21st Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY

Suderham, The Pomarj

Elrohir didn't want to say the words.

The ranger went through his backpack, checking that all items that were supposed to be inside were so, even though he had already checked it ten minutes ago. He took his time securing the straps over his shoulders, examining his sword and tightening the leather strap that secured his steel shield across his back.

Every additional second he delayed brought them another chance in theory. In reality, Elrohir knew it wasn't going to make any difference. He looked around the room again.

Aslan and Argo were standing off to one side, but Elrohir couldn't catch their conversation. Their expressions were both solemn, so the ranger guessed it was about tactical matters, possibly about what adjustments they might need to make to account for their new allies.

Neither of his two good friends looked in top form. Both of their suits of plate mail were in ragged shape and might not make it through the next battle. Wainold had discovered on an earlier scouting foray however, that identification was needed to purchase any sort of armor in Suderham, and their group no longer had any legitimate papers. There was also no time left for Aslan to teleport elsewhere to get new armor. What they had would just have to do.

They also looked weary- Argo even more so than Aslan. This surprised Elrohir, considering the extreme mental trauma the paladin had undergone yesterday. On the other hand, Argo always slept worse when Caroline was not at his side- even if that was by his own choice.

Cygnus was talking with Thorimund. The latter wizard clutched his quarterstaff tightly as he glared up at the Aardian mage who was apparently giving him some kind of spellcasting tips. Elrohir couldn't overhear their conversation either, but he already knew that Thorimund was not in a good mood at all.

"I am no child, Cygnus. Stop patronizing me," was all the ranger could catch as Thorimund stalked off and, having nothing else to do immediately, made a big show of brushing off his green-and-brown tunic and trousers. Cygnus stared after him a moment, shaking his head, then went over to his backpack and began placing his items back into it.

Elrohir glanced over at his wife. Talass was already staring at her husband, but she quickly looked away as his eyes met hers.

He frowned. That wasn't like Talass at all.

Tojo, already packed, was standing as still as a statue, apparently taking little notice of anything going on around him. The samurai had returned to a kind of "functional mode." He was ready for action and obedient as ever- he just wouldn't engage in any kind of banter at all. Not that Tojo had ever been gregarious in the first place, but it was clear that he was still upset about the incident with the rakes and the repercussions it had caused.

Nesco, having also packed and donned her chainmail armor again, was standing by herself as well, but she looked every bit as nervous as Tojo was calm. The ranger's green eyes were darting around constantly, as if she was expecting an imminent attack. Elrohir didn't know what was going through Lady Cynewine's mind right now, but he felt certain she wouldn't confide in him if he asked, so he didn't.

Sitdale was just finishing up helping Sir Menn into his armor. The knight was quite an impressive sight in his full plate and his great visored helm. He wouldn't close the helm until battle threatened though, as breathing was a labored task when it was down. Menn's great blue cloak draped from his armored shoulders, capping the impression of a powerful warrior. Elrohir could only hope that the image matched the picture.

Arwald and Hengist had just finished giving their swords a final sharpening and cleaning and were now carefully re-sheathing them. Each wore a set of leather armor which seemed in good repair and sported a small wooden shield. A composite longbow was slung over each shoulder, and they carried daggers in addition to their longswords.

Neither of them spoke, even to each other. The pain and worry on their faces was too powerful to conceal. Or perhaps they hadn't even tried.

In the center of the room were the stars of today's performance; Zantac and Unru.

Zantac had changed outfits yet again. Upon learning that his borrowed hat of disguise only provided a glamour- that is, the illusion did not carry over to touch, the Willip wizard had been adamant about purchasing a new set of clothes. And so, earlier this morning, he had set out to a clothier. His purchase there had been a masculine- and much more expensive- version of the long coat that Nesco had worn. It was made of a grey supple leather and buttoned up the front. He wore a simple tunic and trousers underneath, and when he had polymorphed with the hat, had changed the latter into a red headband that encircled his forehead. Most of the remainder of the party's pooled funds had gone into purchasing enough jewelry for Zantac to look the part of a well-heeled arisocrat.

