Naramira wondered if she had gotten the directions Jaldore had given her wrong. The paladin had promised to meet her at the inn in the West Commons nearly two weeks ago, but he had still not arrived nor sent any messages ahead to inform her that he had been delayed. She hoped nothing untoward had befallen her friend.
And now, from her vantage point behind a rocky outcropping, she was once again unsure whether he really meant to attack this particular encampment. At first she had been shocked to learn that it was not an orc camp or another undead-infested area, but rather the base of a group of human settlers. She had been studying its inhabitants for many days now and had seen nothing to indicate that anything out of the ordinary was happening here. Surely the paladin did not mean any harm to innocent people?
She decided to go back to the inn to see if her friend had arrived yet. If he had not, she would wait only one more day before returning to Freeport to see if she could find out what had happened to him. She was not quite sure where to start searching for him, but perhaps the Knights of Truth would be able to give her some indication of his whereabouts.
The young enchantress was still mentally going over all the dangerous places the paladin might have been sent to as she entered the inn. She stopped short as she saw a familiar broad-shouldered figure in red Crustacean plate armour with a jagged-toothed sword strapped at his waist. The paladin had his back towards her and was deep in conversation with the innkeeper, a rotund little man who had the habit of nervously wringing his hands together and avoiding eye-contact.
"Dark brown hair hanging just below the shoulders, green robe, about this tall," Jaldore said, indicating shoulder-height. "Smiles a lot." The innkeeper's gaze was distant as he tried to picture any of his visitors that might fit the description. Jaldore tried once more: "Eyes that look like they can see into the depths of your soul…"
Naramira was taken aback by this statement but to her amazement the innkeeper nodded thoughtfully and finally replied: "Yes, I think I know who you mean. I've not seen her wearing a green robe, but those eyes…"
Naramira cleared her throat and the two men spun about to face her. The innkeeper's cheeks turned red in embarrassment and he excused himself with an inaudible mumble. She turned to her long-overdue friend and it was as if his smile brightened up the dingy common-room.
"Nara," he said, unashamedly looking her over. "You look well. New robe?"
"Yes, I bought it on my trip to Odus. Not sure I like yellow, though. Makes me feel like an oversized banana," the young enchantress grimaced, self-consciously straightening the offending garment.
"I preferred the green robe too," Jaldore admitted.
"Yes, well," Naramira said, blushing under his scrutiny. "Anyway, you're late," she accused, poking the paladin in the chest. "I was beginning to get worried."
"I'm sorry. I got a little … sidetracked."
Naramira's attention was diverted by a busty woman a head taller than the paladin coming up to them and putting an arm around her friend's shoulders. The blue woad of her clan twirled in curious patterns on her face and her red hair shone like fire. A short spear was strapped at her side and Naramira caught a faint whiff of pungent herbs emanating from the woman's leather waist-pouch.
"This must be the little enchantress you've been telling me about," the woman drawled, her thick Northern accent sounding strange to Naramira's ears. "She's shorter than I thought she'd be."
"Naramira, meet Belcea," Jaldore introduced the two. "She's travelled all the way from Halas to come and see what a desert looks like. That's why we were a little delayed, we had to make a slight detour to Ro."
"It is very warm on this side of the world," Belcea said. "I don't know how you can live like this."
"We manage," Naramira replied, confused by the sudden surge of dislike she quickly tried to repress. She stared at the unlikely couple, not quite sure how to respond to this unexpected development. She couldn't have been more surprised than if her friend had decided to forsake Mithaniel Marr and had converted to the devilish worship of Innoruuk.
Jaldore must have noticed her discomfort, because he extracted himself from the woman's grasp and, with an embarrassed cough, quickly changed the subject. "Have you had a chance to scout out our next target?"
"Yes, but I don't see what these people have done to deserve an attack."
"Our sources have identified their camp as the base of a local group of bandits," the paladin replied, suddenly all business. "Their activities used to be fairly low-key in the past, they only robbed an occasional traveller and generally only took what they needed to survive. But they've become more organised recently and have been attacking merchants travelling between Qeynos and Freeport. The Coalition of Tradesfolk have asked the Knights to put an end to this."
"But still…" Naramira frowned doubtfully.
"I'm to apprehend their leader, Nara, not kill them," he explained quietly. "But if you want out, I'll understand. You know I won't force you to do anything you're not comfortable with."
Naramira glanced at Belcea, who had sat down at a table and was busy carving her name into the wood. "Are you going to be a part of this?" she asked.
The woman shrugged. "In Halas, we hang bandits from their feet overnight. If they survive, we drench them in gravy and give them an hour's head start."
"Gravy?"
Jaldore grimaced. "Wolves."
Naramira shuddered. 'No wonder they're called barbarians.' "Okay, I'll go," she said, absentmindedly wondering if gravy would stain a yellow robe into a more acceptable colour.
