Lost Tales I

[Tobias Stalt]

A cloudy sky opened above Tobias and wind buffeted his face. Raindrops trickled all around and muddied the dirt path. Each step was more arduous than the last. The Mercenary watched as supernatural scarlet streaked between clouds.

"They say the storm's raged for a millennia or more," Orville commented. The aging mercenary was more plump now than he was in his prime, but his sword was still sharp. He wore a jerkin one size too tight, a relic of his glory days and between his lips a pipe hung limp. "Not many folks come far enough north to say if it's true or not."

Tobias looked over the meager caravan and from one guard to the next. If the road got much worse, he knew they would have trouble with the wagon. "That's unfortunate," the Dehlosian youth explained, "because we'll have to go the rest of the way on foot if the road softens any further."

Orville frowned. "Map says there's at least 20 leagues between us and the ruins," he contested. "No way in hell we can go that on foot with all the rations and tools."

"Then we take what we can carry," Tobias shrugged. "Not like you need to eat." Orville muttered something unintelligible and hung his head. Tobias took a step toward the wagon and tugged at the canvas, peeling aside the rear flap. "Look alive, gents," he petitioned to the two men asleep within, "we may have a problem."

A groan emanated from the interior and two jade eyes peered back at Tobias. "We definitely have a problem," Rosco sneered, "I'm awake and it's not even sunset yet. This better be good, Stalt." The black haired merchant rubbed his mess of hair and took stock of the road, the guardsmen, and the weather before he thrust out both arms and stretched.

Tobias folded his arms as the horses came to a full stop. "Weather isn't getting any better from here on," he told the group. "We're going to have to grab what little we need and press forward on foot."

"And someone will doubtless have to stay with the wagon," Orville added excitedly, "I'd be happy to do that."

"Of course you would," Rosco snapped, "someone who won't clean out the rations while we're gone is staying. As the client, that's my call to make."

"You heard the man," Tobias grinned, barely stifling a laugh.

Orville hung his head in defeat. "Cecil, would you mind staying with my inventory?" Rosco asked. The final member of the group lay in the bed of the wagon with his eyes closed, but they fluttered in response to Rosco's query. Several seconds passed before he sat upright, and Cecil wiped the sleep from his eyes slowly.

A blonde youth with vivid blue eyes, Cecil had less wear than any other member of the group. He wore swathing robes and picked idly at his nose, indifferent to the judgmental eyes. "Hmmm?" the boy tilted his head and strained. "Oh, right. Bad weather. Walking. Sure, I'll watch the cargo."

"He's an airhead, but he's reliable," Rosco declared merrily as he climbed out of the wagon and promptly shivered. "Gods, it got cold out here."

"Winds picked up," Orville commented, "and the rain don't help it much. Plus we've gone a ways north, away from the desert."

"I know why it got cold," Rosco seethed. "Are you a weather oracle or a mercenary, you big lummox?"

"Cool off, lads," Tobias stepped between them and clapped Rosco on the shoulder, "sorry to wake you before dark, but it couldn't be helped. We've got a long walk ahead."

"It's alright," the merchant sulked. "I just have a short fuse for morons when I've just awoken."

"Morons who you're paying to keep you alive, remember," Tobias smirked. "Best not forget that, or they might forget what they're being paid for."

"I'm not convinced some of them won't forget anyway," Rosco muttered.

"Everyone grab food and water. Orville, grab rope. Rosco, grab flint and tinder. I've got stakes and a hammer so we can set up camp, and we can carry along some of the extra canvas from the wagon," Tobias instructed deftly. "Barring any unforeseen obstacles, that should be everything we need to survive the trek."

"Done this before, have you?" Orville gave Tobias an inquisitive look.

"Long journey, days away from civilization, bad weather?" Tobias asked. "Once or twice. You get used to it when you're traveling in the Occident."

"Did you two catch sight of anything we should worry about along the path?" Rosco questioned. "If we leave Cecil behind, I want to at least be sure we're not knowingly feeding him to the wolves."

"Noticed some tracks to the south," Tobias revealed. "Several hours ago, headed east. They're not coming this way, at any rate, and I'd be surprised if they do. Orcs generally hunt further south and east, where populations are more plentiful and food is easier to come by."

"If you're certain," Rosco resigned himself. "I just don't want to lose any of my wares is all. I've got a small fortune in this wagon. My investment is precious."

Tobias grunted. "Typical merchant," he laughed. "There's no secure investments out here. Deal with it, because we're moving on."