Private Tales On The Road

[Bernard]

Bernard snorted, wordlessly departing to do just that. At least the boy showed initiative. He returned with the dark haired girl. The dark haired girl. And by the goofy gleam in his eyes, it was completely intentional.

"The healer was busy with another, but she said Mia here can deal with something like this."

Mia didn't respond to the soft way he said her name, the crush clearly not reciprocated as she grunted and gestured for Thren to get himself up onto a cart. "Aye. I have some training, leave Thristle to the dire cases." She grabbed onto the cart and pulled herself effortlessly, her skirts not impeding her in the slightest. She took off a satchel and opened it up, fishing out a dark bottle of liquor.

"Is it floating, or in bone?" She asked Thren, not a smile to her face as she doused her hands in the liquor. Without bracing him, she grabbed hold of his shoulder and doused more on there was well. Once done, she offered him the bottle to help numb him up. Or just to treat him. He did have an arrow sticking out of him.

 

[Thren]

Thren took a quick nip. "It's floating."

If the bone was being it touched it would hurt quite a bit more. Instead the arrow had simply lodged itself in soft tissue, something that was more annoying to him than problematic. There was a reason he had been able to fight with it still in, a reason that he hadn't really been bothered.

"Just pull it out." The Barbarian said calmly. "Throw some stitching in the wound and I'll be set."

He would need to be.

If his assumption was right then more trouble would be coming soon. "You fought well today."

The Barbarian told Bernard, wanting the boy to get at least a little bit of credit for what he had managed today.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard blinked in shocked, then smiled widely, his teeth stained with blood. He hefted himself up onto the cart as well, needing a rest more than he cared to admit. His side was starting to become a hot, insistent pain, the boy trying to tough out a stab wound like Thren was the arrow.

"See, I told you my sword was fine."

Mia yanked out the arrow in a clean pull, pushing firmly into the wound to stopper any bleeding.

 

[Thren]

Thren grunted as the arrow was loosed from his flesh, fingers tightening around the wine skin as he took in a breath. Just because he'd been able to ignore the arrow didn't mean there was no pain. Goosebumps ran across his skin for a moment, and finally he let the air out of his lungs.

"They were bandits." He told the young man. "Don't overestimate yourself."

There would be more of them, and they might be better equipped. All these men had were some hardened leather and a piece of chain mail or two. They hadn't been well trained either. "If whoever is after that idiot sends some actual soldiers..."

Thren trailed off.

It was a thought that he didn't really want to entertain at the moment, though he doubted it would happen any time soon. They were still closer to Alliria than they were Vel Anir, and Anirian Guardsmen wandering around here would be...unwelcome by several factions.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard grimaced in sympathy, crinkling his nose as Mia tossed aside the arrow and weaseled the liquor bottle out of Thren's hands. She doused the wound again, then picked up a prepared needle and began her work.

"Then we will do it all again. I'm not afraid of them, Thren," he insisted softly, his expression becoming appropriately sober. He had seen men die today and he had taken lives himself. That was... new for him. But he remained undeterred, not even entertaining the thought of quitting the company.

"Why don't we teach them how to fight? Or you can show me magic," he offered ignorantly. "If we keep the upper hand, I know we can do this."

 

[Thren]

"There is a difference between fear and foolishness." The Barbarian said as he felt the first jab of the needle into his shoulder. Another grunt passed his throat, and then he continued to speak.

"My magic comes from my blood." A simple truth. "Unless you were born in the Spine among the Siruk you cannot do what I can."

At least, that was what he'd always been told. "As for teaching them..."

He waved his hand.

"With what?" Thren wasn't exactly an instructor. "We don't have the time, and against a soldier it won't do as much good."

He shrugged. "Worst comes to worst we'll save who we can and go deeper into the Falwood."

 

[Bernard]

Bernard frowned, growing agitated. "You're acting like its hopeless, that's messed up."

