Morwyn was a bit uneasy at just how quickly and completely her circumstances had changed. She'd spent most of her life adapting to one hardship or another but this was different in that it was a stroke of massive good fortune, or at least appeared so on the surface. Argoth's instructions were simple: she was to guard the right flank of the column, alert him to possible threats, and assist the caravan through or around obstacles as needed. Argoth himself guarded the rear and would assist stragglers, while Eronir aided Rennock at the front and Lady Trux secured the left flank. It was a straightforward escort job, the likes of which she'd done many times before, yet at the same time she couldn't help feeling that it was too good to be true.
No one paid as much as she was given for a simple caravan escort, and for the equivalent of a thousand gold as only the first half... There had to be something else to it. She could live off the down payment alone for years, yet nobody in the caravan seemed remotely worried that she would take the money and run. Not that she would, but she'd worked with other sell-swords who would have at the first available opportunity. That was one of the reasons she'd decided to work alone years ago. She'd barely made it out of that job alive once the others had fled with their shares.
And try as she might, Morwyn couldn't begin to fathom Rennock; tossing around fortunes to strangers on the street while dressed as a commoner, taking dozens of people into the wilderness... None of it made sense. He didn't have the air of a wealthy merchant nor that of royalty though he clearly held authority over the group in some way. He seemed to be naught but a kindly old man... that apparently had access to a small fiefdom's worth of gold. Though the members of the caravan were friendly toward her, they certainly weren't willing to answer her occasional probing questions about her employer or their destination either.
Toward the end of their first uneventful day of travel, as Morwyn vigilantly scanned the rolling hills to the south and puzzled over whether or not this whole operation was a front for drug smuggling or trade in illicit magical goods, she caught her first glimpse of the sea far in the distance. Her heart grew heavy with homesickness for the briefest of moments. These were not the same waters that surrounded Skeldrûn anyway. The climate here was far milder than the one in which she grew up. She did miss the fjords, the mountains, the forests... the wild places. Far from other people.
The caravan came to a halt shortly after and began to set up camp on the north side of the road where the ground was flat and the trees were spaced far enough apart to accommodate the wagons and oxen. Morwyn drank from her canteen and stretched her tired legs as she observed the group, impressed with how quickly and efficiently they established the site. She wondered just how long these people had been traveling together, where the whole thing began, and what could be worth such a trek in the first place. All questions they had avoided when she tried to make idle conversation along the way. She tried not to let it bother her too much since she was being paid to protect them, not to know those things. Still, curiosity gnawed at her as she passively regarded the activity of the camp while vigilantly watching the road.
“Alright, new blood. You can relax.”
Morwyn nearly jumped out of her skin upon hearing Argoth speak right next to her. She took a deep breath through her nose, keeping her posture rigid for a second, then turned to face him. He'd walked right through the open ground, through grass and brush, and along the verge of the road to reach her. She should've heard him or caught his movement in the corner of her eye. Just one more thing to set her nerves on edge and make it impossible to relax.
“How do you manage the night watch?” she asked, eager for anything to distract from her misgivings. “Two hour shifts between the four of us?”
Argoth pulled out a smoking case much like her own, retrieved two from it, and passed one to her without a word. It smelled far better than the one she had left and she supposed there wasn't much point to quitting if the boss smoked too. It was a habit that most sell-swords and mercenaries shared.
“Ain't done much travelin' with the knife-ears, have you?” Argoth chuckled- or at least she thought he did, as the sound that came from his mouth reminded her of the gurgles of a dying worg- and cracked his neck as he looked back west toward the setting sun.
Morwyn frowned at the racial epithet. Argoth hadn't struck her as the prejudiced type thus far.
“I think they prefer to be called elves, boss.”
“I know that. They've told me so. But it's hard for me to say.” Argoth crossed his arms, looking a bit sheepish, his smoke dangling between his tusks.
“What's difficult to say?” Morwyn took a long drag and raised an eyebrow at him.
“What they call themselves.”
“Elves?”
“Yeah, that.”
Morwyn couldn't help but smirk at how embarrassed the orc was about his pronunciation. She decided to play into it a little.
“So, you can say 'themselves' but not 'elves'?”
Argoth squinted at her with a frown.
“You makin' fun of me, new blood?”
Morwyn let out a laugh, a real, honest laugh. The first she'd had since she'd joined the caravan.
“Just teasing, Argoth. I don't mean anything by it.”
He chuckled again and his massive shoulders visibly relaxed. Morwyn couldn't help but think that he'd probably killed people for less and had to suppress a shudder.
“Anyway, with them around, we won't have to be keeping watch. They don't sleep all that much. Hardly seem to ever get tired either, lucky bastards. So we're on guard during the day of course, and the... the ewves... in the caravan keep an eye out at night. Rouse us if there's any trouble.”
Morwyn couldn't maintain her composure and let out a snort of laughter, then clamped a hand over her mouth and turned to him with wide eyes. The orc laughed and clapped her on the back, clearly not offended by it. However, the impact of his friendly display drove the wind from her lungs for a moment. He waited for her to recover before continuing.
