Capítulo 6: Departure, Part 3

Morne returned the Nasnami's stare with one of his own.

Compared to the harrowing gaze of the Coltha, whose name he wouldn't even attempt to pronounce because he knew he'd screw it up, this woman wasn't anything.

"I'd rather not talk about it," he started carefully. "But if I must, I expect compensation for wasting my time."

"If we don't find you guilty and toss your headless body in a river, then sure," Treyflena smiled sweetly.

Morne nodded at that. "It happened last night," he said.

He then told the mercenaries a brief summary of the past two days, the impact of his words somewhat diminished by Treyflena's muttered Spells.

He told of the exchange of hands between his old master and the cultists, his murder of the lone guard they had left to watch over him, the twenty-mile flight to Cetregor, and his stay at the tavern, where he rested and tried to find out what to do next.

"Then I was told of your caravan, and thought it the best way to throw them off of my trail," he finished.

"Nasty business, slavery," Morgthon said after the story set in. "Don't worry; cultists forfeit all rights under the empire, including the rights to property and life. Once your master sold you off to them and removed your slave mark, you became a free man."

"Well, then," Essenla said. "I'd say he's earned your compensation, eh, Treyflena?"

"I couldn't spot a lie in that story," Treyflena replied. "So I suppose he has. Here."

She pulled a coin out of a pouch at her waist and flicked it with her thumb, sending it sailing through the air.

Morne caught it with little effort and eyed his prize.

It was a large silver, worth ten times a small silver. This coin by itself just increased his meager wealth by half, recouping what he had paid to travel with the caravan.

Without a word, he pocketed the coin.

"Sorry about that," Cretaya said embarrassedly. "Precautions, and all that."

Morne shrugged. "No skin off my back. But why did you think I was a cultist instead of just a run-of-the-mill killer?"

"The smell," she replied. "Those brutes always smell the same."

"It has to do with whatever foul rituals they perform in their caverns," Morgthon explained. "Cretaya here learned to sniff out the distinct smell of blood and wild red crowns. You must've kept the smell from the cultist's coin."

Morne made a mental note of that.

He glanced out of the back of the wagon, squinting at the road below. "How long was I out? And how long until we get to Untelneb?"

"Less than an hour," Essenla told him. "And we'll be at Untelneb by noon three days from now."

Morne grimaced distastefully but didn't comment. That was longer than he expected, but it made sense.

The convoy was at least thirty wagons long, each pulled by horses with differing levels of endurance.

Many were civilian-owned horses and weren't used to running for extended periods. They were also without magical enhancements, like those on the horses of Morne's past master.

In other words, this was going to be a long trip.

.......

They stopped to make camp two miles away from a forest when the sun started setting, stopping the wagons in a circle around their resting spot for extra protection.

Civilians and mercenaries alike threw up tents, pulled out logs to sit on, and started fires to cook with and provide light.

Their chosen campsite lacked grass and was devoid of rocks, leaving coarse ground that gave off soft *thumps* when sellsword boot met dirt, a sound that soon vanished as day turned to night and the campers retreated to their temporary abodes.

Morne stared into one of these fires. Things like a tent or a bedroll hadn't occurred to him when he was shopping for the trip.

Journeys when he was a slave rarely took longer than a day, so food was his only concern, and he had planned accordingly for this trip.

His knapsack contained four days' worth of food, of which he had planned to use one day's worth on this trip.

The rest was supposed to tide him over until he found the cheapest place to stock up on food in Untelneb, and hopefully a way to earn money.

Now he had to come to grips with the fact that he would only have enough food for one day in the city, and he'd have to sleep under the stars, on the ground no less.

He would have asked to sleep in one of the wagons, but they were already occupied by those who had claimed them first.

He pulled a loaf of bread out of his knapsack and took a large bite out of it. When the bread was gone, he pulled out a tomato to round out the meal.

While the tomato's juice was dribbling down his chin, Essenla dropped down next to him on the log, joining Morne in his fire watching.

They sat in silence like that for several minutes, the camp whirling in activity around them. Treyflena had already ducked into her tent, and as the duo sat there, Cretaya led Morgthon along by the arm to hers with a sultry smirk.

The silence was broken by a soft word from the mercenary.

"Morne?" she said quietly.

"Hm?"

The gazes of the two left the fire, hazel meeting gray as Essenla appeared to struggle with something.

"I…" She huffed a breath, turning back to the fire. "I know what it's like."

Morne resumed his vigilance of the flames, waiting for her to elaborate as he ate the last bite of his tomato.

"I know what it's like," Essenla repeated. "To be forced to do things you hate, things you have no say in the matter of. It's horrible."

"…" Morne wiped the juice off of his chin, saying nothing.

"I noticed you didn't bring a tent. So long as you promise not to try anything, I wouldn't mind sharing mine with you."

That caught Morne's attention.

He tore his gaze away from the fire to study Essenla's face, seeking to know the person who would offer such a thing.

The sincerity in those square pupils was palpable. Her gaze met his unwaveringly, something that surprised him. There was no doubt in his mind that she meant the offer.

Morne turned back to the fire, falling into thought.

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