“Alright, rookie, listen up.”

Eric, who had been leaning against the cart he’d been assigned to, jumped to an upright position as he heard the Sergeant of the guard calling for him. There could be no mistake as to who he was addressing, as Eric was the only new recruit. The others had been with this client for nearly a year.

“Yes sir,” Eric said promptly. “Are we ready to head out for Sheran?”

Eric had been given a pretty good assignment if the attendant at the booth were to be believed. A portly gem merchant, based in Milagre, needed a substantial guard to accompany him to Sheran. The merchant would deposit his earnings with the bank there, organize a shipment to leave via fast-moving messenger ship, then return to the capital city.

“We’ll be heading out soon enough,” The Sergeant said briskly. “Get over here and help with the crates. Master Rainhall ain’t paying you to lounge around.”

“Right,” Eric said, following the older man. He wasn’t exactly nervous, but he knew that, as the junior member of the team, his position was tenuous, and he could be tossed aside without a moment’s hesitation if he screwed up. So he hefted a large crate into his arms, grunting with the effort, and staggered over to the cart to load it in. It was heavy and hard work, but it allowed him some time to think.

He’d returned at night, just as the attendant had ordered, coming in as the last part of the returning crowd. The attendants were taking people two or three at a time, searching for names. For most, they handed the men a slip of paper containing their assignment, but still many were dismissed. The latter group stumped off, dour expressions on their faces. Eric commiserated with them silently, imagining how frustrating it must be to wait an entire day with high hopes, only to be denied the chance for a job.

The longer he watched those with jobs and without, he began to notice a pattern. More often than not, the men who got jobs had prompt appearances, with clean clothing and well-maintained gear. The rejects, more often than not, had shabby armor and weaponry on them. Sometimes, they even appeared to be nothing more than common criminals. It did make sense for the Guard’s Guild to carefully consider each applicant, so as to ensure that no brigands were assigned to trusting clients.

“Breeden,” the attendant, a completely new person, had muttered as Eric stepped up. “I think I have something for you… Yes, here it is.”

The attendant had held out a slip of paper to him, and he’d taken it with a surge of relief, looking down at it. It had carried not only the details of his assignment but a place and time to report the next morning. The slip also stated that, as a member of the Guild, twenty percent of his his earnings would be claimed by the Guild. Most of it went to administrative costs and paying his superiors, but some of it would be set aside for future training.

“The more work you do, the more you earn,” the attendant explained, when Eric asked about the twenty percent cut. “And you will get extra training too. There are a lot more perks at the higher levels, so I suggest you stay honest, work hard, and start earning.”

The last of the crates had finally been loaded into the wagon and stacked neatly. There were seven other guards on this trip, with he and the Sergeant making up a total of nine. Eric wondered how long he’d have to be with the guild to be able to command his own unit. The very idea both intrigued and frightened him. He was an introvert at heart, but he did have his moments where he excelled at interaction.

“Not completely useless, are you?” One of the other guards said, slapping Eric on the back. “You got arms like wet noodles, but you sure can work when you need to!”

Eric grinned back at the man, rubbing his shoulder with a mock-grimace. “And you’ve got an arm like a tree branch, Jameson. I’m surprised you can lift it to swing a sword.”

Jameson guffawed at the jibe, but they both went quiet at once with a curt gesture from the Sergeant. The merchant was stepping out of the nearby building now, waddling down the few steps and over to the cart. He was a short man, though he did have a rather massive gut, probably from a lazy lifestyle of eating and trading. But he was a gem merchant, and rumor was that he paid well, so Eric could overlook his, for lack of a better term, snobbish attitude.

“I hope you’ve got everything ready,” the merchant said without looking at any of them. “Victoria is coming out, and I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“Everything is ready, Master Rainhall,” The sergeant replied promptly. It was down in their contract that they had to refer to the merchant as ‘Master Rainhall’. Eric had no problem with this, as the man was clearly wealthy, and such a thing seemed normal in medieval times. “The crates are loaded, and the gate guards are ready for our departure. We can be off at a moment’s notice.”

