Arena Event. Part-1 Mercenary Camp

With a great creaking, moaning and sighing the caravan came to a halt. The horses were still kicking up dust when a figure swathed in robes climbed down from the lead wagon. Upon his head he bore a simple turban, over his mouth and nose, a piece of cloth. Overall he might have passed for some desert warrior if not for the paleness of the skin around his eyes. However he was dressed, however he looked, he was no magi, though people who did not yet know him often seemed to take him for one, especially on this gods forsaken trip. Grumbling to himself about coin and cowards he peered through the dust at the building of rough hewn stone before him. It was quite clearly an old tower, possibly a small fortress in times past. He hefted the small but eighty bag at his side, the sounds of metal clinking together from within were muffled by the shouts of men and horses now. He did not like this business of hiring mercenaries, he had led caravans before, through calm lands and war-torn both, he had never needed mercenaries before. Why should he now, when the caravan had more people capable of defending themselves than ever before? Still though he led the caravan it was not he that controlled the flow of gold. It was the mages he was escorting, and they had made it clear that he would either hire enough mercenaries to protect them if every man woman, child, beast and bird between here and the mountains tried to take the caravan down at once, or the gold would stop flowing. Grumbling all the while he quickly strode over to the stone building, ducking slightly to enter the low door. Inside it was cool and dark, there were tables scattered about on the ground floor and wooden platforms jutting precariously out of the walls higher up. Men drank on the ground floor, gathering around the tables in small groups, on the platforms above he could hear something being worked with a grindstone, farther up (on the second floor above he supposed) he could hear metal clashing. No one here seemed concerned about it, indeed there was more concern about him. Much more. At least a dozen eyes quickly ran him over, all of them noting the weighty pouch at his belt. Not wanting to appear nervous (though in truth he was suddenly sweating) he made his way to the one well lit area on this floor. It was simple wooden circle standing in the middle of the floor, inside a large man quietly polished the bar (for that's what it was) to a soft glow, while a handful of men talked to him over their drinks. Probably desperate for work if they were willing to beg. Everyone else would just wait for him to announce a job. He reached the bar and turned the pouch over. Thick gold coins tumbled out, and out, and out. Far more than there seemed room for in the bag. All noise had stopped now. Every eye was focused on the coins. He smiled at the large man. "Ah'd like ta commision a job. Every man who thinks 'e can so much as fight off me elderly mother, an' who can tolerate tha' company o' a few mages. I'll be waitin' ootside. Ask fer Orton." With that he turned and walked towards the door. He was barely halfway there before the crowd surged towards the bar. Eager to sign up, and all trying to negotiate their share of the coin from the ex-soldier turned bar keep. It was standard practice. A large sum to the finder, which the finder then gave a small portion of to each actual mercenary(and of course kept a considerable sum for himself...but not too much, shorting the mercs or sending a load of green recruits to your buyer was a good way to not get any business ever again). Then whatever portion they had received, was their pay rate for the job. In such a way those with the most to offer(or at least the biggest reputation to their name) could bargain hardest with the finder to get a higher pay rate, those with less would have to settle for what the finder gave them. Now, all he had to do was wait, that sum should be enough to buy out every man in there and more.

The mage lifted the thin veil keeping the dust out of his wagon to watch as the mercenaries filed out to meet with the caravan master. Poor fools, they didn't know what they were getting into.

The mages had wandered outside of their wagons, forming a loose crowd of about ten. There were more, beginners, apprentaces, and the like still inside the wagons, but they were not permitted to leave.

They were robed in many different colors, three where white, two red, two blue, two yellow, and one brown. The robes concealed all but their hands. They all bore ornate rings, but one in particular bore two. The head mage, Ashas, found himself smiling at the long line forming to join the caravan.

"He must have caused quite a commotion, eh Ashas?"

Ashas looked towards the brown robed figure, then back towards the line.

"Indeed Masil. Everything is going according to plan."

"The plan accounts for constant raids from here until the Glade."

