The commander reached the field outside the walls and saw the guards making their way through the caravans. He broke into a run for his men. By chance he managed to reach the wagons before the guards. He spread word for the men to assemble.
“I have to make this quick. The city watch is looking for us. There was a misunderstanding and we better clear out before fighting breaks out. You shouldn’t have any belongings to gather, so get to the wagons and get them moving. Now!” the commander told the men.
Zand hurried to his wagon and readied the weapons. Each wagon carried several swords as well as a short bow and arrows. He made sure that the weapons were easily accessible should someone need them. He then reached into his pack and grabbed his last bit of crow and swallowed with barely any chewing. He wished he’d eaten the rest earlier.
“Hey Zam, the bow and arrows still in there?” Fozz asked.
Zand assured him they were. He had never seen the man shoot, but apparently he was a pretty good shot. He wished he had learned archery at some point. Sure, a dagger between the ribs was deadly, but that involved getting dangerously close to his enemy. Zand realized he probably overvalued his magic. To be honest, he wasn’t sure how many fireballs he could throw before channeling his magic would be too much for his body. There had to be a limit, right?
The horses were tired, it was clear to everyone. The men did their part and helped to push the wagons from behind. The commander had taken the position of rearguard and saw his men pushing themselves. He wished they saved their strength in case fighting broke out, but maybe they could get the wagons out of there in time and it would be worth the effort.
Their retreat caught the eye of a couple guards who found the departure suspicious. Surely no innocent person would object to being searched.
“Ho there! You must pay the departure tax before you are permitted to leave,” a guard yelled. He knew no such thing existed, but hoped it might slow the caravan all the same.
The commander knew there was a tariff when selling goods, but knew nothing of this departure tax. If it were true, well, they couldn’t pay it anyway. But he smelled a trap and bid his men continue.
The guard produced a horn from his pouch and blew. It was replied to by several others. Once he was joined by more guards, he grew bold.
“I said halt! You are ordered under the authority of Baron Jach Wesmussen to halt your procession and submit to search,” the guard shouted.
The commander looked back and saw the group of men. He knew his men, tired though they were, could defeat such a small force. He also knew that it would only take one of them blowing his horn to summon more. The baron was not a man to be trifled with, for he commanded the third largest army in the area. If war broke out between their cities, he was certain his would lose.
“I am certain we paid any necessary taxes,” the commander lied, then he called forward, “Zand, please come to the rear wagon, and bring the documents from today.”
Zand was puzzled as to what documents the commander might be referencing, but did not wish to keep him waiting. He turned and hurried to the last wagon. The commander waved him over.
“Zand, I need your help. I am certain these men mean to attack us and we cannot defeat the entire city watch on empty stomachs. It is a terrible thing I must ask you,” the commander’s face turned grim as he spoke. “Can you bring forth fire enough to kill these men all at once? It is our only hope. Should even one blow his horn, more will come and we will be destroyed.”
Zand considered the request. Was it murder if these men meant them harm? He knew in his heart that should the men attack he would feel no guilt in slaying them. Would that extend to killing them before they even drew their swords?
“I am unsure. It is true I can conjure great flames, but I cannot say if they would be large enough. Further, is this not murder you ask of me? I understand that if they are indeed meant to harm us, we would likely not win. But I do not think I can kill them unprovoked,” Zand said.
“You have until the count of ten to halt and consent to search!” the guard shouted. “One! Two!”
“The gods curse me! Why did I agree to bring you along in the first place?” the commander said to Zand. “Very well, we will fight them with honor. We will wait until they strike. And we shall die.”
“Seven! Eight!” the guard continued.
The commander called for the caravan to halt. “Allow them to search! They will find nothing! Do you hear me? Nothing!”
The men were tired and hungry. The horses were about to collapse under their own weight. The commander hoped the men would read into his words and ready themselves to strike when the inspectors found the weapons. It was not uncommon for merchant caravans to carry weapons, but the sheer number they carried, coupled with their lack of trade goods would be too suspicious. If fighting were to break out, it might as well be on his terms.
“Zand, then if you will not strike preemptively, please ready yourself to cast it when you see them raise their horns. That will be their declaration of hostilities,” the commander pleaded softly.
No comments:
Post a Comment