Lost Tales I

[Tobias Stalt]

Thunder rolled overhead intermittently as the sky flashed and illuminated the vast plains. Tobias reclined against the rock face and drank in the warmth of the fire. He listened to the rain patter and the dull roar of Orville snoring inside the tent as he surveyed the landscape at every opportunity.

Grass could not grow where rain never stopped. The barren moor boasted only corpses of trees, bone white from when their roots were flooded. Rock and mud multiplied in lieu of flora, to the point where the Northern fringes of Kebiras were little more than barren soil. Tobias gnawed on a strip of jerky as the marsh lit up again. "Can't sleep?" Rosco stepped out of the tent and drew a pipe from his half-dried linen robes. "I can hardly blame you. That bastard is so loud-"

"Nah," the mercenary waved a hand. "Ain't him. Been a long time since I had a good night sleep." Tobias eyed the pipe and gestured toward the merchant to pass it.

Rosco finished lighting the contents and sucked in the first hit. He held it for several heartbeats, then exhaled and passed the pipe along. "Yeah?" he croaked quietly as he huddled close to the fire. "I'd heard you struck off from your father's people some six years back," Rosco revealed. "What made you decide to come back? Got cold feet?"

Tobias stared into the heat now and his gaze hardened. He clenched the pipe between his teeth and sucked in a long breath. The firelight reflected in his eyes mirrored the hell in his mind.

He exhaled as he passed the pipe back.

"Sometimes, you don't realize you blundered until long afterward," was all the answer he gave.

Rosco quirked a brow, but he did not immediately respond. His shoulders rose and held for half a second, then fell again. "Whatever you say," he conceded as Tobias blew a plume of smoke through his nostrils. "You picked up a dangerous job," he changed subjects quickly.

"When you hear the myths about the Lost Kings of Kebiras," Tobias lit up with renewed vigor, "it's hard not to get excited, you know? These are the tales our fathers told us as kids, and we're getting the chance to live them. I'd be a fool not to risk my life for an adventure like that."

"You and the old man were the only fools willing to take the job," Rosco revealed. "Cecil's a good lad, but he's followed me since we were knee high to grasshoppers. Don't think he'd be able to find north from south without someone to read a compass for him."

"And we left him with the cargo?" Tobias frowned. "Isn't that a bit negligent?"

"Relax." Rosco spun the pipe around between his fingers and jabbed it toward Tobias skillfully. The mercenary took it. "He may be a bit slow, but he's good at following orders. I've never had a problem leaving him with the shop for several weeks while I went off on business. This will take even less time."

Tobias took a few quick puffs. "I'll defer to your judgment," he relented.

They sat in silence for a time as the storm raged on, and the mercenary turned his gaze skyward. Rosco continued to nurse the pipe and Tobias sighed. "What'll you do if the ruins turn out to be a dead end?" he asked.

"No ruin in Kebiras is a dead end," Rosco contended. "No one's come back with anything significant to sell, at least, not in the past century or two on record. Way I see it, the continent's an untapped resource just waiting to be prospected." The man let out a laugh. "What about you?"

"Just along for the excitement," Tobias winked. "But you should try to get some sleep," he told the merchant. "It's going to be a long walk, and the storm isn't going anywhere."

"Sleep yourself," Rosco jeered, "I've got gold on the brain, lad. It could keep me awake for a lifetime."

Tobias chuckled. "Alright," he conceded. "I'll try to get some sleep. You do the same. We'll strike off at dawn."