The nights were chilly in Connlaoth, and Rook's threadbare clothes and skinny body offered little protection. As soon as the sun dipped down over the horizon, she was shivering, and she shifted her focus from finding a meal to finding shelter. With hardly a coin to her name save what she'd pilfered, and what money she had going toward food that didn't come from a rubbish heap, she couldn't buy a room somewhere, and city streets were dangerous at night, some areas only marginally better than others. Her options were slim and generally involved sleeping with one eye open.
She paused between two buildings, sheltering against the chill breeze, rubbing her arms with hands that were ice inside their gloves to try to generate at least some heat. Where to go, where to go. It was either sleep on the streets again and hope she wasn't intruding on someone's space (thieves, as it turned out, could be quite territorial, which newbies like herself had to learn the hard way), or maybe...hmm. She peered around the corner, hand going up to keep her wide-brimmed hat on her head (a new find from a rubbish pile, freshly discarded and floppy from use and abuse). There was a tavern down the road; she could faintly hear the sounds of minstrel music and boisterous voices.
She wasn't really fond of taverns--too many unsavory, rowdy men--but they were warm, and usually open rather late, and noisy, with lots of distractions. Most of the time, no one paid her any mind so she could loiter until they closed, and sometimes she could even sneak a drink of someone's half-finished ale, or pick food from an unfinished plate.
And they were full of drunk people.
Drunk people were stupid. They dropped their coin, or left them unattended altogether, or just didn't notice when she bumped them and cut their purse strings. It was risky, but risk was sort of in her job description. Her life had been risky from birth.
Rook took a deep breath. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and maybe tonight she'd come away with more than just warm hands.
Pulling her hat down low to shadow her face, she headed for the tavern and slipped inside. It was a full house--excellent--and blissfully warm from the fire and body heat. The serving women had their hands full dodging the advances of drunken men while keeping their trays from tipping (true skill, right there), and the barkeep was equally occupied. No one really paid attention to a new young man entering, much less one as scrappy and bedraggled as she looked. Even her scar drew no more than a brief, sympathetic look from the few men that noticed her enter. With the war dragging on, there had been no shortage of scarred, bedraggled people.
Rook lingered near the door where it was easy to bolt, warming herself and watching and trying not to fidget. Being around so many people always made her stomach twist queasily and palms dampen, but she reminded herself that she was no one, and that no one would pay her any mind unless she drew attention in the first place. Everyone was caught up in their own problems, drowning it out with ale--and how many times had she done this already, without being caught? This was far lower risk than some of her previous endeavors.
You've got this. You've done this before. Taverns are nothing. What's some drunkard gonna do even if he does catch you? You're fast. He'll be slow and clumsy. It's fine. Look at that one over there! Face in his booze, back to you, purse hanging out there. Easy mark. Just do it, go, and find another shelter. Simple.
A deep breath in, a slow breath out. Steady nerves, steady hands. Her aching belly certainly helped motivate her. So after taking a moment to scope the place out, locate potential marks, steady her breathing, and plan her route, she made her move.
She squeezed between two full tables on her way to the bar, pretending to grab the table for balance while swiping a coin left there carelessly--probably to pay one of the barmaids. Sorry, but I need it more. She sneaked a piece of cheese from one man's plate when he wasn't looking and slipped it and the coin into her own measly purse, then paused at the bar and leaned her elbows onto it.
"What's your house brew gonna run me?" she asked, keeping her voice low and hoarse--which wasn't difficult to fake, because it had been a while since she had spoken.
The barkeep looked up from where he was tapping a fresh barrel and called his answer, but Rook was hardly paying attention to the price. It didn't matter. What mattered was the act.
She shook her head ruefully. "Ah, shame. Place down the road's got it much cheaper. Thanks anyway, mate," she said, and pushed off the counter, ignoring his affronted grumbling. Turning on her heel, she made to head for the door but took a different route, heading for the lone man with the exposed purse. With a quick, practiced flourish, she drew her small, plain knife from its sheath at her hip and with a quick snip, cut the strings as she passed and caught it as it fell.
Just keep walking, keep walking. Just a little further and she would be out the door and in the clear without anyone the wiser!
Before the urchin could move very far, a strong hand darted forward, taking old of the figure's arm. Even buzzed off ale, Michael was a capable man. The mercenary had marked them as the ill dressed thief had entered but had they gone after another, he would have let the youth slip away. But it had been his coin that was stolen and the man was unwilling to part with so much silver.
The swordman rose from his seat, and dressed in a way that said "merchant" rather than warrior. It was his stance that gave his profession away, much like the thief's movements had done. He did not slouch, his tall frame towering over the clearly nervous young figure.
"You shouldn't take what isn't yours," he said, looking down at the youth. He had initially assumed they were a boy given the clothes they were wearing but being this close, their features were far more feminine, though that was less reliable an indicator than many suspected. Keeping his voice low, Michael held his hand out as he demanded, "My coin...please." All the while, he kept his old, ensuring the thief could not flee.