Ashas was again distracted from the ongoings by one of the red-robed mages. With a spell cast to guide his voice only to the nine others, he spoke.

"These mercenaries are all the same, degenerates and criminals. The only reason they are in a mercenary camp is because they lost at life. If they die along the way, it's fine. In fact, we will rid the world of a few people who could cause problems for us later. These mercenaries have no loyalties or morals. They could easily come for us, or even for Him at any time."

The other mages nodded, and Ashas turned back to the crowd of mercenaries.

"That being said, I don't want you to think they don't have their uses."

Ashas smiled.

Ezsrah sat in his seat in the back as the crowd rushed forth, all intent on staking their claim on the strangers, rather generous, pile of gold heaped upon the bar. Ezsrah's eyes fell on the gold pile, having to squint a little as it caught the torch, as his mind raced with the possibilities.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time he had taken part in mercenary work, and never had any pay that much. Besides, he knew the man dividing up the gold, and he had even taken several jobs from him once or twice, so he was bound to get a good cut.

He paused in his line of thought as a fight to the left and back a bit away from the gold broke out. Two of the more eager attempting to get to the stack before the other.

Ezsrah sighed as things began to spiral downward from there. The other fighters, thinking that showing off their skill would result in a bigger cut for them, quickly getting involved in an otherwise personal matter.

'Whatever the hell gets me away from these "people",' he thought as he rose to his feet.

Ezsrah waded throw the ebbing combat, at the bar keep stood upon his counter calling for order. The mercs were starting to calm down, know that pissing off the guy dividing up the gold would not be a good idea. Relative order was restored as Ezsrah made his way through the throng of people to the bar, flowing by mercenaries like water.

5 minutes later Ezsrah found himself walking out of the bar, with a promised 20% of the pot already jingling around inside the coin purse of his mind.

He smiled his trademark feral grin as he searched out his employer's, wanting to know who exactly he was working with before things got under way.

Orton was working with the horses. He was long past the point where he had to, there were inumerrable horse handlers and carters and drovers amongst the wagons to do this for him should he wish. But he liked working the horses, it had a clean, easy feel to it. The beasts didn't care about bandits or gold or god only knows what else. They were just happy to see an indulgent handler, and cared for little more than the apples they knew he would have in that pouch he carried everywhere. He was just checking one's legs for lesions or sore spots, when someone touched his shoulder, looking up he saw it was one of the horse handlers, pointing mutely to where mercenaries were beginning trickle out of the building in ones and twos. Sighing deeply, Orton turned his back on the horse and moved towards the crowd.
Individually, I will assign them individually, that way there is less of a problem when one of them needs to shift positions he thought morosely, remembering stories he had heard from other caravans. Casting his eye about he settled on a tall man, wrapped in black, with an oddly shaped sword at his side.
Coming close he said to the man " I am Orton. I will not ask yer name because I do nae care. You nee' only obey me commands and the commands of tha' mages."
Looking closely at the man he noticed his eyes had a faint yellow tinge. He groaned inwardly, he was no physician nor a healing mage but he had lived long enough to know what yellow eyes meant. The man was clearly a drunk, and a big one to have damaged his liver so badly at such a young age. He knew of nothing else that could cause a man to have such eyes. He paused for a moment to think. The man had to be kept away from alcohol, but guards of all sorts were often brought wine by the drovers, where could he place the man so that he would not have the opportunity to drink?
He smiled, behind the dust-mask.
Very purposefully and obviously moving his eyes up and down the mercenary he said "Yew will attend tha mages. Report to Ashas, he is tha leader. You will recognize him, when 'e looks at ya it will be like he ha whiffed something narsty. Do as he says save tha it countermands me orders. Your main job will be to ensure the safety of the mages first, the rest o' tha caravan second. If ya fail in yer duties, or are found ta be more trouble than yer worth yer pay'll be taken an' ya'll be set by the side of the road, fer fickle chance ta care for ya as she will."
Not even waiting for the man to respond he turned towards the remaining mercenaries, feeling weary all of a sudden, he had said he would do them individually, but already there were many, so very many. He sighed. The caravan would be here all day.

