The GraveWalkers

Chapter Four

Korran stared hard at Alaric's back. He was well aware that a part of himself had been searching for a reason to turn back and deem this job a lost cause before he even met the others. It wasn't hard to imagine what a goal-driven noble who wanted to see the job done himself would have qualms about. 

As anticipated, his words had rattled the man but just moments after he'd seemed rejuvenated and once again stepped confidently. He'd tested the man's mental strength because if they hoped to best a company as cutthroat as the Gretas their leader couldn't be weak-willed. 

Korran couldn't tell if he was pleased or annoyed when his words failed to leave a permanent scar.

They traveled the rest of the way in silence with Korran extremely aware of how out in the open he was. Usually, he could calculate his routes beforehand so even if he was caught by surprise he'd be prepared - however, in this instance, a rifleman could shoot at him from out of his daggers' reach, and he was unaccustomed to the flat terrain. 

Thankfully, they reached the tent before any onlookers could realize the Dagger of the West was a sitting duck. Korran had spotted the tent from a long way out, considering it was in plain sight. 

This crew didn't seem to think much of caution. However, a lone figure had watched their approach, boldly sitting on a large rock stationed in front of the tent and campfire. He brandished a weapon in his hand and Korran realized from a few yards out it was a spear.

Korran had killed many a spearman and didn't think much of their lack of defense without shields, so this revelation did nothing to reassure his risking skepticism. The man did have the demeanor of someone who could get the job done, though.  A few years of hunting down people allowed you to be able to read their stances to see if there was the hesitance of an inexperienced killer, or the cold self-assurance of someone who'd flicked off a being's lights. 

In some rare cases, even Korran couldn't get a read on someone. They appeared eerily calm and in this case, Korran believed that it meant they were natural killers who had yet flexed their talents. That was not the case here.

The lone spear-bearer stared hard at the pair's approach. As Korran neared he made note of what the man wore. A grey and white plaid vest peeked out from under a familiar blue armhole jacket. His pants were short but appeared brand new with not a speck of dirt defacing them. Guerdian army uniform. His eyes were deep-set and seemed to be naturally narrowed in disapproving slits as they were now, with a frown to match.

"This is the boy called the legendary Dagger of the West?" The man asked incredulously. Now that he'd stopped twirling his spear, Korran thought his right arm appeared much more muscular than his left.

Korran scoffed, "This is one of the random barbarians you've gathered for such an onerous task? One of the blokes off the streets of Halia would've at least appeared more intimidating."

The man pointed his spear at Korran with his wolfish nose scrunched up in annoyance. "You'd do well to respect your elders, boy. If you end up dead from my spear then Alaric here would have no choice but to accept you weren't the man for the job."

The man appeared around Alaric's age despite his rough features and yet he considered himself an elder. Clearly he was in a hurry to be considered an adult. The Guerdian people were known primarily for their proficient merchants, but their army was nothing to disregard. What they lacked in skill they made up for in grit and ruthlessness. As the stories went; pillaging, razing villages, and slaughtering innocents were not beneath the wolfish nose that their people customarily bore. 

Korran had never personally clashed with one of them, but the short-tempered people were on his radar.

"Now, now," came a thundering yet gentle voice from behind the stout Guerdian. "Appearances can be deceiving - you shouldn't judge off of it." Despite his words, Korran had a hard time not judging the speaker's appearance.