by J R Marshall
Dan, Nandrosphi’s son, clambered over towards me, careful not to touch my leg, and asked whether it would be a good time to clean my mail. He could’ve asked without moving, but he was in awe of me, never having seen a warrior, nor a half-orc; it was the same curiosity that people show when they saw an elf for the first time. But it didn’t bother me, even Nandrosphi’s wife, who usually kept her distance and tried not to speak, was behaving herself.
On this wagon, I knew my place as did they.
“No, lad! I think today I shall keep it on,” for regardless of the hour, my wits when combined with intelligence made a powerful concoction, and I was keen for battle. I relished the thought, and battle could come at any time.
As the day progressed it seemed to drag. I flexed my leg; the pain had gone but knowing from experience that twelve hours minimum was required, I resisted the urge to jump down and walk. It had started to rain, so Nandrosphi raised the tarpaulin over wooden arches that were themselves fixed to the sides of the wagon.
“Is it necessary, Nandrosphi?” I asked. “It’ll restrict our view if trouble comes.”
“Master, whatever you instruct, but I thought it was my duty to keep you dry?”
I left them raised, for the rain grew heavy and there were others around who would assist with spotting any potential enemy.
By midday, the rain eased and the hood was lowered yet Nandrosphi kept the wooden frame in situ.
“It’ll be easier and faster should the weather turn once again.”
People passed us by, and we were falling behind; the oxen though mighty in strength seemed weary and up ahead people were stopping.
“Is there a problem on the road?” I asked, standing to gain a better view.
“No master, I think it’s just to allow people to catch up. The animals are tired, and we can use this opportunity to give them some feed and water, I’ve nosebags hung on the side of the wagon.”
“Do we need to stop? I’m not happy delaying.”
“The oxen need the rest, master, but I’ll be as quick as possible, still half an hour minimum is best.”
Master, he called me Master or Miller, as deference dictated, and for a moment I comprehended why Grimnir didn’t always like being called ‘Lord’.
Acquiescing to Nandrosphi’s wisdom, I climbed down and tested my leg. Pleasantly surprised that the wound didn’t hurt nor was the muscle tight, I strode gently around. Okay, it wasn’t cured, not yet, but much improved.
Untying the bandage, I could see pink skin had formed over the arrow’s entry point, only eleven hours earlier a jagged hole in my calf.
Torak and two others rode up and stopped alongside. “What the hell are you doing walking about?” He seemed stern yet not unfriendly.
“It’s almost healed,” I said, turning to show him. “It was after all only a small arrow.”
“Crap!” He dismounted and walked over, looking down. “How the hell did you heal that fast? Are…” and he considered his words carefully, “All half-orcs blessed with miraculous powers of recuperation?”
“Not as far as I’m aware, just a little of Lady Bluebottle’s ointment that Lord Grimnir gave me,” I said nonchalantly, but looking at my wound, I was rather pleased if not surprised at the spectacular improvement.
“By the gods, that was generous. Damned expensive stuff, but I suppose,” and he hesitated, “you earned it.” He drew a deep breath. “Worth a bloody fortune.”
“Really?” For never having considered the cost, I had no idea. “How much is a fortune?” I asked, slightly taken aback.
“Priceless! Too bloody much, I don’t know, but more than I earn in a year, probably, that’s if you can find any.”
I thought to myself, How ignorant am I? It’s strange how you appreciate something more when the cost rises.
Nandrosphi, aided by his two sons, was releasing the oxen from their yoke, whilst his daughter was filling two nosebags with grain and hay; his wife carried a wooden pail away from the road, she had spotted a small stream, some yards off.
“They’ll need water,” she said, noticing that I watched her.
There was no need for alarm, others were milling around doing similar chores, and a steady stream of people walked across the heather, avoiding the gorse. Still I was wary, and climbing back on the wagon stood watching.
There may be no advantage in attacking a few people for monetary gain, but wild animals were entirely another matter.