Mia worked quickly, closing up the wound and snipping the tied off thread close to the skin. She briskly applied salve to the top, then took a spare bandage and jammed it into his clothing, providing the wound some cover as it scabbed over. Her sharp eyes scanned both men, looking for further injuries she should address.

Bernard ignored this, his stubbornness giving him a second wind. "Then why don't we turn back? Why are we pushing onward if you're so sure its a death sentence. Alliria is barely a weeks ride back that way."

 

[Thren]

"Well because going back is even more foolish than going forward." Thren explained plainly.

There wasn't much complicated about this. The Merchant had a bounty on his head, and unlike in Vel Anir, in Alliria he had no protection. Sure the city guard would stop a murder, but it wasn't like they would go out of their way to save anyone.

"I'm sure we won't die." Thren added. "I'm just being realistic."

The woman behind him let out a soft chuckle at that for some reason. "We can't fight trained soldiers with only four of us, and if they send a Dreadlord forget it."

He shrugged, causing him to flinch in pain slightly from the wound.

"Pick your battles, lad." Thren told Bernard. "You live longer that way."

 

[Bernard]

"And lay back," the woman told him, reaching out to pull at the bloody clothing sticking out from the side of his breast plate. "Take that blasted thing off, don't think I don't see it," she chastised at him, silencing his protests as he opened his month.

Bernard huffed at them both, neither leveled the kindest look. He pulled at the ties of his armor, letting the plate slip to the side and reveal his surprisingly small frame. The armor had bulked him him to a degree that made the woman snort, her cold fingers insistently going to dress his wound as well. Bernard remained silent for the affair, though he did reach out and invite himself to some of that whiskey.

He retied his breast plate afterwards, the tips of his ears pink. "I still think you're wrong," he told Thren, jumping down with a wince. He shook his head and was intent to walk away and patrol the front of the caravan for a change.

 

[Thren]

Thren followed after Bernard.

There was no real concern on his face, not now anyway. There would doubtless be another ambush eventually, but not one so soon after the other. Bandits didn't tend to work together with other bandits, at least if they were not within the same band. "I might be."

He admitted.

"But, I air on the side of caution." It was how he had managed to survive nearly twenty years of mercenary work, why he was still alive. "You can't win every fight."

The Barbarian added. "And that's especially true here."

Sure they could beat some bandits, they could kill a few soldiers, but an entire Great House? No. They would have needed an army for that. Not just four men.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard shook his head again, unable to accept that. "How can you do that?" He slowed, turning towards Thren to keep his words private. "How can you look at all these people and be okay with leaving them to die? How many could we protect on our own? Fifteen? Twenty? How do you pick? How can you look at them and say something like that? There has to be another way."

 

[Thren]

"Well lad, I enjoy living." Thren stated simply. It might have been crass, incredibly so, but it was true.

The Barbarian didn't particularly care about anyone in the Caravan. He didn't want any of them to die, but if it was between them and him? Well he was no Knight in shining armor. That was something he had admitted to himself long ago.

"If they die they die." He said with a shrug. "I will do my best to protect as many as I can, but in the end I'll live with my decision."

As he always did. "No point in killing myself for an outcome I can't stop anyway."

 

[Bernard]

Bernard blinked hard at the man, his words shocking him. He stopped walking altogether for a moment, and when he resumed it was much slower. He lost respect for Thren then. The man wasn't wrong, he hadn't been out of line. Bernard just didn't like what he had to say. He couldn't swallow it. He couldn't accept it.

He was a knight in shining armor. Well. Blood-smeared armor. But he would shine it up later. And Thren's mindset? He couldn't do it.

"Then why are you even here?" He asked softly, too drained to feel strong emotions here.

 

[Thren]

"Money." Thren said with a shrug, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"I was hired to do a job." That was again the simplest truth of the matter. "Had I known all the points of that job I wouldn't have taken it."

The honor of the Siruk lay within the confines of Mercenary work. Once they took a contract that contract had to be completed, unless of course there had been a lie within that contract. On this particular occasion there had been exactly that. The Merchant hadn't disclosed everything about what would happen on this journey.