“Each night once we've set up camp you're free to do as you like. Maintain your equipment, bathe if you can, what have you. But if we're woken in the night to defend the caravan, you've got to be ready. Sleep lightly and with one hand on your blade, y'know.”
Morwyn nodded as she finished her smoke then tossed it into the mud before grinding it beneath the heel of her boot. Though it had stopped raining a few hours ago, it would take hours more for everything to dry. She wasn't looking forward to sleeping under the stars if another storm passed through, even with her sturdy waxed bedroll.
“Wait... if the guards are off at night, but elves don't sleep much, what does Eronir do?”
“Write poetry, mostly.”
“You're joking.”
“Why would I joke about that?”
Morwyn shrugged. It wasn't the strangest thing she'd heard that day by far, but she hadn't expected the austere, stoic elf to be a poet. As they spoke, a family of humans moved in their direction and began to set up a small tent that hardly looked large enough for two people, let alone a husband, wife, and three children. Morwyn gestured to them as she changed the subject.
“There are an awful lot of children in this caravan. Nearly a third. Rennock said you've made this journey with him before... will they be safe?”
Argoth's jaw flexed and he turned his gaze down the road to the east.
“If I'm still breathin', they will be.”
Morwyn let the statement hang in silent agreement. Of course she would fight to defend any of them, but if the young ones were in danger she knew where her priorities lay. The silence was interrupted by the mother of the family approaching the two of them with a warm smile and cloth-wrapped parcel.
“Another quiet day, thanks to you, Argoth. And you as well, miss...?”
“Morwyn,” she responded.
“New blood,” Argoth corrected. The woman looked stymied for a moment before her smile returned in earnest.
“Anyway, miss Morwyn, your tent is set up and here's a snack to tide you over until the cooks have finished dinner.” Morwyn reluctantly accepted the parcel of food with a word of thanks and the other woman returned to her family where they were preparing their own larger tent some distance away. Morwyn shot Argoth an inquisitive look.
“These are good, kind folk, new blood. They'll take care of you.”
“I could've set up my own tent-”
Argoth interrupted her protest with a raised hand.
“First lesson of the caravan: let the people help you. Trust me when I say, you will earn it before the end of the road.”
Before she could respond the orc patted her shoulder a little more gently than the first time and made his way toward the center of the group where a fire was kindled from whatever dry wood they could scavenge from the forest to the north. Cooking utensils clanged against iron cauldrons over the backdrop of conversation and laughter as the group settled in for the night and the cooks, mostly halflings and dwarves, went to work on something that smelled delicious. Morwyn stood staring at the scene for a long moment, unsure of how to feel. This peace and camaraderie was so foreign to her that it almost felt frightening after a lifetime of scraping out a living with her family back home or on her own here in the mainland. She wasn't sure if she should join them or keep her distance.
*This is Rennock. I am announcing myself to keep from startling you.*
Though the whisper did indeed startle her, Morwyn was beginning to get used to it and she allowed herself a small smile.
“Thank you for the courtesy,” she whispered back. “Do you need something?”
*Yes. I would very much like for you to join us this evening. Dinner will be excellent of course, but I also have an announcement for the caravan.*
“On my way.”
Morwyn hung her cloak on one of the poles of the tent and laid out her bedroll inside with her pack atop it. For a moment her entire world fit into a four by eight foot space. With a deep breath she rummaged through her pack, pushing aside spare underclothes and a few precious scrolls until she located her journal and pen case, which she tucked under her arm before heading toward the fire. She opened the bundle of food she'd been given and chewed a piece of jerky as she went.
Though she only knew the names of Rennock and the other guards, she was beginning to recognize a few faces of the caravaneers as she passed them. A halfling girl with curly auburn hair in a short ponytail appeared to be an herbalist or healer of some kind and was not too gently applying a salve to a groaning dwarf's swollen feet. A tall elven woman in a spotless green dress looked adoringly at Eronir as he recited some grave poem from a sheet of parchment beneath the limbs of a large oak tree. The family that had provided her with the tent waved at her as she passed them, so she gave them a nod and a smile in return. The atmosphere was primed with excitement and mirth as Morwyn found an unoccupied barrel on which to sit at the edge of the crowd and nibble at a hard biscuit.
Just enough firelight made it to her spot for Morwyn to open her journal and scribble down a few notes. So much had changed since the night before that it almost felt like a different person had written about the grisly aftermath of her last job. She stowed her pen and inkwell as she waited for the page to dry, then tucked the journal and pen case into her belt. Her mouth began to water as a myriad of scents drifted to her from the cauldrons bubbling on the fire. She tapped her foot along to the beat of the tavern song a couple of people had started singing and smiled as a few children and teenagers began to dance. As the cooks called for people to get in line for food, Lady Trux approached Morwyn for the first time. She carried a mug in each hand.
“Not bad for your first day, aye?” the dwarf asked, handing a wooden mug to Morwyn. She accepted it with a nod and was surprised to find it was a cider of some kind rather than ale. It smelled smooth and crisp with just the hint of fermentation. She took a long sip and was pleased that the taste matched the scent. It was halfway gone before she realized she hadn't responded.
