Journey To The Games

As they exit the building, they are greeted by an icy wind that chills them all. Yaz looks up at the clouds overhead:

"It's definitely heading for winter now," the druid says. "We've got at least three months of this to look forward to. It looks like rain tomorrow, perhaps even snow if it stays like this."

"Typical," replies Bennett grumpily. "It always has to rain whenever we must travel and fine when we stay indoors."

"We should take care on our way back to the warehouse," says Winnacer. "It is past curfew now and so we should go carefully so as to avoid any contact with the Nyemetz."

Will takes the lead, more anxious than the rest of them to get back in order to confront Faewen'il about the rest of the books. They pull your cloaks and robes tightly around their bodies to offer protection from the biting cold that is well below freezing, taking care not to slip on the ice that covers the ground in several places as they cautiously make their way back to the warehouse. On a couple of occasions, they spot Nyemetz patrols in the distance and change their route so as to avoid them. They are, however, successful in avoiding them and are outside the warehouse after half an hour.

Winnacer makes the coded knock and the door is soon opened by Vit, the lad. They immediately scale the stairs and ladders that bring them back to the Dragons' lounge. Boris is pleased to see them. He is fairly merry as a result of spending most of the evening drinking along with the rest of the Dragons. He laughs as he sees Will leading the rest of them:

"Excellent!" he laughs, "Will yer sing us a tune, Sir Bard?"

Will, however, is in no mood for merry-making at present:

"Not just at the moment, Boris," Will replies. "I have other matters to attend to. Where is Faewen'il?"

"She came straight in, 'alf an 'our ago and went straight into 'er room, slammin' the door be'ind 'er," Boris replies. "She didn't look very 'appy at all."

"Which room is hers?" Will asks, seeing the many rooms that lead from the corridor off the room.

"Third door on the right."

Will immediately makes his way to the door before knocking on it:

"Faewen'il, open the door, I need to speak to you."

He then tries the door, but finds that it is locked from the inside.

The rest of them join Flint who is kneeling before the fire, still staring into its flames. The roaring fire soon brings the warmth back into their bodies. Boris starts to fill flagons of ale from a large pitcher that is in the middle of the table. He gives one of the flagons to each of them.

Once everyone is a little more relaxed, Winnacer addresses them all:

"Well it would appear that our next destination should be the games, as it serves a variety of purposes and should take us no more than two or three days to accomplish. We can plan our following actions after this exercise has been finished. So what details have we about them and what plans have you already made?"

Boris is the first to reply:

"Well our plans are that we're gonna travel up there startin' not long after the gates open up in the mornin'. We'll be takin' the road an' so we should be up there around dusk. Viktor an' Tomas'll be bringin' the Dvur boys down as well for the show, an' so we'll meet up wiv them a mile or so away from the clearin'. Then we plan to use the cover o' darkness in order to case out the site o' the games as well as the farm plus the journey that wagons will 'ave to take to in order to get between the two."

He then gives a little shrug:

"After that, we'll play things by ear, dependin' upon what we find out. No point in makin' plans too far ahead. All we know is that we'll be waitin' until the games are over, an' the wagon wiv all the cash is goin' back to the farm before we spring it, otherwise we'll miss out on the best target."

"What do you know about the location of the Games?" Winnacer asks.

"Well, we know where it is, an' that's within the forest between the farm an' the main road. They found an area in the forest that was shaped like a nat'ral amphitheater an' so cut down all the trees around it so that folks could see. Ev'ry time they 'old the games, there's more an' more folks that comes, an' so they develops the site a bit more each time. We don't know what they've done to it since last time, which is why we're goin' to case the joint over in advance. The animals do the fightin' in a big pit wiv spiked logs all around the outside to keep 'em from escapin'. Apart from that, I can't think o' much else to tell yer."

"Good luck with that approach, brother, you're gonna need it!" says Bennett as he sees Will attempting to summon Faewen'il from her room. He sits some distance away from the door to Fae's room, in case it is to spontaneously explode.

Taking on a tone that is some where between reconciling and matter of fact, Will addresses the closed door, and hopefully Fae on the other side:

"Father Konan has the book and will have it transcribed and destroyed by some of the 'guest' priests. I instructed him to deliver it to your hand whenever the task was completed."

