Tomb of the Warlord King

Part 1

Haskul spat, the thick mucus glob traced a wide arc through the air, landing on a large rock with an audible splat. He chuckled, pleased with his aim.

            “You’re a pig.” Remmy, Haskul’s wife, said with a look of disgust as her own eyes traced the foul mucus arc.

            “Then I guess we make a fine pair, because you sound like one.” Haskul shot back, and promptly began to make loud and annoying squealing sounds. “At least, that’s all I hear. Especially at night!” Haskul guffawed in an intentionally obnoxious way at his crassness. He could see his wife fuming out of the corner of his eye, and he grinned, exposing his yellowed teeth. They sat atop a small cart; the wooden bench was the only available seating as the rest of the cart was laden with their wares of clay pottery. Remmy physically tried to keep as far away from her husband as possible, but it was an impossible task on the small bench.  

            “One day you’re going to— ” Remmy began but was cut short when the carts wheel struck a large rock, imbedded in the dirt road they were on. The force of the lurching cart sent her back into spasms from the sudden jostling. The carts wheel creaked and cracked ominously from the blow as well, but the sound was lost over the cry of pain Remmy made from her back.

            “Oh, sorry my dear!” Haskul watched his wife as she pinched her face from the pain in her back. His voice had that note of false sincerity and he didn’t even try to hide the smile on his face. “I hope that bounce didn’t hurt your back too much, I know how bad it can be.” Haskul watched to road for more rocks, in his mind he debated the danger of breaking a wheel on a large rock of pot-hole with the pleasure of watching Remmy’s face scrunch up again.

            “You are a bastard.”

            “That’s what your father said too. Still, he let me have you; maybe he realized that we would be a perfect match of piss and vinegar.” Haskul snapped the reins, the leather slapping across the back of their mule.

            “Don’t push the girl; she’s already too old for pulling the cart.” Remmy scolded, her nasally voice droning into Haskul’s ear.

            “Too old for much of anything but a hole in the ground. Reminds me of you.” Haskul muttered.

            The two rode on in silence, Remmy turned to watch the countryside slowly roll by. Cera’s capital, Orderic, was no more than a half day away. Once they reached the capital, Haskul would set up their pottery in the market, hopefully selling enough to ensure their livelihood. Remmy lost herself in planning what they would do with the money they would make in the market. It would be vital for their survival in the winter months to invest in much needed supplies. With the money they would purchase two goats, and a cockerel to take back to their meager homestead for their chickens, she would need to purchase various textiles as well in order to ensure they both had suitable garments for the colder months. Hopefully she could take the earned copins before Haskul spent too much of it on his vices. Remmy looked back to the pottery they had in their cart, internally cursing her husband when she saw many of the pots had broken loose from their bindings, rolling in the back of the cart.

            “We should stop and secure the pots.” Remmy turned around and fixed a steely gaze at her husband. If too many of the pots were broken and unsellable, they wouldn’t have enough copins to buy new supplies.

            “They’re fine, woman.” Haskul grunted in reply, his shoulders hunched and his face staring straight ahead at the dirt road, his body set as stubbornly as his mind. Remmy breathed out heavily, her own eyes looking at the pitiful road, pock marked with rocks and holes each bump a potential loss in their wares; and a jarring pain in her back.