Chapter Two - "Thalambath" - Part One

[Ílarolén'yliás (Drustai)]

Drustai quickly pushed herself through the hole once it the two had managed to dig some of the sand away. For once she cursed her heritage--the Kaýrrhem were far from the smallest of the elven races. Humans called them 'high elves' for a reason, afterall. She hissed to herself as she finally finished clearing the hole, and then stood up right (or at least, as up right as she could in this part of the tent).

Just as Drustai took a step forwards, her ears pricked. Her gaze immediately shifted towards the center tent, just as someone broke into song. Not someone, something. Damn that bird! Drustai growled under her breath. Suddenly, all the subtlety they had kept until this point was broken. She swore she was going to kill that thing once they were done here. It was a liability!

Drustai looked towards the door of their part of the tent, and held up a finger at Grallen, indicating for her to be quiet. Her ears twisted forwards a bit, as her eyes narrowed. She could just make out a bit of murmuring from one of the other tent rooms. Drustai licked her lips. No steel, or the scuffing of boots across the floor. Were they reacting at all? They certainly heard it--one did not need elf ears to have picked up such a racket. But no movement. No drawing of weapons.

"They are waiting for something," she whispered quietly, mostly to herself. After a moment, she spun her head to look at Grallen. "Start grabbing our things. Quickly." She then reached over to the top of one of the crates, and grabbed her belt. Without checking to see if everything was still there, she swiftly buckled it around her waist before moving over to the door. She waited one moment before slipping her finger between the pieces of canvas, and then pulled it aside just enough to peek into the main room.

Nothing. The room was empty. They must have been in one of the side rooms. What were they waiting for?

[grallen gast]

Finally, Drustai was inside.  Any relief Grallen might have felt at being that bit less exposed evaporated, however, on hearing a burst of song, raucous and bringing memories of the thronging streets of... some city or other. But loud. Far too loud. She froze, pressing back into the shadows, but there was no immediate hue and cry, no puzzled querying or arguing over who should see what the noise was, not even a murmur. She frowned, too puzzled even to take offense at Drustai motioning her to be quiet. As if I need to be told. Something is wrong.

Still, it wasn’t, as of yet, the sort of wrong that pokes holes in you with sharp objects, so provided this quiet, apparently deserted style of wrong persisted, she felt she could warm to it. Such a shame that was probably too much to hope for. "They are waiting for something.” Grallen nodded. Sounds about right. Perhaps they’re expecting guests. Or throwing a surprise party. It’d be rude to bother them, then.

"Start grabbing our things. Quickly."
Grallen raised an eyebrow and gave the elf a look which meant “You think I have to be told?” Drustai seemed to have found her reagents, though Grallen still wasn’t entirely clear what the word meant. Probably just sounds better than saying “magic dust” or whatever it is mages use. She returned her gaze to the boxes and packages, and rummaged through them- nothing even remotely sword shaped, though there were a few interesting and expensive looking trinkets which she pocketed out of habit, before turning back to Drustai-she froze for a moment. What is she doing standing at the doorway like that!? They’ll see us they’ll-

No yells, still. Frowning, she padded up behind the elf and peeked past her shoulder. Empty. This is really weird, there were definitely people in this tent moments ago.  Keeping her voice to a whisper all the quieter for a growing unease, she said, “The sword isn’t back here. I guess we have to check through there?” she did not like that plan, and even as she said it, hoped Drustai would come up with an alternative. It felt an awful lot like walking into a trap.

[Lili the Elfcat]

Kassandra's song evaporated in the heat as quickly as a drop of sweat; her effort to raise her own spirit came to nought. She closed her beak, let her neck sink into her shoulders, and sulked. She had nothing more to give, no more notes more to sing. The little strength she had left was not enough to keep the enemy at bay – the enemy that was all around her, all around the tent, all around the endless desert. This enemy was silence.

Lili heard it, too. The silence was menacing, creepy, and above all, it was physical . It possessed a body of its own – a body that was at once infinitesimally small and gigantic like the desert itself. Silence was just as capable of crawling through your nostrils and infest your head as it was ready to pounce on you like a sky-cat and push your bones into the sand like so many dry twigs. Lili nodded to her companions, grim-faced now, sweating, her good humour subdued.

