Siege (The Pack/Team Crafted)

Chapter Seven

"Are we done yet?"

Rob was sick of Preston's incessant whining. His mouth opened to tell him off, but this time, Mitch beat him to it.

"Aren't you a ball of joy? Shuddap, will you? Not all of us have been lounging around all day."

Night was falling again. Mitch had arrived earlier today, but had been flitting between caring for the horses, hunting, and overall making his presence known. Through all of this, he had more or less made Jerome utterly useless.

Jerome didn't find him nearly as amusing as Rob did.

"But we need to get going. I don't want to be here any longer than we have to."

Rob blinked as he realized Preston made him eat his own words.

"Why? Scared the big, scary, Asuméns will come and get you?" Jerome grunted. Mitch snorted.

"No! The place is just... Dreary."

"Just how I like it." The battlescarred warrior turned over, placed his clawed hands over his ears, and promptly tried to sleep.

Speaking of, Lachlan and Vik were already napping, having given up on trying to do anything. Mitch had been there every turn, taking matters into his own hands. Rob figured he was trying to force himself into being leader.

He also thought it wasn't going to work.

"It doesn't matter either way," he found himself saying. "We need to figure out what we're doing, now that everyone's here."

"Restoring peace," Preston laughed. "Isn't it obvious?" The drawl in his voice revealed he wasn't too thrilled about it.

"Unfortunately, it seems we have a few people unwilling to cooperate," Mitch pointed out. Rob's eyes narrowed.

That was his line.

Maybe he didn't find Mitch as amusing as he thought he did.

"Exactly... Preston, I don't know exactly how necromancy works, but could you bring back that messenger? There's more we need to know about him."

Preston blinked at him. "You mean resurrect a primie? No! He deserved to die when he did," he snarled.

"Wait, what messenger?" Mitch's face had drained color.

Moving his palms away from his ears, Jerome tilted his angled head up to look at the assassin apprentice. "Not one you need to know about."

Ignoring the warrior, Rob sighed. "One the Crux sent. Ty. Ring any bells?"

"He's dead?" Mitch's voice shattered.

Originally, Rob had thought Mitch was just weary of a secret getting out. Maybe he was the Blood Tide, or even knew the Blood Tide.

But wouldn't Lachlan have pointed him out already if he did, if he was?

"Died from battle wounds," Jerome shrugged. He had been laying on his side across a felled log a few minutes ago; now he was entirely sprawled across it, head moved to listen to Mitch and Rob. His size was intimidating, a good head taller than either of them, and had more muscle mass than any of them could ever hope for. Not that he would ever voice it, but Rob was nervous around him.

"No... No, that's not supposed to happen... Preston, you have to bring him back."

The necromancer had picked up an oddly-shaped rock, tossing it back and forth between his hands. "Nah."

"All of us will be killed if that messenger doesn't stay around us."

"I'll find a way to live." Red eyes lazily glanced up at Mitch, sliding to Rob as a smirk spread over his lips. "It's really not my job to watch you all, though it seems to be."