“Indeed it was. I've had a harder time getting out of bed some mornings.”
Lady Trux let out a hearty laugh and clinked her mug to Morwyn's.
“Aye, that's true enough for me as well. Just lettin' you know, this is about as easy as it gets. Few weeks from now and you'll be daydreamin' of this feast as if it never truly happened and beggin' Hazel to cut your feet off, rather than treat 'em!”
Morwyn regarded the dwarf with a renewed sense of curiosity.
“So you've made this journey before, then? The others have been... less than forthcoming.”
Her companion's jovial expression cooled slightly, but she didn't look angry at the question.
“Aye, once before. Eronir's been three times I think, but not back to back. We're the only ones here besides Rennock and Argoth that's done it, and the two of them have been makin' the journey for longer than I've cared to ask. Not to worry, new blood. You're in good hands with those two. That bein' said, if they're not telling you somethin', it's somethin' you don't need to be told yet.”
Morwyn's mind swam with questions, but with how evasive everyone had been so far, she wondered if they were sworn to some kind of secrecy about what they might know. Lady Trux could see the look of consternation on her face and pulled up a crate to sit beside her. After a moment, Morwyn decided that there was something she could ask without prying too far.
“Is it worth it?”
Lady Trux broke into a broad grin and raised her mug.
“You best believe it is.”
Morwyn considered the answer in silence for a moment as a young man walked up and handed the two of them bowls of a heavenly smelling soup. They both dug in ravenously and the bowls were emptied all too soon. She leaned back with a contented sigh and fiddled with the end of her braid.
“If you don't mind me asking, why are you called Lady Trux? Are you nobility?”
The dwarf guffawed and elbowed Morwyn in the side.
“No, lass, it's not a title. It's a nickname I earned some months back. We were held up by some brigands that were a bit too big for their britches, so to speak. One of 'em had the nerve to call me unbearded- a great insult to my kind, you see, for a dwarf man to lack a beard- so I shot him in the balls with my crossbow. The others have referred to me as Lady Trux ever since!”
Morwyn spit out a mouthful of cider and began to cough and laugh at the same time. Trux grinned and clapped her back a few times to help her breathe properly again. At that moment Rennock strode up beside the fire, his towering frame casting a large shadow that danced on the tree branches behind him. The crowd's rumble died down as everyone turned to face him. Trux leaned forward on her seat and Morwyn couldn't help but follow suit. Rennock held his hands out to the crowd with a kind smile as he began to speak.
“Friends, we are approaching the final leg of our journey. It will be a long and difficult trial as I have warned you, but we have faced such things on our journey together thus far. The first of you joined us nearly a year ago and have been steadfast in your patience. Others we have come and gone along the way, yet everyone here has borne the burden of the road and has arrived here together at a crucial moment.”
Morwyn's pulse quickened as she hung on his every word. She had most definitely underestimated how long this expedition had been in the making.
“I have not lied to you before and I will not start now. What lies before us is dangerous and some will not complete the journey, whether that be from illness, injury, or lack of resolve. We have prepared for a great length of time to avoid such things but as you know, no grand plan plays out exactly as intended. Few if any of us could do this on our own-”
“Except for Argoth!” a gnome shouted from the back of the crowd, to a quick burst of laughter. The big orc grinned and hushed them back down for Rennock to continue.
“Ahem. Yes, I do believe he could. Where was I? Oh, yes. Few if any of us could do this on our own, yet the point is that we are not alone. You have your families, your friends, your loyal bodyguards, and of course, myself to lean upon. We have amongst us a wonderful healer, excellent craftsmen, knowledgeable scholars, brave and adaptable youths, and the best cooks on the continent. Should you begin to lose heart in the coming days, remember that.”
Rennock took a long pause to let his words sink in. There were a few murmured affirmations from the crowd and several people clapped the shoulders of the men and women who had prepared their meal. The moment it died down the old man continued.
“There will be days where we hunger and thirst, days of strenuous labor, and days of imminent danger. There will be as much pain and heartache as there will be joy and discovery. But I tell you this: should you choose to turn back from this course, I will not think lesser of you. It is not a journey that everyone can withstand, but if you stay true to the course and demonstrate your courage and resilience, my kin and I will welcome you to your new home with open arms.”
“As well as soft beds and good food, of course. Otherwise I wouldn't keep doin' this!” Argoth's interjection brought another bout of laughter, shattering the nervous tension that had been building. Morwyn grinned and glanced at Trux, who gave her a sly wink.
“And so,” Rennock boomed out over the noise, which quieted immediately, “the final task lays before us. Three months from now- weather depending, of course- we will arrive at our destination. Tomorrow marks the beginning of the end of our long march. Tonight we shall eat, drink, and make merry. Eronir, I regret to inform you that we are due for a late start!”
Rennock produced a large and beautifully decorated flagon from beneath his cloak with a flourish and a shower of golden sparks, flipped the lid, and began to drink. Foam flecked his beard and dark brown ale splashed down his chest without care. He didn't stop until the crowd was cheering and his flagon was empty.
That was when the real party began.