Sunlight filtered through the mist-laden canopy, catching on moss-green trunks and slick leaves. The wagon lurched along the muddy road, wheels groaning as eight new recruits and two Bloodshield soldiers sat packed shoulder to shoulder, boots knocking, voices loud with nervous laughter.
Styke shifted on the bench and glanced at the boy beside him. Brown tunic, brown hair, and a leather pouch so swollen it looked ready to burst.
"Where are you from?" Styke asked.
"Capital," the boy said, smiling.
"You're from Wolnwood. Looks like you're the only one from your village"
"Seems like it." Styke laughed.
The boy dug into his pouch, fingers searching blindly.
"So," he said around a mouthful of bread, "which lady you dream of bedding?"
Styke snorted. "Lady Mildrith, no doubt."
Both started chuckling.
A sharp laugh cut through the wagon.
"Have you even grown your balls?"
Styke looked up.
The voice came from a red-haired recruit sitting across from him-broad as an ox, shoulders pressing into the men beside him. His nose was crooked, his grin worse, and his accent harsh and fast, like gravel scraping stone.
"Oooff!" the boy beside Styke laughed. "He spat right in your face, mate!"
Styke tilted his head slightly, studying the red-haired boy.
"Didn't know barking counted as talking."
A few snickers followed.
The red-haired boy's grin widened. "What's your name, Wolnwood boy?"
"Styke. Son of Taran."
The grin twitched.
"Sounds Eldorian."
Styke's jaw tightened.
"It's not."
"It is," said a thin blond boy beside the redhead.
"Elf name, that."
Styke leaned forward. "Funny, you two look more like you understand barking than figure out names."
A sharper laugh this time, The blond boy flushed.
The red-haired one chuckled low.
"I bet your mother was an Eldorian whore."
"I bet your father fucked an elf,"
the thin boy added, breaking into laughter.
The wagon filled with it-snorts and chuckles. Even the boy beside Styke laughed, crumbs spilling from his mouth.
Styke's hands curled into fists. His chest felt tight. He had never seen his mother. Never even known what she was.
He met the red-haired boy's eyes.
"Say that again," he said quietly, "and I'll cut your cunt throat."
The laughter stuttered.
"He'll cut your throat, he says!" someone mocked.
The red-haired boy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, grin crooked and steady. He didn't blink.
"I bet you can't even lift a fucking sword," he said. "Let alone swing one."
"I can." Styke held his gaze for a while, then looked away.
Behind him, the Bloodshield soldier barked,
"What are you new cunts yelling for, aye?!!"
Silence fell fast. The wagon rattled on.
The red-haired boy kept staring.
"Afraid of a duel," he muttered, "or never picked up a sword?"
Styke turned his head towards him, his ears turned red.
"I'm not afraid of duels and i can swing a fucking sword!" he murmured.
The red-haired boy chuckled.
"Oh! Good, very good," he chuckled "Duel with me and I'll be glad to cut that chicken throat of yours."
"Let's see who will be begging for mercy"
The wagon master laughed.
"New lads quarrelling like cats really makes the journey feel alive, haha!"
The Bloodshield soldier shot them a warning look.
"Oi! One more fucking useless quarrel and I'll kick you two knaves out of the wagon."
At last, the red-haired boy leaned back. He glanced past Styke, checking the Bloodshield soldier, then murmured,
"The wagon's stopping at Erinton. I'll see you there."