The merchant didn’t reply to the sergeant’s proclamation, as he was busy staring back at the building he’d exited. A moment later, the double doors opened once more, and a lady came out. She was the proper definition of a noble lady in Eric’s eyes. Tall, with an elegant dress and hairstyle to match, she carried herself with grace and a stiff, upright posture as she walked across the cobbles. She was a good deal younger, not to mention thinner and prettier, than her husband.

“Good morning, Lady Rainhall,” the sergeant said solemnly, dropping into a deep bow. Eric noticed the other guards following suit, and hurriedly copied them. “I hope you rested well, milady.”

“Well enough,” she said in a reedy, high-pitched voice. “Are we ready to depart, then?”

“At once, milady,” the sergeant said with another bow. “Allow me to help you into the carriage.”

There were two vehicles in total. The first was the sturdy wagon that held the merchant’s goods and earnings, and the second was a luxurious carriage. Both were pulled by fine horses, with gleaming coats and well-oiled bridles. The merchant and his wife, along with their personal driver, Max, would take the carriage. One of the guards would drive the horses dragging the cargo, and the others would be stationed around the two carts, keeping their eyes out for potential trouble.

“Certainly,” the lady replied carelessly. “Shall we be off then, Max?”

The tall and burly man gave a bow. “As you wish, milady.”

The sergeant of the guard gave Eric a quick gesture towards the front of the first cart, and the other men moved automatically to their positions. Once Max and the sergeants were seated and gripping the reins of their respective vehicles, the sergeant gave a brisk order for them to start moving. Eric walked with a casual pace, making sure to stay five feet in front of the horses to avoid being staggered, or worse, stepped on.

The building they had gathered at was along the edge of the Market District. It was a prime location, with direct access to Trader’s Row, the wide street that connected directly to the Queen’s Road, and also, via a windly path, had access to the Durmeau river, which cut through the city’s core. It was a very short and safe trip to reach the main thoroughfare. The first challenge, at least for Eric and his companion in the front, was what came when they attempted to merge onto the Queen’s Road.

Having been briefed ahead of time, Eric knew what he had to do. Sharing a quick glance with his fellow advance guard, he nodded, and the two of them hurried forward into the larger road. Even this early in the morning there were a lot of people walking back and forth, and he had to make sure that the way was clear for the two carts to enter the road and turn toward the northern gate.

“Clear the way!” Eric called loudly, gathering the attention of everyone within fifty feet. “Clear the way for Master Rainhall! Two carts, coming through!”

Some looked a little disgruntled as he waved his arms at them, directing them away and to the side, but once they caught sight of the carts, they hurriedly cleared a space, not wanting to get in the way of the merchant. Ten feet to the side, the other guard was also directing people to move aside. He had a trio of riders in his way, and he was curtly gesturing the mounted men to move to the other side of the road.

“Who do you think you are, barking orders at us, then?” The man in the lead shouted back, leaning down in his saddle to bring his face closer to the guard. “We’ve as much right to be on this road as any other man, and you can’t push us aside!”

Before the guard could draw breath to reply, Eric hurried over to give his assistance. “We are the advance guard for Master Rainhall on his journey to Sheran. Move aside!”

“You move aside!” the man replied belligerently. “I ain’t gonna pander to no rich man.”

“You ain’t gotta pander,” Eric hissed at the man. “But unless you think you can win against two heavy carts, eight armed men, and an angry noble lady, you best be on your way.”

He dropped his hand to the hilt of the sword in his belt as he said this. He had no intention whatsoever to draw it, but the simple action seemed to sink into the man’s head better than his words. Suddenly reminded that Eric and his compatriots were armed and he was not, he lost a great deal of the stubbornness that had been in his tone. Scoffing loudly at Eric, and muttering something about snobby private guards, he yanked his horse’s head around and moved out of the way quickly, his two friends following close behind him.

“Well done,” his fellow guard said. “Looking at you now, I’d never know this was your first job.”

Eric shrugged diffidently. “I’m good at dealing with stubborn people. Nobody’s as stubborn as me.”

The man slowly grinned at him. “We’ll see if that holds true when we get to Sheran. You may just regret making that claim.”