There was no movement in the tent, no sign of any presence; not of the bandits, not of Grallen and Drustai. Lili knew that she had to keep her eyes alert, that she had to prevent herself from thinking too  much. The possibilities rushed through the back of her head like flittertwitches: Grallen and Drustai had run into a trap. The bandits feared a trap and kept still. The bandits, invisible through the mage's art, had left through a back door. The bandits, invisible by magic, were standing behind her, ready to stab her in the back. – Lili listened to her thoughts like one listens to the wind. Her eyes continued to focus on the tent, ready to spot any movement. Her right hand held the knife Grallen had given her. Her left hand, like a little animal that had a mind of its own, floated down to her belt. Once there, it crawled sideways until it had reached the hilt of her cutlass. Its fingers closed around it. And slowly, very slowly, nailsbreadth by nailsbreadth, Lili drew her main weapon.

[Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin]

Altario shifted in the sand.  The longer he was stuck here kneeling and hiding, the more stiff he would become.  If they were surprised by these rogues, that could very well prove to be a problem.

For a brief moment, Altario indulged himself with a quick grin.  Hearing the orc giving the elf orders was funny to him.  If anything, the elf was even more haughty towards the orc than he was.  He could only imagine how it must burn in her belly to have to listen to it.

After a few moments of planning, it was decided they would slip under the tent.  It was the best decision.  When it came to being sneaky, Altario would readily admit that an orc would be more qualified.

It took only a moment for the orc to do what came naturally and make her way into the tent.  The elf, on the other hand, did not have the same ease.  She tried to wriggle underneath, but it was obvious that she was not going to fit.

To try and help, Altario leaned over and was about to place his hands on her rump and push, when a little voice inside warned him not to it.  This elf had a bad temper, regardless whether it was friend or foe.  Just remembering the night she and him had met brought back painful memories.

As he paused, the elf suddenly pulled back out of the tent.  Sheepishly, Altario lowered his hands and gave her a half smile.  He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it as he decided thebetter of it.  Instead, he began to help her dig a larger hole under the tent.

He was distracted by the fowl sounding voice of the bird.  His head shot up and an accusatory stare fell onto Lili, who only stared back at him apologetically.  "Keep that damn bird quiet, or we'll be eating chicken tonight!" he growled.

In the minutes that followed the damnedable birds chorus, the oppressive stillness of the desert became palpable.  Instinctively his hand went to where his father's sword should have been hanging.  A curse was muttered under his breath as fingers felt only his empty belt.  Instead, he simply gripped Lili's knife more firmly, his knuckles turning white.

He began to wish something, anything, would happen.  The waiting was the worst part.

[Toama SorInyt]

Nothing. There was nothing. Not a hue and cry, not even a whisper as far as she could hear. It made her nervous. The bandits knew they were there, or at least that someone was there, someone singing loud songs. So if they did not come out to investigate, that must mean they had known before that someone was there as well, since there was obviously no surprise from their side. She did not like that, not at all. She itched to go and have a look inside the tent, just to know what was going on, but she knew that would be a stupid idea, exposing herself to attack.

Her eyes flitted to Lili, who was standing close by, still as a statue - or no, not quite. Her hand was moving, slowly, though the rest of her was focussed on the tent. Toama could not see Altario from where she was standing, unless she turned her head. She was reluctant to do so, from some strange superstition that if she moved, the bandits would come boiling out of the tent. She bit her lip, stopping just short of drawing blood. There was a point between her shoulderblades that itched, as if someone was standing behind her with a blade which just barely did not touch her. How unnerving.

Giving in to the desire, she did turn her head just enough to see Altario from the corner of her eye, half of her mind still preoccupied with the entrance, the other half looking beyond the man, just in case anyone was sneaking up from behind.

[Ílarolén'yliás (Drustai)]

Drustai looked over her shoulder at Grallen. "The sword is not there? You are sure?" She took a moment to let her eyes flick over the various crates and supplies behind the orcess, before frowning and looking back towards her. She pursed her lips a moment, and took a sharp breath. Curse it all. She did not want to have to go looking around for that damn weapon, but Altario would certainly want it.

"Did you find my staff? My mace?", she paused to look the orcess over again, observing what she had gathered. "Give me the staff, then go outside and tell Altario that his sword is not here. If he decides he wishes to fight for it, which I am sure he will, then give him the mace... I am sure it would be a better weapon for him than a knife."

Drustai then turned back to looking out the small opening in the tent flap. She waited for Grallen to hand her the staff and then stated, "I will stay here and keep a watch for any movement."