Zantac's new appearance had the same height and weight as his normal self, but he had apparently exchanged every ounce of fat for solid muscle. Piercing grey eyes practically gleamed underneath black, neatly-combed hair, and above a strong, chiseled chin.

"Wish fulfillment," Cygnus had muttered.

Wainold had accompanied Zantac on his trip as a bodyguard and then left him, saying he was going to reconnoiter one last time, to make sure no traps had been set up for anyone heading towards the brothels. He promised to be back within the hour.

It was now approaching sunset. Eight hours had elapsed.

And Wainold had not come back.

Elrohir sighed and spoke the words.

"We can't wait any longer."

Everyone looked around nervously, but no one moved.

Then an unfamiliar voice pierced the quiet.

"I'm going with them."

All heads turned. Where Aslan had been standing was now a Suderham city guardsman, complete with helm.

"Just until they get to the Rose," the paladin offered by way of explanation. "I'll walk far enough ahead that I won't be seen to be with them, but close enough that I can warn them back if I spot anything suspicious."

Elrohir nodded his assent.

"Aslan," Arwald spoke up. "After you have seen Zantac and Unru safely to their destination, could you- could you scout around and see if you can find any trace of Wainold?"

"No."

The heads turned again. Elrohir had spoken up before the paladin could even reply.

"You're to come right back here afterwards, Aslan," the ranger stated with as much firmness as he could put into his voice. "I can't take the chance," he added, facing Wainold's men now. "Aslan is our only transportation home. When we have time, then we'll all search for Wainold."

Arwald glared at Elrohir, and then turned back to the paladin. "Aslan," he pleaded. Please-"

"Elrohir is correct, Arwald," Aslan replied, cutting off the warrior. "More importantly, he is my party leader and with Wainold gone- yours as well."

Arwald looked back and forth from the paladin to the ranger.

"Fine," he gritted out and then went to huddle in a tight knot with Hengist and Thorimund. Aslan gave Elrohir a shrug and a grimace.

"It's all clear for the moment," Talass reported from her position peering through the wall crack. "Cygnus- you wizard-locked that door. You'll have to open it. Time to get going, you two."

Unru had not bothered to change his form, as his true appearance was as yet unknown in Suderham. The illusionist seemed uncharacteristically subdued, perhaps in deference to Wainold's men, although Elrohir couldn't tell for sure.

"Ready, Lord Andrew?" he addressed Zantac.

That raised a few eyebrows. "Lord Andrew?" repeated Aslan.

Zantac bowed to the guardsman, although his face betrayed a guilty smile. "An Aerdian baronet, good sir," he explained. "They grow like weeds back there, you know."

Argo's brow furrowed. "Are you certain you can pull that off, Zantac? You told us your family left the Great Kingdom when you were only three."

"My father, myself and my brother Sreeve did," replied Zantac. "My eldest brother, Maxis, stayed behind in Rauxes with my mother. He used to make frequent trips to Furyondy to visit us and keep us up-to-date on happenings back east." The wizard abruptly frowned. "Haven't seen him in a while, though."

There was a brief silence. Andrew's grey eyes drifted over to catch those of Cygnus.

"Well," the mage pulled himself back into the room as he rechecked his appearance again. "That's a worry for another day." He gave Unru a wan smile. "Ready?"

The illusionist's tanned face resumed its familiar cocky grin. "I was born ready, Zantac."

His fellow magic-user smirked at him. "And how exactly does one manage to be born ready?"

Unru kept the smile going even as he began to walk towards the door that Cygnus was now cautiously opening.

"Grease spell. Slid right down and out."

No one seemed inclined to speak after Cygnus had closed the door again.

Elrohir was just beginning to drift back into his own thoughts when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Talass standing behind him.

In his wife's outstretched hand was a plain golden ring.

"Put this on," she stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

Elrohir's eyes shifted to Talass' impassive face, and then back to her hand- but not to the cleric's palm. He was noticing an identical ring on the cleric's finger which had not been there before.

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"These are foci for a protective prayer," she explained. "I'll cast it once we get the signal to move out. It'll last for several hours. It draws down abjurative energy from the Justice Bringer's grace, and I can project some of it to you through this ring."

Elrohir stared at his wife, but she continued to look calmly right back at him; unwavering, unblinking.

