The landscape began to change over the next three days. The forest to the north grew ever more sparse as it gave way to rolling foothills blanketed with long grass and rocky outcroppings and the sea drew ever closer on the southern side. Though Morwyn cursed herself for failing to acquire a map of the Southlands, she vaguely recalled a local mentioning that it narrowed significantly on the eastern end until the end of the mountain range nearly touched the sea. She estimated that at their pace, which was slightly slower than that of a foot march due to the heavily laden wagons, they'd reach the Narrows within four or five more days of travel if there were no further interruptions. The only significant event since she'd joined the caravan was a broken axle on the third day which was repaired over the span of a lunch break. Rennock hadn't exaggerated when he said there were excellent craftsmen among their numbers.
Morwyn let her mind wander as she whiled away the long hours afoot, imagining a goblin war band or a troll behind each rock formation to keep her sharp. So far they'd only encountered a few other travelers along the road and all of them were heading west with lumber and ore gathered on the edge of civilization. Most didn't give the caravan more than a passing glance but some had stopped to speak with the lead party. She was too far back to hear any of what was said, but the strangers inevitably continued westward with no more than a shake of their heads or a parting wave.
Early in the afternoon of the fifth day, as Morwyn chewed absently on a piece of jerky and kept an eye out for any movement in the tall grass to her right, she noticed someone jogging swiftly down the column from the corner of her eye. She turned to watch as one of the caravan's younger human teens reached Argoth and leaned in to tell him something. Argoth rubbed his jaw in thought as they walked before replying and gesturing back to the front. The boy took off like a rocket.
Morwyn realized that whatever they spoke of it must have involved the security of the caravan; Eronir handled the decisions regarding their route or any obstacles on the road, and he wouldn't have sent a runner to Argoth for something as simple as a washed out section of road. She turned her attention back to the flank and scanned the grasslands with renewed vigor as the group neared the crest of a hill. A moment later the caravan came to a halt and she took up a defensive posture, stepping a few paces off the road as they had practiced over the previous days.
She pushed her longsword out of its sheath with her left thumb to ensure the blade would slide free with little friction if it was required. Though Morwyn didn't fiend for action as she'd come to learn Trux did, the prospect of having her skills put to the test raised her pulse slightly. She turned slowly to scan her sector and made herself take a few deep breaths. It wasn't long before she saw the same boy from earlier heading in her direction. William, she thought. That's William, the son of... damn. Hard to keep track of everyone.
“Miss Morwyn,” the boy said between labored breaths as he wiped sweat from his brow, “Rennock requests you at the front.”
Morwyn cocked her head, confused that the old man hadn't sent her an arcane message for once, but nodded quickly and walked back to the road.
“Tell Gildara to keep an eye on the right flank for me and to raise the alarm if anything happens,” she instructed the boy. William sprinted off once more without hesitation to pass on her instruction to the elven woman riding beside her sister on the nearest wagon. Gildara looked up from the eager messenger and watched Morwyn as she passed at a brisk jog, a look of concern crossing her fair features. The caravan, normally full of conversation or song, was eerily muted. Everyone seemed to sense the tension in the air.
Morwyn admired William's endurance as she approached the front. The boy had run the length of the caravan nearly thrice in the muggy afternoon heat that followed yet another brief rain storm without so much as a blink. She came to a halt beside Rennock, who was engaged in a hushed conversation with Eronir several paces in front of the lead wagon. The two men stepped apart to make room for her to join them.
“Ah, Morwyn. Excellent. Eronir and I were just discussing how we would handle this peculiar circumstance and I thought you might perhaps have some insight.”
“What circumstance?” Morwyn asked, breathing heavily through her nose but not quite winded.
Eronir held a finger to his lips and beckoned for her to follow them. The trio crept to the crest of the hill where they took a knee to peek over the top. Perhaps a quarter mile down the road on the far side of the hill was a large stone bridge spanning across the width of a rushing river that carved its path between the hills as it made its way to the sea. Wooden guard towers sat on each bank with wind-tattered banners of the Southland Lords flying atop their roofs. A handful of squat structures surrounded the base of each tower. Each side of the river was surrounded by a wooden palisade in a half circle.
“I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking for,” Morwyn said, scanning the scene for anything out of the ordinary. It was a standard layout for a fortified river crossing and the bridge appeared to be intact. Nothing seemed out of place. Except...
“Wait. Where are the guards? I don't see anyone down there. No one in the towers, no horses in the stables.”
“Exactly.” Eronir nodded gravely. His grip tightened on his spear and his eyes narrowed. “The last group of travelers we met did not report anything out of the ordinary with the river crossing. A missing garrison would have been news indeed. Something has happened here within the last two days and I do not like the look of it.”