He sighs largely as he continues:

"I implore you to listen to reason. The curse upon the books will not take effect on a person until they have studied them repeatedly, encompassing greater than a month total. You must admit that it would take you far longer than that to transcribe the entirety of the books. Why put yourself at risk? With the help of others, the task can be completed in under a month easily."

Pausing again, he searches for the most discreet way to make his next statement and braces for the possible upcoming verbal assault:

"There are four remaining books, Fae. The two lower complexity spell books are needed by both of us for new spells. I am here to ensure delivery of the two books containing the most complex spells. The enchantments in those are outside of either of our abilities, so no time or opportunity will be lost waiting for the transcription. I am asking for them, Fae. If you wish, then you may deliver them to Konan yourself, or someone else who we both trust, it matters not to me. Whether you choose to believe it or not, I still trust you, and will continue to do so until your actions demand a reconsideration of that trust. If you will deliver them, then I ask you to tell me that you will do so immediately. If not, then please allow someone else to do so. It is the wise and safe course of action."

There is, however, no response whatsoever from Faewen'il's room:

"Winn," Yaz starts, "that was really shitty. You and Will, on Maire's ass like she was three years old! I mean, look at him."

Yaz gestures weakly to the form of Will pleading at Fae's door and knocking.

"I never seen such sexist paternalism in my life! What, d'you guys think she's gonna turn all psycho evil on us or something? Shit, Konan said it'd take a month before there's even a bit of risk of that. Besides, just what exactly does he know about magic anyways? Has he ever cast a magic spell? Seems to me if anyone's the expert on this, it's Maire'!"

Yaz spits into a corner.

"You guys have as much as told her that you don't trust her. She's got that message loud and clear. So don't blame HER for reacting like she's doing. Let her do what her nature tells her to do. She loves magic. You guys ain't got no right to stifle that. It's what she's all about. If it causes problems later, we'll deal with it. But we ain't her parents."

"And frankly," he adds, "I'd trust her with my life sooner than I'd trust some of the others here."

Bennett, hearing the druid's words, simply raises his glass and says:

"Fuck you, Yaz, and the dreadlocks for hair, bark for skin, leaf-eating horse you rode in on!"

Winnacer looks at Yaz with a look of confusion on his features, as if he was being accused of crimes he did not commit. He makes to begin to speak and then realizes his audience and changes his train of thought:

"Yaz, come over here and have a drink with the rest of us and let's plan this raid on the animalypics."

Winnacer fills up two glasses of beer and hands one to the half-elf.

Xavier, however, is not in the slightest bit interested in the Will and Faewen'il situation, being far more in the mood for revelry than conflict:

"Come let us sit and drink," he says to all, including Will. "A thirsty ride have I had this day. The Lord and I have been busy, very busy this past week. Ahhh you are indeed perceptive. Tadeus bring us ale, and get one for yourself. A knight must also know how to drink. Anyway, mein freund, it is a long tale but one vith a happy ending. It be hard to describe to one vith little faith in the gods, but try I vill try."

Xavier's squire, Tadeus, arrives with a tray full of brimming tankards:

"Danke Tadeus, sit boy. Drink it slowly, for I wish not to scrape you off the floor later this evening. Herr Bennett dis is my new squire, Tadeus. Tadeus, this is Herr Bennett, the meanest wielder of the axe in Bohavia."

Tadeus smiles and nods.

"Evening, Mr Bennett, the lord has mentioned your exploits. He says you have guarded his back on many occasions."

"Aye," Bennett replies, "and he has guarded mine on even more. Learn well from this big ugly fellow, lad, as I cannot think of a better teacher for you. However, beware he does not smash your bones with his practice strokes, as he swings with a heavy hand!"

Bennett is well pleased to see Xavier has a squire, as so much martial knowledge should be imparted to one with a mind hungry to learn it.

Xavier continues.