She's holding something back, the ranger thought. If she wasn't, she'd be ramming the damn ring onto my finger by now and berating me for hesitating.

He tried to keep his voice as calm and casual as he could. "I've never seen you use that prayer before- or even mention it."

The reply came quickly. "It's a recent gift."

"How recent?"

Talass peered anew at him, uncovering the suspicion.

"Dearest," she said after a few seconds, "just put the damn ring on."

Elrohir allowed a slight smile to cross his face as he took the ring from Talass and turned it over in his fingers.

"If I don't put this on," he asked, still probing, "would there be more protection available for yourself?"

"No." The priestess shook her head. "There is only so much available for one, but my faith allows me to protect another equally well."

Too pat an answer, dearest. You're too cool, too calm, too rehearsed. I wish I could read you this well any other time.

The ranger held the ring up between them.

One of Talass' ice-blue eyes stared at him through the golden circle.

Elrohir gave an emphatic sigh and slipped the ring on.

Talass smiled. "Thank you, dearest. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go armor up now- Nesco, could you help me, please?"

She gave her husband a quick peck on the cheek and headed off towards the far side of the room, where Lady Cynewine was stringing up her blanket to allow a small space of privacy. Elrohir watched Talass until her form turned into a silhouette behind the blanket.

The ranger wasn't worried about anything malicious. It was just that he knew his wife-

-and yet, even after several years of marriage, he really didn't.

But Elrohir had already made up his mind. He was going to trust her.

Unru and Lord Andrew strode north and west through the streets of Suderham.

The sky was clear; the temperature cool but not overly so, and even the smell of city air felt like a sweet elixir to Zantac's lungs. This was only his second trip outside in five days, and he was already desperately hoping that he'd never have to go back to the abandoned Leatherworkers/Thieves Guildhouse again.

Suderham was small enough that nearly everyone who passed the duo glanced at them, but their appearance apparently didn't seem to rate a second look.

Andrew glanced at Aslan's back as the guardsman strode along in front of them. The paladin was maintaining a constant distance of about a hundred feet or so, only occasionally glancing back behind him at the two mages. Zantac hadn't really thought Aslan's presence would be all that comforting on this short journey, but surprisingly it was; even at a distance.

Zantac caught himself staring at every rat that scuttled along the drainage ditches at the edge of the sidewalk, at every bird that flew overhead, and at every cat or dog that darted past. He kept hoping that one of them would suddenly transform back into Wainold, and the druid would step forth with some dramatic new information that had taken him an unexpectedly long time to gain, but that would now ensure their success at locating or even defeating the Slave Lords.

But every animal stayed an animal. Andrew tried to tell himself that there were far too many people around for Wainold to attempt such a thing; when he imagined that one particularly large rat seemed to be following them that it was the druid, merely waiting for an opportune moment to rejoin them.

But it never happened.

Lord Andrew sighed and turned his attention back to matters at hand.

The three of them were now entering Suderham's central plaza, which was dominated by the huge coliseum. The two mages slowed down as they saw Aslan stop in front of a large A-frame sign that was standing near the arena, which did not seem to be currently in use. They saw the paladin shake his head slightly, glance back at them, and then motion them to continue on. The guardsman then resumed his trek towards the bordellos.

Zantac and Unru glanced at each other. Without saying a word, both stopped at the sign when they drew abreast of it.

Suderham Slave Arena

Prices start at 5 gold per human

15 gold per non-human

Manacles & chains 3 gold extra

All unsold slaves to be auctioned off by lot at end of sale

Next Auction Starday

22nd Day of Goodmonth

Large Shipment- Freshly Picked!

"Tomorrow," Unru mused.

Zantac's jaw tightened. "Freshly picked."

Unru's brown eyes darted over to his.

"Quite a sense of humor these Slave Lords have. I look forward to exchanging a few jests with them."

Lord Andrew nodded in agreement. Forcing himself to keep his hands from balling into fists from sheer outrage, he looked over at Aslan, who had stopped for them. The paladin made a small but clear gesture of impatience.

"Come on," Zantac said.

