Darkness could have been a blade drawn across their throats and the chill that came with it, could have been a shawl. With little brush to make a fire, the three gathered up what they could find and made a flame to warm them by, albeit any real warmth was provided by the swill.
"I'm telling you, Cartas, this isn't natural. It's summer for Endel's sake," one figure said while hugging himself, rocking back and forth on his heels.
"And what do you want me to do about it, Idiot? Snap my fingers and tell Endel to warm your arse?" Cartas responded before taking a swig from a dirty bladder. He wiped his mouth with shivering fingers. "Andre, you got any more of this stuff? Tastes like pig's spit, but it does its job." He tossed the now empty bladder into the dirt.
Andre looked at his two companions contemptuously, considering them. "Aye, but it's me last canteen of it and you two will have to pay, or I'll be drinking it all meself."
"You sorry ass's git! Without me, we'd all be in shackles or cleaning pits or worse. Took all three of us to get this here fire going and you'll be resting your sorry mug on one of me blankets just like you has been," Cartas gritted through blackened and cracked teeth. "Now get us that last canteen or you'll not be resting on me blankets or anywhere else for that matter."
"Yeah," the second man postured; earning him a smack from Cartas that knocked him off his heels, squealing.
"I don't need you to back me word, Harha," Cartas growled, rubbing his hand where he'd struck Harha.
Andre looked as if to protest, but rescinded, a glint of the firelight caught Cartas' eye and he didn't like what he saw behind them. Mumbling a curse, he stood, took up a brand and went to the mules. Harha sat back up and wiped a tear as he threw a small branch on the fire.
Andre, Cartas, and Harha had been on the run from the local militia for eight days and their supplies as well as their spirits were getting low. Dodging a draft, the three conspired to flee after being assigned tent mates.
Killing their sergeant in his sleep, they slipped out of camp and stole three mules to make their way with. Though horses would have made a faster choice, mules could get by on less food and water, and the horses were well guarded besides. They avoided patrols for three days before they considered themselves far enough away that they'd been given up on.
Andre tried to ignore the chastising Harha was getting for wasting precious wood as he searched his mule for the last canteen. While the three of them had worked well together as a team to escape, Cartas had taken it upon himself to assume leadership. Andre and Harha didn't mind at first, but as time passed, it became obvious that Cartas had a darker side to him than even they. Cartas quickly took control of the strongest mule and the choicest food when they ate. He was always reminding them how it was he that had enabled them to escape.
Indeed, in eight days, it had gotten so annoying, Andre had entertained the idea of going back to camp and reporting that it was all Cartas' idea and that he'd be happy to join them in the hunt to bring him to justice. It was just a shame that Andre had no idea where they were now and no way to know how to get back to camp.
There was another smack and Andre could hear Harha whimper. "Blast it, Cartas, I'm hurrying! Quit hitting Harhas, aye? You'll have your swill in a minute." He dug around his satchel and found the canteen. He shook the rusted, dented thing and grinned to himself when he heard the sloshing inside. It was in bad shape, but a canteen made of metal was never given to mere troops. They had to make do with bladders for their water and those would usually rot without proper care, adding a foul taste to anything they drank. Another smack and this time, a scream followed.
"Damn it, Cartas!" Andre bellowed, "Hold your hand!" He turned and walked back to the fire, freezing when he saw them. Though the night was cold as winter, a shiver far deeper crept up his spine, raising bumps up his back and neck.
Before him, the bodies of Cartas and Harha, shriveled and broken lay next to the fire. In flashes of dying firelight, Andre could see that under their dusty and torn cloaks, the skin was wrinkled and crisp, as if burnt. Their eyes were sunken deep into their skulls and lips peeled back against dry gums revealing dead smiles and swollen tongues.
Andre tried to say their names, but it was a shivering, shaking noise that escaped instead. He moved to take a step towards them but the stench hit and he doubled over retching. After emptying his stomach, he summoned up the courage to speak.
"C…Cartas?"
There was a noise from the mules at that moment that caused Andre to jump. A screaming that sounded like mules but it was a noise that he'd never heard a living animal make. Shrill enough to shatter glass, it died down into a gurgle just as soon as it had started.
Andre turned, again the chill. In the distance, the night was breached by a flash of lightning. The thunder rolled what seemed like a long moment later. The whispers started coming from the direction of the mules then. Blood drained from his limbs and face, Andre didn't notice he was shivering so much. As another mule screamed its death, he ran into the dark, crying. He ran towards the coming storm.
