Lost Tales I

[Tobias Stalt]

"How much further do we have to walk?" Orville groaned. The aging sellsword walked with his back half slumped forward and bore a hefty sack over one shoulder. Muck sucked at leather with every step.

"We've been walking less than a half hour," Rosco called back. "Maybe if you had grabbed less food, you wouldn't be complaining so much."

"It's a long walk," the fat man protested, "and we'll need our strength!"

Tobias led the trio by several meters and glanced back only periodically to ensure they kept pace. While the others bickered, he saved his energy and kept focused on the path ahead. When the sun dipped beneath the black clouds enough for him to know night crept closer, he turned toward them. "Twilight's less than an hour," he stated, "and we're making terrible time. Less talking, more walking."

Rosco and Orville shot each other dirty looks, then directed their attention forward. "We're going to catch a chill if we try to press too far," Rosco muttered beneath his breath. "We should have planned for this."

"You knew we were going north," Orville chastised. "Why did you not bring along furs or coats or... something?" The merchant's face flushed.

"We left the furs in the wagon so we could travel lighter, you buffoon!" he berated Orville, who held up both hands in surrender. "Gods, if I knew you were such an idiot, I would have-"

"I said shut up, the both of you!" Tobias shot back at the pair of them. "There's no sense in bickering over it now. We have covered almost no ground at all, night is moving in fast, and this storm isn't going to let up. It's pointless to set up camp this close to the wagon, and heading back would squander any time we've made. It's only going to get colder as it gets darker, so if you don't want to catch your death of cold, I suggest that you set aside your differences and we force a march toward," he jabbed a finger toward a rocky mass on the horizon, which slowly blackened as the sun slipped away. "There. We can look for cover, and if you two have anything left to bitch about, you can sort it out then."

The others fell silent once more. Tobias let out a silent sigh. He brushed the sopping mop of hair from his eyes and grit his teeth. Seconds stretched into hours during their silence, but they continued despite dwindling morale. Darkness swallowed the path forward just as they reached the rocks.

"Orville, help me pitch the tent beneath that outcropping," Tobias instructed as he moved toward the indicated area. "Rosco, work on getting a fire going so we can cast off the chill. Do it quickly, the wind is much less forgiving on the plain."

Rosco nodded and headed to a sheltered area beneath the rocks. He tossed some of the firewood they had brought along into a pile and struck the flint and tinder until it sparked, but they had nothing to further fuel the fire. "It may take a bit," he barked. "We don't have any kindling."

Tobias reached into the sack Orville carried and produced some dried meats. "Use this," he tossed a handful of bear meat toward the merchant. "It's pretty well preserved, so there should be some fat still hanging on. That ought to catch."

"Hey!" Orville whined. "That was mine!"

"And now we're not going to die," Tobias rounded on the older man. "Don't you think that's a bit more important than keeping your belly full?"

"Er," the older man stammered, then hung his head in defeat.

The fire crackled and burst to life, and the warm glow stole away their attention. "Great job, Rosco," Tobias clapped his hands. "Now, let's get close and shed some of these wet clothes." He pulled the shirt overhead as he spoke and spread it out next to the flame. Drops of water cascaded down his torso. "Damn, that feels good."

There came a dull murmur of assent.