52 Westbound

On a broken and well-trodden road, a small caravan rolled through. White-topped wagons pulled by horses of a larger breed marched westward in the forested region of Rochan. 

A modest contingent of men rode alongside horseback, brandishing spears and grasping a lead as they guided spare horses forward in an even gait. 

Clodding hooves and spinning wheels filled the canopy of emerald leaves. Not quite silent enough to be ignored, yet never so intrusive as to interrupt the songs of the sparrows who watched the unhurried procession from their nests.

Well, rarely was it intrusive.

Creak...Creak...Creak...

One wagon—a straggler at the end—rocked to and fro with a near-frightening violence. The rear wheel shook and bounced, dragging rather than rolling across the path. It was obvious some manner of maintenance was needed. But the steel face of its driver showed no signs of stopping as he snapped a whip across one horse's hind to catch up.

"Come on. Hurry it up. Go! Go!" The driver encouraged with both words and lashings, far more generous with the latter. A jolt forward was his beast's response. Along with increased shaking.

It was enough to anger any sensible beast, with the occupants feeling similar wrath.

"Dear Goddess, could stop?" The head of a young woman popped out of the white canvas and glared daggers at the driver. "If that horse had thumbs, they'd be wrapped around your throat! Besides, there are people on this thing!" 

"No can do, missy. The stop is just ahead, and I'm not wasting a single second cause of a lousy wheel. My ass is already sore enough, any longer and it might catch fire—."

His words were caught in his mouth as a wooden staff was thrust forward, its surface emitting a subtle light on the man's stunned face.

"Keep this up for a second longer and it will catch fire. Now, be a good little coachman and slow down." Shasa hissed. 

'Adventurers...' He bemoaned, 'Why are even the women such boneheaded bastards?' Of course, he didn't dare show a shred of his inner emotions. The glowing stick had done its job in that regard.

After a tense nod, the cane was withdrawn. 

The ride became noticeably smoother.

Shasa shrank back into the wagon and plopped down on top of a burlap sack, shaking her head all the while. "Fucking dickhead."

"Agreed," Gary muttered, sprawled across a bag-turned-pillow.

Though all he could see was the white canvas above and the wooden floor below, the jolts and bumps were enough for him to paint a clear picture of the wagon's state. Too clear, in his opinion, cracking an annoyed eye at the driver. 

After resting for two days, renewing both supplies and their wits, they bought a ride with a merchant group. It was an easy enough affair. Their destination, the city of Lassai, drew plenty of similar caravans and most were more than willing to offer a ride. Plus, the cost beat buying even the cheapest of horses.

In hindsight, the price was too low. Gary had assumed it was due to the pure genius of his haggling, but the growing aches throughout his body demanded a reevaluation of that belief.

"I should have known. The guy's smile was way too genuine. No wonder...he probably took us for suckers when he stuck us in this sad excuse of a carriage."

"You for a sucker," Edwin interjected, immediately forced to dodge an incoming sack. "Hah, at least we're close to stopping for the day. It'll be nice to not feel like some giant is juggling our ride."

The group continued to banter, their conversation providing a needed distraction along the way.

While they all had more than one complaint, there was something about sharing small annoyances that almost made it fun. If Gary was being honest, it felt more like a vacation.

A simple woolen shirt and comfortable pair of pants covered him, with armor safely stowed away in his storage bag. A wonderful perk of traveling through the heartland of Rochan: There was little need to fear for their safety.

And from what he had seen from the guards, they too felt the same. The threat of beasts and the odd bandits mostly existed in the east, where settlements were sparse and untamed land the rule.

Of course, the large cities of Lassai, Fidisa, and Ransel had their own issues. But the only maddened beasts to be found were in the bestiaries and noble government houses; Prey he had little interest in.

Time passed, until a 'Hoh!' was heard from the front as the carriage slowed to a halt. Gary and the rest let out hopeful smiles.

"We there?"

After a brief hesitation, the gruff voice of the driver spoke: "Not sure. The line is stopped, but the clearing should be farther up. Ridden this route enough to know."

The group gave the man's back a questioning look before Gary hopped out. Stepping to the side of the path, he peered along the line of white canvas. 

'Did one of them break down near the front?' Seeing no obvious reason, he could only assume. It wouldn't be surprising. Gary was intimately aware of their quality.

The guards gathered nearby, speculating calmly. Their lack of urgency suggested a minor issue.

While Gary continued to nose about, other occupants of the caravan seemed to have a similar goal. Some had even begun to march towards the front; an instinct Gary held as well.

'Should I? ...Nah.'

Gary considered investigating further but decided against it. If it were a simple mechanical problem, the caravan's crew could handle it. The guards were more than capable of dealing with minor threats, even if they weren't the most professional sort.

A rider came down from the front with an upheld spear and approached the meandering guards, snippets of the conversation reaching Gary's ears. One word, however, piqued his interest, causing concern and a change of heart.

With a resigned sigh, Gary drew his new blade and rapped the hilt against the side of his wagon: "Hey, anyone up for a little adventure?"

It was Brandus who first responded: "We got an issue?"

"Maybe." 

"What kind?"

"...Of the goat variety." He hinted. It was enough for them to get the message.

"...You're kidding, right? Out here?"

Gary almost felt a twinge of empathy seeing Brandus' disbelief. "Either I missheard, or the people up front have never seen a sheep before."

"And I didn't hear wrong." He added, twirling his blade while in introspection. He would never mistake it for anything else.

'A Dallion—up ahead.'

'Damned goats.'