"How long do you think it'll take them brigands to find our hideout and kill us all?" Brittleleaf pondered as he scraped the whetstone along the blade, "I've got a whole gold coin that says three days, what about you?"
Oakdale hunched his shoulders, "How are you going to collect on that debt? I say two more days tops."
Corrben leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. The small room in the crumbling gate tower had been their home for the few days as they scouted the Vale of Andrath and noted a few campsites used by southerners. They were a lean and hungry lot and what they lacked in armor and food they made up with in weapons. They seemed to have a vast supply of bows, arrows and swords, unusual, he thought, for a ragtag group. When he mentioned it to Brittleleaf, the leader of the small group of scouts, he merely scoffed and said they must have stolen them. But who around here would have that sort of armory to steal? The thought nagged at him after they had returned from their scouting of the edge of the marsh around the ruins and they had run into a couple of the bandits. With luck, they had killed all three and left none to return with the tale of Watchers in the valley but the sight of the long swords had made Corrben curious.
"Fenflower!"
"What?" he jerked his head up, snapping out of his thoughts.
"I asked how long you think we have until we're rushed by the brigands?" Brittleleaf repeated, taking a sip from his flask.
"I bet he's dreaming of that Farmer Dogwood's daughter with the great round -" Oakdale made a gesture in front of his chest before laughing.
Corrben shook his head, "She's betrothed and no I wasn't thinking about that."
Oakdale smirked, dropping his hands, "When that'd ever stop you?"
Corrben shot him an icy glare and the man turned away, his smile subsiding under the dark look. Brittleleaf sniffed and shrugged, "Well?"
"I think they suspect we're here," Corrben replied finally, "But I don't think they give a shit. If they wanted to kill us, they would have already done so. I think they're waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Brittleleaf asked, taking another drag from the flask.
"That I wish I knew," Corrben said, pulling himself up to pace around the small confined room until he paused to lean against the archway, gazing out into ruins, noticing smoke from a campfire not very far from where they were. "Maybe they're waiting for whoever is getting them those weapons."
"Pfft, that again?" Oakdale rolled his eyes, "Grimbriar even says they're stealing them. That's what they do, those brigands rob and steal; food, armor, weapons, and whatever else strikes their fancy."
Corrben shook his head, furrowing his brow, "Farmers and hunters don't normally have a bunch of swords laying about. I'd believe it if it were axes and spears, bows...it's the swords that bother me."
"You worry too much Fenflower," Brittleleaf drawled, before yawning and stretching, "You're not paid to think about it, just do what Grimbriar says. We make a map of the camps, take out as many of those cunts as we can before getting out of here, hopefully with our hides intact. Grimbriar knows his business, he's not chief watcher for nothing. Even your father didn't make it that far."
Glowering at the team leader, Corrben crossed his arms over his broad chest, "So we don't try to figure it out? Why all of a sudden we are inundated with these foreigners and criminals?"
Brittleleaf shrugged, "War? War to the south makes people come north. I wish they'd keep their problems in their own yard though."
Corrben turned away from the doorway, though he remained standing, "I just got a feeling there is more than meets there eye, there is a lot of organization to these groups of brigands and they're a damn sight worse than the homegrown lads that we're used to dealing with. "
"That's where you make your mistake, Fenflower," Oakdale said, "Thinking too much, that's not your job. Get some rest, we're going out there tonight."
