There would be opportunities aplenty, and drink for the thirsty and a place to pitch a tent for the weary, or so the promise went. Adrick slicked his hair back from his eyes staring at the distant collection of tents. Three days of riding and little sleep left the man weary eyed and thirsty, denoted by the empty wine skin that hung limp at his side and the bags under his eyes. The horse beneath him panted with each step, plodding down the rocky mountain path at an ever slowing pace. Adrick felt no need to rush the final legs of his journey, not with his destination in sight. Such enthusiasm could be left to those who envisioned a greater tomorrow, who served on bended knee to their liege lord squirming to receive his praise and admiration. In some ways this made Adrick less of a liability, as long as the intended task wasn’t required to be punctual. This latest employer was aware of Adrick’s temperament however, having utilized his services in the past, and in anticipation gave the mercenary ample time to complete his mission.

	“Easy, watch ye step old lad, not too far now.” Adrick soothed patting his horse’s neck. The steed whinnied, a few rocks shifting out from under his unsteady iron shoes. While surefooted on the flat ground the beast like most warhorses wasn’t built for riding up and down the Rhodokian mountains, at least not with ease.

	By late morning Adrick arrived at his northern destination, riding boldly across the open ground towards the palisade’s entrance. One of the guards stepped forward flanked by another guard, taking the horse’s bridal in his armored fist, clicking his tongue in a manner of one used to such practices. Adrick stared down as if surprised by this action.
	“I asked you to halt and declare,” the guard accused with a frustrated growl. “State your name and business here.”
	
	“My name is who gives a damn, and my business is mind yer own.” Adrick laughed, taking his foot from the stirrup and kicking the guard’s hand from the bridal. “But if ye desperately want to know I have a dispatch from Sir Guliven for Sir Culiven his brother, who ought to be here now. If ye have any brains yer going to move and let me deliver it bastard.”

	“Why you vile brigand, I’ll have your hand for that!” The guard reached for his sword but his companion stopped him, staring Adrick in the eye.

	“You will have the seal then?” He asked, holding out his hand.

	“Aye,” Adrick reached into his pocket, placing the slightly crumpled scroll into the man’s hand. For a moment the guard stared at the wax seal, before giving it back.

	“Very well, in you go straight to Sir Culiven’s tent.” The guards stepped aside, allowing Adrick to ride past, sneering in victory. The guard he had kicked and insulted was red faced and furious, but he made no move to harry the mercenary further. The lord’s mail was not to be stopped, no matter how rude the messenger was.