The sun filtered through the leafy canopy above their heads, leaving the ground dappled and the world a slight orange hue after the colour of the autumn foliage. The forest was quiet, the only sounds the clip clopping of the horses on the road and the creaks of the cart rolling along with them.
Slowly, they had made their way along the road, over the Last Bridge at the Hoarwell, and into the Trollshaws. They slowly made their way East, heading for the Misty Mountains. They should be able to get over before Winter fully hit, but if not Taraborn wasn’t keen on their chances if they were still in the pass when the snow storms hit. He’d even mentioned this to Edward, but the merchant hadn’t listened, only said they’d have to move faster. Move faster they did, pushing the pace to get to the mountains before Autumn was over, and it seemed like they might make it. Clearly whatever they were transporting had to be delivered quickly.
Taraborn’s curiosity had been slowly growing as to the contents of the cart. Normally he didn’t care too much, so long as he knew any dangers that the cargo might cause. Edward had assured him that there would be none, and paid extra, so Taraborn would be satisfied. As they had gone on though, Edward and his sons had been behaving more than a little suspiciously. If Taraborn had ridden even a little too close then suddenly he’d feel their eyes on him. If he looked at the cart for too long, one of them would quickly bring his attention to them. They didn’t even let him set his bed roll too close to it.
If they had acted normal, and trusted him not to look too closely, then maybe Taraborn wouldn’t feel the need to investigate too closely. However, they had been odd and overly suspicious. He needed to know what was in there.
Taraborn’s eyes were peeled for a place to stop for the night, he wanted somewhere sheltered out of the eyes of anyone on the road. He also wanted a place he could slip out of easily on his watch to sneak back to the cart.
Seeing a large hill, with a long arm stretched out away from the road, Taraborn signalled to Edward that he was going to investigate for somewhere to stop, and he rode off. Leaves crinkled beneath Thunder’s hooves and a twig snapped as he looked down into a small alcove in the back of the hill. It was almost perfect. The arm of the hill looped around the alcove, but the inside slope wasn’t too steep he wouldn’t be able to sneak down it. He rode back to the road, and whistled to the three men moving along a little slower now. They followed him, moving round into their camp, and quickly set themselves up. The cart was furthest away from the entrance, with the fire a few yards away. Taraborn slept nearest the entrance of the alcove, away from the fire.
The evening went quickly, they made a fire and had a hot supper and Taraborn taught Jack a little more swordplay before they all got some rest. His watch began around the middle of the night. It suited him best, for that was when people were the most tired and drowsy, the perfect time for him to sneak a look into the cart.
Jack woke him when it was his turn to watch, and he sat up, washing his face with cold water to banish any sleep that might try to take hold of him. Then he waited. Two hours, maybe three, he stayed watching, looking back at the cart. Edward was likely sat in the back, unable to see him. In a moment, he was gone.
He stealthily moved out of the camp, then made a wide loop around and up the small hill. Coming to the top, he looked down. He could just about make out Edward sat at the entrance of the cart. He couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep, but it didn’t seem as though he was moving.
Slowly, the mercenary crawled over the ridge, slowly making his way down. Every so often he stopped to inspect the small camp. Nothing was moving, and all was quiet.
He got a little further, and heard movement so stopped once more. Edward was moving. He grumbled something to himself before shifting from the cart to the floor just beside it. He was always complaining how uncomfortable the cart was.
Taraborn waited a long while, perhaps another hour before moving again, making certain that Edward’s head dropping was him falling asleep. Finally, after a long time lying on the cold, hard ground Taraborn edged forward. A few yards from the cart, he stood and padded forward before opening the door of the cart very slowly. The hinges didn’t squeak, and he let out a sigh of relief.
The half-moon provided enough light to see the contents. There was gold and silver. Silks and cloths. Vases, coins, candelabras, and plates. He managed to make out a small symbol, one he recognised as belonging to the people of Arnor.
Tomb Robbers.
He shut the door of the cart and quickly hurried back up the hill, still careful to remain stealthy. He made his way back and returned to the camp before settling into his watch position for the rest of the night.
Lying bastards. He thought to himself. If the rangers found out about this, or if the gold was cursed. He wasn’t going to address them in the morning, he’d wait until it became pressing or important. Until then, he would feign ignorance.
