Day 3 Continued

Evening

We rode right up until sundown today so there was no time to hunt. It’s okay; we have enough dry mix to last a while.

We’re camped in a little thicket not far from the road, with a spring-fed bog giving us water. The fire feels good.

Grens is still off on his own, but Tallow seems to have quieted down. I spoke with Gunther again—he was worried it’ll rain. I told him it might, and he acted like he’d melt or something. I gave him shit about it:

“What, you’ve never been on a campaign before? I thought you were a real fighter.”

“Yeah, plenty of fights, but I hate the wilderness is all.”

He couldn’t understand why I was laughing, so I gave it to him. “We’re like a quarter mile from the road. We passed one farm just before making camp and I bet we’ll pass another before our first piss break tomorrow. Up until about a half hour ago I could hear the dire cattle in the fields. This isn’t the wilderness!”

“You a big outdoorsman or something?” he asked.

“Me? Naw, but most campaigns I been on took me into harder land than this. Better get used to it.”

“Yeah well, I’m here for fighting, not camping.”

Fair enough. “So you’ll be ready when the swords come out?”

He sat up all straight-like and gave me this look. “I was at the siege of Arero. I’ll be ready.”

Tallow whistled. “That was a massacre, from what I heard.”

Gunther nodded. “If I can survive that wreck I can survive anything these hobs have for us.”

“Suppose so,” I said. I wonder if he’ll do a better job protecting us than he did protecting that city. But I know better than to say anything out loud. “How long did it last?”

He picked at his teeth for a minute and thought about it. “Seems to me,” he said, “About five weeks.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, and that was just till the city wall fell. The fort held out almost another week on top of that.”

Tallow couldn’t keep it shut. “I thought no one got out of there.”

Gunther snorted. “Yeah well, not alive. It’s just us ghosts that got out.”

Tallow shook his head and kind of laughed. “Save it for the hobs, buddy.”

They’re still going back and forth talking about these hobgoblins. I have to admit, it seems like a strange mission. Hobgoblin scouts were spotted in the western hills, which is rare on its own. We get goblins from time to time, but not hobgoblins. So we’re supposed to find out if it’s true. That much seems normal enough.

But then if we find them we’re supposed to make contact and find out what they want. That’s right, find out what they want. I have a list in my head of things the beast men might want, and it’s a short bloody list. I don’t know the point in talking to them, but maybe that’s why Count Yank wants this whole thing done quietly. People are panicked enough without picturing a hobgoblin embassy right there in town.

Still, the whole thing leaves me with more questions than answers. The Count didn't talk to us in person; he sent a messenger to our tavern. Not surprising, but you-know-what was outright angry about it. I never cursed at an official before. The man put up with us, but probably just to get rid of us. Makes me nervous.

But we’re underway now and no hint of this thing except the occasional feeling of being watched. It shouldn’t even take a week to get to the hills. Then we can gather our intel, head back, and I can be done with this. Should be two weeks, three tops.