Voella’Tien has been quiet his whole time and nothing about that changes when Vong addresses the group. Rakatha seems to be preoccupied looking burly again so can’t be bothered with thinking. While going to investigate the rumor will only add fuel to the fire of Vong’s demotion from squad leader, I appear to be the only voice of reason available.
“We cannot do that and still scout our sector. Also we are down a member.” There, that should be enough for him to realize it isn’t a good idea.
“Hmm,” I can see the wheels in his mind turning by the look on his face. He stops walking for several seconds and then bursts to catch up, with an urgent look marring his youthful visage, “We never actually told Gala when we were meeting this morning! Maybe she is waiting now.”
Had my counsel gone over his head? Why is this the big concern after what I had said?
“I took the note to the Field Master,” announces Rakatha proudly.
“Yes, we did leave a note for her.” Voella’Tien speaks at last.
Vong still looks worried.
Whatever. I said my part. What comes is not on my shoulders.
“So,” Vong states suddenly, “if we go to the cursed farm then she wouldn’t be able to find us. Let’s scout our sector this week and I’ll put it in the report that we want to check it out next week.” Vong’s line of thought is surprisingly sound. It seems he does have some brains rattling around in his head when he wishes.
Rakatha is adjusting his straps again. Luckily I’ve already taught myself to drown out the clank of his assortment of weaponry.
“I can go back and get her. We can catch up with the rest of you when you camp,” he offers.
Just as things seem to have been smoothing out, another kink in the chain rears its head. This idea really excites Vong. And here we were about to do something sensible.
“Yeah, good idea! Maybe you can ride back with a merchant to make it faster.”
“I will run.”
He will run?
Now I see that his strap adjusting was actually him removing some of his gear to lighten up.
He will run.
The party stops in the road and Rakatha begins handing Vong his equipment. After Rakatha strips down to his leather breeches, boots, and a short sword, he begins doing some stretches. He tries to use my frame to steady himself but I knock his hand away. He nods as though he understands. Wobbling but remaining upright, he finishes his limbering routine.
So, with Vong overburdened by a mass of weapons and armor and camping supplies, Rakatha turns back toward Nodkis and begins to run.
The man does appear in peak physical health but the group has managed to travel several miles by this point. It will be a challenging run but it was his idea so I cannot begin to care about his well-being. I do notice a criss-cross of scars on his back as he departs, jagged and wide. Whips? Curious.
The road stretches out before us. The rest of the party—now just Vong and Voella’Tien—falls into step behind me. I pick up the pace so that we can make up for all the dawdling, quickly passing Mister Messer and his caravan. Vong waves good-bye to the man as we strike out toward the west with intention.
The three of us stop for a midday meal and break from walking. A year of tower living and ten of shop tending has left my once-calloused feet much more tender than I prefer. The several days since I left the tower have been almost entirely walking and my soles are hot and red. Far be it to admit my discomfort, especially in front of people little more than strangers, I use the downtime to remove my sandals and rest my feet beneath the matted grasses, so dense from the rich soil that the midday sun cannot penetrate and I can enjoy its cool under-layers. I am a short ways away from the others; my staff lies beside me just in case. I lay back to watch the fluffy, white clouds drift by languidly.
My peaceful respite is broken by the sound of clanking and talking. Lifting up my head, the source is soon revealed. Vong is pulling pots from his lumpy pack and handing them to Voella’Tien while explaining that he will cook some food for the group.
What happened to a quick bite to eat and a continuation of the task at hand? I roll my eyes inwardly.
After unleashing a full kitchen’s worth of cooking apparatus, he and Voella’Tien scrounge for firewood and kindling to prepare what is promised to be a feast. I suppose I can save my rations of dried meat, hard bread, cheese, and nuts if there will be food prepared. Even though it’s a waste of time and effort, let him spend his resources and brief leadership of this band serving me. All this inefficiency shouldn’t affect my wages with the Corps and I’m even saving a few coin by not using up my own supplies.
I continue to rest while a fire is started, or at least I would have if Vong had remembered to bring flint. Voella’Tien does not have the means either. Drawing myself up and rummaging in my waist pack for all of three seconds, I procure my flint and walk over to hand it it Vong.
“Thanks, buddy!” he says happily, taking the flint and lighting the cook fire.
I hold out my hand to take it back.
I am not your buddy, you immature fool. If you were my son, I would have culled you long ago.
Returning to my spot a little ways away, I slip my feet back into the cool grass and lay back once again.
Some thirty minutes later, a decent spread of rice and thick, spicy stew is passed around. It’s a tad over-spiced, but otherwise good, and reminds me just slightly of a Baat dish I had on occasion back in Tarstin.
Luckily Vong spends his breath talking to Voella’Tien and I am free to sit in silence. I ponder little. The less I think in this next week, the better. If I pay too close of attention to the cavalcade of witlessness around me, it will only serve to aggravate me and there is no point in it. I will be on my way in a matter of weeks and this will be a distant memory; a tiny drop in the ocean of my life.
I don’t help clean up afterward. The site has no nearby water so, all-in-all, a poor choice. The pots will need to be washed later. I wonder if Vong intends to cook for the group for every meal. He’ll run out of ingredients before long and we will have to resort to hunting.
I reach out my mind and touch my owl’s perception. It is resting a mile or so ahead in a small copse of trees off the road. Though it is dozing, I get a sense for the surroundings and there seems to be wildlife in the area. Though war has marched up and down these plains for the last year, it is hard to tell just by looking. Had I been the War Chief, I would have ravaged the lands and brought famine to the people of Elysium when I brought my forces through. Hunger is the quickest way to demoralize an army. Desperation sinks in and in-fighting breaks them. The orcs sure have strange tactics.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
Follow @LieseAdler