A hand grabbed her arm before she'd even taken two steps, and Rook could have died right then. She swore her heart stopped, her breath coming out as a small squeak, and when the man rose from his seat and towered over her...she swore she felt her spirit leave her body. She froze like a rabbit cornered by hounds, staring up at him with wide eyes that were partially shadowed by her hat.
And then he demanded his coin back. He spoke softly, but to her in that moment it sounded like he was shouting it. Caught. He'd caught her. She'd never been caught before, and a deep, primal panic set in as she realized she had no way to escape, had no plan for what to do if things went wrong--because things couldn't go wrong. But she'd gotten sloppy, hadn't she? Hunger and cold and desperation making her a little less careful, a little more ballsy. Oh God. He was going to turn her in, oh God, he'd turn her in for sure! She couldn't go back. She couldn't.
Heart hammering away in panic, she shrank back. "I-I dunno what you're talkin' about," she managed to croak. If she admitted guilt, she was done. "I didn't do nothin'. Lemme go, please!"
He could easily turn the urchin in. They were a thief after all. A brief search would see the money returned and that would be the end of it. The cut purse would cease to be his problem. It would be so easy.
Michael did not want to. He grew up in the gutter too, surviving in much the same way. Granted, his marks had usually been unconscious or dead when he robbed them but he had the benefit of size. This child likely felt like the small fish wherever they went. Especially now.
His expression had not been hard but he slipped into a calm smile. He could not let them get away with all his coin but he could offer a way out. "Oh," the warrior said in false surprise. "You mean you simply found my money? Then there should be no problem returning it." Still his grip remained tight, a reminder he did not believe his own lie.
...Wait, what?
Rook blinked, momentarily jolted out of her panic by his smile and his words. She had been braced for threats and violence, her insides a writhing mess, but...this? His grip remained firm, though, which told a contrasting story to his words; he didn't trust her.
She wouldn't trust her, either.
"I, uh..." For a moment she forgot her words. She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. Was he covering for her? Offering her a way out? But why? Her mind raced, searching for the trap, and her eyes flicked to the door and then back to him. Nervously, she lifted her eyes to his. Well, almost. She always found it hard to make eye contact, and instead found herself looking more toward a person's forehead or nose. She focused on his eyebrows. "Y-yeah. Yeah, that's right. I, um, I found it, just like ya said. It's no problem at all."
Hand shaking, she held out her other hand and jingled the coin purse at him. "Gotta keep a good eye on these things! Good lookin' out, eh?"
Michael accepted the purse back, shaking it slightly as he tested its mass. He still held onto the small thief, guaging his options. The figure was clearly underfed; their theft was likely driven by desperation.
Given his options, the mercenary's pause was disconcerting but eventually, he offered the child a small smile. "So, you brought me my money. I suppose that deserves a reward." Nudging the small figure toward his table, he added, "Have a seat, I'll get you a bowl." He doubted the youth would complain about the limited fare.
Rook had her chance to leave as the swordsman stepped away to fetch some soup and a cup of beer. The tall man's departure would prove brief when he set the food before her and took his seat across from her, finishing his own meal...
Rook considered fleeing. She had her chance when the man left, and her eyes jerked toward the door as she planned her route. She could bolt. The path was clear, she was fast, she could be gone before he knew it. It was dangerous to stay! He didn't seem mad about his money, and she couldn't figure out if he legitimately believed her or was just playing along. He had to know! So why the kindness? What if he was going to report her? But he didn't need to report her, he could just turn her in himself while he had her!
Her thoughts tumbled through her head, rooting her to the spot in indecision, and the promise and smell of food and her own gnawing hunger certainly didn't help; her mind was already fogged with hunger and she'd already made several bad decisions because of it.
Now she was making another by staying. She was still standing at the table, fidgeting, when the man returned with a bowl and beer, and she scrambled to sit when she saw him and hoped her desire to flee hadn't been too obvious. Okay. Good she had stayed. He'd been sincere about the food, and God, right then it looked like a decadent feast.
"Oh, um...wow. Thanks," she said quietly, almost a mumble, and darted a look up at him. This was so damned awkward, but her belly didn't care. Tipping her hat down, she pulled the bowl closer, shot the man another nervous look, and then quickly tucked in like she was afraid it would be taken from her if she wasn't fast.
Besides, the faster she wolfed it down, the faster she could leave.
The warrior watched the thief eat, rapidly consuming the offered stew as they sought to continue their escape. Michael scanned the room breifly, seeing if anyone had marked the pair. Thieves were territorial. Especially the strong ones. Small urchins like this were left to pick over the scraps, taking what the big, ruthless psychos decided was not worth the effort.
Though perception could not always be trusted, the mercenary saw no one who seemed to mark himself as the big fish. It seemed none would harrass the poor starving youth for the time being...
Growing bored, the tall man decided to strike up a conversation with the thief. "I'm Michael," he introduced himself. Unsure if his new 'friend' would take the bait, he continued, asking, "Are you from this area? I don't know anyone here...could really use information from a local." It seemed a weak request but he decided to make it a little more enticing when he added. "I could pay for any news on offer." The request was a thinly veiled attempt at charity; the mercenary had only objected to the loss of all his money but was fully willing to share some of it.
