Barron looked down at the dice on the table and it took a moment for him to realize what the numbers were telling him. Once it dawned on him, he glared up and Nugget and growled, “Another triple? You aint’t cheatin’ me, are ya, fuzzface?”
Nugget shot Barron her most innocent look and tried to shrug her shoulders, but the act only caused the auburn bristles along her spine to stand adorably on end. “You shouldn’t have raised with a short run like that; the math was against you,” Nugget offered helpfully as she proceeded to scoop her new winnings over in front of her, a feat easier said than done given her ridiculously short legs and her complete lack of thumbs
Barron angrily tamped some dust-laced tabac into his pipe, lit the fragrant herbs with his rope lighter, and inhaled deeply. As he exhaled a fragrant ring of smoke, he took a mental tally on the remaining coin in his purse: two Sovereigns and a solitary Crown. By the Thirteenth he thought angrily, how could I have pissed away so much scrap in such a short amount of time? Even with the Crown a day he earned by serving as a guard on the caravan, he would hardly have enough coin when they finally arrived in Northgate for a room, a meal, and a bath. Further, he lacked the means and name to promptly find employment in an unknown city without joining a Duster Gang or Thieves’ guild, and he had tried to put that life behind him. God’s, where had my coin trickled away to? He had given most of his coin to Agnes before leaving town and he had stupidly thrown down ten whole Guilders for a new suit...a set of clothing woefully unsuited to life on the road, and currently residing in a folded heap at the bottom of a musty bag. But still, he had arrived in Eadwald with nearly a hundred Guilders to his name, how had it lasted only a month?
As he mulled, Nugget piped up, “Another game?”
Barron thought for a moment, and then drew two daggers out from his vest and laid them on the table. “Are these good for collateral? They are worth a few Guilders each at least. It’s good steel”
Nugget looked at the shiny blades, and then down at her paws as she flexed each of her furry fingers. “What would I do with those? I can’t hold them can I? Besides, I’ve no need for them with these,” she continued, flashing her sharp canines at him in a toothy smile.
Barron took a long draw off of his pipe, and savored the warm, calming sensation as the yellow poppy worked its way through his system: the smoky yellow fingers massaging away any aches and pains, fret and worry. “I dunno. Sell ‘em?” he offered, his voice drifting away like a dream.
Nugget looked at him for a moment, and then yawned, her long red and black tongue lolling out of her mouth. “It’s getting late. We will give you a chance to earn back your coin tomorrow.”
Barron reluctantly agreed and scratched the dog on the top of her head as he made to exit the wagon. “See you on the morrow, you dirty cheater,” he said, flashing Nugget a wry grin as he stepped out of the wagon into the darkness.
Outside the air was cool and the night was still as Barron worked his way back to the main body of the camp, reloading his pipe as he walked, with regular tabac this time. He noticed a couple guardsmen standing off to one side of the encampment on the outskirts of the watch fires; the duo idly leaning on their spears as they looked out upon the dark, barren nothingness that surrounded them.
Barron approached and took position next to them. “Evenin’ gents,” he said, tipping his head in their direction.
“Oh, hey Barron,” answered one, a lean, fresh-faced kid name Lerrick. “How’re you holding up?” he asked, in a pleasant tone.
Barron hadn’t held his tongue regarding how monotonous he found life on the road: endless hours of choking dust; an eternity of being covered in sweat and grime; countless hours with no amenities like warm baths, clean sheets, or even a good bar fight to break up the monotony. During the past four days on the road, Barron would often repeat a joke that he had come up with, sharing it with anyone who would listen: “Are we there yet?” The question never failed to earn a chuckle. God’s thirty some odd more days of this, he thought to himself with a shudder, before responding to Lerrick with, “Ehh, it’s all good. Stillness ain’t death, after all.” It was a lie, but a pleasantry all the same.
Barron reached in to the pouch on his hip and loaded the pipe of each of the two guardsmen with a pinch of fragrant tabac. The two accepted readily, and tamped down their pipes eagerly, and Barron leaned in to light them with his lighter. “So, what lies ahead? Any excitement?” Barron asked, his voice full of hope.
“Nah,” replied the second guardsman, a portly soldier with a thick, walrus mustache; a man whose name Barron could not recall: Benrick; Kerrrick: Temryck? Something like that. The man continued, “We will continue northward for a day and then we have a two day lull while we move the caravan on account of the Cursed Forest.”
“Cursed Forest?” replied Barron, incredulously. “Wut’s that?”
Lerrick replied, “Oh, just some silly superstition. Supposedly a forest full of walking trees and miraculous beasts…mixes of normal and regular. Ain’t no one gone in and returned with an account on wut’s really goin’ on though. Stupid forest adds nearly a week to our route though.”
“A week longer, on account of some stupid superstition?” Barron scoffed in amazement. This blasted trek is already far too long, now some stupid myth was going to add a week to it? How could a caravan of this size, with this many armed guards be scared of some blighting trees?
The portly guard nodded in assent, taking a long pull on his pipe before chiming in, “I really wish someone would figure out wut in the hells is going on with that place. I don’t mind a week of extra pay, though mind you, it’s just most of the other guards get real nervous while we skirt those trees. It makes campfire talk right annoying with all of their scared chittering.”
Barron mulled this over in his head, and thought about the paltry wealth in his coin purse before he responded, “I ain’t afraid of some stinkin’ scary forest. I reckon my group could spend the night in those woods, if ya wanna wager on it?”
The two guards shot each other a bemused look, before Lerrick chimed in, “Look, stories about that place go back for years…decades even. I’ve heard ‘n seen weird shite at night while we camp near it. Just cuz I dun’ believe the stories, dun’ mean they ain’t true.” His companion nodded in agreement.
Barron flashed them a bright smile, “Two Guilders for each of my team if we make it through the night.” It wasn’t much, but it would be a vast improvement over the paltry sum in his coin pouch. And besides, this would be the easiest coin he had ever earned…of that, he was certain.