[Combat Information]

Level: 6 (546/755 XP to next level)

Hit Points: 5/5 (3 Base, 0 Level, 2 Constitution)

Attack: 18 (14 Strength, 4 Half Dexterity)

Defense: 24 (20 Constitution, 4 Half Dexterity)

Stat

Race

Class

Assigned

Gear

Misc

Total

Strength

3

8

3

1

0

15

Dexterity

3

5

0

0

0

8

Constitution

3

8

8

1

0

20

Magic

3

2

0

0

0

5

Intelligence

3

2

1

0

0

6

And so he was back to his job, making his slow way down the dusty road between Milagre and Sheran. He’d reported, as requested, to the Rainhall estate at the crack of dawn. Sergeant Moran hadn’t looked too surprised to see him returning as if he’d expected nothing less. It gave Eric a quiet sense of satisfaction knowing that he’d made a good impression by returning.

It could have been this first impression that had so drastically changed Moran’s attitude towards him. It could also have been that he was in an exceptionally grumpy mood on the previous trip. Either way, the Sergeant, while still strict when giving orders, was much friendlier, even joining in on the occasional joking conversation with the men, who had also accepted Eric without a second’s hesitation.

Moran had even surprised Eric a step further, approaching him before they’d set off. “Do you know how to drive a team of horses, Breeden?”

“No, Sergeant.”

“Well, you’ll learn on the way to Sheran. Hop in the cart. Smith, you take the lead. Williams, on the left flank. I’ll take the right, and Johan you’re in the rear.”

Johan had given a quick nod and moved to occupy the place a dozen feet from the rear of the merchant’s carriage without another word. After a moment’s hesitation, Smith had jogged to take the advanced position. Eric hesitated as well, looking between the horses and Moran. His instructions had been surprising.

“You want me to learn on the job?” He asked hesitantly. “While we’re transporting Master Rainhall?”

“If lady Rainhall were here, it would be a different story,” Moran said crisply. “She likes everything to run smoothly. Master Rainhall, thankfully, is much more patient, and cares less about how we do the job, as long as he and his merchandise get to Sheran safely.”

Eric, after a moment of further thought, nodded slowly. “Alright then. I’ll give it a try.”

The sergeant had patted him on the shoulder. “That’s a good man. Now, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Eric had to admit that he rather enjoyed not being the one who forced a clear space for the caravan on Queen’s Road. It was satisfying to see the dirty looks of other citizens directed at someone else for once. Johan and Moran had taken on that role, and people were much less interested in arguing with the sergeant. He was big, powerful, and had the unmistakable air of someone who would tolerate no backtalk or deceit. He was a man on a job, and he was going to do that job.

They were just reaching the swamps that protected Sheran when Moran called a temporary halt to their progress. Eric tugged on the reins gently to get the horses to stop. When they continued to move forward, he pulled more insistently, and finally, they came to a halt, rolling their eyes at him and grumbling. He hid a smile at their reaction, sure that they were actually appreciative of the rest.

“You look like a natural up there,” Johan said, having fallen back at Moran’s shouted order. “Don’t get too good at it, though. Moran likes his job, and wouldn’t like you taking it.”

“Are you saying I’m too lazy to give up the seat?” Moran said, butting his shoulder into Johan’s and making the smaller man stumble. “That’s insubordination, that is.”

Johan grinned easily at him, not fooled by the mock-severe tone. “Say what you want sergeant, but we both know you like that cushioned bench. Keeps that fat behind comfy, doesn’t it?”

Moran scowled at him, but the expression didn’t last long as Smith and Williams came around the carts, both holding a water skin in their hands. Johan was grinning all over his face, and eventually, the sergeant gave a snort of derision, turning away and muttering.

“How this group works, I’ll never know,” he said acidly. “A leader needs respect, not the bilge you throw at me.”

“Oh, I love you too!” Johan threw back at him and received a rude hand gesture in reply. Grinning, he turned to Eric. “Seriously though, I’m glad you decided to keep on. Moran was impressed by you in that fight with the bandits, even if he won’t say it aloud.”

“Thanks,” Eric replied with a laugh. “Not much else to do. I might pick up an odd job during the week to keep me busy, but this is a good one to keep.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Johan said, snatching the waterskin from Smith’s hand and taking a long drag before handing it to Eric. Smith scowled but said nothing. “At least we’re making good time this time. Jess was cross with me for being late last time.”

Eric grinned at him. “You told her we were attacked by bandits, right?”

“Oh yes,” Johan said with a long-suffering look. “Not that it mattered one bit to her, mind. She said I should have just fought them off faster.”

