Flexing his chilled fingers and toes against stiffness, Caradoc watched the muted flicker of a dying campfire. It was his turn for watch and imperative he remain alert. From his uncomfortable seat against the weathered wagon, he was sure to find splinters in his backside if he moved too much, so instead his mind wandered. The wagon at least sheltered them against the wind carried off the Anauroch Desert, surprisingly cold as it was. Almost reminded him of home, it did.
Leaning back against a board, shaggy brown hair fell away from green eyes. The stars shone fiercely against this arid darkness. With a calloused hand, he scratched his beard and wondered if his family back home was watching those same stars this night. Unwelcome memories came to mind: a father disappointed that he had not yet taken a wife, a mother fussing over an endless list of tasks around the home, and an unforgiving open road between the Ten-Towns where he had begun his young adult life as a mercenary some years ago.
Gramr, his old mentor, had been right at least. Having inherited wanderlust from both sides of the family, the young man was destined to wander afar himself one day, and what better place to wander than to the Dalelands where his mother and father first met? Caradoc took a moment to notice gratitude in his heart, thankful for the guidance of his parents and the cantankerous dwarf, the harsh lessons of the North, and the ordeals of survival he lived to learn from early in his life. He was uncertain if he would have made it this far otherwise.
Boarding that ship for the Sword Coast had been a breath of fresh sea air he couldn't regret, but he still wondered how his family was getting on without him. With a frown, he pushed the thought from his mind. No point dwelling on it right now. His scruff was due another trim tomorrow, he noted.
He must have grown tense, lost in his thoughts. The other mercenary on watch shifted beside him.
Caradoc looked down to the crimson locks of hair spilling over his shoulder and the delicate features they wreathed. She was too youthful, too soft to be a sellsword by all appearances, especially as a young woman on her own. But looks could be deceiving. A small bead of drool pooled at the side of her open mouth while she snored softly against his shoulder. He thought to wake her, to scold her for not fulfilling her responsibility to remain on watch as well, a near-sacred role in his experience, but the truth was they were all tired.
The road from Waterdeep to Yulash was long and not altogether well-traveled. Bandits, orcish raiding parties, beasts, and rough terrain ensured the mercenaries would work for their pay. Their employer had hired a guide across this sea of sand and stone at least, a native calling himself Bedine, but even so the caravan had lost one man to an ankheg, a camel to a sinkhole, and a mule to exhaustion. The going was slow, and they needed to keep their strength up if they would make it through. Reflecting on this, Caradoc wondered just how many corners this merchant had tried to cut taking them through Anauroch rather than farther south and around by way of Trader's Road. Was it purely for profit, or had he taken a job with a smuggler? Mercenaries weren't paid to ask questions.
Needles walked across his leg suddenly and he exhaled sharply through his nose. Time for a stretch.
With his free hand he unclasped his mother's old cloak, then draped it around the sleeping girl. Asclepia, she'd said her name was. Like the flower? Unsure if he believed it was her real name, he wouldn't fault her for adopting a pseudonym or moniker in this line of work. Maybe it was time for him to do the same. He muttered a small prayer to the Green Goddess, asking to let this girl rest, and gave thanks for sufficient water on their journey. Then he stood, propping his rucksack against the girl in his place, and limped off to the edge of the campsite for a piss.
When the frigid wind cut to skin without his cloak, he shivered and grit his teeth. The breastplate and coat he still wore from Bryn Shander helped retain a bit of warmth, but only barely. Nearly cursing the cold, he quickly swallowed the words. Then, amid the pain of his leg waking from numbness, he took a deep breath and whispered another prayer. To the Cold Goddess, he welcomed the bitterness of her touch that aroused in him the will to survive, piercing the haze of fatigue and sharpening his senses. For a moment, he thought his breath crystalized in the air as he shuddered.
So the dale had taught him, all things come at a cost. So the Red Knight reminded him, in times of peace prepare for war. For a moment of comfort given from Eldath to the girl, he would bear Auril's suffering. A veritably smug gust whipped at his snarling visage.
* * *
Asclepia rested, but did she dream? What pervaded the young firebrand's mind was known only to her, yet the slow-burning coals maintained vigil. They pulsed as if hanging on her every breath for a story not yet told.
* * *
Readjusting his trousers, Caradoc turned back to camp just in time to catch a moving shadow behind the ember glow. His shield, bow, and quiver lay beside the girl, but his sword remained at his side, as did his hatchet and boot knife.
"Come here to me, or I'll burst ye! Show yourself!" shouted Caradoc.