They were coming up on the three brothels now. No one was standing in front of any of the three doors. Aslan had stopped in front of their destination and was eyeing the teenager who moved up to light the oil lamp that hung by the sign of The Rose. The youth gave a brief nod to the city guardsman before moving over to the door of the Drunken Mermaid, but Aslan was already looking around elsewhere.

When Andrew and Unru were only about thirty feet away, they saw Aslan make a sudden hand movement. Zantac had forgotten the exact meaning of all those hand gestures that Elrohir had tried to drill into them before their first expedition to the stockade, but he saw the paladin's face tense up. Andrew stopped, putting a restraining hand out to halt Unru, who had been walking forward while looking sideways at the passers-by.

From the far intersection came a line of torches; a guard patrol.

Bringing up the rear was Blackthorn.

Not wishing to be seen loitering in front of a whorehouse, Aslan began to walk forward again, as slowly as he dared.

The gaunt humanoid was walking slightly hunched over while talking with a fellow guardsman at his side, but he raised his head as he drew abreast of Aslan.

Those sunken eyes quickly passed him by.

Lord Andrew and Unru were now passing by the lead members of the patrol. Zantac was sure that they were going to be able to hear his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to bolt but concentrated instead on just putting one foot in front of another. All other thoughts he tried to push aside.

One of the guardsmen eyed the two mages and then glanced back at the line of brothels. A smirk came over his face- it was patently obvious where they were heading, but Zantac didn't dare alter his course now.

Just as they reached the door of the Rose, Blackthorn came by. The ogre mage altered his path to move a little closer to the two of them.

Then he suddenly stopped.

That skull-like face regarded them.

Suddenly Zantac wished that he worshipped a deity that wasn't called "The Uncaring."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Unru. The illusionist held a pleasant smile on his face, but Zantac had no doubt that it was as false as a western sunrise.

Behind Blackthorn now, Aslan had stopped and was watching. The ogre mage's patrol had halted as well.

"Anything wrong, captain?" one of them called out.

The patrol leader's response was directed, not to his subordinate, but to Lord Andrew and Unru.

"Is there, gentlemen?"

Zantac had hoped that the glib Unru would reply for them, but through his peripheral vision he saw the illusionist glance over at him. He suddenly realized that as a supposed nobleman, it would be proper that Andrew be the one to respond.

Oh, boy.

"Not at all, captain," Zantac replied, suddenly thinking that Lord Andrew's voice didn't sound nearly as different from his own as he thought it had earlier.

In the gathering twilight, he could only see the shadows under Blackthorn's brow as the humanoid stared at him.

Then he smiled. Those pearly-white teeth glowed in the lamplight.

"Glad to hear it," came the deep voice. "Good evening to you gentlemen."

Blackthorn turned and moved on, motioning for his men to do likewise.

Zantac was amazed that his heavy sigh of relief didn't blow out the overhead lamp. He was also extremely glad that he had left his continual light pendant behind. He hadn't wanted to attract unwarranted attention by anybody, least of all that horrid monster Blackthorn.

He gave a little start as he suddenly realized that a guardsman was suddenly standing right next to him, but in the next instant he realized it was only Aslan.

"That was close," the paladin said in a low voice. He glanced at the door. "Are they open yet?"

"No," Unru replied. "Believe me, I tried the door as soon as we got here. They should be opening any moment now, though. So," the illusionist continued, peering down the street after the departing patrol, "that's really an ogre mage, eh?"

Aslan nodded glumly.

Unru looked back and forth between Lord Andrew and the guardsman. "Can't trust those polymorphers, that's what I say."

The other two looked at him for a moment, and then all three broke out into a smile.

Aslan's retreating figure had just faded into the waxing gloom when a movement caught Lord Andrew's eye.

A large window was situated next to the door of the Rose, but red curtains covered it. Now a light came on behind them. A few seconds later, there was a click as the door besides them was unlocked from inside.

His full smile in place, Unru looked over at his companion.

"Shall we?"

Lord Andrew took one more deep breath and let it out slowly. It really did help, and when he considered it, Zantac really was in his element now. He had a job to do, and there were far worse places in which he could be doing it. He felt his spirits lift.

The nobleman smiled back at Unru. "Surely."

Whistling a merry tune, both men opened the door and strolled into the whorehouse.