Drack rode on horseback out front where the huge wagons were along with Grand captain Altair, Limlic and the two other captains. It was a privilege getting to ride on horseback instead of traveling on feet like the other men and women of the company. 130 people in total, perhaps less or maybe a bit more. He wasn’t sure. 

There was a time Drack used to trudge behind on foot, eating dust kicked up by the captains’ horses, coughing and sneezing and scratching at his dust infested eyes. Now he was the one who rode on horseback. A promotion he gained after the death of Captain Zeke three months earlier. Strange how one person’s downfall led to the uplifting of another. 

They rode on a dirt road in the forest. Drack glanced at the deep forest on both sides apprehensively. The sun gleamed up in the azure sky, warm and hot but tapered by the cold northern breeze. He caught the eye of Arnfried. The younger boy was clearly exhausted from the four hours of marching. Drack nodded his head to him in encouragement, Arnfried was too tired to care though, sweat running down his light skinned face, and his earth green hair.

Drack knew how it felt to march on foot. 

There was a time when they had more people in the company, and there was a time where they had enough horses for half the company, not just the captains. They had to unfortunately eat most of their horses due to food shortages during their travel across the Prophet’s Wasteland nearly two years ago. 

“Grand Captain.” Captain Hazardu said, looking at Altair. “We’ll need to get some new horses.” 

It was disturbing hearing the man speak of the exact thing he was thinking of. But captain Hazardu had always been the intelligent type, always thinking, and only speaking when it really mattered. A great man all around, easy to talk to. If only he wasn’t a pyromaniac. 

The way Hazardu’s eyes always gleamed with lust as he set fire to houses, people, animals, fields. It was something Drack would never forget. How long until the man set fire to their entire company, Drack sometimes wondered? And it was something more likely than unlikely. 

“New horses?” Grand Captain Altair said, puffing at his pipe, “Does it look like we can afford new horses Hazardu? Next thing you’re gonna tell me is that the men need whores to fuck too, aye?” 

“No, Captain.” Hazardu replied simply in his monotone voice, “That’s what you want. Whores to fuck. Your right hand will have to suffice for now since there are more pressing issues.”

Altair blew out smoke from his thin lips as he shook his head gently, causing his dark greasy hair to sway. “Oh, Hazardu,” he said, “what would I do without you?” 

Hazardu ignored his comment. “Our men are always too tired for immediate combat due to these long marches on foot. What if we are ambushed by bandits?” 

“A valid concern, I think.” Captain Mikez said to the side, as if he’d thought of it first. He hadn’t. He was a narcissistic idiot. “Bandits are not uncommon but we will surely outnumber them easily. You worry too much, Harzardu.”

“Numbers don’t always guarantee victory.” The pyromaniac said in a voice that hinted that he would speak on the topic no longer. 

“New horses, new shoes, new clothes, new hats, new cats.” Altair said, giving his characteristic head shake. “So many wants yet so little money. So little plunder, aye Limlic?” 

The old man simply grunted back. He seemed never to be happy unless he was gambling. Funny thing was, no one liked to gamble with him, only Grand Captain Altair. He was the only one who seemed to beat the old bastard on some occasions. 

“So little indeed.” Said Captain Mikez. “I expected the people in the northern regions to be more…” he trailed off, looking for a word that would make him sound smarter than he actually was. 

“Affluent?” The captain provided a suggestion while scratching at his stubble.

“Yes, that's quite right.” Mikez said with a raised finger. “It doesn’t seem like the place the bastard son of the king would go to raise a rebellion, and incite treachery in the king’s subjects. Perhaps the bastard is a retard.” He snorted.

No one laughed. 

“Not a wise choice indeed.” Grand Captain Altair said. “There are scarce resources here, most of the people give little to no fucks about the king, and they are poor, weak, sick and filled with discontent. But these are the type of people easily riled up. Give them a person to blame for their misfortune and give them a sword to stab someone with, and you’ll see them stalk right up the grand capital in the central region, demanding the king be hanged. Desperate people tend to do desperate things.  ” 

The Grand Captain was not wrong. Drack had known what it was like to be desperate.

“Which is why we are the king’s justice.” Mikez said imperiously. “Rooting out treachery wherever we go, hunting that bastard son of a whore down.”