They both laughed loudly at that, so loudly that Rainhall stuck his head out the carriage window, frowning slightly. Eric made a gesture of apology and turned to lead Johan away where they wouldn’t disturb him. To his surprise, the fat merchant made an unmistakable beckoning gesture at both him and Johan. Sure that he was about to be told off for his lack of strict formality, Eric steeled himself and walked forward.

“Oh, relax,” Rainhall said tiredly. “Take this, and share it with the others.”

He shoved a large sack into Eric’s hands, then pulled his head back into the carriage, closing the window with a snap. Eric blinked momentarily in confusion, then opened the sack. A smell of cold roast meat hit his nose, along with the unique tangy smell of pickles. Johan leaned over as well, staring down at the bag. His face lit up.

“Are those sandwiches from Lucas?” He asked in delight, then stuffed his hand into the sack and retrieved one. “Yes! I love these!”

Bewildered, Eric turned to offer the sack to Moran, Williams, and Smith, who had all hurried over at Johan’s exclamation. They each pulled a sandwich from the sack with ravenous expressions, hurriedly unwrapping the paper that sealed them and taking bites. Each of them let out the same sigh of satisfaction. Curious himself, Eric pulled one out, leaving five more in the sack, clearly meant for later consumption.

“Eat it,” Johan said, his cheeks bulging and making the words almost unrecognizable. “Before I do.”

Smiling faintly in amusement at the uplifted expressions on his comrades’ faces, Eric unwrapped his own sandwich. The smell of meat and pickles hit him even more intensely now, along with another spice that he couldn’t quite recognize. He took a bite and dropped the large sack. It was as if an explosion of flavor had gone off in his mouth. It had to be the best sandwich he’d ever tasted, even on Earth.

“Careful!” Moran snapped, lunging forward to snatch the sack from the dusty ground. “If crawlers get these sandwiches, I’ll skin you.”

Eric muttered a quick apology and peeled the sandwich apart. Ham, pepperoni, and thinly sliced salami, with some kind of white cheese that looked like swiss. Pickles were dotted throughout it all, along with a thin layer of spinach lettuce. Some pale green sauce, most likely the spice he didn’t recognize, was drizzled over the whole thing.

“It’s Lucas’ own secret spice blend,” Johan said. Nearly half of his sandwich was gone already. “He’s a good chef, and he makes them for us sometimes.”

“It’s the best I’ve ever had,” Eric admitted. Just then, he remembered that unique taste. “I’ve never had pesto on a sandwich before.”

“What?” Moran had spun back around after safely storing the sack on the bench beside the reins. “You know what this spice is? My wife is desperate to learn.”

Eric grinned back and forth between the faces of the guards, who were all staring at him as if he were made of gold. With a nervous laugh, he nodded. “Well, yeah. I’ve had pesto back home, in E-, err, Welsik. It’s very good on pasta with some butter and garlic.”

“What else is in it?” Moran persisted, stepping closer and towering over Eric.

“I-I’m not sure,” Eric stammered, “I’d have to taste it again to be sure.”

He took another bite hesitantly, acutely aware of all of them staring fixedly at him. It reminded him of the way small children or puppies would stare at you as you ate, hoping that they could get some of your food. He chewed several times, and swallowed, coughing slightly in his haste.

“Well?” Johan prompted. “What else is there?”

“Definitely garlic,” Eric commented. “The two go well together. And some kind of oil. Not sure what it is, but it’s light. Maybe vinegar.”

They all let out a groan at that, and he frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Vinegar is expensive,” Moran grumbled. “That won’t be easy to get ahold of.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Eric said reasonably. “Maybe a few silvers.”

Johan stared at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “It takes months to make. The cheapest I’ve seen is six gold a bottle, and the man was a known crook.”

“Six gold?” Eric yelped. “I had no idea. But I’m sure that’s vinegar I’m tasting. It has a very acidic taste to it.”

“Meaning you’ve had vinegar before?” Smith asked, looking incredulous. “Are you the son of a noble?”

“N-no,” Eric replied, wishing he hadn’t identified the ingredient now. “It’s just, err, my mother always tried to have some on hand when she could.”

They seemed satisfied with his explanation, and moved away, still tucking hungrily into their sandwiches. Eric distinctly heard Moran and Johan discussing plans to split the cost of a bottle of vinegar, and smiled faintly again to himself, resuming his progress on his own sandwich. Again and again, the taste of pesto and garlic set his nose tingling. He couldn’t wait to have that second sandwich.