Ezsrah, nodded his understanding, not entirely sure why the man disdained him so already, but not willing to make a big deal about at this point.

He turned and walked off into the caravan sight, asking a servant just where he could find this 'Ashas' at.

When he finally did find him, he inclined his head in a show of respect and said, "I am Ezsrah, I've been assigned to protect the mages during the trip, what would you have me do?"

Sitting in the dark corner of the smelly room was quite a relaxing time for Sword. The darkness covered him from any prying eyes. The room was full of all the individuals you would meet in a prison. There - a man with an eyepatch on his left eye playing some kind of card game to kill some time. And there a magi, not very skilled, wearing an blue robe and having quite a heated argument with an old man who wears a red bandanna. Somewhat over half of them consumed some kind of alcoholic beverage.

Suddenly a man stepped inside. Short pause and clinging of golden coins. Suddenly the number of people drinking could be counted with the fingers on one hand as everyone crowded the bar. A trip or....?

Sword felt magic outside. Not powerful exactly, but...spacious? It seemed...spread out. It was just too great a coincidence that the arriving of this sensation and the mass mercenary immigration were unrelated. Still seeking out great source of order, or perhaps elemental light, Sword just had to take this opportunity. So he stood up and mixed in the river of thugs and rogues moving to the nearby bar counter. Being exposed to light didn't scare him. Who in the world would closely look at him when there was gold, far more interesting to these humans, to look at?
Some mercenaries were too busy dreaming about gold, some had other dreams and valued their lives.
Lets just hear what they think.

Sword sat at the wooden chair with a loud sound of creaking wood that got lost in the river of laugh and sounds of debates, after a few minutes only those who had passed up the trip remained.

"Ya wan' an'ting?" the grinning bartender asked, with half of the golden teeth shining.
After long and awkward silence Sword answered "...Beer, cold one"

After paying few silver coins for the drink Sword concentrated on the sounds around him:

"You herd bout those magi? They're in a caravan and hiring anyone who can hold a sword."
"You sure? Did they pay them enough for it?"
"Ya, that was sure some good coin I coulda make there."
"Why didn't ya ?"
"Well, didn't you hear?.."
"What?"
"Well, there are rumors you ken? Why would a giant caravan of mages pass here? They're sure ta be doin' som'thin dangerous, and hell, i value my hide!"
"So you say....they gonna try some dragon slayin, heh?"
"Mages? Nahhh. You ever heard bout some guy called Sasil or Sazil?"
"You mean that priest guy? Yeah, heard some legends bout him, nothing real firm though."
"Some people still tell tales 'bout him living somewhere not too far fom her' ya ken?"
"Holy mug of sweet beer, you mean they're kinda going to him?"
"Nah, dun be stupid, just told ya - TALES."
"Either way, dat's too big for me."

Interesting clue, the most important one too. Other ones were full of speculations like that they're going to travel to end of world or that they were escaping some king. Having heard all that he needed sword left the mug on the table and silently walked out. He walked behind the buildings in the cover of shadows with a deep interest of following the caravan. You never know what information may be true.

Ashas stared coolly at the man questioning him. He seemed almost aglow in magic, but it was strange magic, it seemed a bit like sealing magic but not quite like any he had ever seen before.
A curse? No...there's almost a benevolence about this. Regardless I doubt it's much more than a particularly strong trinket he has about him. It seems strongest about his waist, probably his sword or his belt.
There was something odd about him too but Ashas couldn't quite put his finger on it, a lingering sensation a bit like a bad taste in his mouth. Shaking it off he cast about looking for some position the man could take. He knew nothing of tactics he reluctantly admitted to himself. It was such a...base study.
"You know best how to fight with your weapons and your tricks." he said calmly "Our wagons are there, there, there and there. The primary one with which you are to be concerned is the large red lacquered one. Defend it however you think best."