"I'm telling you, Cartas, this isn't natural. It's summer for Endel's sake," one figure said while hugging himself, rocking back and forth on his heels.
"And what do you want me to do about it, Idiot? Snap my fingers and tell Endel to warm your arse?" Cartas responded before taking a swig from a dirty bladder. He wiped his mouth with shivering fingers. "Andre, you got any more of this stuff? Tastes like pig's spit, but it does its job." He tossed the now empty bladder into the dirt.
Andre looked at his two companions contemptuously, considering them. "Aye, but it's me last canteen of it and you two will have to pay, or I'll be drinking it all meself."
"You sorry ass's git! Without me, we'd all be in shackles or cleaning pits or worse. Took all three of us to get this here fire going and you'll be resting your sorry mug on one of me blankets just like you has been," Cartas gritted through blackened and cracked teeth. "Now get us that last canteen or you'll not be resting on me blankets or anywhere else for that matter."
"Yeah," the second man postured; earning him a smack from Cartas that knocked him off his heels, squealing.
"I don't need you to back me word, Harha," Cartas growled, rubbing his hand where he'd struck Harha.
Andre looked as if to protest, but rescinded, a glint of the firelight caught Cartas' eye and he didn't like what he saw behind them. Mumbling a curse, he stood, took up a brand and went to the mules. Harha sat back up and wiped a tear as he threw a small branch on the fire.
Andre, Cartas, and Harha had been on the run from the local militia for eight days and their supplies as well as their spirits were getting low. Dodging a draft, the three conspired to flee after being assigned tent mates.
Killing their sergeant in his sleep, they slipped out of camp and stole three mules to make their way with. Though horses would have made a faster choice, mules could get by on less food and water, and the horses were well guarded besides. They avoided patrols for three days before they considered themselves far enough away that they'd been given up on.
Andre tried to ignore the chastising Harha was getting for wasting precious wood as he searched his mule for the last canteen. While the three of them had worked well together as a team to escape, Cartas had taken it upon himself to assume leadership. Andre and Harha didn't mind at first, but as time passed, it became obvious that Cartas had a darker side to him than even they. Cartas quickly took control of the strongest mule and the choicest food when they ate. He was always reminding them how it was he that had enabled them to escape.
Indeed, in eight days, it had gotten so annoying, Andre had entertained the idea of going back to camp and reporting that it was all Cartas' idea and that he'd be happy to join them in the hunt to bring him to justice. It was just a shame that Andre had no idea where they were now and no way to know how to get back to camp.
There was another smack and Andre could hear Harha whimper. "Blast it, Cartas, I'm hurrying! Quit hitting Harhas, aye? You'll have your swill in a minute." He dug around his satchel and found the canteen. He shook the rusted, dented thing and grinned to himself when he heard the sloshing inside. It was in bad shape, but a canteen made of metal was never given to mere troops. They had to make do with bladders for their water and those would usually rot without proper care, adding a foul taste to anything they drank. Another smack and this time, a scream followed.
"Damn it, Cartas!" Andre bellowed, "Hold your hand!" He turned and walked back to the fire, freezing when he saw them. Though the night was cold as winter, a shiver far deeper crept up his spine, raising bumps up his back and neck.
Before him, the bodies of Cartas and Harha, shriveled and broken lay next to the fire. In flashes of dying firelight, Andre could see that under their dusty and torn cloaks, the skin was wrinkled and crisp, as if burnt. Their eyes were sunken deep into their skulls and lips peeled back against dry gums revealing dead smiles and swollen tongues.
Andre tried to say their names, but it was a shivering, shaking noise that escaped instead. He moved to take a step towards them but the stench hit and he doubled over retching. After emptying his stomach, he summoned up the courage to speak.
"C…Cartas?"
There was a noise from the mules at that moment that caused Andre to jump. A screaming that sounded like mules but it was a noise that he'd never heard a living animal make. Shrill enough to shatter glass, it died down into a gurgle just as soon as it had started.
Andre turned, again the chill. In the distance, the night was breached by a flash of lightning. The thunder rolled what seemed like a long moment later. The whispers started coming from the direction of the mules then. Blood drained from his limbs and face, Andre didn't notice he was shivering so much. As another mule screamed its death, he ran into the dark, crying. He ran towards the coming storm.