“You called, Captain?”

Raylas stood inside the commander’s tent. It was not as large as a noble’s tent but it was quite a bit larger than any that Raylas had the opportunity to use. You could fit almost four men inside it.

“Yes,” the Captain replied. “Please have a seat.” He gestured to a barrel sitting next to the entrance.

Raylas carefully sat on the barrel, and noticed the lid wasn’t fully on. Inside he could see it was half filled with salt. The cost of this much boggled his mind as with his wages he could get a cup of it if he was lucky.

Raylas shook his head to remove the useless thoughts. The Captain got the bigger share because he was the Captain. It made sense. Captain controlled everyone, even the stuck up horse faced Sigmund, because the Captain was not only one of the best fighters in the group but also extremely intelligent. Their group never got swindled when things went through him, so Merchants liked to gang up on people like Raylas to squeeze a little extra profit.

But not everything should go through the Captain. Even a powerful man like him was not perfect and had his vices, like shiny trinkets.

Raylas glanced around the tend which was fairly spartan overall, but the bits of furniture inside spoke of money. The table was made of good wood and folded up nicely. The bed was made of more than hemp fabrics from its smooth texture. Hell, maybe it was even made from cotton. The captain was even using one of those rare metal tipped quill pens to write with instead of snipping his own quill every time.

“Your performance today was lacking, Raylas,” Captain said.

Raylas jumped, realizing the Captain had been looking at him for a short time.

“Not only did you lose your weapon but your shouting distracted some of the others,” Captain continued.

“Goodwill left his post,” Raylas defended.

“Goodwill’s quick work around the caravan was an important factor in keeping the wolves at bay for the others to hold the line.”

“And me almost getting my throat ripped out was an acceptable alternative?” Raylas grumbled as he pointed at his cut and bruised neck.

Captain sighed and sprinkled some sand on the sheet of paper. “I did not hear about that from the reports. I was informed that Goodwill assisted you in finishing up your fight, earning himself eleven wolves total.”

“Seven wolves,” Raylas corrected. “He killed seven, one was stolen from me. Four pelts turned in were my kills.”

“Is that so?” Captain froze and his knuckles audibly cracked as his fists clenched. “You saying Goodwill stole from–”

“He did not steal anything!” Raylas interrupted as he jumped off the barrel. “It is a bit of a competition between some of us.”

“He took what you earned and claimed it as his own,” Captain sneered. “I will not have a thief in my compan–”

“It is practice,” Raylas rushed. “We must stay alert and keep watch on our things or someone would take it, just like how a dagger can be snuck in your back once your guard is down.” Raylas took a breath to calm himself down. He was starting to rush his words and he had to remain in control. “I let my guard down due to my irritation on the fight. Goodwill noticed and, by taking the pelts, punished me for letting down my guard. It is a reminder and game between us.”

The Captain glared at Raylas for a minute.

“Then you got paid for your work?” He finally asked.

Raylas shook his head.

“Then it was theft.”

“No more than gambling is theft, Captain,” Raylas declared.

A number of seconds passed in silence and Raylas felt sweat drip down his back. Everything he said was absolutely made up, but the Captain was far too harsh on thieves. Even the hint of them would have him become more bloodthirsty than an orc.

Goodwill was a bastard, but he was a good bastard who, over the years, had earned his place as someone trustworthy to guard your back. Maybe not trustworthy enough to guard your pack, but definitely a man who would fight to the death next to you if need be.

“Very well,” Captain concluded. “I will trust you this time.”

He unclenched his fists and rolled his shoulders to relax, then took up his pen again and dipped it in the ink.

“Make sure not to lose your weapon again, Raylas. You say you killed four wolves alone and that in itself is commendable. But losing your weapon to a beast is unsatisfactory. Next time it happens disciplinary action will occur.”

“Understood, Captain.” Raylas bowed.

“Business out of the way,” Captain continued. “How are the other men?”

“Discontent by the length of the journey,” Raylas reported. “It is going well past what was predicted. Many are getting low on supplies as we did not prepare for the extra week.”

Captain nodded as if this was expected. “The beasts are more active than we expected,” He sighed. “Four attacks in one week? Unheard of. Where are the Knight Guards? Have they been neglecting their patrols?”

“I, unfortunately, do not know,” Raylas shrugged.

“I’m thinking out loud,” the Captain chuckled. “I know you are no Knight, so you wouldn’t know their schedule the same as I.”

He scribbled a few words down and started to fill out the sheet while referencing another on the table. Raylas stayed standing for a couple of minutes before sitting back down on the salt barrel.

He had not been dismissed by the Captain, so he couldn’t leave yet.

