“Sounds like he’s giving her a solid go,” said the one on the right.
“Care to give ‘em a startle?”
“Go ahead if you want, but I won’t. Interrupting a king’s knight while he’s fucking is a good way to get yourself stabbed.”
“I ain’t scared of any knight,” said the man on the left.
“Then go on, if you’re so desperate to spy a tit. Or is it the man’s dick you’re after?”
They struck one another with their fists, then returned to the road, glancing behind only once. Sandra quieted, then stopped when Jerico motioned they were gone.
“Are we safe?” she asked.
“Seems like it,” Jerico said, making sure one more time. When he knelt back down, Sandra caught him giving her a funny look.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
He shrugged.
“Some of that sounded familiar, that’s all.”
She punched him across the jaw. It bruised his lip, but he didn’t complain. He definitely deserved it.
Once the wagons were far enough ahead, Jerico and Sandra emerged from the grass. Feeling safer, Jerico counted their numbers, and didn’t like the estimate he came up with. At least four hundred, if not more. Given where they were, and the direction they were headed, there could only be one place they traveled.
“They’re going to the Castle of Caves,” Jerico said.
“If they join Sebastian’s army, then Arthur will have no chance,” Sandra said. “And Kaide…he’ll still try to stop them. My brother is too stubborn to know reason. Whatever hope Arthur has is done.”
“No,” Jerico said, shaking his head. “Don’t think like that. It isn’t hopeless, not yet. We don’t know the situation there. Perhaps a minor lord threw his lot in with Arthur. Your brother’s band might already be on its way, ruining their supply lines and poisoning their water. We might not stop them, but at least we can try to stall.”
“How?”
Jerico gave her a mischievous grin.
“Wagons are such fragile things…”
They stayed far back out of sight until nightfall, when the caravan set up camp. As the stars came out, Jerico and Sandra made up the lost distance, until at last they crouched at the far edges of the campfire light. Whoever ran the wagons showed no fear of bandits or marauders. Instead of circling them into a protective barrier, they remained set in the middle of the road, still in line. The oxen pulling them had been tethered in the fields, downwind from the camp. Sandra pointed to them, but Jerico shook his head.
“Perhaps after,” he whispered. “They’re tired, and might not scatter, plus I fear the noise.”
“Noise?” asked Sandra. “For men of faith, they seem to share all the same noisy vices.”
Jerico shrugged. While there were no camp followers, it appeared every other vice was welcome in the camp. The men drank, sang, and made a bawdy ruckus. Many brawled amongst themselves using only their fists, and others gambled on the winners. Jerico saw no sign of priests or paladins, and assumed them to be in the larger tents erected near the front of the wagon train.
“Fine. After I’m done, we’ll go for the oxen, but I want to hit the wagons first. If I do this right, they won’t notice a thing until morning.”
Jerico removed his armor and the under-padding. He needed speed and stealth, not to rattle like a tin spatula in a kettlepot. Even his shield he left behind, bringing only his mace buckled at his waist-just to aid his sabotage, of course. He had no intention of fighting if he could help it.
“Stay beyond the fires,” Jerico said as he placed the last of his armor in a pile, along with much of their supplies. “Follow me from wagon to wagon as best you can. If I’m spotted, you need to know immediately, and then run like Karak himself is at your heels.”
“I’d rather you not get caught at all,” she said, kissing him on the cheek for good luck. “But I’ll keep an eye out on you just the same.”
Swallowing his fear, Jerico approached the camp, always watchful for a patrol. The tall grass helped immensely, but the wagons were on the bare dirt road. Getting to them would be no easy task. He chose the one on the tail end first, crawling between two campfires the soldiers had built in the grass. They joked amongst themselves as they drank, talking of the many heathens they’d kill upon reaching Arthur’s castle.
We’ll see about that, thought Jerico as he reached the edge of the grass. To the far left and right he saw campfires, but no one patrolled the area. Too much arrogance, Jerico decided with a smile. Of course, who would rob or attack a patrol of armed men sworn to Karak? No one sane, but Darius had always insisted Jerico had a bit of madness in him. Or was it stupidity?
Either way, the path was clear, and Jerico ran with his body crouched as low as possible while still maintaining speed. Upon reaching the wagon, he rolled underneath and then paused, holding his breath for a long ten seconds while his heart hammered in his ears. No calls, no nearby footsteps. He let out his breath, then went to work. The dirty base of the wagon was inches above him, but the tight space was no bother. At the rear of the wagon, he stopped and unclipped his mace.
The cramped environment would limit his strength, but he prayed to Ashhur that it would be enough. Both hands grabbing the handle, he swung for the rear axle. His mace sank in with a heavy thunk, and a long crack ran along the wood. Jerico pulled it free, then waited. The wagon would muffle much of the noise, and the merriment would obscure it further. Once confident no one had heard, he struck again. The crack spread further.
All night, thought Jerico. I’ve got all night, if that is what it takes.
He waited another minute, then struck again. This time the wood split, and the entire wagon groaned above him. Jerico waited a good five minutes before moving, then slid toward the front axle to do the same. They would have spares, he knew, but how many? If he hit every single wagon, replacing all the broken axles would take a long time, longer if they ran out of spares. Without their food and supplies, the army would go nowhere. For all Jerico knew, that several day delay could make the difference at the siege further north.
The second axle taken care of, he rolled onto his stomach and then judged the gap between him and the next wagon. It, too, appeared unguarded, though there was a campfire about ten yards to the west that might overhear his sabotage. Glancing the other way, he looked for Sandra to see if she watched. The grass was thick, so he could only hope. Praying to Ashhur for safety, he crawled out and then sprinted for the next wagon. He nearly slid underneath, then realized the scraping dirt and gravel might alert the nearby men. Calmly he dropped to his side and rolled.
The men at the nearby camp, it turned out, were gloriously drunk. Jerico sighed with relief. There were twelve of them, and they were taking turns arm-wrestling with their elbows atop a log. From his low vantage point, Jerico watched, timing his strikes against the wagon with the start and end of every new competition, when the cheering was at its loudest. The rear axle broke with ease, appearing to have been well on its way toward doing so without his help. The front one took longer, but ten minutes later, he’d made a long enough crack that he trusted would break after a day or two of rough travel.
Reaching the third wagon looked to be far more difficult. This one had soldiers patrolling the area, looking bored and unhappy to be saddled with such duty while the rest drank and gambled the night away. A soldier watched each side, and a third circled, peering inside the wagon every other time. Watching for thieves, of course, but Jerico had no interest in swiping supplies. The men at the sides were just beyond the road, standing amid the grass. They feared an outside threat, not one from within. Hopefully the distance would be enough.