An Age of Wrath - Chapter I

It was only by good fortune that he found the Wolves in the Waste who, themselves were hired to find a roving band of heathenized Barnoobs or Sandpit Slavers. It was Ravendorn who thought that Bishop’s limited arcana might be put to good use.

"Well now," said the last and the eldest of the five men who sat within the lead wagon; "it appears that we have traveled long enough this morn without uttering a word, eh lads?"

"Shut yer old trap, Dirks!" Bishop snapped.

"Well I just thought mayhap you’d all care for a story?"

Bishop leaned over to the old man and snarled; "Listen ‘ere, eh you old goat; I’m not in any mood for yer idiot ramblings and lies ‘bout vampires, wizards, or immortal warriors; got it you old shag?"

Dirks recoiled in hurt disgust. Dirks had been with the Wolves shortly after Ravendorn and Kallus had formed the company. He had traveled with a few other companies before that and was a skilled archer; though now in his later years Ravendorn had kept him merely for his astute knowledge and relations with rival mercenary companies.

"Leave him be, Bishop." Ravendorn said.

"How many wheels you think we have till we reach My’Dian, Ravendorn?" Kallus asked.

"We’ll approach Stradletton soon enough," gruffed the Red. "My’Dian should appear before sup’."

"Aye, but we should gather our thoughts and mayhap a drink or two at Stradletton," barked Bishop. "This wagon is stuffy and I won’t be seeing a sup ’if I gotta sit in here till then."

"Mayhap we’ll stop," growled Ravendorn. "But if we should, it won’t be in Stradletton and it won’t be fer drinkin’ spirits, Bishop. I won’t have any of you causin’ trouble ‘fore we had a chance to speak with the Minister of My’Dian, understood?"

Bishop did not reply. Surly he pulled his dingy, red cowl over his eyes and feigned sleep.

Kallus looked over to Ravendorn and watched as the captain of the Wolves furrowed his brow deep in thought. It was Dolus that finally spoke up and asked the question that had been bothering Kallus since they first received an invitation to My’Dian, the greatest Kingdom of men, three days before. It was a simple question, but not one old Kallus had dared to ask to his captain.

"Hey Red, you sure we should be goin’ to My’Dian?" asked the slow giant. "I mean I heard mercs were outlawed in ‘der."

Ravendorn looked up slowly towards Dolus and considered him carefully. Perhaps if another not so keen witted had questioned his plans he might have been quicker to anger, but the Zumanarth was of good nature, if not of good mind.

"Yes, Dolus, normally I would agree with you, but the letter seemed genuine if not forthright. It seems that something of importance is going on, and whatever that may be, it’s something that the king doesn’t want to sully his hands with. That alone leads me to believe that their intentions are, at least for us, true."

"Stradletton ahead, Ravendorn! What ya want me to do?" shouted the wagon driver.

Bishop sat up and looked towards Ravendorn who in return pierced him with cold, green eyes. "We go around, Haxal." Bishop sat back sulking and pretended sleep once again.

Dirks snickered quietly. "Well if this don’t remind of the days when I rode with ol’ Grundy outta Kalzef. He was an ol’ merc captain, you know." He laughed as he slapped his bony knee and looked around the wagon at anyone who bothered to pay attention. Most did, save Bishop, who still brooded and pulled his cowl further down over his eyes. "Well there we were me and ol’ Grundy, planning for this here siege of an old warlord chieftain.