It was the magic word "pay" that made Rook pause, lifting her eyes from the bowl to shoot Michael a curious look. She swallowed down a bite of stew and cocked her head curiously, a little stew stuck to her chin from wolfing it down so fast, but she didn't seem to notice.
"What kinda information ya need?" she asked.
She wasn't from the area. She'd only been there a month, maybe--she was awful at keeping track of time--but that didn't mean she didn't have ears. She could have overheard something he was willing to pay for, and if not...
Well, she'd learned to be a very creative liar.
Wolfram could not help but smile as the child perked up. He had been confident the offer would land but as with most thinks, had not been fully certain. Still, seeing the stew on their chin caused the man to itch his own face as a silent hint about their growing mess.
The mercenary had failed to think too far ahead, finding he had no questions he asked. Then, the obvious answer came to him. If all else failed, he could look to his trade. There was, after all, a war going on and pockets of conflict throughout the Grand Duchy. Perhaps some petty local lord had need of soldiers, hirelings to fill his ranks and bolster his forces...or so he could imply.
"I and some friends of mine find ourselves out of work," he explained, trying to sound nonchalant. "Would there happen to be any calls to arms recently, or some other use for a warband such as mine?" It was a weak request as he said it out loud. After all, would not a call be common knowledge anywhere? He hoped the child would be too desperate to look said gift horse in the mouth.
...Nope.
Rook had nothing.
She might have overheard something somewhere, because there was a lot of war everywhere, but hell if she could remember any specifics. She was far too immersed in her own shit to care about what was going on with the nobles and military and all that. Fuck the lot of them, as far as she was concerned. All she knew was what they'd done to her--
She winced, cutting that thought off before she could go down that rabbit hole, but her expression had notably darkened. With a sniff, she wiped her chin with her sleeve, trying to wipe away the sour expression she could feel herself wearing.
"Sure," she said at last. "Might've heard some talk. Some rich bloke down south wantin' to take out some rich bloke up north or some such. Somethin' about not havin' enough soldiers and takin' all interested." Dear God, that was a weak lie, but hell if she knew the names of the local dukes and she was hoping it at least sounded plausible enough to snag a few coins from him. She took another mouthful of stew, speaking as she chewed. "Heard it in another tavern 'bout a mile back."
It was indeed a weak lie. While it was no doubt true, it was clearly vague in that could have applied to anyone. The urchin need not have even had any information an still known that much. But Michael had not really hoped for much; his organization had better resources than random waifs that survived on thievery.
Rather than call the clearly famished child out, the mercenary nodded, as though this was useful information. "I had heard something of the sort..." he said, mask of sober contemplation in place. "I was heading south anyway, so it may be worth looking into."
It was a charade, but enough of one to merit some coin and the swordsman took up his purse and counted out a few ounces of silver, sliding the money across the table. Though not much too him, it would likely seem a substantial sum to the thief. "Be careful with it," he advised. "Some desperate folk might decide they deserve this more than you." He himself had killed for less...
His hand retracted quickly to avoid drawing attention to the gesture as he leaned back in his seat.
SILVER?!
Rook's eyes went saucer-wide as the man slid her the coin, and she snatched it up fast and stashed it away with quick, paranoid looks around at the other patrons. She was no fool; she knew its worth and its danger. She'd gotten into scraps with ruffians who looked ready and willing to kill over a dry spot in the alley, much less silver. As much as that silver was salvation, it was also a death sentence if she wasn't careful.
Silver! Was he serious?! Silver, for something so flimsy! And to just hand it out so frivolously! This man had money.
Unless it was fake. But no way was she going to bite it to check it now.
Heart beating fast, she nodded at his words, mumbling a quiet, "Thank you." Silver. Was there a catch? Was this a trap? There had to be something more to it, something she was missing, the paranoid part of her mind said, but she couldn't yet see it.
But as she began to calm, she remembered something else he had said. Something before the silver, that had caught her attention. She took another bite of stew, hand slightly shaky--she was still in shock!--and swallowed it down. "You, ah, ya said somethin' 'bout going South?" she said at last, looking up at him beneath the brim of her hat. "How South we talkin'?"
Michael caught the child's sudden interest, and wondered briefly. It was not really a hard puzzle to solve. Many were seeking the borders - Serendipity usually - to escape the unrest. It was a convenient coincidence...
Keeping his impassive mask in place, the warrior sipped at his beer before offhandedly commenting, "Pretty far. I'm pretty far afield but my group like to stay busy escorting merchant on the road from Serendipity. I was thinking about picking up a contract on the way with some merchant caravans. Make the trip home worth the time."
When the mercenary glanced back toward the thief, he cocked a pale eyebrow, fixing them with a curious glance. "Why do you ask? Making plans to head somewhere yourself?" He knew they might find any prying off-putting, but wanted to leave them the opening to simply mention their plans.
