Chapter Text
The run between Elturel and Baldur's Gate was a common one. A veteran caravan guard, Rugan must have done it a thousand times before, though rarely with the full Gate crew.
The reason for the entourage had become clearer upon collecting their package in Elturel. Zarys had brusquely informed the company that instead of returning to the Gate they'd now be turning north up the Trade Way. All the way north in fact, to the city of Waterdeep.
Boareskyr Bridge was quiet this early in the morning. Their caravan had set out at dawn, when the bustle of its impromptu market would not start for another hour or two.
In the sky the Companion could still be seen hanging above distant Elturel. The origins of the glowing orb were unknown, but it bathed the city and outlying areas in a constant magic glow.
“No more protection from undead this far out.” Olly muttered somberly as he looked at the ever shrinking Companion. The raven-haired lad was the youngest member of the convoy, having joined up only a few months prior. His face was utterly unlined, unlike Rugan’s, and his shoulders were broad and well muscled.
“Ah take heart lad. A few skeletons ain't nowt to worry about. They don't even have the brains to outwit Brem; an easy task as ever there was.” Rugan gave one of his most charming smiles and Olly chuckled in response.
“S’ppose you're right.”
“Oi! Can hear you over here Rugan!” Brem, a man with clownishly red hair, shouted from the front of the caravan. This gave them both a laugh as they followed behind the wagon on horseback.
“Zarys,” Bellar began and Rugan felt in his gut that whatever came next would surely raise her ire. “last I checked we managed the Southern deliveries.”
“How astute of you Bellar.” Sarcasm dripped from Zarys’ clipped tones. Though older than Olly, she was uncharacteristically young for a swordhar, but what she lacked in years was replaced three-fold with ruthless efficiency.
“So then why in the hells are we going to Waterdeep? Management realises Waterdeep is north, yeah?”
“It's a very special delivery, lady Urmbrusk herself. Even you should be able to understand that.”
Somewhere from the front of the caravan Rugan could hear Brem bark a laugh of his own. He could tell Bellar was straining not to bite something back.
It was no secret among the Zhents that the Urmbrusks were in their debt. Any work for the Urmbrusks was in reality a job tasked by upper management, perhaps even Zhentil Keep or Manshoon himself.
“Lad does have a point.” He chipped in before Bellar could. “Highly unusual request.”
“Northern team didn't have the men to spare,” Zarys continued, giving Rugan a pointed look. “besides they'll have a delivery to Baldur's Gate for our return trip. And weren't you the one that wanted a change of scenery, Rugan?”
“I was thinking more like Amn, follow along the coast. Some nice sea breeze.” Rugan lilted the last bit. “But I'll enjoy the sights here well enough.”
What he didn't like was not having a northern guide when none of the other crew had even done the route before.
‘Haven't done this route myself in nigh on ten years.’ He thought, but it would do no good to voice such doubts when Olly was still spooked. He met Zarys' steel blue eyes from where she sat in the back of the wagon and could tell she had gleaned his thoughts on the matter.
“Northern team has given their assurances that we shouldn't have much trouble.” She answered his unspoken concerns.
‘Sure not much trouble, and Roah Moonglow is a templar of Torm.’ Another thought better left unsaid.
“Ah well then, nothing to worry about eh lads? Now how's about a song to make the work go faster.” He clapped Olly on the back who only shook his head but smiled all the same.
“What about Dark Dark Wood?” Suggested Bellar with a wicked grin.
“You want to sing that on the road?” Asked Rugan, utterly exasperated. The whole point was to raise spirits.
“Might scare off any bandits.”
“Nah, were doing a proper song, Red Roof Girls–”
“No.” Zarys vetoed, tone dark.
“Not a lick of fun, the lot of you.” Rugan sighed and shook his head in exaggerated fashion. He noted that aside from Zarys the members of the company were all working to hide grins.
“Here, I know a better one then.”
Zarys had not heard Jonstan the Rover before, so Rugan had managed to get through a whole stanza before she forbade singing of any kind altogether.
The trip had been quiet after that but there wasn't a frown to be found. Unless you counted Zarys, and even hers seemed feigned to Rugan's trained eye. The old Zhent reckoned this was as much success as one could hope for, and silently thanked the smiling lady for his good fortune, humming faintly all the while.
+++++
“Not much trouble.” Rugan muttered bitterly as he sat crouched behind the remnants of an overturned wagon.
They had been on the road three ten-day since the bridge and had already encountered several ghouls, two groups of bandits and now this.
He turned to Bellar who was squatting beside him. “Does this look like not much trouble to you?”
“Looks like a bloody Harper ambush.” Bellar spat, his dark braids glistening with sweat.
“Aye, it's got that feel to it. Bandits wouldn't be so careless with their fire ‘round the cargo.”