Whilst watching and becoming reassured that no matters were amiss, I marvelled at the majesty of the mountain range, the Grey Mountains, home to dwarves, their white-topped summits forming a line, an impregnable barrier. What lay on the other side? Pondering, I tried to recall the stories clerics told during my years of captivity.
Nandrosphi’s wife returned with the pail slopping water over the side, and I lost interest in the others. “Is it just the animals who get fed?” I asked as she watered each ox in turn.
“I’ll find something, Miller, but we normally eat twice daily. If…” and she paused, “you can’t wait”
Git! I thought.
Her comment whilst not rude, was inappropriate. Or did I simply resent normal interaction? After a few minutes sulking I considered my thoughts churlish. Is everyone to either hate me or respect me?
Patiently I sat watching the stragglers catch up, as Nandrosphi started to oil the yoke, hoop and harness, waterproofing the wood and leather. “It’ll keep the wood sound, Miller,” he said before scraping tallow on the axle, looking for signs of wear and finally finishing he turned in my direction.
“The trouble is,” he said as he climbed aboard and sat next to me, “is that those in front will now be rested and eager to press on, whereas these poor souls,” looking behind, “will need to wait and rest as we have done.”
“I know what I would do,” and noticing Elranir, some distance away, intended to suggest it to him, should he come closer.
“What would you do, Miller?” Nandrosphi scratched under his tunic trying to dislodge something that ought not be there.
“I’d tell the bastards that the soldiers are staying here for thirty minutes longer, and if they set off without us, they are on their own.”
Watching and having calculated that we had travelled some seven to eight miles yesterday, approximately six miles thus far today, and another seven or so miles this afternoon, we would be midway to our destination, exactly where Grimnir said the greatest peril lay.
“You see around us, great wagons piled high with wealth, cloth, silks, spices, and suchlike. The horses and wagons themselves are worth a small fortune, regardless of what they carry. Where do you consider the greatest wealth lies?” I looked at my host, for I was calculating how I might rob this train, securing a fortune.
“Well,” he scratched his chin, “I would suppose those three,” he pointed off to the right, some three hundred yards farther up. “The large wagons that have stayed close to each other during the trip, they seem to have hired two guards of their own, I guess they might have the most to lose.”
“They are certainly the most obvious,” I conceded, yet wondering if it wasn’t some of the single travellers mounted upon swift steeds. There were two or three that fitted that description, staying close to Grimnir’s party, carrying what? Maybe gold, silver or gems, precious items that needed no showy display, and in the guise of pilgrims, holy men, or nondescript character. Their horses were fleet of foot.
If I were to rob this caravan, I would need to know who or what to attack before launching my assault. What would I do? I mused to myself. Knowledge is power, knowledge is everything. I would already know what I was going to do, so the enemy must likewise.
My host started to distract my thoughts, so I raised a hand, and getting the message Nandrosphi fell silent.
I’d sabotage my target vehicle, allow the caravan to be stretched, then create a diversion, a faint attack at the front, thus drawing off any guards. Goblins just wanted slaughter, hence the frontal attack, but me
n, even orcs were more cunning. Did I analyse too much?
“I need to walk.”
“We’ll be leaving in ten minutes.” Nandrosphi looked down but didn’t add anything else, knowing I was contemplative.
My helm and axe were with me, though the backpack containing my silver was left on the wagon along with the cloak. It’s hard to conceal a war axe slung over your shoulders. My sword hung at my side, and a sheathed dagger.
There would be someone, or persons already in the train spying and ready to act.
The three largest wagons were the most obvious, and I headed towards them.
If it were me I would poison the horses, or disable a wheel. I’d already decided the individual riders would be hard to prioritise with any degree of certainty, but these great wagons were the ones. My host was probably right, they were the obvious choice.
Who would attack? Grimnir had mentioned wildmen, or orcs leading goblins.