Rook bit her lip at his question, her chest tightening with a pang of panic that maybe she had given away too much information. But then again, she had made her intent obvious in her questioning, hadn't she? And his question sounded casual, just a natural follow-up to the conversation, and by God was she being paranoid! But she couldn't help it; she had to look for traps wherever they might be hidden.
She let her breath out slowly, and some of the tension in her breast loosened. Calm down. Stop being so jumpy and obvious.
She took a few more bites of stew to regain her composure, and frowned at her bowl when she saw she had reached the end. Lifting the bowl to her lips, she tipped her head back and drank the last meager drops, and would have licked the damned bowl if she didn't have an audience. At least she still had some pride.
"Yeah," she said as she set the bowl back down and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Lookin' to go anywhere but here. Country's goin' crazy fast, so..."
Aw, shit. She was probably equally crazy for what she was about to say.
"Uh, don't reckon you could point me the way?" She looked at him quickly, eyes meeting his. "Promise that's it! I won't follow you or nothin'. Just show me which way to go and I'm gone. I'll stay outta your hair."
It really was crazy: a seemingly helpless waif was a prime target for marauders and the like, and it was unlikely they would simply let an easy target walk by simply by looking poor. The war drew resources away from internal security so the danger of such outlaws was growing increasingly prevalent.
Finishing his drink, the tall mercenary fixed the child with an almost chastising look. "You know how dangerous it is to go alone." It was not a question so much a statement of fact, an assertion that they knew better.
The harshness of the warning drained away quickly as he shifted his aim. "If you must know, the Ash Guard have camps dotting southwest Vythe. You'll know us by our banners; green and yellow with crossed rifle and spear..." Though he fully intended to allow the begger to travel with them when the time came...
Rook's heart beat fast, now from excitement rather than fear--though a healthy fear still remained. But now, wedged right beside it was a sense of hope. She might actually have an out, here. The guy had said he was escorting merchants from Serendipity--and Serendipity was exactly where she needed to be. They didn't persecute mages in Serendipity, didn't execute them, didn't...experiment...on them.
Of course, she didn't really have much of a plan. She was making everything up as she went; she didn't have the luxury or resources or time for planning. She knew it was going to be a long, hard journey through the mountains and she knew she was woefully under-equipped for that: no food, no supplies, just the clothes on her back and the coin he'd given her. Would that be enough to buy some necessities? She had to try. Staying here was a death sentence. Trying to cross into Serendipity very well might be, too, but the possibility of death was better than the surety of it.
If she could maybe just follow his crew from a distance, keep herself scarce and out of their hair...they'd never even have to know she was there!
"I know," she said as she dragged a finger through the broth left behind in the bowl, eager to mop up every last drop. She licked it off of her finger. "But it's okay. I'm used to danger. I'll be fine."
She paused as soon as the words left her mouth, a puzzled look crossing her features. She narrowed her eyes just a little as she looked at the man again--part suspicion, part curiosity. "Wait, what do you care, anyway?"
Michael's reply seemed non-committal as he simply shrugged at the child's incredulity. "Wouldn't anyone?" Perhaps their usual misfortune's had tainted their understanding of even vague kindness. Though it might have had to do with him being a mercenary...Either way, he could not force them to accept aid, no matter how misplaced their concerns.
A more simply dressed man had just entered the tavern, making his way to their table. Michael recognized him as a fellow Guard, specifically, one of the Jaeger scouts. He had news to relay and quickly bent to the Lt.Colonel's ear. It appeared that the scouts had raided a shipment of gunpowder headed toward the capital; this was good news as it gave Wolfram an excuse to head directly back to camp.
Retrieving his beret from the seat next to him, Michael fixed the urchin with an appraising stare. "Duty calls but if you change your mind, by offer stands. Meet us by the south gate around dawn and I'm sure we can find some work for you." With that he began to leave, needing to make arrangements for an early start. The scout seemed mildly confused but had little cause for question.
Wouldn't anyone? Rook didn't answer him, but the answer rang out in her mind as a resounding, fuck no. No, most people wouldn't care. Or maybe they would care, but they wouldn't offer to help. Most people had their own problems. They had their own families to worry about before they could consider the struggles of a stranger--and there was no telling if that stranger might be a risk to them, anyway.
She was a risk to them. And if people knew what she was, they would turn on her. And if they tried to hide her and were caught, they would be punished, too.
The man soon left with those final parting words reminding her of his offer, and Rook hunkered down over her drink. No. She couldn't risk it. She couldn't go with them. It was an offer that was too good to be true which meant there was a catch. People didn't just offer aid to strangers! No, she had to do this alone. She couldn't risk the danger to herself or others. She could do this. She could.
She'd gotten this far on her own already, hadn't she?
She stayed in the tavern until it closed, soaking up its warmth and shelter for as long as she was able, but after midnight it cleared out and she, like the other patrons, filtered out into the street. But while they went home to their families and cozy beds, she remained on the streets. Oh, she could have easily afforded a room for the night with the money that man had given her, but she wasn't ready to give up a cent. She needed to get by for as long as she could without paying, so that she would have the money when she absolutely needed it, and if that meant sleeping in an unsafe alley with one eye open, then so be it. That was the risk she had to take.