She didn't wait for a response or acknowledgment of her instructions. Instead, she lowered her free hand to her now-recovered belt and then opened one of the pouches, before shoving her fingers in. After a moment, she pulled out a fistful of coarse powder--ground glass. She mumbled a quick incantation in Styrásh, before tossing the sand-like particles out into the center chamber. The spell was a quick divination, designed to reveal the presence of disturbance in the surrounding Cár'áll by the way the powder flickered in the light. If there were any magical adjustments made, she would be able to tell.

The particles, however, sat lifeless on the floor. Dull and flat. Drustai frowned. No magical traps. At least that was a good sign. She reached down to her belt again and allowed her fingers to lightly lap across the edges of the various pouches, before coming across one with a stiff, rectangular bulge. She unclasped the pouch, and then pulled out the wooden container that was inside of it. The container, enchanted to eliminate heat exchange, was what she used to preserve her more environment-delicate reagents. She undid the latch with a flick of the thumb before opening it and pulling out a chunk of ice. She then closed the small box and placed it back in her belt, before she closed her eyes and began to focus.

It was difficult here, in this place. The desert was consumed with fiery energies, and attuning her body to water felt like trying to run a marathon. She tapped the cube of ice to her forehead, and then gripped her fingers tightly around it before raising it vertically, arm bent at the elbow. She focused on the sensation of the melting ice as it began to delicately trickle down her skin.

Drustai stood there silently, clearing her mind and allowing her aura to realign. Her muscles loosened, and her body almost began to sway as she pried at every trace of water within her body, beckoning it up to the surface. There was no other water to draw on here, only her own body. It would have to be enough.

Within moments, the ice had completely melted, and the spell was finished. Drustai opened her eyes, and almost immediately stumbled to the side before catching herself on her staff. Flashing shapes danced across her vision, and her skin felt clammy and tingly. She closed her eyes again and then allowed herself to drop to her knees as she slumped her head down. She took several deep breaths and tried to stem the burgeoning feeling of nausea that was racing through her body from the sudden onset of dizziness.

"I hate deserts."

[grallen gast]

"The sword is not there? You are sure?"
Grallen nodded, biting back the reply that it was a sword, they don’t really look like anything else. She could see from Drustai’s expression that she wasn’t too keen on going hunting for Altario’s favourite toy either, now that she had her own things back.

At the request for staff and mace, Grallen’s ears flicked. Forgot about them. But didn’t we see... She turned on her heel and stuck an arm down the gap between two crates, where a pole rested against the side of the tent. Not a pole, Grallen, a staff. Can’t you tell the difference? Look, it’s got a bit of glittery glass at the top, and a handy little grip halfway along, because you wouldn’t want your hands to slip while you’re summoning pixies from the nether realms. She handed it behind her to Drustai without looking, and reached down a bit further, where the mace glinted dully in the shade. Personally she didn’t trust weapons you needed room to swing, but she could at least see the purpose of this. Hopefully Altario would as well. Maybe it would make him realise the danger he was putting them all in with this insistence on retrieving the sword.

Grallen hesitated before stepping out. They would be nervous outside (if they hadn’t all been quietly killed already) it made sense to tell them what was going on. But we don’t know what’s going on, or if Drustai does she isn’t telling. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the elf there, even for a moment. It still felt like a trap waiting to be sprung, and what if that moment of isolation was just what it was waiting for? Pull yourself together Grallen, you’ll be less than ten paces away. Shielding her eyes against the burning light that would wait for her outside, Grallen pushed silently through the tent flap.

Everything looked white, and she winced, disoriented despite knowing it would happen. There were still apparently only three blurs waiting outside the tent though, and they gradually resolved themselves to look convincing imitations of Lili, Altario and Toama. Grallen quickly raised a finger to her lips, indicating they were still apparently undiscovered, and needed to keep quiet, then stepped forwards, open-handed thrusting the mace at Altario.

“No sign of anybody, but they were here really recently I’m sure. We can’t find your bloody pigsticker an’ Drustai thought you might want this. Looks like you may have to fight for it if you still want it back. Something is really wrong here.”
She was glad she still couldn’t see well enough to register the expression on his face, and turned back towards the tent before that had a chance to change.

[Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin]

 It seemed like an eternity before the ugly little face of the orc pushed through to look at him.  She came out, brandishing a large mace, which she unceremoniously thrust forward to him, which he took more in self defence than because he wanted the unwieldy thing.