Dismissing the man from his thoughts, he glanced about the ring of caravans now completely surrounding the tower. Men bustled everywhere, doing the petty little things that they were told to, having no more hopes or dreams than a few coins in their pockets and a drink at the end of the day. He shivered slightly, it was cool for this time of the year true, but on this gods forsaken dust plain slightly cool only meant that it would take two days instead of one to die from exposure. His eyes began to twitch about the courtyard, there was...something. He didn't know what it was exactly but it felt unsettling. He could only pray it wasn't coming from one of the mercenaries, or they would never be rid of it. Moving into the shadow of the tower for a brief bit of coolness he muttered to himself "Sazil won't thank me for bringing this riffraff but I see precious little other way to break through." A moment later he noticed a man robed in black sitting in the shadows. Almost jumping from shock that he had missed him he quickly retreated back towards his wagon and burn the mercenaries Orton sent, they could learn their jobs from the first man.

Kassan pushed through the crowds as they grew ever thicker. Eventually it became less like pushing through people, and more like trying to push through a boulder. "Damn, I need to get inta this caravan" he thought "I could make enough coin to retire now, and be done with this business forever."

Realizing the lack of progress he was making, Kassan unsheathed his crossbow, a fine thing, handcrafted from the heaviest of ebony, and began to push through the masses with it. He managed to come upon a stables, and took a moment to rest. "Now... who was I looking fer?" he thought while pulling out a tattered piece of parchment "Orton.. I wonder where I could find 'im".

Kassan heard a grunting from behind him, "Why hallo, you must be Orton, my name be Kassan, but you can call me Kas, everyone else does. I'm here about joining this here caravan."

Orton snorted. Another damn mercenary, the sun was just starting to set and he still had an even dozen to go after this lad. They were barely going to be off the plains when they had to dig in for the night. By this point he was in a fine temper, a few of the mercenaries had even tried to renegotiate their salaries. It wasn't until he had found out how much he was paying that first man that he had become truly infuriated though. So much on one man!
"Well Crass" he sneered. "We're out of positions on the wagons. You'll have to cover the supply train or be a scout. Take your pick. Food can be found at the green wagon, you only get two squares a day, and the caravan leaves on time, if you slept in you get no food, if your not back in time you had best hope someone saved you some. You'll sleep under the wagons if you can find a spot, in a tent if you brought one or on the ground if other two aren't viable."
Turning back to his horse he finished cinching the saddle and pointed at the only other mercenary holding a bow.
"You, if Crass here decides to be on supply duty your a scout, else your on supply, the rest of you are on supply regardless. "

Finally done with the mercenaries he climbed into the saddle, rode to the lead wagon and sent a runner in for the pay list from the bar keep.
He gave the command to make ready to pull out.

"So I'm Crass here eh? better than in some parts atleast"

"I think I'll take the scouting position thanks, It sounds safest and easiest. Easy money."

Kassan's mind swam with fantasies of what he could do with the pay, and for such a simple job at that. "Crass" packed up his gear, and began following Orton to his destiny.

"So... we've got a full operation now. This many mercenaries just means more trouble for you, though, doesn't it?"

The young red-robed mage looked towards his mentor, the older red-robed mage by the name of Golspar.

"Yes, Sovin my boy. It may take awhile, but at least they'll do anything for a bit of glint in the sun. If not, they'll be stuck on a job worse than sewage duty."

Sovin shuddered at Golspar's words, remembering the one time his mentor had sent him on such a duty.

Never again...

With that, Golspar walked towards a large group of mercenaries, wondering what miscellaneous job Ashas or the caravan leader gave them.

Sovin, on the other hand, turned around and began to look for Ashas. He spotted him giving a mercenary a hard time. Not too concerned with that situation, he looked behind Ashas.

Well... she should be here somewhere... Ah..