That night, she slept behind the tavern between piles of rubbish, and though it smelled horribly it provided a wind break from the cold. With her back to the tavern, she curled up tightly and shivered through a shallow sleep, and couldn't help but wonder how long she could keep going.
She woke while it was still dark to the sounds of a glass shattering as two drunkards shouted at each other, snapping awake from a fitful sleep to full, heart-pounding alertness. That was her cue to get moving; she didn't know what the fight was about, but she didn't want to get caught in it. Quickly making sure she still had her coin, she scurried out from behind the tavern and onto the street, tired and cold and aching and hungry all over again.
Meet us by the south gate, he had said. With her hands and toes numb from cold and belly growling, it sounded more attractive a thought by the second. Maybe...maybe she could just take a look? See how legitimate it was? Ensure it wasn't a trick? She didn't have to commit to anything; she could just look. And maybe...maybe Michael wouldn't be opposed to, er, one last meal? Maybe?
Her face heated with shame at the thought, but she wasn't ashamed enough to stop walking.
She made it to the south gate just as the rosy light of dawn broke through the clouds. Sleep-deprived, hungry, and sour-smelling from a night spent sleeping among trash, she trudged doggedly on until she caught sight of the banners--green and yellow, he had said? That must be them. She pulled her hat down to shield her face, fresh nerves adding to the gnawing pains in her gut. Maybe she shouldn't go there. Maybe it was a trap. Her experiences with military types gave her nightmares still, but...
They weren't the military. Right? They were different. Not Mordecai. Not Adhara.
Right?
She crept closer to the camp and took cover behind a small copse of trees, her heart hammering away as she watched them and tried to decide what to do. How was she supposed to even approach them? Just walk up like a fool and say, "Hi?" God, she was completely out of her comfort zone, but...she thought she could smell food...oh God.
What reason would Michael have to trick you? another part of her mind whispered over the paranoia like the croon of a siren.
This could be her ticket out of this country.
Or it could be her death.
She might die anyway, right?
Fuck.
Fuck it.
Shoving off from the tree, she rolled her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and stepped into view with both hands held up, palms exposed and fingers splayed. "Uh. Hi?"
The camp, made up of around two dozen soldiers, did not originally react to the stranger from town, remaining focused on their various tasks. Many were saddling their chargers, while a pair took turns monitoring a pot of porridge that boiled over the campfire. Rook's contact from the night before was nowhere to be seen but one of the cooks gave the boiling mess a final stir before giving a sniff and turning to the urchin. "Well, you're a right mess," he accused, giving a somewhat mocking sneer, a shallow scar on his lip made more apparent by the expression.
"Must be the kid the Colonel mention," came the voice of another of the riders, this one still fastening his stockings. His interest in the newcomer waned in moments as his focus shifted toward breakfast, taking up a nearby plate and haphazardly piled it with his own pewter spoon.
"Right," acknowledged the cook as more of the Guards came over for their own portions.
The assistant seemed to be far more attentive than the cook himself, grabbing up his own plate and offering it to the urchin. "The Colonel isn't here yet but you're free to have eat with use until he and the wagon get here..."
Kid? Inwardly, Rook bristled. She was no kid, not with the shit she had dealt with. But she held her tongue and bit back the annoyance, because now was neither the time nor the place and...well, she supposed they weren't wrong. She was scrawny as hell from lack of food and too little sleep, and her voice was too high to be a man's voice, but passable as a younger boy who's voice hadn't cracked. Better a kid than a girl.
She couldn't refute that she looked a mess, though. She smelled it, too.
And she also smelled the food.
It was just bland-ass porridge, but she could see the steam rising off it and shivered. Fuck. Like a starving stray dog, she could totally be bribed with food despite her better judgment.
Slowly lowering her hands as their disinterest in her sank in, she rolled her shoulders back to ease the tension. Alright. Okay. These guys really didn't give a rat's ass about her. The rider was busy with his meal after that quick acknowledgment, and the cook seemed wholly apathetic after his quick assessment. Rather than be put off by that, Rook felt like she could finally breathe. She could deal with that. She preferred that, if anything. The less scrutiny, the less she had to talk, the better for her.
She folded her arms across her chest, fingers tucked in her armpits to keep them warm as she stood there awkwardly, not quite sure where to go from there. While she wanted to ask after that porridge, she also felt weird butting in. After all, these men seemed content to ignore her, and she didn't want to draw unnecessary attention. She could wait for Michael--and wow, how the tables had turned there. Just hours before, she had been terrified of the guy, and now she was anxious for him to show up. He was a familiar face, after all.
The cook's assistant jerked her from her thoughts, and she blinked in surprise as he held out his plate to her.
"Oh." Thank God! "Uh. Thanks?" Rook winced at her own words. Goddamn, she was acting like she'd never talked to another human being in her life. She accepted the platter, warmth seeping into her cold hands, and cleared her throat to try again. "I mean, uh, thank you. For the food."
