Hello one and all!

The following entries are accounts gathered and put together by this humble scribe, Thaddeus T. Thrustbunion, detailing the deeds of the Crimson King mercenary company. The accounts were taken from journals, letters, records, and interviews, painstakingly put together and edited so as to make the details flow more clearly for your reading pleasure. Just know that all records hereafter are true events, and not in any way exaggerated to influence sales of this record.

So, without further ado, please enjoy the Record of the Crimson Kings.

Day one of the Bohar caravan.

Derek yawned and stretched as he sat by the fire, slouched and relaxed. There had been no contract for a while, and no word from the Crimson King, or whoever it was who occasionally sent them orders. There were sixty of them now, a bit of a mixed bag of talent. Mages, knights, scouts, and professional soldiers, all here together for… What exactly? Who knew. Until a messenger found them they were on down time, and Derek was okay with that. After the war they had been split off from the main force of the Crimson Kings, a small company sent out to do odd work while the rest of the company did, you guessed it, nobody here knew. It could be because the highest ranked of them was the scout sergeant, Longbottom, who because of this was the closest thing they had to a leader. Led by a sergeant, left to their own devices. This was more laid back than Derek had thought it was going to be, years ago when he had left the city guard to become a soldier-for-hire. Another yawn escaped his mouth, and he was just considering a nap when he heard the sound of hoofbeats coming. Darn, you think about a messenger and a messenger shows up, just his luck.

Derek was just glancing around to see if the sergeant had heard the horse approaching when suddenly a centaur, armored and angry-looking, pounded into the camp and reared up on his back legs while blowing a horn loudly enough to make the horses, tethered nearby, all begin fussing. There was commotion as sixty mercenaries scrambled to grab weapons and get up and moving, and the centaur began tramping in a circle, a look of disgust twisting his lips as he lifted the horn up again, preparing to sound it again.

"Aright, aright, what is goin' on then?" Longbottom, adjusting his belt, stumbled out of a tent, his unstrung longbow held in one hand as he squinted around the camp for whoever had been blowing a horn at this hour of morning, or afternoon. Derek spent a lot of time sleeping these days. The life of a disorganized mercenary company, he supposed. There was a loud crack as the centaur spun in place, his hand moving in a blur as it shot out and smacked the unprepared sergeant across the face, sending him sprawling across the dirt. There was silence, and then the sound of weapons being drawn and spells being cast. Nobody strikes a member of their band and gets to walk out of camp as if nothing happened.

Before things could escalate any further, there were more hoofbeats. Were they being attacked by a band of centaurs? For what reason would that be happening, anyway? Derek didn't even remember there being a large centaur presence in this part of the plains of Bohar, and now they were being swarmed by them. Except, he realized they were not being swarmed by centaur when a cart came trundling up, pulled by a horse that looked like it was being harassed by a finely dressed dwarf, who was standing on the bench of the cart and waving a crop in the air to force the horse to greater exertion, presumably to keep up with the centaur.

"Everyone calm down and listen up!" The dwarf was all but roaring to be heard over the mercenaries, some of which had swung around and were aiming weapons at him. "We've been sent by the Crimson King, and you pathetic bunch have the honor of meeting your new captain right there, Captain Ormund Starfall."

***

The next hour involved a lot of shouting, running, and finding of gear to prepare for an inspection as Longbottom was helped into enough of a recovery to officially hand over control of the company to the new captain. Who expected them all on parade for inspection, looking their best, or so help him he would… There were threats. A lot of threats. Most of which were going over Derek's head as he tugged on a battered old leather cuirass, fished out his stained red cloak, and stood with the other scouts, bow held at his side and quiver on his hip. Which was where he stood, still and silent, for hours as the centaur, their new captain, inspected each and every one of them carefully. And detailed exactly how each of them was a disappointment to their parents, ancestors, teachers, gods, and any passersby who saw their disgraceful countenances. It was rough. It was long. Derek was exhausted.

"Now then," the dwarf, who had been introduced as Brun the quartermaster, snapped. "You bunch don't deserve it, but the Crimson King has sent us here with a contract and gear. By all rights we should tell the lot of you to sod off and find some dirty street urchins to arm instead." Brun glared menacingly at the lot of them. "They'd probably do a better job. But, we were told you were all decent enough soldiers not too long ago, and some blame has to be put on whoever forgot about the lot of you out here for as long as they did. So, we are going to get you up and moving, and see if you are worth the time and effort. Now, line up and get ready for the gifts you are about to receive."