Sovin spotted a white robed mage, marked as such due to her position in relation to Sazil and Ashas. She stayed at a distance from Ashas, but kept her eyes upon her leader. Sovin smiled to himself, and began walking towards her.

In the mean time, the rest of the mages headed in to the caravan, not all too concerned with this stop.

Later
The men walked. The caravans had started moving again, drawing away from the dust-blown mercenary camp into the dense scrub land and soon they knew into the forests not far beyond, before the caravan would finally ascend the mountians that jutted up out of the forests. Huge and blue in the distance. The men looked at each other, they knew why they were here. They had all been payed by the caravan to act as guards. They had all been put on general guard duty. They walked on, though slightly slower than the rest dropping back, one cart passing them, then another.
They had all been paid to guard the caravan. They had all been paid more to do something else entirely. They dropped back further still until the carts passing them were no longer rough and ready jobs but larger more comfortable wagons for transporting people instead of gear. The men eyed each other and nodded. Four of the eight had crossed the road. They waited, cooks, and clerks wagons passed them, peddlers and tinkers wagons passed by. Finally the largest wagons came, these with their own personal set of guards, some hanging on, others walking beside. The men walked and let the first, then the second pass them. They knew where their target was.
As the third wagon passed between them they exploded into violence.
Knives appeared in their hands as if by magic and the nearest guards fell almost instantly, many before they even realized they had been betrayed. Not wasting time the men rushed for the wagon, four taking defensive positions outside, four more intent on getting inside.
The whole time not a word was spoken. They committed their actions in silence, never so much as blinking at the pained gurgles from their victims. Even the wagon driver had fallen under their brief but efficient assault.
Their attack was not unnoticed and already guards were rushing to the wagon's aid. The four outside drew close together to better fight as one, the other four attacked the closed doors and windows with frenzied haste, tearing away chunks of wood in their desire to gain access to the men inside.

Ezsrah saw his first chance to earn his pay closing in on the mages’ wagon. He had singled them out as a problem ever sense he noticed them hanging back in the group, they were too professional, too cold, and they didn’t smell of sweat and alcohol, making them stick out like sore thumbs.

Of course, Ezsrah was probably the only one around who actually cared enough to notice these differences so their ability to blend in was rather moot.

He stalked them closely, always just out of sight, but never far from reach.

So the second they struck, he wasn’t far behind.

Two of the four hammering at the wooden wagon were his first targets, and they quickly found throwing knives embedded in their necks, shortly before dieing of asphyxiation.

The other two continued their assault oblivious of their comrades’ plight, whilst the other four zeroed in on Ezsrah’s position.

Knowing the futility of trying to hide at this point he marched from the brush he had been ducking within. He cast his eyes about, taking in the would be assassins, and any potential help from the other mercenaries, although it was unlikely given the chaos of such a stealthy and precise attack.

With no back up in the foreseeable future Ezsrah squared off against 4 well armed and well trained assassins, with nothing but The Fang, his throwing knives, and years of experience killing thing. A feral grin covered his face, and his pupils changed to slits as the beast banged against its cage in anticipation of the upcoming fight.

The combatants stood with only a few yards between them, eyeing each other for weaknesses. As the combatants stared each other down, one of the assassin’s number steeped forth in challenge.

Ezsrah, sprang forth, the fang reflecting the sun in his right hand, and was upon his would be opponent in an instant. The warrior pulled a reasonably sized axe and met Ezsrah in a defensive pose. The Axe and sword clashed and a cascade of sparks as the two danced about each other in an effortless show of skill.

Ezsrah stayed slow on the initial assaults, wanting to get a measure of his opponent’s skill.

They’re good he thought, as he lanced a kick out sending the assassin tumbling away.

Don’t get cocky lad said the Fang as the silhouette of one of the other warriors reflected off his blade.

Ezsrah spun and lanced out with a kick, sending the would-be ambusher to the ground, before ducking low under the swing of his other opponent’s axe. Crouched low, he spun around and stabbed the Fang into the axe wielder’s mouth, in one end and out the back.