Asclepia's eyes snapped open and she began to stir. Too slow. A clatter of steel struck against stone as someone kicked her weapon away. Caradoc lurched forward, beginning to draw his own sword when a glint of starlight stopped him short. A blade held his throat by the hand of a dark figure at his left, steel still faintly humming. Two more figures loomed over the girl, and a rustle of movement to his right signaled a fourth.
"Hold on right there, friend," said the apparent woman to his left, "or we'll be lashin' yer blood all o'er the sand." She tapped his neck as if to implicate what she meant. He nearly flinched at the icy metal, but her point was unmistakable. What's more, he recognized her voice. She was among four additional mercenaries they took on in Loudwater. For cheap too. Now it was clear why.
"We don' want to hurt yous, but we'll be takin' the caravan from here, see?" she continued. More rustling to his right, and he thought he spied a crossbow's stirrup caught in a glimmer of starlight.
"And the redhead," barked a man by the wagon. "We'll take good care of her."
"I wouldnae recommend that," Caradoc called over.
"Shut it!" The blade pressed against his neck, and a faint trickle of warmth bled against the metal's chill. "And like hell ye will," the woman continued, now shouting in the wagon's direction, teeth bared. "We's gettin' paid fer the goods 'n' nothin' else. She's dead weight."
Caradoc couldn't see Asclepia well at this distance, but her silhouette still suggested his cloak remained draped over her. Please spare the cloak, he thought.
"Just for a bit o' fun, aye?" retorted the second man at the wagon. "Not like you'd show us a good time, ya dusty."
"The Zhents take slaves, right?" followed the first man. "Pass her over with the goods, and we score ourselves a few more points with 'em for a job well done, or drop her in a ditch if they don't want her."
The woman's voice burned with ire, "Bloody gobshites and eejits, I said no--!"
Bright light and screams burst from the wagon, as expected. Caradoc knocked the blade away from his throat and ducked around the woman to his left. A bolt screamed past his ear from the right, and he gave the woman a hard shove towards the crossbowman. A glance toward the wagon captured Asclepia standing, eyes ablaze, hands spread wide as the mouth of a river of fire. Her two would-be assailants writhed in the sand as their flesh boiled and charred beneath her unrelenting spell.
"Nine Hells, leg it!" called the crossbowman as he dragged the woman after him. Caradoc paused with his sword half-drawn. He watched the two surviving mercenary-bandits retreat into the growing darkness, arcane flame receding. For a moment, he thought the woman looked back. Then they were gone, as one with the shapeless black across the desert.
He reflected on the mercy she'd tried to offer when she could have simply slit his throat. Killing him and the girl quietly would have been wiser perhaps. From what he knew of the Zhentarim, such mercy would not last long. He hushed his blade back within its sheath and turned to Asclepia. The screaming and thrashing had stopped.
"You alright, lass?"
Bright eyes glittered back at him with a shrug and wordless, "Hmhmm." She poked one of the charred remains with her boot. "I don't want to sleep here anymore."
Caradoc nodded and lifted his mother's cloak from the ground. Asclepia had mercifully cast it off before unleashing her magic. With a sigh of relief, he returned it to its rightful place around his shoulders.
"Say, where are the others?"
A brief investigation found the merchant, the Bedine guide, and the two other remaining mercenaries bound and gagged. A situation easily remedied, but quickly followed by regret.
"What do I pay any of you for?!" shouted the emancipated merchant. "First they betray me, then you two fail to keep watch? Was one of you asleep?! I ought not pay you more than a pittance for this!" Caradoc frowned. Asclepia blew a lock of hair out of her face and pretended to look somewhere else.
"I ken your words, but fact is we're still alive, you need us much as we be needin' you, and lo!" Caradoc gestured towards the wagon, "Nae a hair hurt on your head, nor one bit o' damage to your merchandise thanks to L'il Ascly here. We'll be gettin' you tae Yulash together, or none of us will be gettin' much farther alone."
"You've already half the men left you need to pay when we get there too," chimed one of the other mercenaries in an effort to be helpful. The merchant wheeled on the haggard fellow, looking fit to burst with rage and heaving several wordless breaths while they held each other's gaze. Then he stood upright, tidied his blemished clothes and hat, and nodded to himself.
"Well we'd best get a move on before the sun is up. Sooner we get there, sooner you get paid," said the indignant merchant, nose held aloft. "Gold is all you care about. Isn't that right, mercenaries?"
Caradoc passed a pained smile and shrug to Asclepia, as if to say some things can't be helped. She smirked and rolled her eyes.