Derek joined the line which shuffled forward, each mercenary giving their name which was checked off against a list before being handed a bundle of assorted weapons and armor. When it was Derek's turn there was a confused moment as the quartermaster checked a couple of different lists. "Says here you are a scout. And a spearman. And a swordsman. Did I miss anything?"

Derek smiled sheepishly. "I kind of wind up wherever they need me." The dwarf grunted and fished around in the cart, picking and choosing, and then handing out a new bundle, wordlessly. Derek took the bundle and took off, a little confused, back to his tent, where he found a new set of leather armor, a new shield painted fresh with the company sigil, a sword freshly sharpened, and a new bow and quiver, all wrapped up in a new crimson cloak. It was quite the haul, and it made up for the old mismatched gear he had been making do with for so long. Gear scrounged from company stores and the bodies of the fallen. He felt a little odd, being handed all of this. The horn blew outside and there was a roared command for everyone to change out and form up.

***

Derek stood taller as he formed up into the parade for inspection with the rest of the company. He felt like they all did. Fresh, clean, ready for action. The leather armor was new, stiff, and it fit like a dream. It was going to take some getting used to, and he wasn't sure if he could wear the full set while scouting. Not until the leather moved a little more freely, at least. The cloak fluttered gently in the wind, and as the captain stopped in front of him and looked him up and down, he liked to imagine there was a faint smile on his lips.

"Now you all look neat and pretty, it's time for us to get moving!" The dwarf, who Derek was getting to a point with where he would have to decide whether he liked him or hated him, was up and shouting again. "There is a caravan set to meet us an hour from here, just outside some trading outpost. Their previous guards suffered an accident, and now they need replacements. That's where we come in."

"The contract is for ten days." The captain took over. "Ten days to get from here to the other end of the plains, with a couple of stops on the way. Ten days to show me what the lot of you are made of, and help me decide where we are going to go after this. You lot are meant to be good. Prove it to me. Break camp and let's get moving."

***

The camp had been broken down, old gear thrown in the back of the cart to, presumably, be salvaged, and then they were on their way. The camp followers carried most of their assorted equipment and supplies, and even they seemed to be a little happier as the dwarf was letting them use free space on the cart. If this was the way things were going to be from now on, then it looked like everyone was going to be much happier. Admittedly, the down time had been nice, but it was also good to be on the move again. What was weird was that nobody had even asked about their cut on this. There had been too much shock from receiving the armor and weapons in Derek's case. That and he had never been one for standing up and asking the tough questions, not when everyone else was being quiet too. Maybe there wasn't going to be any pay. They'd had months now where they hadn't done a thing for the Crimson King, two months of sitting around and living off the silver they'd all saved away, going through their stores. Two months without any violence. It had been nice.

An hour seemed like such a short time until you were stomping along a dirt road through endless grasslands. Then time seemed to slow, and you were left with nothing but your thoughts. Not that Derek had very many of those. Instead, he watched as the company formations were changed and adjusted, as the big, loud centaur gave commands, and justified them without being asked. Like he was trying to get everyone on board, so there would be no complications later on. That was actually great. Derek was left wondering where he was meant to be, though. It was one of those questions he wasn't too keen on asking. He liked being with the scouts, less danger, really. But he felt like there was more prestige in being in the front line, and more chances for advancement. He eyed the mounted knights, who had fallen in around the captain, and thought about what it would be like. All that armor, a horse beneath you, and the rush as you charged toward the enemy… It wouldn't be too bad, that.

An hour came, an hour went, and the trading outpost was suddenly there in front of them. It was a busy throng of tents, animals, and people. It was where they had been getting their supplies from, and it was going to be strange to be leaving it behind them as they went back to their work of being mercenaries again. Just outside the main mess of people was a small caravan, seven wagons in all, pulled off the road (what road there was) and formed up in a loose circle. The centaur led them away from the outpost and toward the caravan, and Derek realized these were their employers. What followed was another wasted hour, daylight was beginning to fade and Derek wondered if they would even get on the road today or if it would keep until tomorrow. He hoped it would be tomorrow, getting moving again required baby steps. For him there was just a lot of standing around, he was nobody special so he was not privy to the inner workings of the company. That was for captain Ormund, Brun, and Longbottom.