As the other one regained its feet, just in time to see his comrade fall limb to the ground, he rushed forth, a short sword in each hand, anger clouding his mind. Ezsrah turned, pulling his sword loose of the rapidly cooling corpse, and meet the rush with one of his own, the two jumped into the air and lashed out with their respective weapons.

Ezsrah, land first and sheathed his sword upon impact with the ground, the short sword wielder’s head landed next, fallowed by the rest of him.

The other two assassin’s looked at the corpses of their comrades and then shared a look with each other, nodding slowing in under standing. The one on the left pulled forth a regular sized sword, wreathed in bluish flame, as the other pulled his sleeve down his arm, reveling magic runes tattooed into his flesh, black flames seemingly coming alive as it was reveled.

Ezsrah felt a feral toothy grin spread across his face as he motioned the two forth. The assassin’s whole heartedly obliged, the sword wielder rushing forth while the tattooed one hang back. Ezsrah sprang forth and meet the sword wielder in a cascade of sparks and licking blue flames. The warrior stared incredulously as The Fang weathered the assault of the flames, its shining surface not so much as growing hotter.

Ezsrah, however, felt himself cooking alive at the closeness of the heat, and lashed out with his foot sending the two sliding backwards on one foot.

The assassin wasted no time as he launched himself forward again, flaming sword slicing out in arc after arc of blue flame trailed in its wake. It was all Ezsrah could do to weave out of the path of the flame, the heat had grown so intense.

Would you like some help laddy? spoke up the Fang, as it intercepted the sword, and pushed it to the side.

Only if your offering thought Ezsrah as he traded sword strokes with the assassin.

Suddenly silver fire ignited along the length of the Fang, colliding against the blue of the other mans sword, in a struggle of power.

Flame danced about the two as their swords met and parted and met again wreathed in halos of fire.

Then the other assassin made himself known, sending a wave of blackish flame arcing across the battlefield toward Ezsrah, as the other assassin made himself scarce.

Ezsrah’s first instinct was to leap into the air over the flame, but they would no doubt be expecting that. He turned and face the rapidly closing wave, time slowing down as his superhuman reflexes came to bare.

I’m trusting you on this one he thought as he raised his sword in-between himself and the encroaching flame.

Relax, I’ve handled far worse boy countered the sword as its silver flame pulsed once.

As the black was almost upon him, the sliver fire suddenly exploded outwards, enveloping the whole of Ezsrah shielding him form the flame.

The black fire struggled furiously with the silver flame, until it finally broke against it, shattering into a few embers before dissipating altogether, the silver flame disappearing along with it, back into the blade of the sword.

The two assassins’ stared in awe, as their opponent weathered the fiercest of their attacks virtually unscathed. Grim resolved gripped them as they charged forth, blue fire trailing one, black the other.

Ezsrah held his ground as he faced the incoming warriors, a defensive stance and the sword in his hand being the only things he would need.

The world slowed to a stand still, as the two closed on their target, each lancing out with their respective flame based weapons.

The resulting flash exploded upwards, and nearly blinded the two assassins’ as the look over their shoulder to watch the confrontation play out.

As the dust cloud cleared Ezsrah stood alone, nothing being left of his opponents. His shirt was torn and rapidly healing burn marks covered his torso.

Knives quickly found their way into the throats of the last two, still partially stunned, assassins’ throats. The two fell to the ground about the same time as Ezsrah fell back landing on his backside, and catching his breath in an exasperated sigh of exhaustion. He sat their, and waited to find out just who that wagon belonged too.

The mages were sitting in relative silence. Vixi, one of the female blue-robed mages, was pouring herself a glass of wine for the trip. Golspar looked up at her, frowning.

"You don't want to be drunk if we're assailed, do you?"

Vixi turned to him and smiled, sat down, and took her first sip.

"Oh, don't worry about me old man. I'm just fine with a little of this in my system."