“Thankfully Eronir sensed something was wrong before the rest of us crested the hill,” Rennock murmured, his intense gaze flicking between the two of them. “However, I do not agree with his solution. He wishes to investigate by himself, and I believe that is a foolish and unnecessarily risky thing to do.”
“And you sent for me rather than Argoth?” Morwyn's brow furrowed. This was definitely the purview of her superior.
“I did send for him,” Eronir grumbled. “He told us to halt the caravan and send for the new blood. Said something about giving you a chance to prove yourself.”
Morwyn's stomach tightened. She'd expected to have to fight to defend the caravan but never imagined that she would be consulted on complex decision making. Her mind raced as she inched back from the crest of the hill and flexed her hand on the hilt of her sword. Rennock and Eronir watched her intently as she considered what she knew of the terrain and their own capabilities.
“Well... there are a few possible scenarios. There could have been a mass desertion, but that's unlikely. I've heard that Southlander soldiers are well paid and are known for their loyalty to their lords. Disease is possible but not probable. Nothing I know of sets on quickly enough to wipe out an entire garrison without them sending a rider westward for aid. An attack by wild beasts might injure or kill several men but certainly not all of them, and anything large enough to do so would've damaged the structures.” She bit her lip as she came to an uncomfortable conclusion.
“That leaves the most likely option. An organized attack. One large or stealthy enough to overcome at least a score of guards.”
The two men nodded grimly, then Rennock spoke once more.
“If we are to assume that is the case, how ought we to proceed?”
Morwyn chewed her lip in thought for a moment.
“It stopped raining just over an hour ago and the ground is still wet. The wagons haven't kicked up a dust cloud for a while so the caravan shouldn't have been spotted yet if the attackers remain. We likely have time on our side but should keep alert in case whoever has done this has moved into the hills above us... We could take a small party closer to investigate. Perhaps myself, Eronir, and Lady Trux. Argoth could stay behind to guard the wagons, which should be brought close together.”
“Why leave Argoth behind?” Rennock asked, his head tilting with curiosity.
“I wouldn't want to leave the caravan undefended,” Morwyn replied. Eronir looked to Rennock with a smirk that told Morwyn she'd misjudged something.
“They will not be undefended,” Rennock growled, a dangerous glint in his eye. The demeanor of the kindly old man was gone for an instant, then his expression relaxed slightly when he saw Morwyn's shock. “I will see to that.”
Morwyn coughed softly to clear her throat. Apparently Rennock's magic was not limited to party tricks and whispered messages. She continued with more surety; clearly they were taking her suggestions seriously. Her earlier trepidation fled as a surge of adrenaline spiked in her veins.
“Alright then. The four guards approach the bridge as if we are a small group traveling alone. If there is no danger, we return to the caravan and carry on. Eronir and Lady Trux keep an eye out for an ambush if attackers remain. They cover me as I investigate the area to find out what happened here. And Argoth...” She scratched the side of her head. “Um... what does Argoth do exactly?”
“He kills people,” Eronir replied matter-of-factly. “And breaks things.”
“...Right. If we do come under attack, Argoth... kills people.”
“And breaks things,” Rennock helpfully reminded her.
“And breaks things,” Morwyn said with a small smile. “If we can't handle it, we make a fighting retreat back to the hilltop and call on the caravan to come to our aid. They may not be professional warriors, but they certainly aren't helpless.”
Eronir gave Morwyn an appraising look before nodding.
“I like it. You have some wit about you, new blood.” Though his tone was stoic as always, Morwyn got the impression that his complement was the equivalent of a hearty cheer from anyone else.
“There is one thing about my plan I don't like,” Morwyn admitted.
“What would that be?” Eronir asked.
“Unlike you three, I don't have any armor.”
***
Morwyn adjusted her sword-belt one final time before the small party made their way over the hill and down toward the bridge. She'd had to bore a new hole in it to get the waist strap to cinch properly; the coat of light chain-mail and black arming doublet beneath her tunic added more bulk than she expected, but she was grateful that the armorer even had anything that fit her size. The grizzled dwarf had grumbled that it was made for an elf, not a human, and Morwyn wondered if she'd commandeered a gift for someone else in the caravan. She didn't have the time or energy to bother prying deeper. Her mind was occupied with the scouting mission ahead of them.