The day ended with them camped three hours away from the trading outpost. There had been discussion about staying there and moving with first light, but Ormund had barked down that suggestion proving the client was not always right. In fact, listening to Ormund, the client could do some pretty unpleasant things to themselves with a garden rake if they wanted to get in the way of him getting them safely from here to their destination. Yikes. Derek drew final watch, which meant it was all pleasant dreams and rest for him, and he would be up an hour before dawn to relieve a sentry and his bladder.

Day three of the Bohar caravan.

The problem with being a mercenary, Derek decided, was not the violence. It was the boredom. Here he was, a soldier for hire, and guarding a caravan, all very exciting on paper. Yet what it really amounted to was a lot of stomping about looking mean. For hours. And hours. And hours. Get up, grab a bite to eat, and then hit the road. Do that until someone decided it was time for a break (not often) or until it started getting dark, and then stop, make camp, draw lots for sentry duty, eat, sleep, repeat the previous day. There were not a lot of people who were going to see a whole bunch of armed people and going charging at them, not unless there was a major advantage in numbers. Which meant your common band of a dozen or two bandits, roving around the grasslands looking for easy picking, wasn't going to see this caravan and think it was a good idea to mess with them. Which in turn meant you only had to worry about the bigger bands, which in this case would need to be about a hundred or more scary looking blokes itching for a fight. Which is why the captain had scouting parties arranged. While the bulk of the forces got to ride along on wagons, the scouts got to run off ahead of the main caravan and slink behind it, making sure there were no surprises ahead or behind the others. The knights, in turn, were split off and sent off on either side of the caravan, to make sure they didn't see anything coming from either side. There had been a couple of warnings about small bands, but nothing really threatening. Which was great! And utterly boring.

Derek was back to being a scout, and he had been lucky enough to draw forward scouting. Rear guard was absolutely awful, slogging behind all those horses and carts, churning up the road and leaving huge steaming piles behind. It was more than a little disgusting, and he hadn't drawn it yet. Thank the gods. But he was out here, ahead, keeping a good pace to stay ahead of the caravan. There was some science to it, Longbottom had confided in him. Far enough away to get good information, but close enough that you couldn't be slaughtered before help could get to you. And close enough that nothing was going to sneak around behind you and ambush the caravan while you were skipping along with your head in the clouds. Apparently that happens. A lot. It would have been nice to be riding in one of the wagons, or on a horse, but at least the captain and quartermaster weren't hanging about with the scouting parties. Leaving them to chat now and then, daydream a little maybe. It was still boring, but at least you didn't have a crazed centaur or dwarf roaring at you, and that was one of those small victories which Derek lived for.

***

Derek spotted a figure in the distance, borrowing Longbottom's spyglass to do so. There were a few riders and wagons, heading this way, and they looked like they were just another caravan. That didn't mean anything, though. Could be bandits, could be a decoy sent by bandits. It could be anything, really. Derek passed the spyglass, really cool piece of kit that, back to Longbottom so he could take a look too. After a moment the sergeant hummed, then glanced over at Derek. "Someone has to go back and tell the captain, get the decision of a higher up on how to approach…" Derek sighed. One day he was going to be a sergeant, then beware all who dared cross him.

After a lot of deliberation, the captain chose to call a halt, call back all the scouts and riders, and move on ahead with those same knights to get a feel for the situation. Derek wondered whether it would be better to have real mounted scouts, instead of using the knights. The knights needed to take turns going out, and they didn't get to wear their armor because it would tire the horses (and the rider) too much. But it did mean they knights were not close by and ready for action if they were needed. But, using them like this meant they were warned ahead of time, meaning there was less of a need for them. So… Mounted scouts? Needed or not, Derek thought he might like to be one of them if there was ever a chance. A stray thought made him wonder how the captain felt about the horses…