She blew on the porridge to try to cool it, and gave the assistant a curious look. "Is the Colonel...Michael?"
Because she wasn't all educated on what ranks and shit meant, but that sounded...important. Official. Like he wasn't just a grunt here.
The creaking cacophony of an approaching wagon signaled the arrival of another newcomer, though this time the familiar form of the tall swordsman - made to appear even taller by a trio of feathers pinned to his beret - was more apparent. "That's Lieutenant Colonel to you dogs," the officer snapped as the vehicle rolled to a halt. Whatever sat in the bed was hidden under a canvas tarp already, so it was impossible to tell what was there.
Wolfram quickly swung down from the bench as his drive set the break, the soldiers that had been waiting for his return clapped their shoulders in salute, to which the officer waited a moment to respond in kind, releasing them from their stance.
Professional obligations out of the way, Michael joined the famished waif by the fire, setting aside his ornate cap. His men were already preparing for the journey south and besides, forcing them to skip breakfast would only hurt the party in the long run. "Glad to see you made it," he admitted, taking a seat in the grass, making sure to adjust his scabbard so that it did not stab into the ground. "Welcome to our camp. Sorry I wasn't here to greet you; had some supplies to pick up before meeting with the main column."
The cook, having spooned out another plate of porridge, handed dish to the officer, which the man received with a nod before giving it a taste; it was less bland than someone might expect, sweetened with some wild herb... Glancing toward his guest, he asked, "So, will you be accompanying us along the way?"
…Oh shit. Michael was really important.
That much was clear when the wagon rolled into view and everyone saluted a familiar man—none other than Michael, the guy at the tavern that she had tried stealing from. Getting caught stealing from a soldier had been bad enough, and though he had let it slide, her stomach knotted at the thought of just how badly that could have ended for her had he been a different kind of man. It was also a stark and abrupt reminder of just how crazy she was to go along with this. These were powerful men. She might not understand how powerful, or how they were powerful, or where they fit into the grand scheme of things—she had never paid any mind to nobility or military or any of that shit—but it was enough to be intimidating.
For a moment Rook froze, unsure if she should also salute. Damn, he wore a fancy hat and everything, and if there was one thing she knew, the fancier the hat, the more authority! Or something. Shit. Should she be saluting? Well, it was too late now. The moment passed while she still scrambled for an answer, so she shoved a bite of porridge in her mouth instead. Was that rude? Hopefully that wasn’t rude, but also…she was hungry as hell.
Just act normal. That’s all she had to do. She looked up from her plate as Michael approached and gave him a small nod of greeting, swallowing down a bite of porridge. “S’alright,” she said. “Weren’t waitin’ long.”
He sat, and Rook edged a little closer. She stayed standing, still filled with too much jittery energy to sit, but then thought it might be disrespectful or something to stand over him, so she crouched down on the balls of her feet instead. For all her nervous energy, for all that it was intimidating learning Michael was some important guy, she felt more at ease now that he was here, like a lost duckling reunited with its mother. He was a familiar face among all the new ones—and he’d been kind to her when he sure didn’t have any right to be.
At his question, she nodded. “If that’s still okay? It’s alright if it ain’t. You can change your mind.”
Some small part of her hoped he would. That he would give her an easy out. Traveling alone was dangerous and terrifying—but this was scary in a new way. Like, what the fuck was she doing? She was a woman among a bunch of soldiers. A witch, at that. They might not know all of that, but if they did, things could go badly and fast. But traveling on her own was even more suicidal, wasn’t it? This was her best bet, right?
But it was hard to trust others, and hard enough to trust herself half the time.
"I've got no problem with it. We just happen to be going the same way," Wolfram reminded. None of the soldiers seemed to take issue with the suggestion, either. He took another spoonful of porridge, tasting the nutty hint of almond milk. He favored the guest with a brief glance, marking that she bore no luggage. "Besides, you seem to be traveling light and we have plenty of food to spare on the way."
Truthfully, they didn't but most of their subsistence would come from foraging anyway so one extra mouth was not all that much extra demand. Finishing his breakfast, the mercenary rose. "Eat up," he advised his guest. "We'll be ready to head out in 15 minutes."
He still had one more thing to get ready: grabbing a set of saddle bags, Michael pulled off a few cotton-wrapped bundles before tucking them into the wagon. He would need his helm and breastplate - a light harness for traveling - in case of emergencies and one of the other men helped fit the in place. The last wrapped package was long, slipped into the wagon over the seat, where it might be easily reached...
Fifteen minutes was more than enough time for Rook to wolf her porridge down with all the gusto of someone who didn't know where their last meal would come from—or when it would be. She could have easily gone for seconds or thirds, but she knew better than to ask for more. Not just because she wanted to make a good impression, but because she knew her stomach couldn't actually hold as much as it wanted to hold. Especially not after days of lean pickings.
Inhaling a meal only to barf it up as waste would not a good first impression make.
When she had scraped her plate clean with her spoon and then her fingers, she rose from her crouch stiffly, stretched her legs, and then looked about for the cook. Michael was off doing important person things, she imagined, so she was left to figure things out on her own.