Now whilst not disparaging my own parentage, it has to be acknowledged that orcs are not the brightest luminaries in the firmament, but a few orcs were also weak sorcerers, so not totally devoid of intelligence? However, of wildmen I knew nothing, they were men so presumably the least predictable.
As I approached the three largest wagons, they seemed to have assistants, servants of their own, or perhaps apprentices for they were preparing to leave and readying in a swift, practised manner.
Crouching down, there were about twelve in the party including the two hired arms, and watching, it was impossible to see if any of their party appeared less savoury than the others. Obviously the hired soldiers did, but that was expected. Eventually one of the merchants became uncomfortable with my watching, and crying out, challenged me.
“What’s your business, warrior?” he said in a way that meant I wasn’t welcome.
A perfectly reasonable reaction, I wouldn’t want a half-orc warrior staring at my possessions, eyeing up the situation, but I didn’t reply.
I carried on looking, just watching until the merchant, becoming too unnerved called over the hired guards.
They walked over towards me, trying to project an intimidatory presence, and indeed the largest of them looked thuggish. He was about five foot five inches tall, which was average, but looked mean, ill-tempered and with scars and tattoos on his face plus a crooked nose, he was obviously used to using his fists.
“Draw your swords and you’ll regret it,” I growled, yet stood up.
He didn’t draw a weapon, but walked up too close, menacing, only a foot from my face.
“What are you doing?” But without actually waiting for a response, “My master wants you to piss off, he doesn’t like your sort,” and predictably he added, “and neither do I.”
“Frankly I couldn’t give a damn about you or your master’s opinion, but I’m staying where I am and I’ll watch your wagons as long as I like.” But I looked down at him and said, “I’ll kill the first one of you that so much as touches his weapon.”
He didn’t like my confidence, for he was used to the situation being reversed and was wroth, loath to back down. He with his companion stood staring at me, and I thought, ‘God, does my breath stink like that? until after a few seconds his courage gave way, and he stepped back, turned and walked away mumbling something about ‘security’.
The merchants carried on, glancing at me nervously until observing a small party of soldiers, one of the merchants called them over.
None of the soldiers were known to me but clearly I was the focus of attention for there were ‘nods of head’ in my direction, and the soldiers looked me up and down.
I started walking around the wagons observing the wheels and the draught horses, all looked fine, the horses showed no signs of ill health for I had knowledge of animal husbandry.
The soldiers left and another different merchant approached, introducing himself as Janras.
“Miller is it?” He hesitantly held out his hand, but I didn’t take it.
“Don’t shake hands unless there’s cause,” I said, but without anger.
“The soldiers say you slew the party of goblins that attacked the camp last night.”
I ignored the comment, there was no point in answering, but instead asked, “Tell me, Janras, how long have you known your fellow travellers?”
In a little bewilderment Janras answered that all the party were known to each other for several years, they regularly travelled together. “For security, it’s wise to stick together.”
“And the armed men, you’ve known them a while?”
Janras sensing there might be a problem started prevaricating.
“Just answer please, it’s possibly for your own benefit.”
“About three days, err, why?”
“Do you trust them? For I don’t… How did you find them?”
Janras said they had introduced themselves and for a very modest fee and free food, had offered to provide protection.
He started to make excuses. “They were travelling down to Hedgetown anyway, it seemed a mutually beneficial arrangement for all of us.” He seemed worried, and for well he might.
Idiot! So bloody easily deceived, I thought, but changing the subjected started reassuring Janras that there was nothing to fear from me, Probably truthfully, and after a little small talk left Janras’s company and headed back to my wagon.
So that’s probably where the trouble will start, I should warn Grimnir even though it’s still only a fifty-fifty chance. I hadn’t liked what I’d seen.
My small interaction had delayed the three wagons’ departure, but not by much, and as I returned I found Nandrosphi had left. Good.
