Den of Thieves

Spitting a large ball of phlegm in the fire Burt threatens, “your done rat boy.” Letting out a battle cry he kicks up dirt rushing at Carr.

Dropping down Carr trips Burt sending him sailing into the horses.

Nimbly, Carr jumps onto Burt’s exposed back, laying the sharp edge of the long-sword across the back of Burt’s neck.

As Burt squirms Carr applies pressure to the blade.

“Okay, okay!” Burt whines as the blade digs into his skin. Putting a quick end to the swordplay.

Carr gets in his face before releasing pressure, “Burt we both agree that we don’t like or trust each other. I would like to satisfy the dark voice in my head that’s screaming, kill him, kill him. But it doesn’t have to end like that, does it?”

Cal is surprised by Carr’s comment. Toad doesn’t know why Carr just doesn’t take Burt out.

Nervously twitching his head no, Burt’s attitude changes, “no, no it don’t.”

“Good then,” taking Burt’s sword Carr pushes off, “can we make it through the night without killing each other?”

Turning over and sitting up Burt grumbles, “yeah,” brushing the dirt and leaves off.

“Jeez,” Carr breathes a sigh of relief handing Cal, Burt’s sword, “you better hold this til morning.”

Taking the sword Cal agrees, “yeah, sure.”

“You’re lucky Burt,” with a big smile Toad points out, “he coulda killed you three times.”

Grumbling away Burt gets to his feet.

Feeling better about Carr, Cal wonders if he should worry about Burt’s character.

Toad asks Carr, “so why didn’t you kill him?”

Burt glares at Toad.

Keeping an eye on Burt, Carr sheaths his sword, “Burt’s lucky I’ve dealt with many like him.”

Defensively Burt inquires. “What the hell is that suppose to mean?”

Shaking his head slightly Carr sits by the fire, “nobody wants to lose. But everybody can’t win either.” He can tell the trio is thinking, “as long as you live there is always something to be gained, win or lose.”

“Gain what?” Burt humiliated stands in the edge of the fires glow, “don’t you ever shut up?”

“In my sleep, sometimes. Burt if you could see the fight in my head, you’d see…”

“Where I went wrong. Yah yeah,” interrupts Burt displaying a rude gesture.

Chuckling at Burt’s finger Carr informs him, “yes. But you also know a couple of my fighting tricks.” Looking to see if it sinks into Burt’s thick head, “you’d certainly say, you’ll be more ready for me next time.”

Nodding slightly Burt replies, “that’ll be the only thing we agree on.”

Driven by his young brain Toad comments, “yah, ah I get it, but when fighting it’s kinda hard to just stop.”

Astounded by his brother’s statement Cal asks him, “what about when we wrestle?”

“Ah,” Toad doesn’t see that the same, “that’s different. And you’re my brother.”

Tossing a log on the fire Carr remarks. “Well I never had a brother.”

Sitting across from Carr, Cal inquires. “How many fights have you been in?”

Shrugging his shoulders Carr answers. “Too many to count. Fighting many fights, you’ll either become better or dead. Fighting is just one thing, it’s not even the most important thing to becoming a skilled thief.”

Thinking aloud Toad sits beside Carr, “I’ve picked a couple pockets, but no locks. I’m pretty good with a bow. And I can swim and climb.”

Giving Toad some confidence Carr tells him, “there you go. With a little time at picking locks, you could be on your way to becoming a burglar or assassin.”

“Assassin,” Toad likes the sound of that, “yah, I could see that.”

“Hah,” Burt points out, “you’re too noisy to be an assassin. Always snapping twigs underfoot.”

Snapping his fingers recalling the breaking sticks Carr points to Toad, “so that was you I heard.”

As his face turns red Toad drops his head.

Smiling Burt nudges Toad with a foot, knowing prior sounds he made had given them away.

Taking the attention off his brother Cal remarks, “I don’t fight well. I can’t even swim. I can barely climb and I’ve never picked anything.”

“You’re still young,” Carr leans forward, “it takes a lot of time and practice to be good at anything. And time to realize what you’re good at.”

“Ah, time,” Burt mumbles grabbing his blanket, “blah, blah, blah. Just close your traps so I can sleep.”

Spotting the moon’s position in the sky Cal states, “we’ve got plenty of time until sunrise.”

As Carr and Toad look up Burt finds a spot to lye down across from Carr.

Before turning in themselves Cal and Toad bend Carr’s rubbery arm into talking about some personal adventure stories.

It became amusing for Carr to torture Burt with the babbling tales of fights, local lore and facts.

Way past the witching hour the group finally gives into sleep. Cal rests close to his snoring brother leaving Burt and Carr on watch all night. Watching each other through squinted eye, while pretending to sleep.

The sky lightens filled with grey clouds. The first bird to chirp wakes Toad, a morning riser he pisses on what’s left of the glowing fire.

Carr pulls his feet up, “hey don’t piss on my boots.”

“Sorry,” laughing Toad tucks things away while kicking his brother’s feet, “hey Cal get up.”

Moaning Cal rolls over curling up.

Urging Burt up Toad’s thinking about food, “come on get up. If we leave now, we’ll be able to make early supper.”

Getting up Carr stretches out.

