Escort(2)

For the first ten miles, the journey went by without a hitch. First, they passed through a valley of green, farmland unending wherever one looked, the only place in the journey where everyone could walk without tightly gripping their blades.

Then came a forest, green and thick, where the Blacksword members tensed up as they went through, some of them unsheathing their blades at the rustling of leaves, then made fun of once discovered that it was a mere squirrel, passing.

The journey took quite a while, and where the final destination was, Qigang and Old Xian did not know, and neither did the other members. They would whisper, sometimes, making guesses of where they could be going.

"I think we're going to Jade City," remarked a guardsman who walked near the cart Qigang was seated on.

The coachman laughed. "The capital? We are going west, you fool. The capital is down south."

"We're probably going to the Temple of Nine Blades," whispered Old Xian.

Qigang suddenly stopped sharpening his blade as the words registered into his mind. Two seconds passed before he continued once again. Another second passed, and he finally opened his mouth. "Who do you think is that man? The one in the carriage, I mean."

Old Xian turned his head towards the front of the group, and not very far in front, he could see the ornate carriage, a larger number of guards surrounding it than anywhere else. He scoffed. "How would I know?"

And just like this, a whole day passed. At some point, the sun began to set and the sky began to darken, men and horses both showing signs of fatigue, complaining, neighing.

Before the sun dropped below the horizon and everyone pulled out torches, a distant whistle echoed, followed by the sound of a galloping horse. Someone from the frontmost of the cart ran down the line of carts and carriages, shouting. "We are going to spend the night in the forest! Halt!"

Everyone let out a sigh of relief and began walking right, off the road and towards the forest. The carts and carriages turned their wheels, slowing down on the forest grass before finally settling. Some brought out tents, while some set up makeshift beds using cloth. The horses and oxen were tethered to trees.

Qigang and Old Xian dropped down from the cart, but after realizing that they had nowhere else to go, they went back on, cleared the area of crates, and sat down once again. All after asking the coachman, of course.

At some point appeared orange lights and the crackling of fire, scattered around. People had set up campfires, and most of the Blacksword members sat around them, talking, eating, with their swords never too far away. A whole camp was eventually set up.

"This is nice," said Old Xian. "I wonder how long it will last."

Qigang, who had stopped sharpening his shortsword, grunted. "Are you sure we should leave them be?"

Old Xian rubbed his chin. "They are only armed with knives, and there are too little. Scouts, probably."

Qigang scoffed. "You want to wait until there are more, armed with swords and spears?"

And to that, Old Xian only smiled.

Two hours passed. Everyone slept peacefully, everyone besides Qigang and the figure inside the carriage. Qigang pretended to sleep, but he did not. For the whole night, his eyes were squinted open, and his shortsword had always been in his grasp, always ready.

Leaves rustled and quiet footsteps echoed at some point of the night, footsteps that only experts were able to hear. But after those sounds passed, Qigang finally slept.

***

At dawn, everyone began to take back their tents, setting off the campfires to avoid trackers. With a whistle and shout, the journey began once again. Horses neighed, wheels clattered, and for an hour, they travelled without any problems, the sun rising as they walked, the sky turning from black to dark-blue.

The horses and carriages and carts travelled closer together, this time, and more men were sent to guard the main carriage. The guardsmen were told to be more vigilant, and no one—even the beggars—were allowed to slack off, even Qigang. But not Old Xian, who was told that he was too old to be useful.

"Looks like they left some traces," said Old Xian, seated on a cart. Qigang only grunted, looking right and left as he walked beside a cart as though he was looking for something.

Then, in the distance resounded a scream, followed by more. The guards whispered to each other before walking towards the sound, but a whistle and a shout told them to do otherwise.

"Just some bandits," the scar-faced man's voice echoed. "They are already dead. It may be a ploy, keep your guard up, especially you around the carriage." He was talking about the main carriage.

A few minutes passed, and Qigang—and everyone else who was walking with the carts in the middle of the line—found themselves passing by corpses, mutilated, and some of them headless.

"Must be those bandits," remarked the coachman who drove the cart Old Xian and Qigang slept on last night. "Pretty stupid, aren't they? A group of fifteen, or twenty, or whatever, attacking a large convoy?"

"That's why they are bandits," laughed a Blacksword member. "If they had any brain, they wouldn't be."

And to that, the surrounding group laughed, talking about how stupid bandits are, how they would have killed them, letting down their guards without realizing. Old Xian scoffed, and Qigang ignored them, no matter how funnily stupid they were.

***

The day continued to pass, and besides another small group of bandits, the group had no problems. The sun began to set, and just before it sank below the horizon, a whistle echoed, and they camped again in the forest.

Though this time, most men were sent on patrols, and not many got to rest. Fires were set up, and even those resting besides held their blades, just as they were told.

Qigang was sent to patrol the southern side of the camp, the place with least tents and campfires, and where the only others patrolling were former beggars, untrained. They all held their swords flimsily, and some of them shook at the rustling of bushes.

The only source of assurance was the red-haired man Qigang saw in the Western gate. He was here, too. He rode his black mare, strong and muscular, but not as much as he was. He was a tall man, around twice as tall as the average man. And with his horse, he appeared even more tall. In his right was a long glaive, the length of its blade and handle almost equal.

The man was silent, but a stare from him would tense up the beggars, and when they slacked off, he would grunt, and the beggars would stumble just from that.

He always looked towards a certain direction, towards a certain tree, and a certain branch on that tree. Qigang and Old Xian looked at the exact same spot.

Old Xian smiled. "There are more of them, now."

Qigang grunted and pulled out his sword. He marched towards the tree, Old Xian following behind.