Beyond the Rabbit Hole

Impending death

Six days passed without incident after the false wraiths attacked the caravan. Of the five crates still weighing down the last wagon, only two contained food and water, and one of those was nearly empty. Morale had all but vanished, replaced by fatigue that filled the void. Morgyn stepped in to help push the wagon but could only ease a fraction of the stress weighing on the exhausted mercenaries.

"Ah, I can't do it. I can't keep doing it," the mercenary named Hector said. "I only just started pushing, and my arms feel like they're on fire!" He dropped his arms and backed away from the wagon.

The wagon came to a halt as the other mercenaries gave their tired comrade a sympathetic look.

Barbarossa jumped out of the carriage. "Why have you stopped?"

"They're exhausted, Rossa, and they can barely move," Bjurrin sighed.

"We just had a break." Rossa scoffed. "Are you lot this pathetic? We're at most a few days from Deeprine, and you're quitting now?"

"Why don't I take over his spot?" Alyss suggested. "I have strength to spare."

Benard shot her a cautious look and shook his head slightly.

"No," Rossa asserted. "We have too many holes in our formation as it is. We can't afford to lose any of our best fighters to fatigue."

"Just one of us would lighten their load considerably," Bjurrin said. He glanced over at the carriage and chuckled. "Maybe we should drag Lord Desira's happy ass out of the carriage and make him wipe his own cheeks for once?" He wore a cold smile as he glared into the window of the carriage.

"Shut up, Bjurrin," Rossa sighed.

"It's because of them that we're in this fucking mess to begin with." Bjurrin spat on the ground in front of the carriage door. "Or better yet, why don't we drag them all out of there, ditch the royal ass-cushions, and make the donkey pull the fucking wagon like it should have been from the beginning!"

"You would expose the young lady Valentina to the dangers of the Dread Sea?" Serana growled. "Have you no shame, barbarian?"

Bjurrin guffawed. "I would expose her to my hairy cock if that got us to stop acting like idiots! Does that answer your question, Miss Inquisitor?" Bjurrin spread his arms and taunted the golden disciple with a toothy grin.

Serana quickly drew her blade and raised it in front of her. "Hold your tongue, cur, or those words might be your last."

"All right, all right. Enough!" Rossa pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can save the hostilities for after we've made it to the castle, but I won't have you killing each other when we're barely surviving as it is."

"Why not?" Bjurrin chuckled. "We don't seem to have anything better to do."

"Shut up, Bjurrin!" Barbarossa spat. "As I just said, we're at most a few days-"

"How many is a few, huh?" Bjurrin replied. The berserker leaned against his axe. "How many days, Commander? Do you know?"

Barbarossa hesitated. "A trip to Deeprine Castle from Meliades typically takes between ten to-"

"-thirteen days. Yes, I know," Bjurrin interrupted. "But how long will the journey be for us? How much time have we lost between the false wraith attack and our cute little Roy's horse thievery?"

The commander remained silent.

"Because I don't know that," Bjurrin continued. "I don't know the answer to that question. . . and neither do you, it seems."