Keladry of Mindelan, much to her own surprise, was not feeling any of the panic her fellow pages were openly displaying. Call it training, call it denial of a desperate situation, call it the product of an almost inhumanly practical personality, but Kel had fallen into an almost trancelike state the moment she had reached the pages' cliff top fortress.
It wasn't that she didn't care, Kel mused as she notched another arrow to her bow-one of their last, she noted- but that caring at this particular moment would certainly not improve matters. Take Neal, for instance. He was huddled in the corner, pale as a ghost, attempting to fix an unconscious Merric. His efforts-someone screamed, probably Faleron-could be better used to distract the bandits circling below. Or blowing the horn. Either Lord Wyldon had left the area, or the damned thing had broken, because after a full 40 minutes of intermittent blowing, no one useful was in site. Unless you counted bandits, of course; they had to, she assumed, serve some useful purpose to society in general, or they wouldn't continue to exist. Didn't she learn that in class? More Neal's area, really.
Kel broke off that unproductive train of thought and glanced around. While Prosper and Owen, wonder upon wonders, were still grimly aiming at their targets below, Neal was now tending to both Merrric and a badly injured Faleron, an arrow shaft sticking out of his right thigh. Careless, they were all being too careless. And why hadn't the bandits given up yet? There hadn't been nearly enough well trained fighters to sustain an attack of this length, especially with their women and children nearby and needing protection.
Kel risked a longer look through her protective rock covering. The remaining bandits, more then she had expected, had gathered into a tight circle and seemed to be arguing. While that relieved her somewhat, two men towards the back of the huddle caught her attention. One was obviously some type of merchant. His horse, a tall bay, was far too good for even the most successful of hill bandits to have acquired, not that one of the bandits' shaggy ponies would have supported this man. His pampered, well-fed look and small, neatly groomed moustache stood in stark appearance to the gaunt and unkempt hill bandits. However, this man did not greatly concern Keladry. No, it was the mage talking with him which shattered her detachment and made her blood run cold.
The Black Robe Numair Salmalin had taught the ungifted pages what he called their "most important" lesson in the last month of regular classes: 'How to recognize a mage,' or as he put it, how to realize when they were in over their heads.
"Hedgewitches and Healers," he lectured, "can easily serve their community without becoming even mildly prosperous. Any moderately or extremely well Gifted working mage nearly always acquires some form of wealth. Generally, the richer the mage, the more talented he is." This particular mage positively glistened with prosperity, from the identifying gold talisman around his neck to his well tailored, if obviously foreign, clothing.
Suddenly Kel realized why help hadn't come. The mage must be blocking the sound of the horn, already magically manipulated to carry across distances. Lord Wyldon wouldn't organize a search party for hours yet, and they were fast running out of arrows. Kel mind raced frantically. Someone tapped lightly on her shoulder. Kel spun around, desperately attempting to form some semblance of the Yamani mask. "How bad?" demanded Neal, his white face belying his attempt at calm.
Kel considered. "We need to go somewhere else," she finally said, trying to say the words as innocuously as possible. Neal looked at her, then at Owen who had appeared at her shoulder, and bit back a question.
"Fine" he responded. "Where to?" Quick consultation with Neal, Owen, and Faleron, while Prosper covered, yielded the only possible solution. Their best chance was to sneak the page out of the hollow as quietly as possible; hopefully, the bandits wouldn't figure out their new position until the pages had at least determined whether they could escape.
"Prosper, you and Neal first," Kel whispered. "Try to cover the others if the bandits suspect anything." They both nodded, Neal looking hesitant. Slowly, they eased out of the cave and ranup the goat track. Kel tensed, but they only ran a hundred yards before disappearing down the cliff. The pages waited for the five minutes they had agreed upon moments before. Everyone smiled when they passed with no sign of the pages returning Kel sighed; at least the pages now had a second shelter, hopefully a more hidden cave, or maybe even a way back to camp. She sent the rest of the pages on ahead of her, all the while nervously watching the group of bandits, which still seemed to be arguing fiercely.
As Faleron, injured but insisting on being the last to leave, hobbled out the cave, Kel hesitated. Something just seemed off about the bandits' positioning. They wee grouped the same way as before, she could still hear muted talk, but something was different. The same people, the same positions, the same horses, the mages' tall bay…
Kel turned pale. The bay's tail wasn't moving in the wind.
Any thoughts disappeared as Kel's world went black.