Thus there was no need to follow the Code, no need to stay. "We might have been able to do as we needed with ten or twenty more men, but four?"

He shrugged. "There's easier ways to lose your life."

 

[Bernard]

Would Bernard have taken the job if he had known all the points himself? He thought on it, but he wasn't sure. The easiest answer was of course no, he wouldn't of. He was already regretting it, and he had the new and unpleasant fear that he might not actually make it out of this. If he had just been given the details of the mission, he would have called it stupidly brash, and not have joined. I mean he wanted to be a hero, but likewise...

He liked living too.

He rejected that narrative though. Maybe it was just stress from the battle, but the thought of leaving these people to die like the others had back there... it made his stomach churn.

Thren wasn't wrong, but he couldn't admit that and he couldn't accept it, his face breaking out in a sheen of sweat at the stress. The events seemed to crash into him in that moment, the cart drivers face floating inside Bernard's vision, gurgling up blood...

He turned to the side and he vomited, his limbs abruptly cold and shaky.

 

[Thren]

Thren patted Bernard on the back. "You'll be alright."

The Barbarian's words were not really stated in a comforting tone, but rather sounding more like a man who had already been through exactly what Bernard was experiencing.

"You're in shock." It was a term that had been explained to him once by an apothecary. Something having to do with the body processing information. Thren wasn't entirely sure if it was actual real, but then again he wasn't a very educated man. Best to trust those who were.

Some of the others in the Caravan were stopping now, staring at Bernard.

"Take a breath, Lad." Thren said as he pulled a waterskin from his belt. "Drink this too."

Of course, within the skin was not water, but Allirian Whisky.

 

[Bernard]

He dry heaved, barely hearing Thren. Just blood. Just red. His hands tingled as if they carried a sword impacting into bone. He managed to get some breaths in and it all started to recede. He took the water skin, no eye contact made, and gulped.

And coughed, spatting some out, but once he was braced for what was inside, he managed another two drafts before shakily handing it back. He was aware of the stares, but for the first time he didn't care about what'd they'd think. There was something so primal in his need to just feel what he was feeling right now. There was no space for shame.

He wiped at his face, removing some of the dried blood there, and wordlessly started walking again. He didn't say anything. He didn't really want to talk.

 

[Thren]

Thren smiled, not because he was amused, but because it was the only emotion that seemed to fit. Bernard would learn in time. There was no honor in combat, no Knight in shining armor that would save the day.

There was only life and death.

It was a lesson that many did not learn until they were older, but one that stuck with you. Sometimes there was worth in keeping others alive, sometimes there was worth in sacrificing yourself, but here? Now? No. There was nothing he and Bernard could do if they were attacked with overwhelming odds.

It simply wasn't possible.

They could fight, they could die, but in the end the result would be the same. It would be better to simply run, take as many people as they could and then get into the Falwood.

At least then they would have a chance.

Wordlessly the Barbarian started after Bernard. He made no attempt to speak to him, but his stride far outpaced the boy.

 

[Bernard]

They pushed onward, not daring to stop until nightfall. They made good ground, putting a respectable distance between their new camp and the place of ambush. It seemed unlikely that the group they had encountered would be successful in bothering them now, so a sense of relief was loose in the air as tents were set up ... fires were made... the usual hubbub of nightly chores, done at a slower pace, with fewer hands.

Bernard took off his gear for the first time, placing it around him and staring at it.

He took out his rag, his polish, and a river water and started the long, monotamous task of polishing the blood and grime away. It calmed him. His head started to feel back on his shoulders, the paleness to his face going away.

 

[Thren]

Thren spent most of the evening cleaning up Larik. The Warhound was covered in blood from the battle, and if left to his own devices he would wander around in such a manner for weeks on end.

So the barbarian found a small stream nearby where they had made camp. Through a rather annoying process he managed to clean most of the blood from his hound, eventually getting the matted fur to cooperate with him. Oddly enough some of the women from the Caravn chose to watch him, though he had no idea why.