Derek wasn't around for the meeting, of course, but he got to hear about it later. The other caravan had been determined to be a real caravan, and they had news to share of the road ahead. As Derek listened to Longbottom sharing the information with the men, his heart fell. Boredom was over, it seemed. Along this road was a waystation meant to threaten the worst of the bandits away from the caravans. These waystation was a small fort, very small, housing a company of soldiers which were meant to be able to ride out and give any bandits a good old telling off. Caravans paid taxes at each end of the road, and those taxes paid for the fort and soldiers. Everyone was happy with this, most of all those soldiers, because there was only one waystation and the road was long. Which is why mercenary companies were hired to guard caravans, and why bandits were happy to prey on the caravans. Well, skip to the part where the first waystation along our route had been taken somehow by bandits, the soldiers nowhere to be seen. Now the bandits effectively had control of the road, and were imposing themselves upon caravans passing through. A new tax, they were calling it. The caravan we passed had paid, and as they were moving along they had seen what happened to a caravan which refused. It wasn't good.

Now, we are mercenaries hired to guard this caravan. Which meant we needed to make sure these people made the right decision, and paid the darn tax and let us keep moving on without any fuss. But, we were also being paid to make sure bandits didn't pull something like this, because otherwise what was the point of us even coming? So we needed to know how many of these bandits there were, and if there was a chance we could take them if we exchanged harsh words and refused to pay a tax. Which in turn meant someone was going to have to go on ahead and take a peek. And wait a second, but aren't there scouts in the company who are meant to handle this kind of thing? And of course, Derek here has a keen set of eyes, so he should be in whichever party is selected, right lads? Derek sighed.

The waystation sat about halfway down the road, which meant it was about five days along in the journey, which meant the little scouting mission wasn't going to happen right away. Which meant there was still time for other bandits to attack, which meant the caravan still needed to continue on as normal until the scouts could slip on ahead when close to the fort. Had Derek really been complaining about being bored? Because now he could have done with some more of that boredom, and not the panic and worry at what was going to happen in two days.

Day five of the Bohar caravan

Unfortunately, no bandits jumped out at them on the third or fourth day, and it looked like the only bandits which would be coming were the ones in the fort. Derek was still on the scouting party assigned to go take a look, though, and that meant everyone else got to camp early on the fifth day a good distance from the fort while the scouting party slunk off into the tall grass to get good and close, and wait for it to turn dark. Just so you could stumble about and hopefully get close enough to the bandits so you get to see them before they can see you. What was the plan after that, though? Not like you can see inside a fort while standing outside it, is it? What they needed was someone who knew how to scale a wall in the dark, take a look around without being seen, and then get back out again. Or a group like that who could get in and do a little bit of killing and let the rest of them in. Did they have anyone like that? No. So what did that mean? They could take a look, see what they could see, and then go back to get yelled at a little bit by a big, surly centaur. Being a scout was just the best experience in the whole world.

Derek blew out a breath as he crouched down in the tall grass in the failing light, making his slow way toward the brown block in the distance. If there was anyone up there with one of those spyglasses, chances were they had been spotted from a way back. There were tall towers at each corner of the fort, and it was situated on a hill, overlooking the road. Pretty good spot for a fort. With those towers and some keen eyes, the soldiers in the fort would be able to see a long distance along the road in both directions. So how had they been taken unawares by enough bandits to actually storm the place? It was small enough that Derek thought that, with the seventy men they had, they could probably hold that fort for weeks against a much larger force. So then how had a full company disappeared and been replaced with bandits? There was one obvious way he had considered. Maybe the wages weren't enough to make it worth it, and the soldiers had just decided to become bandits. Wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last. There is a fine line between guarding something and taking it. He'd seen plenty cross that line in the city guard. He didn't agree with it, personally, but that didn't mean it didn't happen. So there was option one. Option two was some horribly large group of people had come along and killed the gods-given heck out of every last one of them, and quite possibly were right now making suits out of human skin to prance around in while worshiping dark powers. Lovely thought, that. Derek sighed and kept moving as he considered all the other nasty things which could have happened.

***

"Y'know," Longbottom began, "I just don't think there are all that many of them." They'd been watching the fort for a while, from just down the hill, out in the tall grass, spread out to cover it from all sides so they could compare notes later. There wasn't enough light coming from inside the fort, for one thing. If it had been bursting with bandits, each one of them would be reading their holy scripture by candlelight right now, or whatever it is bandits do when they aren't stealing and being horrible people. There just wasn't a whole lot of light. Then there were the sentries. You'd think you would want people on all four walls and towers, looking at. Sometimes they are called lookouts, in the business. There were just people over the gate, there was only the one gate, and in the front two towers. So, where were all the guards? They weren't reading scripture by candlelight, that was sure. "I think there is just a handful, and I think we could take them with the whole company." Derek sighed, wondering about how so few bandits could have taken the place to begin with. Sure, this could be all that was left after an assault epic songs would be written of. But wouldn't such a thing have attracted attention? Or maybe they bluffed the soldiers into leaving. But wouldn't the soldiers have come back with friends? Something wasn't right.