The scratching of the parchment mimicked the flickering candlelight. The steady rhythm of the captain’s writing was the only sound for a few moments.

Which was odd… wasn’t it strangely quiet?

“Have you considered my proposal?” Captain interrupted Raylas’ thoughts.

“I think you should consider Rolft before me,” Raylas answered honestly. “He is not only more experienced in combat and tactics, but he is also much more intelligent than me.”

“Experienced, yes,” Captain agreed. “But I would say in a one on one fight you would come out on top. As for intelligence, have you even tried to learn before?”

“I have learned how to wield my pole,” Raylas said confidently.

“And you learned how to punch hard,” Captain sighed. “You've said the same excuse before. I am asking if you ever tried to learn how to read, Raylas?”

Raylas shook his head. He was no noble, nor was he a merchant or any other of the sort.

“I have not as it–”

“Captain!”

A mercenary whose name Raylas couldn’t remember burst into the tent. He was breathless from sprinting in chainmail armor.

“Shadows!” the man gasped. “Shadows in the trees are moving toward the camp.”

“More wolves?” Captain asked as he stood up, his armor clanking as he reached for his large hammer next to his desk.

“No noise,” the man replied as he finally gained his breath. “Scouts say they appear humanoid, but are too quiet.”

“Undead?” Raylas gasped as he stood up himself.

“Unconfirmed,” the man answered, looking between both of them. “The others have been notified as well and the guards have been reinforced. We are awaiting your command, Captain.”

Captain nodded proudly. “We defend here. Circle up around the wagons, use what we can as a wall and illuminate this damn field.”

“Understood!” The man saluted and rushed out of the tent.

“Raylas, get armed and to your position. Wait for orders.”

“Understood, Captain!” Raylas responded as he quickly left and rushed over the fields toward his fire. A horn sounded behind him, one short note, a long one, then another short one. Battlestations.

When he arrived, Rolft was already standing with both his and Raylas’ pack over his shoulders, as well as holding his giant sword.

“Shadows–” Rolft started before Raylas interrupted.

“Heard the report while I was with the captain. We are to go to the carriages and defend.”

Rolft nodded and tossed Raylas’ pack to him. It felt normal, but there sadly was no time to double check to make sure Goodwill didn’t snatch another goody. Thankfully the treasure Raylas found was securely tied to his belt. He padded where it was lying, but there was nothing there.

Raylas looked down to see his pack was missing. He did a quick scan around the fire but the pack wasn’t there.

He took a hold of a long branch which had been placed in the fire and lifted it up, illuminating the area around him as he started to trace himself back the way he came. Soon a small figure appeared next to him, his usual smile missing.

“Scouts report that nothing has emerged yet, but you should hurry to position.”

“I am going, but give me back my bag,” Raylas growled as he held out his hand.

Goodwill blinked in confusion before sighing. “I didn’t take your bag, Ray. Now hurry and–”

“I want my bag, you halfwit,” Raylas hissed. “With everything still inside it. I saved your sorry ass from the Captain’s wrath just a bit ago so don’t make me a liar.”

“And I am telling you I never touched your bag. I’ll give you back that fancy fork later, but for now we need to get to position.” Goodwill snapped as he leapt forward and started sprinting to the encircling carriages. The horses were neighing nervously as the drivers forced them to move, and multiple armed mercenaries were covering the gaps.

Raylas gave an irritated sigh as he watched Goodwill fade into the darkness as he rushed toward the defensive ring. Perhaps the thief didn’t steal his pack… this time.

Raylas gave one last sad look around the area illuminated around him. If he didn't see it he’ll have to search in the morning and hope none of the other mercenaries found it before–

A twinkle flashed at the corner of his eye. A sliver of a precious metal chain was sitting in the grass alongside the bag. It was a little further way from camp but Raylas had time. He just needed to grab it and rush toward his post and he’ll be good to go.

Raylas ran toward it and snatched it out of the grass, the familiar texture of his bag felt good, and the weight of the chain and knife confirmed that everything was still inside. He started toward the encampment while glancing inside. The ring and bag with the design were also inside. Raylas smiled until he heard a crunch behind him.

He turned only to face a horror.

Hollow eyes and a slack jaw. Skin sagging with bones exposed, swaying while the creature stumbled forward, its decayed arm reaching toward Raylas.

“Undead!” Raylas roared as he punched the monstrosity. Its face crunched inward and it stumbled back, but the creature soon righted itself. A stench which Raylas despised erupted around him from breaking the creature's face, one of rot and death which caused him to gag.

He turned and sprinted toward the camp while the zombie was recovering. “Walking corpses are coming!”