Golspar frowned again, shaking his head. There was a sudden thumping sound about the wagon, and then a tearing sound at the wall. Golspar, Sovin, and one of the white robed mages, Fayru, stood up. Golspar drew out a glaive through one of his sleeves, while the other two were ready to destroy the wall if needed. The tearing slowed, and metal could be heard clashing outside.

"I'm surprised it was this early... Oh well. Let the mercenaries do what we paid them to do."

The three stood down to an extent, not willing to trust the mercenaries fully with their safety. Within a minute, the first bandit broke through the wooden wall, but fell away before the mages could react. In his place was suddenly found a man of slitted yellow eyes and a lupine look to his face.

Seeing that this one probably wouldn't put up a fight, Golspar leaned against a wall, propping his glaive up as well. Fayru stood standing, while Sovin retired himself to the seat behind him, looking up at Fayru.

Ashas stood and strode beyond Fayru, patting her shoulder, to which she responded to retire as well. Ashas walked up to the newly made window and bowed ever so slightly.

"Quite good timing there. How many were there and where did they come from?"

Ezsrah cast his eyes about the interior of the wagon before looking back to the man who was apparently the leader.

Ashas I think his name was

"Eight of them," he said finally, adding a feral grin as he continued, "Although you'd be hard pressed to find anything left of two of them."

"As for where they came from, as irony would have it, you actually hired them to protect the caravan," he said, as he leaned over and inspected the corpse of one of the assassins.

"Lucky for you, I got to them first," he said as he returned his attention back to the gathered mages.

"Now then, is there anything else you require of me?"

At the words of the mercenary, Ashas frowned.

"No... that will be all."

Ezsrah nodded and took his leave, heading to find a shirt to replace the one burned from his body.

A thought accrued to him, a sudden burst of curiosity that caused him to hang back out of sight, but in earshot of the mages.

Ashas turned after watching the mercenary depart, then sat back down in his designated chair, propping a leg over the other. He turned to the mistress who was currently downing a second glass of wine.

"Vixi..."

She nodded, and held up a hand. A burst of water came from it, which balled up and spread itself on the hole in the wall.

"There... That'll do for now."

"I didn't expect to be attacked by soon... and by our own hired mercenaries, no less."

"I doubt any of us did, Golspar, but it is quite disturbing that our enemies have already found their way into our caravan. There may be more hiding in the ranks."

Golspar nodded at the thought.

"Yes, I'll go with Sovin tomorrow and try to flesh out any more of the scoundrels."

Pleased, Ashas turned towards the others.

"It's a pity some men can be bought so easily. I suppose it is the difference between us and them."

"It's quite simple, Ashas," Ulman, the other male white robed mage, spoke. "We're simply leagues beyond them, as Sazil is leagues beyond us."

"True..."

Ashas let this rest in his mind while the eldest woman in the wagon downed another glass of wine.

"I want you all to be prepared for whatever may face us. From the looks of things, we have an organized nasty bit of nuisance, and they'll only come looking for it."

The male blue robed mage looked at the expedition leader.

"There could be a chance that they were simply mercenaries looking for more riches than what was paid. We did carry a hefty sum into their camp."

"A possibility... though I doubt it. There are still two others that did not make the easy deadline for this trip."

"They would not talk of Sazil."

Ashas looked deep into the other man's eyes.

"I doubt you know what you would do when death itself stares you down in order to save your life."

Traistyn continued to look at Ashas, before turning away after a short while, verbally defeated. Ashas turned back once more to the group.

"So it is quite possible that whoever may be after us has heard of our secrets and our trek to join Sazil at his domain. Therefore, given the worst case scenario, we are to be ready against any opponent, including mercenaries themselves."

He darted his eyes towards the water-filled wooden wound the wagon sustained during the small fight no less than ten minutes ago.

"It would be wise not to exempt any who appear overly helpful, or even those that defend this caravan against such attacks."

A lighter note was shortly struck by Ulman, and the talk dwindled quickly from a speech into pointless chatter.