As he turned the heavy, unbalanced weapon over in his hand, he glared at the orc.  "And what am I to do with this?  Pound nails?"  He shook his head.  None of them, least of all the orc, realized just how pure a weapon his father's sword was.  An Odomon Blade was more than simply a weapon, it was a work of art inspired by the gods.  In the right hands, there was none that could stand up to it.

Frustrated, he pushed forward and forced himself under the tent flap.  Once inside, he glared at the elf.  "Go on, get.  Take the others with you.  I'm not leaving without my sword.  If I have to retrieve it myself, then I will."

His plan was neither particularly bright, nor practical, but the heat was bothering him and he was in no mood to simply stand around like a dog waiting on scraps from the table.  His fate was going to be in his own hands.

[Ílarolén'yliás (Drustai)]

Drustai turned her gaze towards Altario as he entered. She leaned heavily against her staff and tilted her head as she tried to focus on him. The attunement spell was leaving her dyhydrated, causing her sight to feel blurred. She snorted to herself and then shook her head, trying to snap out of it.

"Altario," she began, pausing for a moment before finishing, "... what are you talking about?" She held an almost a furrowed, almost incredulous look on her face, half from feeling woozy and half from general surprise. She hissed as she continued, speaking quietly, "I was getting ready for a fight as soon as I sent the orc out there. If you are going to fight for this damn thing, which I know you are, then we are assisting. Tell the others."

Drustai turned back to the door for a moment, before turning her gaze back to Altario. She reached out to grab his arm, in case he was about to walk outside. "They are waiting for something. As far as I can tell, they are all in one room. I suggest we smoke them out."

She let go of his arm and then turned back to the door, parting it slightly with her finger again. "Set a few fires across the tent outside. And there may be oil lamp in one of those crates there. That would help." Drustai shifted her head backwards, motioning towards the various small boxes and bags in the storage room.

[Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin]

It took only a moment for the Remusian to realize that something was not right with the elf.  She looked drawn and tired.  Even her rebuke to him seemed weak and without its usual rancor.

Listening to her, Altario felt a heat spread across his face.  "Hmmph.  Well, how was I supposed to know when you sent the orc outside with this?"  He held up the mace.  "She didn't exactly explain you had a plan."

Well, this was surprising, but welcome.  They weren't going to abandon him.  He was about to turn away when she grabbed his arm.  His eyes locked onto hers as she confided her suspicions to him.

"Why would they be waiting?  They can't know we've escaped."

Could they?  Altario shivered.  There was a mage with these bandits, so he couldn't underestimate them.  Drustai might know something.  Obediently, he nodded toward her and began rummaging through the crates.  It took only a few moments to find what he was looking for.

Outside the tent, there was a movement at the improvised rear entrance, before a Remusian head popped through, followed by one arm carrying an old copper and glass oil lamp, one of the panes broken.

"The elf has a plan.  We need you to start a fire on the next tent.  Get ready for a fight.  Stay together and watch each other's back."  His head and arm then disappeared back into the tent.

A moment later his rough hand reappeared, dropping a flint and steel.  The hand signaled with a thumbs up before disappearing once more.

[Toama SorInyt]

The only relief from the tension was watching what the others were doing. Lili was doing the same as herself - waiting, weapons at the ready, for any sign. At first Altario was doing the same thing, but then places were being switched. Grallen came out, giving a heavy-looking mace to the man, who proceeded to wiggle under the tent. Toama could not believe that after that, the bandits were still biding their time. The orcess seemed almost frozen with outrage at being pushed aside by Altario. This was getting more ludicrous by the blink.

Not long after, Altario came back out - or at least his head did, and one hand holding oil lamp. Toama quickly approached and took the lamp with her maimed hand. Next came the hand again, this time with flint and steel. One of the others was going to have to take that, she couldn't keep hold of both the lamp and her scimitar and then create the fire as well.

Next question; where did they need to make that fire? The next tent he'd said, but as far as she could judge there were several small tents attached to the larger one, so what did he mean? She assumed that next literally meant next, so one over from the one Altario and Drustai were in. She just hoped that was not too close to them to enable them to escape - the combination of oil, tent and fire in this heat could turn this thing into an inferno quite quickly.