They approached the structures on the near side of the river in a diamond formation with Morwyn at the front, Argoth at the rear, and Eronir and Trux on the flanks. Morwyn had briefly considered having Argoth take the lead but decided against it. She didn't want them to think she was shirking her duty or hiding behind him. Still, she couldn't help the surge of nervous energy that came from walking point. Her previous jobs had been much smaller in scale. A bandit or two here, a dangerous creature there. Things that could be handled by one person if she were careful. This felt different. Bigger. There was far more at stake than her own life or a merchant's cart if she failed.
She took a few deep breaths through her nose to steady her nerves and took one last look over her shoulder as they neared the bottom of the hill. It gave her heart to see the grim expressions of Trux and Eronir, and though Argoth's imposing form should've boosted her morale as well he carried himself so casually that it was unnerving. She knew he was a veteran of many years, attested by his many vicious scars and the tales others told of his exploits around the campfire, but she'd never before seen someone walk so casually into potential danger. He was humming to himself as he marched with his thumbs tucked into the red sash at his waist, his one good eye scanning ahead.
Morwyn shook her own head to clear her doubts and focused on the task at hand. She kept her head high and forced herself not to walk with a hand on the hilt of her sword. After all, they were meant to act as if they suspected nothing out of the ordinary. It was difficult to mask her apprehension when every nerve in her body screamed that there was danger ahead, but now was not the time to second-guess her own plan.
They were nearly to the western edge of the fortification when a figure rose above the palisade on the left side of the gate. Conical helm, mail coif, blue and white tabard... it was the kit of soldiers of the Southlands for certain. But why would the gate be closed to the west?
“Halt, travelers! State your business.”
The gruff command echoed out across the open plains on the surround. Morwyn held up a fist over her shoulder and heard her companions come to a stop not far behind. Her heart thundered in her chest as she wiped sweat from her forehead and took a sip from her canteen to buy time to think.
“Good day, sir,” she called back, now unable to see more than half of the man's helm between the sharpened poles of the palisade. “We wish to travel westward, to seek our fortunes on the frontier.” Morwyn bit her own lip at how stupid that sounded and hoped that the man didn't pry any further. The man behind the barricade hesitated for a moment and turned to look behind him, then nodded before turning back to face her.
“Fair enough, your lives are your own to risk and all. There's just the matter of the bridge toll.”
Morwyn risked a subtle glance over her shoulder. Eronir gave a nearly imperceptible shake of his head; there was not meant to be a toll, that much they'd discussed before leaving the caravan. Argoth, whose demeanor was still calm, raised one eyebrow and tapped a finger against his nose. Something the orc smelled didn't sit right it seemed, but Morwyn couldn't yet detect whatever it was over the smell of mud and her own sweat. She lifted one gloved hand to shade her brow from the sun as she turned back to the man on the gate.
“Of course. It's our first time this way. What is the fee?”
The man on the gate turned back once more for a brief moment before responding.
“Ten gold a head. You go straight on through and about your business.”
The hair on the back of Morwyn's neck stood up and she nearly choked at the named price. Odd that the man seemed to look for guidance from someone beyond the gate for the cost of a toll that wasn't supposed to exist, and even more so that the cost was more than three month's pay for a common laborer. She supposed that something could've changed since the last time the caravan had passed this way and their information was out of date but her gut told her otherwise. Regardless, she decided to press forward with the plan. She slipped one hand into her pack and felt carefully for her coinpurse, taking care not to expose it as she counted out the gold and avoided her platinum coins. She could feel her options dwindling. If they paid the toll and it was legitimate, it was still quite steep. She wondered just how deep Rennock's pockets ran and if it came to that. Yet if they agreed to pay too readily, it showed they had the money and likely more.
She sighed and shook her head, slipping the gold into her pants pocket.
“Seems a bit steep, friend, for a simple river crossing,” she called up. The man on the wall let out a derisive laugh.
“If that's the case, fair lady, you're more than welcome to swim. Come to think of it, we might enjoy that as much as the gold!” The muted chuckles of an unknown number of men behind the gate reached her burning ears. Morwyn clenched her teeth and swallowed back her pride. Trux grumbled beside her in dwarvish, likely something very impolite, but held her tongue as well.
“In that case, ten each seems very fair,” she shouted quickly before things could get further out of hand. “To whom do we pay the toll?”
“Captain of the guard, at the foot of the bridge. And keep your hands off those weapons as you pass through or you'll be arrested, by order of the Lords. Can't be too careful these days.”
With the sound of creaking wood and several curses from the other side, the gate slowly began to open to them. Before it did, Eronir placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You're doing well,” he whispered. “Let's hope you fight as well as you parley.”
Morwyn frowned and gave him a curious look.
“Argoth and I can smell blood. A day or two old. Lots of it.”