back. It probably helps that Ves’sa sat herself atop the wagon. That girl simply cannot relax and always appears on the verge of tearing something's throat out.

If anything, having guards like these probably made the little fabric peddler feel far less safe.

Another benefit to travelling with a fabric merchant is the abundance of loose material lying around; enough so Caspar could make himself a nest and promptly fall asleep.

‘How the hell is he able to do that?’ She asked.

‘Do what?’ Ludgar responded amid his knife game with Sethel.

‘Just fall asleep wherever he falls! Doesn’t matter the amount of noise or light, he just falls and could be dead for all we know.’

‘It’s probably how he always has so much energy.’ Ludgar put his palm flat against the wagon’s bench and spread his fingers as much as he could. ‘Watch.’ The knife danced. Hopping between each of his fingers, carving out chunks of wood at each bounce. It alternated between each gap and stopped between forefinger and thumb. He jammed it into the bench and let out a relaxed breath of satisfaction. He looked up at Sethel. ‘Your turn.’

‘Appears to be a simple activity.’ Sethel began. He hit every finger. ‘It doesn’t actually hurt that much.’

‘Not when you use a spoon, no it's not. Try it with a knife.’

Sethel adjusted his shoulders and settled himself back. Just behind his eyes, a faint glow emerged. His implement raised into the air, tumbling and adjusting itself to point downward. It began thrusting into the woodwork, digging out chunks as it bounced at such a rapid pace it became a blur. Splinters flew across the wagon. It finished by dropping anticlimactically onto the floor. He sat back with a smug look on his face.

‘It doesn’t count if you use magic. And you’re still using the bloody spoon!’

‘I’m no fool! I will not let an implement like this anywhere near my finger's vicinity.’

‘That’s the whole point! You need that danger. What’s the worst you’ll get from that? A slight bruise?’

‘Spoons can be dangerous.’

‘How?’

‘It’s blunt. It’ll hurt’.

While it was amusing watching Ludgar try to argue with Sethel, she needed some air. Between the three smelly boys and the tight space, it was getting stuffy.

She opened up the heavy wooden hatch on the side of the wagon and clambered out, around, and onto the roof. She met the sun hanging behind a lazy cloud, heat masked by the cool early autumn wind. She watched as the trees trudged past, their once luscious green leaves slowly turning into shades of amber.

This is not a major road. The major roads lead straight out of Orrick and go north and meet with the others that lead into the cities. She liked that road. It flowed over rolling hills, reaching a peak where Orrick and the surrounding countryside could be seen in its splendour. She really loved seeing the way the palace almost scraped at the skyline. Something of such magnitude shouldn’t be possible, but there it was. That’s what you get when you use magical masonry.

Here it’s just trees. Boring, but understandable. Major roads are less direct and usually require a toll. The lesser known roads are riskier given possible bandit activity, yet they’re direct. This merchant probably felt more confident, having guards with him.

Ves’sa sat dead in the centre, bow within arm's reach. She always maintained such a hard look about her; like any moment meant the death of something nearby. Kathiya had never seen her relax. Then again, she heard strange stories about the falconic tribes out of the mountainous Cloudnest. Maybe they were just built differently; ready for an attack at any single moment. Maybe they couldn’t relax. Maybe this was how she relaxed.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

She did find her irresistibly fascinating. Like some closed off fortress with great iron walls with spikes on the top. Something like that always guards something good, and there was nowhere she couldn’t break into. But it’s a delicate process, and starting requires nuance, precision, and gentle persuasion; breaking the wall enough to slip in before she knows what’s happening. She would have to choose her words carefully, lest the fortress be closed forever.

‘Hi!’ she said.

Ves’sa grunted in response.

A sign of acknowledgement like that is an admittedly small start, but better than none at all; unless it was actually just a suppressed burp or something. Then it was just nothing.

‘Wonderful weather today!’ Kathiya tried.

She did not respond.

‘I saw Caspar eat a cricket!’

Again, she didn’t respond, but she gave an unsettling glare. She hoped that would have elicited a reaction of some form, and it did, but not the reaction she wanted.

Something caught Ves'sa’s attention. Her head snapped one way, eyes beaming at something deep within the forest. As far as Kathiya could tell, it was just some rustling. Possibly some of the Lessers hunting each other, but Ves'sa’s attention was fixed.

‘Trouble.’ It was nice that she said something, although Kathiya hoped she would be the one to make her say it.

She could see it now. Not Lessers, but people. Better armoured than standard bandits.