The food settled heavily in her belly, and actual nourishment settled some of the jitters that had been caused from hunger. All that was left was the usual anxiety, and she swallowed it down as much as she could as she shuffled toward the cook and attempted to human.
"Um, I'm not sure what I should...?" She held her plate out, head cocked.
The assistant quickly intercepted the outsider, giving a light smile and a "thank you" before taking the used dish and setting to scouring it with a sandy rag. The cooked did not seem a particularly personable sort, so the younger man took it upon himself to speak with their guest. "I'm Tobi," he finally introduced himself. "You got family in the south?" he asked, his youthful curiosity seeming genuine: he could not be much more than 22 years old.
Around this time, a lightly armored rider came into camp as a gallop. Some of the other soldiers favored the man with a glance before recognizing him and returning to their tasks. The horseman did not bother to dismount, simply mentioning that the roads to the south were clear. One less problem for Michael to worry about.
As the scout again wheeled around and rode off, the commander passed a sideways glance toward the girl. Matron's Hollow as comparatively stable and the mercenaries had strength in numbers. Bandits and highwaymen were a rare issue. More concerning is whether the girl he had picked up was an unmarked mage. Alexis had done a good job of recruiting men who were not so loyal to the church and the Grand Duke. But old habits die hard, and if they ran into mage hunters, his men's skill might quickly mean nothing...
Errr. Come to think of it, Rook hadn't thought of a cover story as to why she wanted to go South. She hadn't exactly been planning on traveling with other people, so the need just hadn't come up. And she had been hoping to just keep a low profile in general and talk as little as possible, but...that probably wasn't going to be possible, traveling in a group like this.
Of course people might be curious about the random new person.
Luckily, it was easy enough to think one up on the fly. The war had produced a lot of suffering, after all, so she didn't have to hesitate long. She winced and rubbed at her scarred cheek, shuffling her feet. She would just have to keep it simple, and mix the lies with truth. But simplicity was the key to a good lie. Simple enough to keep it straight, remember what she had said, and not get caught in inconsistencies.
"Ah...yeah. An uncle. Parents are all gone 'cause, well...y'know...everything." She lifted her arms in an all-encompassing gesture, shoulders slouching as she let her arms drop.
"Anyway, I'm Rook. Ya ever been down South before?" And then, glancing over as the rider left, she added in a lower voice, "And what's all that about?"
The war had many orphans, and it was no surprise this young boy would count among their number. Still, Rook seemed to be coping rather well. "Sorry to hear that," the young mercenary offered anyway.
"Anyway..." Tobi piled the clean bowl into a hard leather case and made one last scan of the area. "I've never been to Vythe, but most of the others have. I only joined up a couple of weeks ago, so I still don't know all the ins and outs."
Before the youth could make a comment regarding the horseman, Wolfram came up. "Gun powder," he said simply. "Whole lotta people might be tempted to rob us if it seemed like an easy way to get their hands on it. Scouts keep it hard." One of the other men snorted at the lewd sounding statement; Michael could only roll his eyes at this.
Most of the men were foot soldiers, slinging their large satchels and grabbing their halberds and spears before taking up position around the wagons. "Shall we?" he finally asked, directing Rook toward the wagon they would be riding. It would be a long trip, and there was no use standing around if they did not need to.
Gunpowder! So that's what they were transporting? Indeed, she could see how that would make them a tempting target. But more importantly...well...she didn't know much about the subject of firearms and all that, but she did know the stuff was explosive even outside of a gun...
Rook shot a wary look at the wagon that contained those mystery bundles, and swallowed.
Gunpowder.
Fire made gunpowder explode.
Of course it would be her bloody luck to travel around a bunch of fucking gunpowder.
Nope. No. Nooope. Don't think about it. Thinking about fire too much always made fire happen. She didn't fully understand it, didn't want to understand it, and especially not now. Or ever. She curled her hands into fists, thumbs rubbing over the tops of her fingers and the old burn scars there, outward reminders of the sin inside her.
"Oh...yeah. Makes sense. Heard that shit's explosi--er, expensive," she said with a wince. She waved goodbye to Tobi before she followed along with Michael, climbing aboard the wagon and quickly getting settled, doing her best to take up as little space as she could. She didn't know how many others would be riding inside, and she knew she was already one extra body they didn't plan on transporting, one extra mouth to feed.
Right now, she was basically cargo. Cargo that used resources.
Taking off her hat and settling it across her knees, she spoke without looking at him. "Hey, uh, Michael? Look, thanks for doin' this. Seriously. Ya didn't have to, I stole your stuff, you basically paid me, and now, uh, well..." She fidgeted with her hat. "If ya wanna put me to work, I can do things. Earn my stay, right?"
She was never good with idleness.
(
@Rhindeer )
There was not nearly enough room on the wagon for more than the two of them, the bed full up with barrels of black powder concealed beneath canvas. The rest of the small band had swiftly piled the last of their bedding in alongside their cargo as they took up positions alongside, prepared to walk rather than sit upon the uncomfortable contraption.
