Talin chose those that had stuck their hands up first, and the deal was done, much to the disappointment of those that had been hesitant in giving their animal away. At this rate, the longer they held onto the beasts, the more money they'd bleed away, and the less likely they'd be able to keep them fed. It was a losing scenario, in those snowy mountains.
Concluding the matter of the mules, Talin's men came round, offering prices for varying bits of equipment, and doling out the coin for them on the spot. Of course, these weren't the kind of prices you'd be getting if you sold the equipment in town. They were barely half that. But for raiding folk like them, eager to get the equipment off their hands, it was a good deal.
They came up to Vol, asking the same questions.
"You got nothing to sell, boy?"
Vol shook his head. Apart from the mule, what he'd taken had been the ra coin. He had no loot to get rid of. From the sounds of it, as he overheard the conversations that other men were having, it would be worth hanging on to that sort of equipment in the future. They were offered over five coppers for each piece that they brought forth. More for swords and chainmail, and less for axes.
Again, it was the sort of money that Vol would have been lucky to see in a month's work as a youth, but these people were dealing in it casually, as though it was only natural, and it wasn't as though they were blown away by the results. A silver to them seemed to be nothing. They'd tuck it away in their coin pouches with a grunt, determined to add to it.
With the dealings done, they spent the night making camp there. Talin didn't let any but Blackbeard spend the night inside, and from the satisfied look on Blackbeard's face come morning, he suspected she'd brought him in for reasons other than sleep.
The rest of them were forced to make do with sheets of waxed cloth, strung up between trees to make something of a tent against the cold. But, compared to the fire, they did little to offer warmth.
It snowed that night too. The men complained about having to spend their evening in such conditions, but they weren't the sort of fearful complaints that normal folk would have made in the same situation. Normal folk would have been wrestling with the idea that there was a solid chance they would not make it through the night.
These men were hardy enough that it was only a minor inconvenience to them. Something to be forgotten with strong liquor, and food from their packs. By the time early morning came, there was not a man amongst them who was not contentedly curled up beneath his furs, even as the snow came down heavy, with a cruel wind blowing across the mountain tops.
These were fighting men, Vol realized, as he lay amongst them. This was the difference between them and normal people. The ability to endure this sort of harshness. The ability to be cruel when necessary. That was why they made such easy coin compared to the normal folk – it was because they themselves weren't normal.
…
…
Come morning, their march began again. The marching orders were given, and with it, they were given their next destination. A port town called Greymouth, nestled right on the edge of the Inland Sea. It would be another three days before they arrived there, but finally, they were marching with purpose in mind. Vol was pleased for that.
He passed the days maintaining his strength. Once the 48-hour regeneration boost wore off, his fatigue began to grow again, as it normally might. The long marches began to wear on him, despite spending that time on the back of a mule.
He was not exhausted, but he felt just enough to let him know that he'd spent the entire day on the move.
By the time they were nearing Greymouth, he was feeling a distinct soreness in his rear from the long day spent in the saddle. His sack of oats was quickly emptying as well. He wasn't sure if he was overfeeding his mule – it seemed to be growing a far rounder belly than it had had a few days ago. But that could have been a mere trick of the eyes.
Whatever the case, the mule did not let him know. The beast seemed content to eat whatever Vol put in front of him, always making it seem like it wasn't nearly enough by the speed that he polished it off.
Despite its cost to him, Vol's decision to keep the mule for the march had paid off. Halfway through the last day of marching, he received an announcement from the System, informing him of the newly evolved state of his riding skill.
!! SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT!
SKILL: HORSE RIDING - BASIC, CONDITIONS MET!
5/5 CONDITIONS HAVE BEEN ACHIEVED… EVOLUTION COMMENCING
HORSE RIDING – BASIC EVOLVED INTO HORSE RIDING INTERMEDIATE – INTERMEDIATE!
THE VESSEL IS NOW ABLE TO CONTROL A HORSE WITH FAR MORE EASE THAN AN UNTRAINED RIDER. HE ALSO FINDS HIMSELF TO HAVE MORE ENDURANCE IN A SADDLE, AND IS LESS LIKELY TO FEEL SORE AFTER A HARD DAY OF RIDING.
With dusk, once more, they pulled into a new place, as they had for the last several days. This past week of Vol's life had been a whirlwind of new imagery. He'd been to more new places in such a short amount of time than he'd even seen in his life before then.
This time, instead of the quiet clearing of a mountain, or a chilly damp cave hidden in a valley, it was instead, a town. A small and dreary town, but a town nonetheless.
And that smell… Salty in his mouth and lungs. That was the sea. He didn't manage to catch a glimpse of it until they were arriving amongst the town. Here, the sea filtered into Greymouth, surrounded by yet more mountains. It was more the size of a large lake, when held like that. But if he looked off further into the distance, beyond the opening in the mountains, he was sure he could see more of it.