"Like Winnacer's squire, Tadeus comes from Holitze. Ahhh, but I digress, I vas speaking of my changing fortunes. No, mein freund, it is not the love of a soft women that lightens my heart but something better. After five f*cking bloody years have I found redemption. By the grace of Rodengast have I found my soul that I left frozen in that God forsaken Rusky lake. By the enormous power of Rodengast, have I finally found the strength to stop my cowardly flight from my fears, my guilt and the horror of my command's demise. I never told you did I........ that, at Lake Roga.... I vas not just any common knight but a Knight Commander of the Saint Hermann company of my order. By my order did 25 knights and ten score men at arms follow me across the ice. Ve vere the third and final wave to be swallowed by the trap that the cursed whoreson sorcerors of the Tzar laid for us."

Xavier breathes deeply and raises his tankard.

"To their memory and the glory of Rodengast!! Their souls are now free of my guilt, for I know now that they ride now in the heavens beneath Rodegast's standard, and feast in his hall at night. Redemption I tell you, bloody redemption, sooths my heart. I feel bloody young again, like a recent virgin who has rolled in the hay for the first time. Such a burden has been taken from me. Tonight I get drunk, not to dull the pain of my past but to celebrate the future. Within the year, mein freund, shall a new company take battle to those whoreson Nyemetz. The Company of Saint Hermann shall ride again, and, if I am worthy, shall I lead it to glorious battle honors long denied it. So drink deeply, mein freund, ve celebrate this night."

Bennett remains quiet during Xavier's speech about his lost brothers, nodding knowingly, until the mention of Redemption from Rodengast comes up. Bennett clearly attempts to understand, but seems rather in the dark about the whole concept. However, he embraces the happiness it has gained his friend:

"Well then, Xavier, to your warrior god and all his followers, for if he has given you back your soul then he is truly a worthy fellow indeed. I wish you well leading your reformed army!"

For the first time, a tiny hint of bitter envy wrinkles across his lips for his friend's happiness and destiny, but it is quickly wiped away by a heaping draught of the brew, and Bennett proceeds to get happily drunk, though he has no fine tales to tell about his misadventures.

Yaz, overhearing the booming voices of the warriors, and in particular Xavier's, can't help but stumble quickly to his feet as his heart leaps. He raises his tankard wobbily and joins their celebration from his spot halfway across the room:

"Xavier! To Rodengast! To Hermann! To freedom! To fuckin' redemp-shun!"

Yaz's joyful smile gets his jar thrust into it as he tries for a swig, and he nearly chips a tooth as ale spills over his face and down his front. He swallows and licks foam from his lip, teeters, steadies himself on a table, and raises the mug once more with a grin.

The toasts to each other and revelry continues for almost an hour until they all realize that there are plans to be made for the following day. Yaz turns to Boris to make a suggestion:

"What would you say," asks Yaz, "if we told you we were thinking of blowing the whole thing to smithereens? Flinty here's got a gift, and we might be able to kill a whole gaggle of Nyemetz high-ups if we use it. We'd just have to plant small charges of the old boy's holy powder under all the bleachers all around the bowl before the event. The trouble with that is, your cash haul might not be so easily found. But I'm sure the fleshy remnants will have plenty of pretty decorations on them once they're all burnt to a crisp."

"I have to admit that I am also a fan of Flint's handiwork." Winnacer comments as he flashes a smile in the dwarf's direction.

"We just should make sure that it is all Nyemetz higher-ups and not innocent bystanders that we send to their individual gods."

While Boris is considering Yaz's words, Bennett gives his own thoughts to the plan:

"As I understand it, this money will be collected as entrance fees, right? Well, that means they have to keep it somewhere while the Games go on. With the guards being occupied with the Games themselves, we have a smaller troop of them guarding the loot, increasing your chances of boosting it. Then, if we time it right, once your boys have made the boost, the guards will run toward them. Then we let Flint blow the hell out of the spectators, which should kill a heap of them, plus stop the guards from coming after you. Then Yaz unleashes the animals with a little of his nature voodoo and lets them lunch on what's left. We go out and kill the nobles that are left, as many as we can get our hands on, as they run for the hills or for their guards, while you cats make for the hills with the loot. It seems to me the perfect opportunity for all of us to make our desires work out just the way we want it, if everything goes as planned."

