Without warning, the right front wheel collided with an exposed root, rattling Hilts’ teeth and almost knocking his slumbering partner off his perch. The sudden jolt also shook Evie into consciousness and into a world of pain. The leather straps that Dax bound her with bit into her hands and ankles, while the foul-smelling rag wedged in her mouth and secured by an unnecessarily tight knot pressed into the back of her head. If she didn’t feel pain somewhere, it was only because that area had already gone numb.

Dax caught his balance, shooting Hilts a contemptuous sideways glance, positive his rude awakening was no accident. He remembered their cargo. “What we doing with her? I mean, after having our fun?”

“Don’t know… don’t know,” Hilts said in his typical muttering fashion. “Maybe we should keep her.”

“Keep her! Are you crazy? I say we have our fun, then take care of her like we did her husband. She’ll be nothing but trouble.”

Dax’s comment captured Evie’s full attention. She fought through the waves of pain generated by her overly-tight ligatures to hear better, but the creaking wagon and squeaking wheels made the task close to impossible. All the while, her clouded mind struggled to understand what they meant by “take care of.” Evie didn’t have to wait to get her answer.

These words drifted back, loud and clear. “And why did you hafta kill the guy, anyway?” asked Dax. “If he’s as rich as Farron boasted, then we could’ve gotten a treasure’s worth of gold for her. It sure sounded to me he would have done anything to keep her safe.”

Hilts hated it when Dax sounded more reasonable than he did. He was the smart one; the planner; the one who always had the answers. This time, Dax was right. He blew it. They had a gold mine at their fingertips, bound and at their mercy, and he let it slip away because of his temper.

Dax would never let him live it down if he didn’t put him in his place, so he struck Dax with a quick, hard backhand across his face. “Shaddup!”

The blow nearly toppled Dax off the wagon; blood gushed from a broken nose. Bigger and stronger than Hilts, Dax, however, was not as quick and definitely not as quick-thinking. Hilts took advantage whenever he could.

Blood flowed like a torrent into Dax’s hand. The pain elevated his rage to a full boil. Adrenaline surged, overwhelming his brain. Its limited ability to think compelled him to retaliate now while Hilts concentrated on the reins. Tired of being smacked whenever Hilts didn’t agree with what he said, he slid his hand toward his sword. Just as his fingers connected with the hilt, Hilts pressed a dagger against his throat.

As usual, Hilts held the upper hand. Dax withdrew his. Instead of exacting revenge, he grabbed his snot rag and straightened his crooked nose to stem the bleeding. Dax slumped back in his seat and sulked for the rest of the trip.

Hilts, however, returned to his cheery self. Having reasserted his dominance made him feel back in control. Dax would get over it. He always had before.

Even though Dax had flashes of common sense, he wasn’t an intelligent person and relied on Hilts to survive. Not the wild, per se, but among the civilized places of Excelsior. He was a skillful swordsman and, if pressed, could manage several days alone in the forest. But he was lazy. Without Hilts, he would either starve, or die by another rogue, or eventually fall prey to the various creatures of chaos which roamed this land.

They proceeded on, each quiet, lost in their own thoughts; one smiling, the other brooding. If either cared enough to check on their cargo’s welfare, they would have seen Evie convulsing in an uncontrollable fit of grief; tears saturating the gag that held back the sound of her total despair.