place us in any unnecessary danger.”
Cassus nodded. “I expected as much.”
Jonrell turned to Krytien, jabbing a finger at him. “You’re going to help him the entire way to port.”
“What? I just happened to be leaving camp at the same time as they did,” said Krytien.
“Don’t take me for a fool. You did something to the camp; otherwise they’d already be after us.”
“Well, I may have added some of my own special brew to their mugs. It’s designed to ensure a man sleeps soundly the night before a big day, you know. But I really don’t see what that has to do with anything.” The mage ran his fingers through the few wisps of long hair remaining on his head, trying to repress a grin.
“Of course you don’t. But they are just as much your responsibility as Cassus’s.” Jonrell glared at both men waiting for an argument, surprised there was none. He added, “When will your special brew wear off?”
“In a few hours, not long after dawn,” said Krytien with a sullen huff.
“Plenty enough time to prepare for their deaths then? You’re getting soft from hanging around Cassus so much.”
The sound of hooves approaching caught their attention and the three men looked back toward the disorder. Sitting astride a white mount rode one of the slaves. Like most slaves from the Byzernian Islands, the man was very thin, and average in height. As the rider pulled up, Jonrell could make out his age by the bright moonlight, late fifties by his estimate. The man had a spryness about him though, evident by the confident way he sat upon the horse.
The slave gave a bow, showing far more control at the reins then the others of his race. “Wiqua, good to see you,” said Cassus with a smile. “Your skills with a horse are impressive.”
“My previous master had me care for his animals. I am a bit more familiar with the beasts than most of my people.” He bowed again, addressing Jonrell. “Commander, I came to thank you on behalf of my people. Your kindness is unmatched for a man in your profession.”
“Keep your thanks, Wiqua, and give it to Cassus. This was his idea, not mine.”
“Even so, the final decision is yours as commander.” The old man’s eyes glanced to each of the three mercenaries. “And pardon my assumption, but it appears you will allow us to travel with you and for that I am grateful. We promise not to be too much of a burden on you or your men during our journey.”
A loud crash ripped through the night and they looked up to the shuffling mounts of the Byzernians. The mercenaries pointed and cursed at an overturned wagon, Glacar the most vocal of all. The bear of a man threw people around left and right for not moving quickly to rectify the situation. Jonrell snorted, “Well Wiqua, here is your chance to keep your promise.”
“Yes, Commander. I must return to my people. Very few speak anything other than their native tongue.” He bowed again before riding away.
“That bowing is going to get annoying,” said Jonrell.
“Well be prepared to see a lot of him. That’s uh, the one Hag latched onto,” said Cassus.
“What?” said Krytien, gagging.
Jonrell decided against saying anything as he watched the commotion of slaves fumbling with righting the overturned wagon. He nodded at the two men. “Your responsibility, remember?”
The two men looked at each other and mumbled something as they rode. Jonrell shook his head. One Above, what did I get myself into?
* * *
For two weeks, the Hell Patrol struggled across broken terrain that hindered them at every move, and the coast still lay another week ahead. The journey should have taken ten days at most but with so many slaves and their families, they struggled each day just breaking camp, let alone traversing through the expansive plain and now into the rocky hills. Cassus had sworn to Jonrell that the slaves would not hinder his progress when they left Melchizan’s army, but that is exactly what happened. I should leave
Cassus nodded. “I expected as much.”
Jonrell turned to Krytien, jabbing a finger at him. “You’re going to help him the entire way to port.”
“What? I just happened to be leaving camp at the same time as they did,” said Krytien.
“Don’t take me for a fool. You did something to the camp; otherwise they’d already be after us.”
“Well, I may have added some of my own special brew to their mugs. It’s designed to ensure a man sleeps soundly the night before a big day, you know. But I really don’t see what that has to do with anything.” The mage ran his fingers through the few wisps of long hair remaining on his head, trying to repress a grin.
“Of course you don’t. But they are just as much your responsibility as Cassus’s.” Jonrell glared at both men waiting for an argument, surprised there was none. He added, “When will your special brew wear off?”
“In a few hours, not long after dawn,” said Krytien with a sullen huff.
“Plenty enough time to prepare for their deaths then? You’re getting soft from hanging around Cassus so much.”
The sound of hooves approaching caught their attention and the three men looked back toward the disorder. Sitting astride a white mount rode one of the slaves. Like most slaves from the Byzernian Islands, the man was very thin, and average in height. As the rider pulled up, Jonrell could make out his age by the bright moonlight, late fifties by his estimate. The man had a spryness about him though, evident by the confident way he sat upon the horse.
The slave gave a bow, showing far more control at the reins then the others of his race. “Wiqua, good to see you,” said Cassus with a smile. “Your skills with a horse are impressive.”
“My previous master had me care for his animals. I am a bit more familiar with the beasts than most of my people.” He bowed again, addressing Jonrell. “Commander, I came to thank you on behalf of my people. Your kindness is unmatched for a man in your profession.”
“Keep your thanks, Wiqua, and give it to Cassus. This was his idea, not mine.”
“Even so, the final decision is yours as commander.” The old man’s eyes glanced to each of the three mercenaries. “And pardon my assumption, but it appears you will allow us to travel with you and for that I am grateful. We promise not to be too much of a burden on you or your men during our journey.”
A loud crash ripped through the night and they looked up to the shuffling mounts of the Byzernians. The mercenaries pointed and cursed at an overturned wagon, Glacar the most vocal of all. The bear of a man threw people around left and right for not moving quickly to rectify the situation. Jonrell snorted, “Well Wiqua, here is your chance to keep your promise.”
“Yes, Commander. I must return to my people. Very few speak anything other than their native tongue.” He bowed again before riding away.
“That bowing is going to get annoying,” said Jonrell.
“Well be prepared to see a lot of him. That’s uh, the one Hag latched onto,” said Cassus.
“What?” said Krytien, gagging.
Jonrell decided against saying anything as he watched the commotion of slaves fumbling with righting the overturned wagon. He nodded at the two men. “Your responsibility, remember?”
The two men looked at each other and mumbled something as they rode. Jonrell shook his head. One Above, what did I get myself into?
* * *
For two weeks, the Hell Patrol struggled across broken terrain that hindered them at every move, and the coast still lay another week ahead. The journey should have taken ten days at most but with so many slaves and their families, they struggled each day just breaking camp, let alone traversing through the expansive plain and now into the rocky hills. Cassus had sworn to Jonrell that the slaves would not hinder his progress when they left Melchizan’s army, but that is exactly what happened. I should leave
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