"Oi! You up there!" Longbottom shouted out and Derek lost fifty years off his life from the fright of the sudden shouting right next to his ear, when they were meant to be keeping their heads down and doing some of that scouting stuff. Which tends to be all quiet, and whatnot. There was a silence which followed, dragging out for what felt like a year or two. Then there came a response.

Day five of the Bohar caravan (continued)

"Who is down there?" Well, it wasn't exactly a witty response, was it? Did that matter? Probably not. They still held the fort, the hill, and all the cards. And Derek could be completely wrong and there could be about a thousand of them gearing up and getting ready to come down here and ask them nicely to explain what they were doing outside of their fort. Derek was not looking forward to a conversation like that. Or one which ended with the whole lot of them running through the dark to try and get back to the main group before they were torn apart.

"We're the Crimson Kings, that's how we are!" Longbottom needed to know when to shut up and start slinking back through the dark. Derek looked around to see how the rest of the scouts were taking this insanity, but he couldn't see any of them due to the dark. Imagine that. Or maybe it was because they had already legged it when they realized Longbottom had lost his mind. If he couldn't see them, then that meant it didn't matter which it was, didn't it? He was alone with this screaming lunatic. There was another one of those long, drawn out pauses, as the bandits in the fort were probably discussing which way they were going to come and and kill the lot of them.

"The who?" Well, Derek had to admit that he had not been expecting that as the response. He had to admit, it was not a surprise, though. The mercenary group, even as a whole, was not exactly world famous. They had done some good things in the insect war, a couple of significant victories, but what else had they done? The same jobs as hundreds of other mercenary groups across the world. What they needed were some high end clients, or some jobs to make them famous. But those kinds of things tended to be dangerous, and what mercenary wanted to be put in danger?

"The Crimson Kings! Feared mercenary group talked of from one side of the world to the next, that's who we are!" Derek almost laughed at that. Not exactly the truth, was it? Who did Longbottom think he was kidding with all this nonsense? Feared. That would be a fine thing. They'd all been spending their days napping until this week. He wasn't even sure if the locals knew they were mercenaries, they had just been hanging out and twiddling their thumbs for so long. The silence stretched out, though, as though the people in the fort were actually discussing this.

"How many of you are there down there?" The question was shouted from up in the tower, a change from the voice which had been coming from above the gate. "Shut up Larry, I am doing the talking here!" The first voice again. "Sorry Dave." Well, Dave and Larry. Now Derek had a couple of names to put to the faces of those holding the fort and causing terror to all caravans who dared travel this road. The names weren't exactly inspiring terror, but then, names didn't need to as long as the person holding the name was also holding a fort full of killers. The question was a bit of a confusing one, though. Why did they care? 

"There's a hundred of us scouts down here, and ten times that many soldiers and mages heading this way." Derek's eyes bugged out of his head as he glared at Longbottom, who was not even ashamed of the fibs pouring from his mouth. There weren't a hundred of them in this company total, let alone scouts! There were only ten of them out here right now. Not exactly a fearsome number.

"You're lying!" This was Larry again. "Godsdarnit Larry, I said shut it! There aren't a hundred of them down there…." Another pause. "Wait, are you telling the truth or not?" Derek froze and wondered why these people were toying with them like this. He must have imagined the small quaver in the voice of Dave as he called down this question. There was no way he was actually asking them.

"One hundred even." Longbottom called back. "One century of the Crimson King's finest scouts, bowmen, and killers, sitting out here wondering if we should just storm this fort ourselves and have all the glory, before the mages get here and just burn the place to the ground." Longbottom was grinning in the dark. Derek had no idea what was possessing the man to bluff like this. What if they sent out any number of men to verify. Gods, ten men sent out of the fort would see really quickly that they had nothing to worry about.  There was the sound of an argument happening up on the walls, loud whispers back and forth between Larry, Dave, and whoever else was up there.