Burt sits up groggy and annoyed at the sight of Carr, “you’re worried about a little piss on your boots, when you reek of burnt skunk.”

Toad looks at Carr finally realizing it, “that’s you?”

“That’s right,” Burt points out. “That stink is him. I could barely sleep because of it.”

Ready to bug Burt back Carr beguiled, “best sleep I’ve had in days. It sounded like Toad was sleeping pretty good.”

Thinking about it Toad says, “I think I did sleep good. But what happened to you, to have such a stink?”

“A skunk-fool,” Burt hesitated almost calling Toad stupid, but didn’t want to get into a morning tussle with him.

“Yeah.” Carr concocts, “there were Hell-hounds on my trail. I had to change my scent. Plus it keeps the critters away.”

Partially listening Cal rolls over to focus on Carr, unsure of what was said or what to say. Toad thinks it’s a good idea.

With a look of, are you crazy, Burt comments. “You’ve received too many blows to the head if you think I’d believe that.”

“Believe what you want to believe,” Carr smiles picking up his pack before finding a suitable tree instead of the open.

When Cal finally gets mobile and atop his horse they head out. Following a narrow and overgrown path through the woods.

Burt and Toad split off to retrieve their haul. Cal is left to lead Carr along the defined trail. Starting with the weather they chat about common trivial things.

Within an hour the sounds of coins clinking reveal Burt and Toad as they catch up.

The rest of the morning goes by very quietly. The path they’re on widens following a stream that feeds into the Cirran River. Despite the grey skies Carr enjoys the ride.

Ahead they close in on a ravine, created long ago by a river once bigger than the Cirran.

Crossing over an old rickety bridge the terrain rises. Riding single file, they make their way up a western hill. Burt leads the way Cal and Toad stay close behind. Carr rides a few horse lengths back.

Slowing to navigate the rocky incline Carr inquires, “I thought I remembered the entrance being in the ravine. Why are we going up?”

Toad pinches nostrils closed, “the stink ahead is worse then you.”

Hearing that gets Burt to laugh, which causes Toad to laugh out loud.

Also chuckling Cal informs Carr. “There’s a stink bog ahead. It’s too long and wide to travel through.”

On top of the rugged plateau the trail winds into the trees. Occasionally Carr glimpses humanoid remains strewn about. Thinking nothing about it Carr feels oddly at ease under the trees.

The path leads back east coming out at a rough ridgeline, overlooking the stink bog.

Traveling along the ridge Carr looks down seeing a large creature’s rib cage and spine protruding out of the bog. Moss and molds grow on the aging bones. The rib cage is large enough to house all four horses. He wonders how much of the bones are submerged.

Getting a clear view ahead, the formation they’re on seems to be nearing an end. Beyond that and barely recognizable the ground looks as if it continues. The bog appears to run into the horizon.

Thankful for taking the high road, Carr stops to take a last look as the trail turns west into the woods. Across the bog the opposite hill is covered in old trees. Resembling the Ironwood forest.

The trail cuts northwest in between old growth trees. Many old twisted trees barely survive under the grander trees. Corpses frequently catch Carr’s attention, along with a thick web covered side trail.

Now nervous Carr watches the trees thinking, “Tarantula’s are one thing. Let’s not see any giant Woodlanders.” A shiver runs down the spine picturing eight, fist sized, eyes focusing on him. With hairy arm sized limbs pulling scent into poisonous snapping mandibles. Unconsciously he yells out, “bastard Spiders!”

The trio and all the horses look back. Burt shudders, Cal and Toad look around nervously.

“Oh sorry,” Carr apologizes, “got a little web across the face.”

Grumbling Burt cautiously pushes on. The brothers don’t like the look of the thick white webbing either.

A cold rain builds over the group, partially sheltered by the trees. Droplets of water fall from the forest canopy along with colored leaves. Removing his cloak Carr puts it on to keep warmer.

Soon all are wet but not soaked to the bone. Being the smallest and lightly dressed Cal shivers constantly.

The trail continues west but Burt stops at a bare patch of the hill’s stone surface. Overlooking a more familiar ravine view Burt hops down from his horse. The brothers do as well leading their horses onto the rock surface. Gathering rain trickles down a dramatic drop off.

Carefully Burt leads his horse along a narrow path. The path zig-zags down the hill’s exposed rocky side to the ravine floor. Bringing up the rear Carr recalls this part of the journey with his father.

The ravine floor is fairly flat shale rock carved out centuries ago. Grasses, weeds, mosses and lichens mainly cover the thin layer of soil. Trees are small and sparse, except for one.

The floor slopes gradually down to a fast-moving creek. The creek’s edges are barren rock, free of soil or vegetation. The waterway flows in a deep worn natural crack, Carr is sure he can jump its span.

Crossing a bridge made of four logs strapped together the path seems to lead to the opposite ravine wall. Nearing the only large tree.

Looking up two sentries with longbows stand halfway up the ravine, they watch the group approach. The two men are dressed similarly in brown leather, with green vests and simple hats. One man is noticeable taller and rounder than the other.

Getting closer to the jagged rock wall Carr looks for a way up. If he was alone could climb many areas. He doesn’t see how the horses are going to get up.

Walking around the only tall pine tree Burt and his horse seem to disappear. Cal also rounds the tree vanishing with his horse.