Crowley frowned to himself as Cropper cantered down the empty dirt road. It had been three long weeks since the Gathering ended and this entire mess began. He briefly wondered if Halt, Gilan, and Clarke would be back by now. Communications were less than ideal; he hadn't gotten any contact save the short letter explaining the situation with Outsiders in Araluen.
You're thinking. Cropper commented, breaking the companionable silence.
"What?" Crowley asked.
You're rubbing your necklace again.
"I am not…" He self-consciously removed his hand from the pendant. "Fine. Yes, I've been thinking. Jare- no, Juacin isn't going to come back on his own, is he? Have to find him before they get out of the country."
Anything so far?
"Nothing good." Crowley muttered in annoyance.
If they are leaving for Clonmel like they said, where would they most likely go?
"Barmouth is closest. Why do you think we're going in that direction anyway?" The commandant snapped crossly.
Just trying to help. Cropper rumbled. You are worried, I can tell.
"Of course I am! My best friend and Clarke and Gilan have been gone for weeks, and based on what Pauline wrote about situations in Clonmel, nothing is getting better. That place is a disaster waiting to happen, and I'm willing to bet Jared will be the person to set it off."
Why do you think they wanted Jared?
"I'm not sure!" Crowley let out a small groan. "All there is to go on is what Mark said before he…"
That Jared will be sent to Dun Kilty? Perhaps after the royal family?
Crowley eyed his horse in surprise. Either the animal has amazing hearing or can read minds because Crowley was pretty sure he hadn't mentioned anything. He nodded slowly, "It would completely throw the place into chaos, especially since there's no heir that I've heard of. But why couldn't they do it themselves? Unless…" His eyes widened. "If Jared kills the royal family, the blame could be shifted on us the corps. And if their next target is here..."
Always glad to be of assistance.
Metal clashing on metal was a foreign sound ringing continuously through the forest as the grass carpet of the camp was watered in red. The young captain of Pauline's entourage pulled back for a rest after he finished off a bandit. Chest heaving, he grimaced at the sharp sting of a most likely broken rib. His ears still buzzed with blood. The dead eyes of the fallen bandit continued to stare at him.
The captain stood back, leaning on his sword for temporary support. He surveyed the small barren clearing. Everything seemed oddly fuzzy and unfocused.
Rather than being attacked at the relatively concentrated camp, the bandits were now spread through the clearing. Both sides were about even in manpower and skills. The guards and knights, of course, had the advantage of armour. Which also meant that they had the disadvantages of armour. It was difficult to tell if any side had the upper hand in this situation.
"Men! To me! To- argh!" A cloud of smouldering embers momentarily blinded the loud knight as his opponent kicked the dying campfire. He stumbled backwards, flinging out his arms for desperate balance. The bandit smirked and followed up with a rather ungraceful overhand cut with his vicious looking dagger. This, in theory, would have effectively silenced the knight.
Fortunately for the fallen man, the captain leapt forward just in time to parry the blow. Thrown off by the sudden resistance, the crazed bandit backed off and turned towards the captain, a furious gleam in his eye. His dagger swished as he twirled it expertly, still watching as the captain shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword. The two circled each other warily.
Suddenly, the bandit's eyes widened slightly. He gave a small gasp, and fell forward.
It was all the captain could do to stand and stare at the black shafted arrow embedded in the back of his former opponent.
Waking up in a dark and foreign place causes at least some degree of confusion even at the best of times. The throbbing in his head didn't make anything better as Gilan pushed himself to a somewhat sitting position. He waited for the dizziness to pass before looking around for the healer, Ayana. The empty hall was eerily quiet.
"Hello?" He tried, pausing at how hoarse his voice was. This alerted him to another extremely important point. He was really, extremely thirsty.
Without warning, a muffled snore interrupted the silence. Gilan eased off the bed and made his way over to the closed door that was presumably Ayana's bedroom. Walking proved to be a bit difficult as he felt his knees give out slightly, making the short thirty pace journey take way too much time.
He was about to knock when the door opened, revealing Ayana looking tired but concerned.
"What are you doing up? You need to rest before you end up…" She hesitated before continuing, "End up getting an infection. Or worse." She gently ushered him back before handing him a cup of water. "Drink up, go back to sleep."