There was not much more they needed help with, and Michael found himself scratching his chin at the waif's offer. With a glance to his reins, he offered the leather straps to Rook.
"If you're up for driving, I'd take my chance to nap. Didn't get nearly enough sleep in last night." It was not a difficult job; just a matter of keeping the oxen from leaving the road, though Rook would likely be begging for a different job before long.
The warfighters made no apparent notice of the eyes that watched them slowly trundle away from the city...
"What? Drive? Me?" Rook blurted, staring down at the reins like he was offering her a loaded rifle. She flicked her eyes from the reins to his face, trying to gauge if he was joking, but he looked pretty serious.
"Uh, really? Ya sure...?" But even as she said it, she took the reins, because she would feel kind of bad saying no after she'd offered in the first place. Especially after he said he was sleep-deprived! At this point, she felt fully obligated to be as helpful as she could, because if she was helpful and useful, it was less likely they'd get tired of her and drop her off on the side of the road somewhere. Taking over a task so someone could sleep was a Useful Job, right?
She stared out at the oxen ahead and tightened her grip on the reins. "Er, so...what do I do?" She flashed him a sheepish look. "Sorry. I ain't even rode a horse, much less drove big animals like those guys. I'm not gonna crash us, am I?"
By now, Michael had pulled is flamboyant beret down over his eyes. Luckily for Rook, the cook took position beside the wagon. "He's just screwing with ya." A few of the other men could not help but chuckle at Rook's apparent predicament. "Beasts know where they're goin' as well as we do. Just tug on a strap to turn them and shout 'whoa' to get 'em to stop. And..." The mercenary grabbed a stock-whip from a cup holster next to the seat. "This will help get them moving." He gave the device a sharp crack to spur the oxen forward, though they were in no hurry, giving the man ample time to return the whip to its holster.
The soldiers easily fell into step as the wagon began to trundle along; even Rook would likely be able to keep pace with large creatures. "Boss'll be up by the time we need to make camp," Tobi said, having taken up a position opposite the former.
"That's Lieutenant Colonel," the officer drowsily corrected from beneath his feathered hat.
Oh Ansgar, Michael was already settling down to sleep and didn't seem keen to answer. Surely he wouldn't leave her to the task if she could royally mess it up, right? Right?
The cook spoke up then, and confirmed as much. Ah. He was screwing with her. Really. She shot a brief, accusatory look at Michael, but she couldn't even be mad. Haze the newbie was a time honored tradition in most places, and she was just relieved that this was apparently a job she couldn't fumble--at least not without trying to do exactly that.
Rook forced herself to relax, feeling a little sheepish for thinking there was any way in hell she'd be given a job with any actual responsibility, and trusted the beasts and the other soldiers to lead the way since she had no idea where they were going. Staring ahead at the oxen, fighting back the rising heat in her cheeks, she said quietly for Michael's sake, "Speaking of camp and all that...how long does the journey usually take?" She cast a sidelong glance at Tobi. "Ain't never been too far from home, so...just curious."
The young mercenary scratched his chin as did the math in his head. "Shouldn't take too long," he suggested. "Prob'ly couple of weeks, maybe three, maybe three if the weather sours." Many of the other soldiers nodded or mumbled in agreement.
"Of course, we'll stop for supper before nightfall but if you get hungry, feel free to grab a snack." To illustrate, reached behind Rook, pulling a handful of dried fruit chips from a container just behind her.
Had the young driver had a mind to, Rook might have noticed Tobi looking back along the trail at a subtle flash reflecting off of distant metal...
Three weeks! And Tobi acted like that wasn't a long time! For Rook, it would be the longest journey she had ever taken and the furthest she had ever been from home.
If she could even still call it home.
Never one to say no to food, she was happy to take Tobi up on his offer and grab a handful of fruit chips, and she somehow managed to do it without taking her eyes off the road. The beasts may be doing most of the work, but she couldn't help but take her new job seriously. It would be her luck that the one time she looked away would be the time something bad happened!
It was perhaps because she was so focused on the road ahead that she didn't notice what Tobi was focusing on behind them. She popped a piece of dried apple into her mouth.
"Where do y'all sleep at night?" she asked as she chewed. "Like in the wagons or...?"
@Rhindeer "Huh?" Tobi's attention returned to the young driver as he searched for an answer. "Oh, no. We just sleep on the ground...I guess you could borrow one of our bedrolls if you wanted when we aren't using it."
In time, the sun began to settle against the horizon and the soldier beside Rook stirred and swept his hat out of his eyes.
"That time already?" he muttered.
"Pull off to the right here," he instructed, gesturing to a clearing beside the road; the ideal place to set up camp. By this time, there was already a small campfire set by the scout, who was brushing out his horse.
The man who had been tending to the pot earlier strode forward and the scout pulled up a bunch of rabbits and wild vegetables so that he could start on supper. After all, the men were likely famished.
"Tobi, Hans, Jann; you're all on first watch." Michael slung himself down from the seat of the wagon, preparing to unyoke the two beasts for the night.