Eventually Thren returned to camp, Larik trotting alongside him.

The Merchant whom he had nearly thrown from his feet avoided eye contact the best he could, choosing to not even look at Thren unless he absolutely had to.

A frown touched the Barbarians lips. Had this been a camp of soldiers he might have suggested building a palisade, but for now the best they could do was ensure that fires burnt throughout the night. A part of him felt it would have been best to simply slip away now, leave them all, but something kept him here.

He could not have said what.

 

[Bernard]

Hours later, Bernard dawned his gear again. They were clean, free of the mud and blood that had crusted into the crevices, but it did not shine quite the way it had before. It had a few dents now, some scratches turning the once flawless surface dull. It seemed the boy had cleaned his gear but forgotten about himself. He passed Thren along the way, gesturing that he was going to fetch wood, then presumably take up post for the first watch.

"I'll wake you in four hours?" He asked gruffly.

 

[Thren]

"Sure." Surprisingly, he wasn't all that tired.

He had come down from the adrenaline of the fight hours ago, but a part of him still felt more than a little wired. Perhaps it was because he knew the danger they were in, perhaps it was simply because he knew that they would very likely be attacked again some time soon.

Sleep never came easily with that knowledge. "Watch the tree tops."

He told Bernard quietly.

"If they attack during the night they'll put archers up there first." He paused. "At least I would."

 

[Bernard]

Bernard nodded, eyes skirting to the treetops warily. He departed wordlessly, picking up an ax by the fire as he went.

The shock was beginning to recede, but he still found himself without words. He knew it was abnormal, but his mind felt too dull and blank to care. Maybe it wasn't passing. Maybe he was just weak. That thought angered him. He took out this anger on the wood he chopped, using the pain in his body to fuel his resolve.

He had almost died today, but he didn't. And he didn't want to, not ever. Knowing this now changed something in him. He wasn't sure what, but he watched those tree tops carefully, more diligent than ever.

Blessidly, the night passed in an calm blur.

The camp moved slower that morning, everyone nursing aches and pains. Bernard's face was a kaleidoscope of of colors, one eye swollen shut. His hands looked in a similar state. He struggled to even grasp his sword, several knuckles broken. He took advantage of the slow morning to nurse himself in the cold stream, the frigidness helping to gain back some mobility and dull the pain.

Still, he moved stiffly as he rejoined the caravan as it set off. He felt great shame now, aware that as every person looked at him, they'd be comparing him to the other mercenaries in much better states.

But he wasn't dead. This motivated him onwards.

"I want to train tonight," he told Thren as he came up to the man's side.

 

[Thren]

Thren took the next day in the same amount of stride as the day before. He knew that there was little he could do to change how things were, and thus fighting against the will of the gods was simply something he couldn't do. It was easier that way, to just go with the flow of the water instead of battling the current. Bernard hadn't learned that fact yet, but there was no doubt in his mind that he would.

The boy wasnt a idiot, just ignorant.

Thren had thought otherwise at first, but after spending several days with him now the truth was a bit more obvious. Young men had their ideals, the thoughts they clung to and the dreams they had. Time would change them, but for now...for now the boy would still stand up for something. Even if it would cost him his life.

The Barbarian could respect that, as stupid as it actually was.

So when the boy came to him on the next day and stated that he would to train Thren only nodded. There wasn't much he could do to help the lad, the Siruk did not fight like most men, but if he thought it would help then he would do his best.

Didn't hurt him any.

 

[Bernard]

Good, then that was that.

Bernard kept his pace besides the man, but unlike before the battle, he didn't bludgeon him with idle chit chat. He remained quiet, his head elsewhere, unconsciously leeching a little bit of comfort from their kinda-sorta-maybe developing comradery. Not that it would ever go anywhere. He was already braced for Thren to slip away. In fact, he was surprised to see him still here this morning. He didn't say this. He just walked to get through the day, his demeanor unchanging.