She poured part of the oil on the next tent as Altario had asked. The rest she poured over another side tent, just to be sure - maybe that was where the bandits were, so a fire there would drive them out all the sooner. At least that was her hope. Then she turned to Grallen and Lili to see who had taken the flint and steel.

[grallen gast]

"Go on, get.  Take the others with you.  I'm not leaving without my sword.  If I have to retrieve it myself, then I will."

As Altario pushed past her, leaving her standing at the entrance like a dog kicked out for stealing food off the table, Grallen fought a brief but persuasive urge to trip him up as he strode, so full of the importance of his mission, into the tent. The moment passed as he did, but she comforted herself by picturing him landing right on his proud human face, and making those interesting bubbling noises produced only by fear and a broken nose, as she picked up the mace, and showed him exactly what it was for...

She was snapped back to the here and now by Altario’s reappearance, face whole and unharmed and infuriating as he pushed a lamp at them. His words sank in past the growing irritation though, and she made an effort to be professional. Causing trouble was her profession, after all, and firestarting with a promise of fighting to come sounded as much like trouble as anything she could think of. She stooped to pick up the flint and steel, glancing up to Toama and Lili. Fires were not her strong point, not since she’d lost Lucien, and staring them had never been her particular skill- she didn’t have the patience for fiddling about with bits of tinder and sparks, and when they did light, they invariably made great lungfuls of smoke which sent her coughing until she wanted to throw up, and tended to blow her cover, somewhat. Following after Toama as softly as she could, she held out the flint and steel to Lili.

“I expect you two are better at this than me. I’ll watch for trouble.”
She drew a dagger from her belt, and another from her sleeve, and carefully brushed the blades clean of sweat and dust, ears pricked for any sound. Let them come out and fight. I could use a good fight about now.

[Lili the Elfcat]

In Lili's memory, the house looked as though a child had drawn it into the sand with a stick: a wall, a door, a window; the roof a triangle, the chimney a little round tube. The flames that shot out of the window and the door, also, were drawn by a child: they were substantial like tongues, long and thick and slow and colourless. Lili never questioned this memory: she was convinced that her parents' house had looked just like that when the bandits had pulled her from the flames and taken her with them. I must have looked back, maybe from the horse on whose back I was sitting, held by Hadyuk the Lord of Bandits himself probably, squeezed into the saddle between himself and the horse's neck. Or maybe I was sitting on Pitjof's horse. Poor fat Pitjof, the cook, too kind to be a bandit really, and too stupid, and too good a cook, too. Anyway, I must have looked back, and the memory is what I saw then.

Her parents had died in that fire. That's what Pitjof had told her. Since then, she had often imagined what it must feel like to burn in your own house. Had her mother and her father tried to help each other to escape? Had they choked on the smoke? Had they maybe lost consciousness even before the flames reached them? Or did they feel the fire lapping at them, felt their hair rise up in flames, felt their skin turn black and curl like paper and peel away from their flesh? Were their eyes open when they died, or closed?

Lili watched Toama douse the tent in oil. The idea, of course, was only to force the bandits out in the open, not to burn them. But nobody could know what would happen once the fire had actually started. Flames and people in panic of fire – how's that for two unpredictable things? Lili shook her head.

That's when Grallen came up to her and said:

”I expect you two are better at this than me. I'll watch for trouble.” In her hand were pieces of flint and steel. She offered them to Lili.

Lili did not take them.

”No,” she said. ”Roast people alive for some stupid sword?  Those folks are bandits, but...”. Lili hesitated. She did not quite know how to put her point.

"Well,” she said eventually, ”we're all bandits to someone else.”

Those  bandits, however, were highly peculiar. Hiding in their tent with all that commotion going on around them. They were either extremely sure of themselves, or extremely scared. It occurred to Lili that she had not asked Drustai how she got captured; so there was really no telling, for Lili, how dangerous these people were. Anyway, if Lili wanted to stop the madness of setting fire to a tent with people in it, it was time to change the game.

”Oy,” she shouted. ”Tent feel cosy? Nice and cool, away from the sun? Well, that's about to change. My friends here think it's not warm enough, and want to make a fire. That's not going to be very nice for your chances to keep the heat out.”

Lili listened. There was no response from inside the tent yet. Lili looked at Grallen and Toama. Did they approve of what she did? No matter, good or bad, she had to finish what she had started.

