Chapter Three
"Another unwelcome visitor? Looks like we'll really be earning our keep today eh boys?" sneered another man as drew forth his blade.
The spy regarded the bandits coolly. Standing quickly, he stepped away from the corpse of the woman. Devlin's eyes quickly raked over his ambushers. There were six of them all of them all in total wearing various assortments of tough broiled leather and thick lanky furs. They were all tall, though oddly thin considering their height. All five had black beards that marked what was most likely Alterac blood. Each bore an assortment of long jagged knives and swords.
Devlin reached down to his waist at an almost leisure like pace. Passing over the daggers at his waist he opened the pouch at his waist and withdrew a single silver coin. Hefting the gray metal he flipped it forward though the air. Arching through the sky, it span rapidly as it flew, landing at the feet of the bandits.
"A bribe?" snorted one of the men incredulously, "You're screwing me."
The others snickered, and continued to move forward with weapons raised, but stopped when the lead man raised his hand.
Stepping forward, his eyes still on Devlin, he scooped up the coin. Gesturing almost flippantly for his men to watch Devlin, he eyed the coin carefully, muttering incomprehensibly under his breath.
After a moment he tossed the coin back toward Devlin, who caught it deftly in his hand, before quickly pocketing it back in his pouch.
The lead man stared at Devlin for a few more seconds before his face split into a broken grin and he walked forward arms raised to encompass him.
"Welcome friend!" he cried.
Devlin was so surprised by the man's reaction that he nearly knifed him as his arm wrapped around him. A knife in the gut he had expected. He had hoped the man would recognize the coin. What he had never imagined was that the man would give him a hug!
Breaking away the man gestured with his leather covered hand. His yellow toothed smile growing wider in the face of his men's reaction. By their shocked expressions they were just as surprised as Devlin.
"He's one of dem boys the Baron been talkin bout," he said by way of explanation.
"You mean those Gray folk?" questioned one of the ambushers with a particularly long, dwarf inspired beard.
"Exactly," said the man still grinning widely, "These lads are going to win us back Alterac, or, so says the Baron."
He ended the statement with a bit of question and his eyes looked up to Devlin with a slight hint of uncertainty.
"Indeed we are," reassured Devlin.
Devlin had recovered quickly once had discerned the man's intent and reasoning, though he was still surprised by the vigor of his welcome. What surprised him even more, or less he supposed in retrospect, was how much the man knew and how easily he related it to his men. How hard could Ravendohlt have struggled for this information about the Grays if someone as lowly as these common sentries knew?
"See that lads? Hear the confidence in his voice?" boomed the thug leader, his cheery demeanor a cutting contrast to the massacre surrounding him. "Well come along then! It's a way to the manor and I think I can feel a storm kicking up."
The group began to turn as Devlin asked, "What of these people?" He tried to keep his voice cool and calm as he spoke of the slaughtered caravan, "Shouldn't we bury them? I would think patrols still come this way from Strahnbrad."
Longbeard wrapped his arms comradely over Devlin's shoulder giving him a wink, "Didn't you just hear Gamkin? There's a storm coming. In a few hours it will be like we were never here."
Devlin nodded his reluctant consent, and followed the men, the small pouch the dying woman had given him still secured tightly on his belt. Of one thing Devlin was sure. Regardless of this worked out, he would see all these men dead for their crimes, by his hand if need be.
--
"Home sweet home!" shouted Gamkin over the howling ferocity of the windy storm. "Ain't it beautiful?"
Devlin frowned as he struggled through the ever deepening snow. The man had been correct in his belief that a storm was coming and boy was it coming hard.
The ferocity of the storm called up a past memory of one of the ice storms Devlin had lived through as a child. It was considered one of the worst storms in Stormwind's history and it most probably was. It is said you could not sit a single cart or carriage upon the street without it sliding into a ditch and that fires had died before they were even begun. It had gotten so bad that the king, Varian Wrynn, had even decided to invite city folk to take shelter inside his castle.
It, believed Devlin, was nothing compared to the storm that was brewing now.
"I don't see anything," shouted Devlin over the roaring of the wind.
Gamkin turned back to the spy and laughed, "That's the point lad!"
With that he proceeded to push forward once again and the rest of the group followed quickly after him. The gale of snow was getting increasingly thick and numerous in waves and no one wanted to lose sight of one another.
"That's the point?" thought Devlin to himself mockingly. "The point is that the sweet home you can't see is beautiful? Crazy old man."
Though, he considered a few moments later, a home that couldn't be seen probably would be a beautiful thing for a murderous brute such as Gamkin.
Of course that in turn raised a third thought. How in the Light was the man supposed to find the sweet beautiful home that he couldn't see?
Longbeard –or Sammen as Devlin now knew him- quickly took note of the Gray's confusion and sought to explain.
"Illusions. Archmage Rubinic and his apprentices got the entire manor covered with them. We might not see the manor but we can recognize the illusions covering them."
Devlin nodded in understanding even as a shiver of consternation ran down his back.
Magic users were a very rare commodity now a day. Stormwind was attempting to rebuild its stock of mage blood but most mages worth their salt stood with Jaina and her tower in Theramore or served the Scourge as lich or undead necromancers.
Indeed, though Devlin was hardly privy to the exact intelligence, he would guess from the strained atmosphere and looks of the worn mages in the Stormwind Tower that his country was relatively desperate for those of magical talent. The idea that a single Syndicate nobleman –even one as influential as Baron Vardus- would have not one mage but several mages was a galling.
Devlin shook his head and tugged once more on the reigns of his horse as he guided it through the opening provided by the other men. A worry for another time.
The tiny column continued in silence for a while longer. Devlin's teeth were chattering fiercely now and he desperately wished he had taken a thicker cloak, pants, shirt, underwear and socks with him.
"Are we there-" began Devlin before he stepped through the wall of illusion and into Vardus Manor.
A/N: The chapter is pretty short but I felt it would flow better if taken apart. I know that annoys people sometimes, but frankly for me personally, it just helps me organize things so much better in my head. When I reach a stopping point I stop and then I move on to the next chapter. That being said the next chapter should be considerably longer than any posted thus far. Reviews in the form of constructive criticism and/or appreciation are more than welcome.