Ves'sa stamped down on the wagon’s roof, and Ludgar’s head popped out of a nearby hatch.

‘What?’ asked the head of Ludgar.

‘Trouble,’ said Ves'sa.

Ludgar strained his head to see over the roof’s edge and caught sight of the glinting metal running amongst the foliage.

‘So there is.’ He lightly ran his tongue along the many points of his teeth. ‘Ves'sa, take to the trees. Keep close, but out of sight. Wait for the signal.’ She nodded and without question leapt off the caravan and disappeared into the shrubbery. ‘Kathiya, keep up front with our merchant. Stall ‘em. Sethel!’ he shouted down into the wagon. ‘How’s Caspar?’

‘He’s been absconded by the Dreamweavers!’

‘He’s what?’ Kathiya asked.

‘Still asleep,’ Ludgar answered. He watched the distant activity. ‘Looks like four of ‘em. Armoured, but not well. Better organised than bandits, but not organised enough to be actual soldiers.’

‘So what do you think?’

‘Deserters. People who are too good at fighting with nothing left to fight. Dropped by their lords and left to fend for themselves.’

‘How awful.’

‘It happens. If you feel bad, kill ‘em quick.’ He ducked back inside while Kathiya slid her way by the side of the concerned merchant, bow hidden neatly between them. She turned to the concerned merchant.

‘Just sit back, don’t open your mouth, and let me do all the talking.’

‘Well, look what we got here!’ one deserter said as he swaggered his way up to the wagon. The merchant pulled on the reins and brought the traulls to a halt. They seemed fretful, their six legs fidgeting in place. They usually have a good sense for trouble. Clever things.

‘Good afternoon to ya!’ Kathiya said to the approaching group. ‘Looking for some fine velvet and linen?’

‘Nah, actually,’ said what looked like their supposed leader. Far better groomed and dressed than the bandits they dealt with, but that wasn’t exactly a high bar to pass. One of the canid races, but much smaller than Ludgar. She guessed he was probably a coyote of some kind. ‘After something a bit more than that.’

‘Silk?’

‘No. I’m talking gold, I’m afraid, love.’

‘Gold? Don’t be silly. Gold isn’t a fabric.’

The coyote let out a chuckle and gestured to his comrades. ‘Ya hear this girl? Got quite a tongue on her. I know better uses for it, if you want to keep it.’

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see dark shapes move through the thrush.’Oh, you wouldn’t want that.‘

‘You ain’t got much choice. Got a problem with that?’

‘Who? Me? Certainly not. But …’ a shadow loomed behind the deserters, ‘I think you do.’

A knife flew from within the foliage and struck the coyote deep in his shoulder blade, and he went down. The others turned to find the source only for another arrow to strike one other from within the opposite end of the forest. Ves’sa, armed with her bow, had assumed her usual position and perched herself on a high branch.

The deserters began to scatter, and as one was running past the end of the wagon, a yell was heard, the rear hatch swung open, and a spear launched out and caught him in his back.

Caspar stumbled out, a little groggy, but happy with himself.

‘Where'd you get that from?’ asked Ludgar, pointing to the wooden shaft sticking out of the body.

‘This? I was sleeping on it. You should check under the furs. There’s a whole heap of weapons there!’

The last was far into the forest while Kathiya aimed her bow steady.

‘He’s getting away,’ said Caspar, pointing out the obvious.

‘Not for long,’ Kathiya responded, and let her arrow loose. It shot through the air, twisting with the wind. At some point, they lost sight of it, but the glinting armour of the deserter fell into the bramble, and they assumed it hit.

‘Not a bad job, everyone!’ Ludgar called out. He turned to the merchant. ‘See? Perfectly good value.’

Something stirred behind him. Blade in one hand, throwing knife in the other, freed from his shoulder. Ludgar had no time to react, his blade was sheathed. The coyote stood and lunged.

He was in mid-swing, when something lodged itself into his neck with a satisfying “shunkt” sound. He tried grasping at it, struggling to free it from the muscle and cartilage of his neck. His breathing grew more ragged. His movement slowed. His struggling weakened.

He stopped and fell.

Ludgar approached and tapped him with his foot. Yep, he was dead alright.

He looked at the strange wooden handle protruding from his neck. Was it an arrow? No arrow could possibly have a shaft like that and operate that well. It was embedded deep and took a few tries to dislodge it. He got a good look at its rounded head.

It was a spoon.

‘Told you,’ Sethel said.