Looking around I could see his oxen struggling up an incline. The beasts were painfully slow but incredibly strong, and it would be no hardship to catch up, even with a leg not quite healed, but I wanted to find Grimnir, and at least report my suspicions real or imaginary.
Grimnir was as always surrounded by opportunists and some who actually had justifiable cause to be present.
“Lord! Have you a moment?” I said as I caught sight of him; he was climbing into a saddle. Grimnir turned around hearing a familiar voice.
“Is that the warrior who drank my beer last night?” he shouted over the din and cacophony of sounds.
“It is, Lord, and I return with appreciation and thanks for making a humble warrior so welcome. Have you a minute, Lord?”
“Aye, come over here, Miller.” Approaching, he told everyone to give the invalid some room. I started limping slightly.
“Lord.” He leaned down for our difference in height was not so great, and I recounted my meeting with Janras, admitting the circumstances and my suspicions, whilst not set in stone, were still possibly sound.
“Splendid! Miller, glad you’re much improved, I’ll be passing your wagon in a couple of hours. Have a sound and safe journey.” He said no more, but I knew my concerns were not dismissed.
Allowing for Nandrosphi’s travel at one and a quarter miles an hour depending on terrain, and my less than perfect walking style, it would be more than two hours before I could catch up. Grimnir would reach me too soon, I quickened my pace.
After an hour walking along the unpaved road, churned up by the passing traffic and earlier rain, my leg started to ache slightly.
Several wagons, those drawn by horse, were faster than me, yet none seemed willing to assist and I was developing a temper.
“How’s the leg?” a voice enquired and turning around I saw Torak trotting up behind. “You seem to be limping.”
“It’s fine or will be in an hour or so, I started walking too soon, and my wagon is still some way off.”
“Get a bloody lift from some of these faster carts,” he said. “Like this one.” He waved at the nearest traveller who scowled, trying to encourage his two mules to quicken their pace.
“You try getting a lift, I’m considered dangerous and half-orcs smell apparently.”
“True on both accounts,” he joked, “b
ut I’ll sort it.”
He quickening his pace, caught the reigns of the one of the two mules, staying the animal so the cart slowed to a halt.
“You,” he said, pointing to the man to whom the cart belonged, “will allow this man to sit on the rear.” There was some protest about the weight and lack of room and fragile items, but Torak was firm and threatened to send his cart to the back of the caravan if he didn’t comply.
*
Catching up and sitting once more on Nandrosphi’s wagon, I tried to catch half an hour’s sleep and whilst Grimnir had said such a thing was impossible, I did manage to doze off.
Three hours later I awoke, and much to my annoyance had missed Grimnir. Sod it. It was now approaching seven hours before midnight; we would be corralling in approximately three hours.
“Have you seen those three large wagons recently?” I enquired.
“They passed me earlier and will be well ahead of us by now, we have been a little slow. The haw ox is struggling, I’ll need to take care these next four miles. I’m sorry Miller, we may be one of the last in.”
That wasn’t good, tonight we needed to be in the middle. Shit!
“What’s wrong with the animal?” I didn’t hide my concern. “Is there any way to speed up?”
“We rightly needed more of a rest at the noon stop, and unfortunately everyone is driving their animals as fast as they can, no one wants to be last.” Nandrosphi looked at me anxiously for he well knew the risk and was hoping I could reassure him.
Bugger. And I was planning how to prepare for a lousy position. “When we arrive I want you to stay at the rear, but as close to the road as possible; the scouts will be patrolling and it’s the sides of the camp which will be most hazardous.” I looked him in the eye. “The rear road is the least dangerous.” And then I thought. “But if you want to leave me here with the wagon and move to the centre, you can. There will be no campfire this far from the centre.”
“But a fire will keep wild creatures at bay, and provide us with warmth, and…”
“And also signal your position. Can you see in the dark?” I knew he couldn’t. “Well goblins and orcs can, so the fire disadvantages you, for you cannot see out. Creatures of the night will see you regardless.”