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The camp was a bustle of activity. The small group of adventurers, concealed behind the rocky outcropping, watched as a party of bandits were trying to open a large wooden crate. They'd been struggling for a while now, but so far the lid hadn't budged.
"Why don't they just use an axe on it?" Jaldore wondered aloud, shaking his head in disbelief.
"What do you think is in there?" Naramira asked.
"Weapons, I would imagine," the paladin replied. "See the emblem on the side there? That's the insignia of Groflah's Forger in North Freeport. They must have robbed another merchant."
"Then the real question is, what are they planning to do with it?"
Belcea unstrapped the short spear at her side. "Enough talking. We'd better do what we're here to do before they have access to the contents of that box." As she lifted her head towards the sky, an image of a roaring bear suddenly blurred over the paladin, who smiled grimly as his blood started pounding in exhilaration.
"Wait!" Naramira warned as Jaldore unsheathed his jagged-toothed sword. She pointed at a group of men making their way towards the camp, rusty swords and spears held ready for battle. Without warning, they fell upon the men still struggling to open the crate and soon the grass was stained red with blood. A cry of alarm went up in the camp, but it was too late. Before anyone could rush to their aid, the ambushers had killed the men and had hacked the lid of the crate to pieces. Within minutes the attackers had armed themselves with shining new maces, swords and halberds and fell to slaughtering the rest of the camp.
Naramira turned away from the carnage. She'd seen her fair share of battles, but this was humans killing humans, and for no apparent reason other than greed. It disgusted her. Jaldore's face was grim and even Belcea looked a little nauseated.
"We have to stop them," the young enchantress said.
"The whole camp will turn against us," the paladin replied. "We'd be hopelessly outnumbered, even with your talents. They might be enemies now, but they'll band together against us in the wink of an eye."
"It is too late now, anyway," Belcea said. "Most of these souls are already travelling to the halls of their ancestors."
Naramira turned to see that the battle was over. The attackers had left no survivors and were busy piling the bodies up under the direction of a blood-spattered man in iron-studded leather armour. He walked towards the mound of deceased and kicked one of the dead men in the stomach. His men laughed as their leader urinated on the corpse.
"That's enough," Jaldore said, stepping out from their hiding place and striding towards the men while Naramira and Belcea frantically cast spells of protection and enhancement over him. The bandits cried out in alarm as they noticed the paladin bearing down on them, his brows furrowed in anger and his jagged-toothed sword held menacingly out in front of him. A wave of sympathy for these men flashed through Naramira's mind and was quickly suppressed as she mesmerised as many as she could while Belcea called roots from the earth to entangle others.
The bandits stood no chance against the paladin and his companions. Those who managed to escape Naramira's enchantment fought in vain as Jaldore blocked and parried their clumsy attacks skilfully, the few slashes that did manage to penetrate his defences healing at Belcea's behest to their astonishment. It was not long before those who were still able to lift their weapons threw them at the paladin's feet in defeat.
Naramira jumped in surprise at the sound of someone sarcastically clapping hands behind her. The three adventurers turned to see the leader of a small contingent of soldiers grinning sardonically as he inspected their handiwork. His polished armour and proud bearing proclaimed him a Knight of Truth, but his handsome features were marred by an arrogant cast to his eyes. Naramira instinctively disliked the man.
"Well done," he mocked, walking towards their prisoners. "I see you managed to dispatch this handful of untrained miscreants fairly easily. Did you happen to leave their leader alive for questioning?" he jeered.
"What are you doing here, Alrick?" Jaldore asked between gritted teeth.
"I was tasked with bringing in the bandit leader. Little did I know you would do all the hard work for me. I'll be sure to mention it in my report."
She saw Jaldore's fists clench as his rival ordered the soldiers to round up the survivors. "This was my mission. You have no right..."
"Relax, old boy," Alrick interrupted. "You have bigger things to worry about." He reached into his belt-pouch and retrieved a letter from it which he thrust into the other paladin's hands. "Don't expect me to play mailman for you again." He strutted off to rejoin his men.
Jaldore unfolded the piece of paper, cursing under his breath as he realised the seal had been tampered with, and paled visibly as he quickly read through its contents. "What's wrong?" Naramira asked, concerned.
The paladin looked up into her eyes, his jaw set firmly. "My father is dead."
Naramira gasped. "Jald, I'm so sorry..."
"And I have a brother." It took a few minutes for the realisation to dawn on him. "I have a brother who lives in Qeynos."
"Then you should go to him," Belcea said. "We will go to the inn to collect our things and set out first thing in the morning. I had not planned to return home so soon, but..."
"I think it would be best if I go alone," Jaldore said, his eyes still on the young enchantress instead of the red-haired shaman. "Nara, you've been to Qeynos, you can give me directions." She nodded and the three of them silently made their way back to the inn, each lost in his own thoughts.