“Somethin’s botherin’ him, Varek,” the half-elf persisted.
“Small town. He’s concerned there’s far too many cookfires for the size of it.”
“Might not mean anything,” Dhamon said, as he joined them, “but our course takes us very near that town.”
“Through it—our course takes us through that town, if we want to buy a wagon and horses,”
Maldred said, his gaze unwavering.
The half-elf raised an eyebrow. “Wagon?” she mouthed.
“To haul the pirate treasure in,” Dhamon provided. “I’m going in for a closer look.” He nodded to Mal and started through the tall grass. “I’ll be back soon. Keep an eye on our sivak, won’t you?”
The half-elf was quick after him. “I’ll come, too.”
Varek’s hand shot out and firmly closed around her elbow.
“If there’s something wrong, Riki,” he cautioned, “I don’t want you anywhere near the trouble.” His glance dropped to her swollen stomach, then he raised his eyes and saw her disappointment. He drew a finger to his lips, silencing any argument, kissed her on the cheek, and started after Dhamon.
* * * * *
Dhamon waited just beyond the edge of the town, called Graelor’s End according to the weathered sign. He heard someone coming up behind him and guessed it was Riki, but when he turned he frowned to see it was Varek.
The youth slipped up to Dhamon’s shoulder and laid his staff on the ground. “I don’t see anyone stirring, do you? Not a single soul out on the streets. But those cookfires, there’s got to be people. Indeed, I—”
Dhamon’s narrowed eyes silenced him.
The town had some age to it. The homes spread to the west and were made of field stone mortared together with mud and dung. All the roofs were heavy thatch. There was a scattering of farms to the east. Some of the farmhouses were grand, and Dhamon could see goats and sheep milling about in pens. Two dozen or so businesses and hostels were between the homes and the farms, most of them two-and three-story buildings made of stone and wood.
“Aye, there’s people,” Dhamon whispered after several minutes. He pointed to the closest house.
“Someone walked past a window.”
Varek squinted and shook his head, seeing nothing. “Can’t see that far.”
“There.” Dhamon pointed to a business down the middle of a dust-and-gravel street. The street was wide and seemed to be the main thoroughfare through the town. A man and woman were looking out of a bakery window. “But why are they all inside and…?” His voice trailed off when he saw a figure step from a side street onto the main road.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a sweeping black-lined cloak fluttering away from his plate mail-clad form. The armor was distinctive and ornate—a collection of steel plates with chainmail gussets, more functional and lightweight than the armor worn by Solamnic Knights or Knights of Neraka.
“A Legion of Steel Knight!”
“A commander, actually. And be quiet,” Dhamon sternly warned. “We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves. All the townsfolk are avoiding him. We should too. Keep your head down. We’ll watch a few minutes more, then we’ll go back to Mal and Riki and plan a route well away from here. We’ll find somewhere else to buy a wagon.”
Varek opened his mouth to protest, but another sharp look from Dhamon cut him off. Dhamon grasped Varek’s shoulder and pointed. Other figures spilled out of a business to join the commander—Legion of Steel battlefield medics and sorcerers, judging by the markings on their tabards. The small group conferred for some time before the commander clapped his hands twice and whistled shrilly.
More Knights appeared, drifting out from a few businesses, many from side streets. They formed up, eight across, all in plate mail, walking stiffly in unison. They practically filled the main street, as others marched in from alleys at the edge of Dhamon’s and Varek’s vision.
“They were camped on the side streets, maybe farther back on the main street, too, and maybe south of town.” Dhamon whispered. “I used to know commanders who preferred that to camping in an open field. The buildings cut the wind, and their presence impresses the locals.” His eyes closed to slits, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. “And I know that commander.”
Dhamon studied the details of the lead man’s weathered face. A steel-gray mustache curled down over lips that were twisted by a thick, ropy scar that continued down his chin to his throat. The eyes were an intense bright blue, and the eyebrows above them bushy white.
“Lawlor,” he hissed. “Commander Arun Lawlor.”
“Too far away,” Varek whispered. “How can you tell who it is?”
Dhamon was so caught up in studying the commander and his men, trying to determine the strength of the unit, that he didn’t notice Varek rise, and he didn’t see the young man take the first few steps into the town.
“Varek!” Dhamon called quietly when he finally spotted him. “What are you doing? Get back here now!”
Varek glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “I’m going to talk to them, Dhamon,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m going to ask Commander Arun Lawlor why he has so many Legion of Steel Knights here.”
He sprinted forward, staff in one hand and free arm waving to draw the Knights’ attention. Dhamon cursed and wheeled, keeping low and running back toward where he’d left Maldred and Rikali—never once looking over his shoulder to check on Varek. The moment he got there, he grabbed the half-elf by the arm.
“Riki, Mal, let’s get out of here. Fast!” He pointed to the southwest, where in the distance there was a small rise and at the top of it the beginnings of a forest. “It looks to be about two miles from here, maybe less. Should be quite a bit of cover there. Run like a hundred Legion of Steel Knights are after you—because that may very well be the case.”
“Legion of Steel? Where? Where’s Varek?” The half-elf was quick to panic.
“Introducing himself to them.”
“Damn fool,” Maldred spat. “If he mentions our names…” Maldred let the thought trail off and met Dhamon’s gaze, then looked at the sivak.
“Ragh, come with me,” Dhamon said.
Riki’s eyes were wide. “Legion Knights. What about Varek?”
“The Knights aren’t after Varek,” Dhamon snapped.
“Meet us in the woods as soon as you can, my friend,” Maldred said. “Be careful. Very.” Then he was tugging the half-elf and rushing away.
“Ragh?” Dhamon whirled, and the sivak followed him back toward the town, keeping low in the grass, the two of them practically crawling at times. They circled to the northeast side of the town, between the business district and a farm, lying behind a row of spreading golden-rod bushes where Dhamon could better see the assembled Knights. There had to be at least three hundred, Dhamon guessed, maybe as many as four hundred, an impressive force occupying this small town in the middle of a sprawling plains.
What are they doing here? he thought. What could be going on in the Plains of Dust to interest them? And why in the depths of the Abyss would Varek stroll right in for a chat?
“Why do you fear the Legion Knights?” Ragh’s hoarse voice ended Dhamon’s musings.
“I don’t fear them,” Dhamon lied, eyes scanning the throng. “I just… what’s this?”
He spied Varek, shadowed under a faded awning, face to face with Commander Arun Lawlor. The commander extended his hand, Varek shook it. They talked for several minutes, and Dhamon wondered just what they were discussing and how long they’d been at it before he spotted them. Then Lawlor patted Varek on the back and walked away, inspecting his men as he headed to the front of the column.
“So you’re friendly with the Legion of Steel, Varek,” Dhamon said quietly. He kept his eyes on the young man, who was leaning against the building now, staff propped next to him, arms folded and face fixed on the assembly. Dhamon and the sivak crawled toward the east, heading for a narrow side street extending toward the main road. “Common sense says we should head for the trees, find Maldred and Riki, and give this place a wide berth.”