Chapter 20

The wagon rolled down the muddied ramp, the pair of draft horses giving a snicker as they reluctantly stepped into the cold muck. Bramble reached down to pull a lever next to the driver's seat, a patchwork upholstery packed with wool straining to escape the seams. A whirring of gears could be heard from beneath, vibrating the floorboards as a hidden contraption deployed the mounted sleds, elevating the wagon-bed and allowing the four wheels to fold against the underside. 

Bramble looked back over his shoulder, flashing a grin as he tried to gauge if his passengers were impressed. He was quickly disappointed when not even Talus showed a reaction, the rest of the grave rats wore bored expressions while one had even drifted back to sleep, his cloak pulled tightly around him like a blanket. Bramble slightly frowned and turned to face Thalora seated right at the front next to him.

"Alright, time for you to work your magic, Magi Thalora. Sludge gets real thick this time of year. Won't be long 'til the horses are up to their bellies in it, and we'll be stuck faster than you can blink," Bramble cautioned, giving the reins a firm tug as he scanned the muddy path ahead. He gave a low grunt, eyeing the trail with a wary look. "Better get to it before we're knee-deep in trouble."

"Quit fussing, Mudwhip," Thalora snapped. She raised one hand, summoning eight glowing, vertical squares that flickered into existence in the air. "You keep the horses moving, and I'll handle the rest." 

The translucent shapes throbbed above her palm in a dull red hue, pulsing as heat gathered within them. With a sharp flick of her fingers, the squares spun once and shot out, streaking towards each of the horses' legs. The spells anchored themselves and shattered upon impact with the muddy hooves, projecting an intense wave of warm air that rolled out, sweeping over the muck like the breath of a furnace.

Behind the rising warmth, a low, guttural hum rumbled through the air, like the crackle of embers stirring in a dying fire. The heat spread through the wagon like a comfortable blanket. The groggy grave rats stirred in surprise, letting out assorted comments of appreciation. The most miraculous change was the road beneath. A knee-deep hoof stepped out from sludge, landing on solid ground until all of their hooves were free. 

"Hey, what's going on?" The sleeping grave rat complained, rudely awoken as the sleds made jostling contact with the dry path ahead.

"Shards, that ain't good for the sleds!" Bramble cursed, yanking on the lever beside him. 

The wagon rumbled and slowly transformed, redeploying the wheels tucked underneath and stowing the sleds at the side. This time, Talus was able to catch a glimpse of an arcane sigil forming next to the lever, fueling the wagon's change. He intently stared at the device, drinking in every detail.

"What's the deal with him?" The awoken grave rat whispered to Crow, glancing nervously at Talus. "Something ain't right about him, I'm telling you. Bramble would be wise to ditch him on the wayside somewhere."

Talus remained silent, his gaze unwavering as others agreed around him. Some of the more sturdy-minded passengers tried to hush the speakers, but it was too late. Crow surged forward, punching the original speaker square in the jaw, immediately bundling the man's cloak around him and tipping him over the side. The man landed in a pool of water with a splash, leaping to his feet, coughing and spluttering, completely drenched.

"If I were you, mate," Crow called out, his voice low and dangerous. "I'd turn around and head back to Blackroot Town. One more foot on this wagon, and I'll toss you off again, no second thoughts. Talus is my lad, and I ain't puttin' up with any of your talk about him. Mark my words, got it?" 

Crow's eyes narrowed, the threat hanging heavy in the air like the scent of blood. The soaking man climbed out of the pool onto the temporarily dried road, indecisively looking at Crow and back towards Blackroot. He mustered his courage, puffing out his chest and inhaling deeply.

"Crow, have you lost your shards-damned mind? We've been friends for decades. I apologise, I should have pieced two-and-two together-" The man began, trailing behind on foot.

"Look here, we ain't mates. My promise still stands. Go back to Blackroot and catch the next mudwhip out of there. Best hurry before the path turns back to mush," Crow retorted. Blackroot was still less than a mile behind them.

"I see how it is. Then give me back my three squares!" The disgruntled grave rat shouted, stopping in the middle of the road.

"That's between you and Bramble and ain't got nought to do with me. Bring it up with him next time you see him. 'Til then, get lost!" Crow shouted back, rudely waving to dismiss the man as he sat down in the wagon bench. 

The other grave rats snickered but didn't dare say another word that might aggravate him. Instead, watching the marsh retake the dry path, slowly dying it darker with absorbed water. The man stood there a moment longer before throwing up a rude gesture and turning towards Blackroot Town. His string of curses could still be heard as they rolled towards their destination without him.

"Sorry you had to deal with that, Crow. Talus can be a bit... odd, but he's a good lad. I won't stand for anyone disrespecting him on my wagon. Here's three squares for the old mate's fare. He ain't getting it back from me," Bramble muttered, trying to smooth things over as he tossed the coins into Crow's hand.

"I must ask," Talus began, his voice quiet and measured. He paused, his gaze distant for a moment, as if contemplating the deeper meaning behind the interaction. His eyes narrowed slightly as if weighing each word before carrying on. "Was that man intending to insult me?" 

"Aye, lad. He was saying somethin' was off with you, that you didn't deserve to be sittin' in the mudwhip, like you were some kind of liability. For that, he had to answer to me, or else he might turn into a problem down the road. Doesn't matter if he'd never face me head-on, everyone's gotta sleep at some point." Crow said with a heavy sigh, the kind that spoke of too many years spent in the muck of life. 

"I understand. He was a thorn that required removal before it had the chance to fester," Talus replied, his tone cool and detached. His gaze lingered on the man in the distance for a moment, the words carrying an unsettling finality. He made a subtle gesture and one of his shade escort separated from the rest, silently dropping over the edge of the wagon, completely unseen.