"Well," came a tentative response after a few minutes of whispered back and forth which was surprisingly audible from down in the grass, "we have a thousand men in here." Somehow, Derek doubted that. One thousand men was a lot to gather in one place, you needed a lot of room for that. To sleep, to live, to eat, cook, store weapons and armor, to train. This fort would probably be busting at it's seams with just one hundred men. A thousand was a lie that pushed the bounds of reality way too far.

"If there's a thousand of you, then why not send out a couple of hundred and just deal with us now then?" Longbottom seemed to be warming up to this lie now, and was really getting into it. "I don't think there's even ten of you in there."

"Well you're wrong there!" Larry's voice. "We have twenty left!" There was a shout, followed by the sound of pounding feet and then a yelp as someone was struck by another person. Longbottom was beaming, and Derek had to join him in the smile too. Well, this is what a real scout could do when sent into the dark to assess a situation. It was pretty impressive, Derek had to admit.

"Listen lads," Longbottom began, "you don't want to pick a fight with us. There's not enough of you. I think what we are going to do is light a few fires, let our people know to come, and then watch as the mages do their thing."

"Don't matter that there's only twenty of us, we have the high ground!" Ah, the wisdom of Old Ben, warrior of old. The high ground was important and all, but that could really only take you so far in a wooden fort against ten determined fire mages. There might not be hundreds of the Crimson Kings hanging around, but they did have the ten fire mages who could take care of this, as long as the scouts laid down some crossbow fire to cover them. Derek could see now that this fort could be theirs, with very little bloodshed. Or at least, whatever was left after the fires were put out.

"I'm not calling you an idiot, mate, but come up. You all come down from there and we can have us a nice little chat. We're in need of a few more good men, maybe you want to join us. Or maybe you want to just tell us how twenty men took a well defended fort. How about it?" Derek held his breath, wondering if such a tactic would work. He didn't think it would, personally. And what would they do with these twenty men? As soon as they realized there were not hundreds of mercenaries, there would be a bit of a scuffle. They would never be able to trust them not to try and cut their throats or turn and run in the next fight.

"We ain't joining you, and we ain't coming down!" Dave was back and not too happy about the situation, from the tone of his voice.

"We drew 'em out." Called back Larry. Who sounded like he was in a bit of pain. Probably decided to share the information with us, just to spite the guy who hit him. That was probably Dave. "The rest of our group. We hit a caravan not too far from here, set it on fire to get their attention, and then off they went. The soldiers who were in here are probably still chasing them."

Derek chuckled. Quietly. Pretty good plan, that. And if the other group took out some of those soldiers before they came back, then there wouldn't be enough of them to storm the walls while also watching their backs for the rest of the bandits. In fact, that was probably the long goal, to crush the soldiers against their own walls. It could have worked, it all depended on how many bandits were out there leading the soldiers on a merry chase. But, maybe the plan was to split that force, too. To send more of them back here. Even now there could be bandits surrounding the scouts. Derek swallowed hard. He had to stop listening to his imagination.

"Listen, if you want to live through this then you should probably just sod off now. We'll let you. Nothing in it for us if we kill the lot of you, right?"

Day seven of the Bohar caravan

Brief bouts of excitement followed by long spouts of boredom, that was all his life was these days. Derek kept on walking, having drawn for the forward scouting once more. Yesterday had been one of those interesting days, for all of an hour or two. The bandits had finally cleared out of the fort, after some more back and forth with Longbottom where he had graciously agreed to pull back all but a dozen of his men, who were just hanging around to make sure the bandits did what they were told. There hadn't even been a dozen of them crouched out in the tall grass, but they had all come around to the front of the fort and looked suitably menacing while a much larger group of bandits had legged it out of the fort and taken off… somewhere. The scouts weren't going to chase them, not in the dark and not outnumbered as they were. They did slink inside the fort, though, and make sure there were no surprises before sending, guess who, back to tell the caravan they could move up and spend the night inside of some safe walls. That night they had doubled the sentries, and Derek had drawn first watch. But there had been no sign of the bandits.