"Where's Halt? And Clarke?" Gilan asked as he made himself sip slowly, mindful of what Halt had told him what seemed like a lifetime ago. His brow furrowed when he noted the healer's slight flinch. "What happened? Are they alright?"
"I… erm… he… your friend's father was not in his right mind, so Halt went to have a talk with him." Ayana mentally berated herself for the awkward phrasing. "Last I saw they were in the tavern across the street, but the little gray horse is gone, so I'm assuming they left for someplace."
Gilan knew Halt wouldn't just leave him here for no reason, especially not without leaving a note saying where he's gone. Of course, that was the way they operated back in Araluen. Who knows, do these rules change in another country? It was such a strange feeling, being in another country. Gilan reflected that he hadn't been home in… what was it? A month? More? He missed his parents dearly, and of course MacNeil will have a fit over him missing so many lessons. And what of Blaze? The poor mare must be hanging around in the stables with Lexa. Has anyone taken care of them? Well, of course Halt would. Gilan reminded himself. But where was Halt now? What did Miss Ayana mean, O'Brien wasn't in his right mind? Why? Does it have anything to do with Clarke?
Why isn't he here too?
Ayana cleared her throat, pulling Gilan out of his thoughts. "If it's any help, Sean- I mean, O'Brien, was saying something about someone named 'Jenkins' when he left." She didn't bother to mention that Sean left screaming that name like a curse and a whole lot of unpleasant phrases to go along with it.
Gilan sucked in a breath at the name. Or perhaps it was just a reaction as Ayana looked over his bandages and wrapped wrist, which stung a bit even under her light touch. Trying to ignore the pain, Gilan decided to focus on the information he just received.
Jenkins was that leader of the group of bandits, Gilan knew. He was also ruthless and not to mention probably insane by the looks of it. Most importantly, he was still out there somewhere.
Said bandit leader was currently crouched uncomfortably by Tennyson's encampment, commanded to keep watch as the others planned their next step. He knew something had gone wrong. The rumored "asset" had not arrived according to schedule, which threw the entire carefully orchestrated plan off. He scoffed to himself. Well planned indeed, Jenkins mentally sneered at Tennyson. Not that it had too much to deal with him or his men; they were just here for their payment. Not their fault the plan had gone off track. The blame obviously fell on the men in Araluen, who were in charge of delivering the Asset. Probably not my brother. Jenkins mused. He's too forgetful to be placed in charge of such an important mission. The Asset was the key, and Jenkins almost pitied the men in charge of him. If they were still alive, that is.
His thoughts turned towards his men. They were instructed to be ready when he gets back with their payment, and the ones who wanted more follow Tennyson and his men to Araluen. Of course, why any of them would be idiotic enough to follow the lunatic was beyond him. He paused. That included himself, he conceded.
His replacement came, as per usual, half an hour late. Jenkins glared but kept his tongue in check as he made his way into the slightly warmer interior of the command tent, mind set on getting the payment and as far away from these people as possible.
Tennyson looked up with a twisted expression of annoyance. "If I remember correctly, I was not to be disturbed." He stated. He was bent over a map with his son and a group of advisors, none of whom were familiar to Jenkins.
Jenkins tilted his head slightly. "This will take but a moment of your precious time. I have come to retrieve my men's payment for our services." He heard a slight growl come from one of the men beside Tennyson, but resisted the urge to move his hand to his scabbard.
The leader of the Outsiders appeared to be in thought. He pointed to one of his advisers, "You, get this bandit's payment." He spat the word like a curse.
The two men wove their way through the small campsite packed with supplies to Tennyson's personal tent, where Tennyson's man removed a bag and carpet to reveal a wooden chest buried till only the lid was accessible. Inside was a gleaming hoard of shining coins, tokens, and ornaments of high value. Jenkins gaped. Tennyson's man filled a small sack with the gold and handed it to the bandit leader. "Go back to your rat's nest." Jenkins heard the man sneer, but he ignored the jab and, tucking the payment in his breast pocket, immediately left for his men's camp.
Nearing the safety of the camp, Jenkins occasionally glanced around for any sign of people following him. That's what he would've done, he reasoned; give the money then kill the man later. But, sensing none, he returned to the direction of the camp, where he could faintly make out the smoke of a campfire fluttering through the treetops.
Immediately, he knew something was off.