Olly slid over from his hiding place behind a rock, basket of fire flasks in hand. “Think this’ll do, Rugan?”
“Aye, good thinking lad.” With a grunt of effort Rugan hurled a bottle over the wagon and heard it crash on the other side. He grinned in satisfaction when a chorus of screams followed. Bellar followed suit to similar effect.
“And just where in the hells is our mage?” Barked Rugan. “Shouldn't he be slinging spells right about now?”
“Archers got Sal first when it broke out,” supplied Olly. “It's like they knew who to look for.”
“I bet I know who gave them that little tidbit.” Snorted Bellar, peeking through a small crack between the boards. “See that girl there? The one trying to stop her friend from bleeding out?”
“Aye,” Rugan was squinting but he could make her out. “looks a tad familiar.”
“That's cause she was all over our resident clown back at the inn in Elturel.”
“By the nine hells Brem.” He cursed. “Alright we need to kill her and burn the body before she can give up his loose tongue or Zarys will have his hide.”
Bellar scoffed. “We? Don’t get how that's my issue, mate.”
“As usual I have to do everything myself around here.” Rugan muttered, grabbing another bottle.
A scream rang out before he could even bring the bottle up and he turned just in time to see Olly drop back into a crouch behind the wagon, bow in hand. “Killed her.” The boy preened.
Glancing back through the crack Rugan saw the blood spurting from the eye socket where Olly's arrow was buried.
“Good shot lad. I owe you a drink.” Rugan cheered with a hearty clap to Olly's back.
“I reckon what you meant to say was: as per usual, Olly does all your heavy lifting.” Bellar chuckled.
“Oh, aye.” Rugan waved him off before continuing. “The trio of archers behind that log are the last of the ranged, I reckon. We can approach without getting hit if we rush them with what remains of the wagon bottom.”
“You've gotta be joking.”
“We're three strapping lads, we can manage. Let’s see you do some of the lifting for once Bellar.” Rugan grunted as he slipped his hands under the lip of the planks. Olly and Bellar followed suit.
“On three.”
As Rugan had predicted they managed to heft the broken remnants of the wagon’s floor and charge their quarry. The thick wooden planks caught the few whizzing arrows, though they dropped it with great effort as they reached the rock. The run had winded them but at close quarters the archers had no hope against Rugan and Bellar's sword work. The first two were cut down in mere moments. One tried to make a run for it and Olly loosed an arrow into his back.
The battle was swiftly over after that. The rest of the Zhents quickly mopping up any stragglers and Rugan casually dropping a fire flask on the corpse of the spy.
“Oops, butter fingers.” He lied when doe-eyed Garias gave him a questioning look.
“How's it looking, Zarys?” He approached the honey-blonde haired swordhar as she was giving orders to a pair of grunts.
“No casualties, I heard you actually did some good work, for once .” Her arms crossed as she surveyed the battlefield.
“Sal?”
“Arrow pierced his lung, was uncertain for a spell there but Brem managed to get him a potion in time. How's the cargo?”
“One wagon was smashed by their caster, lost four crates of spirits. Urmbrusk case is secure however.”
“Suppose we should be grateful, management would skin our hides if we lost it.” She snorted derisively.
“Reckon that's what attracts all this attention in the first place.” Rugan supplied her unspoken thought. Despite Zarys' outward hostility, the pair had known each other for years and understood each other better than most.
“Well, we're nearly there so no point moaning about it now.” She turned to bark orders to the rest of the team. “Get to packing what you can on the remaining wagons, I want to make Waterdeep by nightfall. Anyone falls behind gets left behind!”
Rugan made his way back to Olly and Bellar, both hastily loading what goods they could.
Olly glanced up at his approach. “Looks like Bellar was right.” He opened his hand to reveal a small pin that resembled a harp across a crescent moon.
“Not surprised.” Rugan exhaled. “Damned Harpers are always interfering in Zhent business.”
“And,” Added Bellar. “I'm always right.”
“Be a good lad and give that to Zarys, Olly.” Rugan gestured in her direction with a tilt of his head.
“Sure thing, Rugan.” The boy trotted off without a second thought.
Rugan couldn't have asked for a better recruit than Olly and honestly dreaded the lad’s eventual advancement. Wouldn't be able to find a replacement lackey half as good if he scoured the whole Sword coast.
“Good lad.” Bellar commented on Olly’s retreating figure.
“Aye.” Rugan agreed.
“Too good. Gonna have to knock that selflessness out of him sooner or later. Ain’t gonna do him no good if he don't think of himself first and foremost.”
Rugan snorted. “You'd think he'd learn that by now just watching me.”
“Well, problem is you ain't exactly smashing it. So it's probably not sticking.”
Rugan stared at Bellar, devoid of humour. “Get to packing, you.”