The next morning there had been a lot of debate as the scouts were properly debriefed. There was discussion of holding the fort, because someone should stick around and make sure the bandits didn't come back. But there was still the problem of the caravan they needed to get to where it was going. There was a question of time. How long would it take for them to be relieved if they stuck around out here and waited for soldiers to take the fort off their hands? The other question was of pay. They were being paid to guard a caravan, not a fort. If they stuck around and the caravan left without them, then they were forfeiting their pay. The owner of the caravan did not want to go on without the guards, but he also did not want to stay in the fort. So they were stuck there. Stick around and hope for a reward from the locals, or go on with the caravan for certain pay. It wasn't really much of a question, except…

If the bandits came back there were problems. First, the problem of the innocent people who would go right on back to being preyed on by the bandits. Second, the problem of where they were going next. If there was no alternative job or way forward from their destination, they were going to be right back to coming back this way. And nobody believed Longbottom was going to be able to talk bandits out of a fort a second time. The most exciting part about the whole day was the back and forth exchanges while the captain and quartermaster tried to find a way to soothe their consciences and fill their coffers. The problem was, it just wasn't going to happen. So eventually they settled on a compromise. Ten scouts would remain behind and keep an eye on the fort, abandon it if a force of angry looking bandits showed up, and head in whatever direction was safest to meet up with the rest of them whenever they had the chance. It seemed a little silly to Derek, as they were now setting themselves up to do the exact same thing the bandits had done. The bandits who came back might not be as easy going as the scouts had been. And of course, who was one of the selected scouts? 

Which brough Derek back to the seventh day of this adventure. Was adventure too strong of a word? Probably, but if he spent any more time trying to work out what he wanted to call it he would have to scream. They had a man in each tower, and rotated people out regularly. They had the door barred, and a rope ladder rigged on each wall ready to drop for a quick getaway. Nobody who was left behind was happy about it, especially not Longbottom, who went from tower to tower with his looking glass to take a peek. The man was extremely nervous, probably because he was worried about what would happen if Dave or Larry showed up with some friends. Everybody had their bows strung, and their crossbows ready. All the old gear had been left with them, so they had a lot in the way of ranged weaponry for just eleven men and women. Derek almost wished something would happen, just to relieve the boredom. But nothing.

***
Hours passed with them watching the grass sea sway in the breeze, when suddenly there was a shout from Longbottom. "Caravan incoming!" Then they were all scrambling to get up on the walls and look serious. Easier for some than others. Spears were readied, crossbows moved, and then there was a whole lot of waiting around while Longbottom stood in the tower and watched through his glass. The darn thing could let him see for miles, though, so there was nothing to do but grow more and more bored while the caravan inched closer and closer to the walls of the fort.

When it finally made it, it was a mixed bag people from all across the world. It wasn't a large caravan, only about four wagons that Derek could see, but with them was a whole lot more armed men. He was beginning to feel a little nervous when a rider broke off ahead of the group and came up to the gates, looking mean as anything. Before he could say anything, Longbottom called out.

"Alright mate? You here to relieve us then?" The rider looked confused for a moment, and Derek could almost imagine the smug look on Longbottom's face.

"Relieve you? We were told there were bandits…"

"There were, we sent them packing a couple days back. Been waiting here for someone else to take over this place so we could join back up with our caravan." The ride looked dubious, like he was waiting for the big reveal where someone told him we were the bandits and it was okay for him to open up with his men. And there seemed to be enough of them to do the job. Another rider came trotting up behind him, who raised a hand and waved up at the scouts holding the walls.

"I recognize those cloaks!"

***

Well as luck would have it, the caravan they had passed had managed to make it far enough down the road to get together with another caravan. They owners had had a whip around, and come up with the silver to justify sending their guards and some supplies on to check out the fort and see if they could take it. It was a small force, about forty of them in all, but they were prepared to take over guard duty while the two caravans turned around, headed back to the trading outpost, and got a more permanent solution arranged. Turns out if you make your living traveling the same road, you get attached to it, and don't take kindly to other people trying to mess with you. From the grumbling among the caravan guards a more permanent solution was being discussed, about hiring some mercenaries to hunt down the local bandits and clear them out for good. Or for a while at least, until some others showed up. Longbottom cleared his throat when he heard this, and settled into a discussion with whoever was in charge. Derek tried to look suitably interested while daydreaming about other things.

"Incoming!" a shout from a scout in a tower made Derek wish he was back in the old camp taking a nap. It could be good news, right?