”Only one thing my friends like better than fire. That's getting their stuff back. And their sword in particular. I'm sure you know the thing I mean. Long, silver, pointy at the tip. So I've got a suggestion for you: you be good boys and give the sword back. And I make sure nobody's hairstyle gets ruined. Then you can keep your tent, such as it is, and we'll be on our way.”


From the top of the tent, Kassandra replied feebly: ”On our way!” But she did not have much hope in her voice.

[grallen gast]

”No. Roast people alive for some stupid sword?  Those folks are bandits, but... Well, we're all bandits to someone else.”

Grallen couldn’t help the clenching in her jaw, and turned away to keep from glaring at Lili. No need to antagonize the one person in this sorry band who knows more about us than we’d like. But still, it was infuriating to hear her arguing for reason and calmness when what was needed, what Grallen wanted right now as something bright and angry stirred behind her eyes, was confusion and mess and just anything to break this awful quiet. And what made it even worse was that Lili was right, absolutely right, and even as she had said it she’d remembered waking up in that house with smoke crawling into her lungs, and Lucien blocked away by fire and panic, and it occurred to her that somewhere just outside the house had been maybe only one or two people not so very different from themselves…
She bared her teeth at the desert in general, and scuffed at the sand with her boot, before opening her mouth to say that someone had better do something, then-

Later, she was pleased to reflect how quick and unthinking her reaction to Lili’s speech was. For a split second she was stock still and wide-eyed in bewilderment, and then every thief and vagabond instinct in her took over. Softly and quickly she moved towards the nearest entrance to the tent, now pungent with lamp oil in the dry desert air. Shifting her grip on the knives in her hands, she crouched slightly, ready to lash out at anything that stepped outside. Lili might not want these fools burned but surely she wouldn’t object to a few minor cuts, if they were slowed down enough to keep them from causing any more trouble? She looked back at Toama, to see how she had reacted to this abrupt change of plans, in as much as there was anything you could call a plan, and then glanced over Lili, unable to keep the anger out of her expression. It was the petulant fury of a child who was promised a treat only to have it whisked away from under her nose. I have had enough of this desert, it said, and I want to hurt something, because you never know, sometimes that makes me feel better.

[Ílarolén'yliás (Drustai)]

”Oy, tent feel cosy? Nice and cool, away from the sun? Well, that's about to change. My friends here think it's not warm enough, and want to make a fire. That's not going to be very nice for your chances to keep the heat out. Only one thing my friends like better than fire. That's getting their stuff back. And their sword in particular. I'm sure you know the thing I mean. Long, silver, pointy at the tip. So I've got a suggestion for you: you be good boys and give the sword back. And I make sure nobody's hairstyle gets ruined. Then you can keep your tent, such as it is, and we'll be on our way.”

Drustai practically threw the tent flap shut as she ducked back inside the storage room. Those idiots! Had they no head on their shoulders at all? She spun around, almost toppling over as she did so, and let out a low growl. She looked up at Altario and then just shook her head. This was ridiculous. How could they be so careless?

"The idea was that the smoke would make them come rushing outside in a flight. Now they have forewarning and can plan how to come out and deal with us. Your friends are imbeciles."

Her eyes lowered, and glanced from side to side. She began to pace, as she pressed a finger to her lips. If they come out, she and Altario could flank them from behind. But that would require them to be stupid and use the front door. If they were smart, they'd make a hole in their part of the tent and exit that way. Then the only notice she and Altario would get would be the sound of shouts and drawn swords.

She began speaking, though her lips moved of their own accord, unguided by any rational thought, "Perhaps we-..."

"Do not do anything so rash!" a voice shouted, immediately halting Drustai's projected thoughts. She sneered, and tightened her fingers around the shaft of her quarterstaff.

"If you want your weapon so badly, all you had to do was ask. This is not a land of barbarians!"



Outside the tent, one of the bandits emerged. He had his hands up, but not too high. He kept them close enough to his chest to react swiftly if he was endangered, but spread enough to indicate his being unarmed. A cautious stance. Likewise, his steps were slow and ponderous, and he kept close to the door flap. The wizard said these people could be reasoned with, and by Avhan he prayed that he was right. The enemy had a better position, more numbers, and a wizard themselves, too. Even though most of the enemy were women, the prospects were bad. Still, perhaps savagery could be countered with civility. He rose his head high.

"Arcanist Rudohn has expressed his desire to resolve this incident as men of high culture. He would like to speak with your leader, the sword-bearer, to negotiate the return of his weapon."

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