The king’s justice? Nothing they’d done could be described as just. Perhaps the word had another meaning Drack didn’t know.

“Indeed, we are the king’s justice.” Captain Altair said sluggishly as he puffed out some smoke. “Now how long until we reach our next destination? I need some new clothing. Undergarments especially.” 

With the way he spoke, it didn’t sound like the Grand Captain was excited about delivering the king’s justice, more like he was excited to get his hands on money and other things that didn’t belong to him.

“Our map shows that we’ll reach the village of Kearth in four hours.” Hazardu said. 

“Proppistrious.” The Grand Captain Remarked. “Do you know how terrible it is for a man to wear torn undergarments for so long? Damn thing got tangled up and nearly tore my cock off a few days back. You captains should make yourself more useful and get your men to march faster. Go now.” He said, shooing them away with his hand.

The Company had continued marching hard and managed to cut the time to around two hours. The men needed rest though. The human body had a limit after all. Most of the men couldn’t even lift a sword, they were that tired.

Captain Hazardu had suggested to the Grand Captain that they allow the men to rest for a few hours, and to also get prepared. They hadn’t swung a sword properly in a few weeks now and they were bound to be rusty.

Altair, who was glad to have the village of Kearth in sight, didn't seem to mind giving the men a few hours to themselves.

Drack stood atop the hill, glancing at the small village far below. It seemed so lonely, insignificant, and inconsequential. They’d leave it even more hollow soon enough.

“You could stop what’s about to happen.” Arnfried said, leaning against a tree nearby with his arms crossed like he always did when he was nervous. 

“Why don’t you do it yourself?!” Drack barked back. 

Did Arnfried think he hadn’t tried to in the past? There was no convincing Grand Captain Altair.

“Captain Drack is right.” Florian said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. “If you're so worried, why don’t you try to stop it yourself. Perhaps you are the coward, Arnfried.” 

The younger boy looked away disdainfully.

“Nothing wrong with being a coward.” Drack said solemnly, “my father always said that a person needs a little bit of everything.” 

Well, he’d heard it from his uncle, but apparently his uncle had gotten it from his father.

“A little bit of everything, Hu?” Arnfried mocked, “How about you gain a little sympathy, Captain.” 

“That's the thing, Arnfried.” Drack replied. “I have more than just a little bit of sympathy, but it hasn’t been all that beneficial it seems.” 

He’d kept Arnfried, Aoifee, and all those others alive. Without him, the Grand Captain would have had them hanged or gutted and burned to ashes along with the villages they used to live in. And all I get for my efforts and sympathy is lip. Endless amounts of it. 

Maybe the Grand Captain was right. Sympathy is like a birthmark, it's there but it doesn’t really amount to much. 

But Sympathy was the reason Drack was still alive. As much sense as the Grand Captain’s words made, maybe Arnfried was right. Drack had thought that saving as many kids from those villages they burned down was more than a little sympathy but perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps it was less than little.

And my father did always say that a person needs a little bit of everything. 

Drack took a deep breath, and prepared to say his next words. Perhaps the most worthless words he’d ever say among all the other worthless shit he’d said in the past. He knew this entire business wouldn’t end the way he and Arnfried wanted it to, but better that a man try and fail rather than fail without trying… sometimes

“You want to keep that village from burning.” Drack said, with a firm gaze on Arnfried. “You're gonna have to come with me to convince the Captain.” 

Arnfried squirmed at that. The younger boy had developed two emotions towards the Grand Captain. At first it was a burning hatred that was then quelled by an even greater fear over time. Perhaps it was the way the Grand Captain was unbothered by gore, or burning flesh, or putrid smells, or the way he indulged madmen, addicts, and other lunatics. Or maybe it was the way he wore no armor as he casually walked amidst burning buildings and villages full of fighting men, arrows wheezing past and things tumbling down, and men stabbing any person they saw. It painted quite a picture when all a man wore was a mostly unbuttoned white shirt and pants in places where death was imminent. It also painted an even clearer picture when the man seemed unfazed by anything. 

“Don’t get cold feet now.” Drack said. “If you-”

“I. am. resolved,” Arnfired cut him off. “Let's go.” 

Florian on the other hand smiled, while watching this whole exchange.