Boris strokes his beard while listening to the suggestions of Yaz and Bennett, and then he speaks:

"Well obviously things might be different this time, but it's not the entrance money that's the big prize, although with several 'undred people spending 25g.p. a head to get in, it's a fair old sum. No, the biggest money comes from the gamblin' on the results, as them nobles will often gamble 'undreds o' gold pieces on the outcome. The way that it worked last time is that there are sixteen beasts in the games that are paired off against each other in an elimination competition. The eight beasts that survive the initial heats go into the quarterfinals, an' then onto the semi finals, with the last two beasts remainin' sluggin' it out in the final. Most of the money that's wagered gets put on at the start o' the competition as that's when they can get the best odds."

Boris pauses for a moment to consider the options:

"So, actually, that means that it'd be best for us to 'it the bookies' office actually durin' the time that the games is goin' on, as they wouldn't 'ave paid out any winnin's at that time, which means that the haul would be even bigger than at the end of the day. That'd be as sweet as a nut for us if yers could do that. While yers would be blowin' the rest o' the place to pieces, we could send the boys in to do over the bookie's office an' the ticket office an' make off with the lot."

Yaz and Bennett both smile as they see the seeds of a plan being sown.

"I guess we'll find this out when we get there," continues Yaz, "but do you know offhand where the animals wait before they're lead out onto the arena floor? Is there a holding kennel somewhere outside the clearing, or on the floor itself?"

"There are pens be'ind the fightin' pit where the competin' beasts are kept between rounds," Boris replies. "At least that was the set up last year. I've got no idea as to when they're brought from the farm to the arena though."

"We definitely gotta get the animals away before we blow the place," Yaz mutters to himself. "Maybe a wood-shaping spell during the first fight, to spring the animals... then..." He trails off in thought.

"Yeah, that's it exactly," agrees Bennett. "Plus you can charm some of the best ones to make sure they do what's best for them, and for us!"

"But y'know, this event probably needs guards and stuff," considers Yaz, "which means the Farm itself will be pretty empty during the Games, wouldn't you think? Maybe we should plan to head to the Farm right after, and take it out as well!"

Yaz looks pretty excited at this, but obviously hasn't thought it through a whole lot.

"Why the hell not?" asks Bennett rhetorically. "I personally have vowed not to return there, so I cannot accompany you, but it should be a simple task to take the place out if the majority of the guards are bits of bloody flesh on the amphitheater floor!"

"Perhaps we should head to the farm as the games start and destroy that first," suggests Winnacer, "or at least set up all the charges there first. Then we can head over to the games and see what we can do. A well placed 'entangle' or 'web' spell can work the same effect as detonating the bleachers."

"We'll see when we get there," replies Yaz, realizing that he will be more sober at that time as well.

"Boris, I can help case the place if you like," Yaz continues, turning to the old rogue. "I got some spells that are useful for that... can give you a bird's eye view, actually... Heathcliff and Gertrude are pretty good at night. Might be safer than sending in your men. So let me know."

"That could come in quite 'andy," Boris replies. "We sent a couple of boys to case the joint before the last games and they simply disappeared. We never did ever find out what 'appened to them. All we know is that the people what organize it ain't that stupid. They knows a few things about security, so we ain't treatin' the thing as no church outin'."

"Anyways, like yer says, Yaz, there's only so much plannin' we can do before we know what the place looks like, so we might as well carry on wiv the party now an' worry about the rest of it tomorrow."

Heeding Boris' words, they carry on with the party, consuming a great deal of ale and wine in the process and catching each other up on their exploits over the past week. Eventually, their tiredness catches up with them and they head for their rooms, realizing that there will be an early start tomorrow and it is likely to be another long day.

 

5 NOVEMBER 3460

They are all awoken a lot earlier than they would like by Vit, and they rise to head towards the main room where, unsurprisingly, the table is groaning with a huge breakfast. They sit down to eat, with Will watching the door to Faewen'il's room like a hawk so as to confront her as soon as she comes out.

While they are eating, a couple of Dragons drag a large wooden chest into the room. Boris goes over to it and opens it. They see that it is filled with luxurious robes of varying types and sizes:

"I suggest that some of yers 'elp yerself to some o' these fancy clothes," he says distributing them around the room. "There ain't no guest list to the games, but the fact that the entry fee is more money than an average workin' man sees in a year means that it is just the elite that can afford to get in, plus their entourages. I reckon that some o' yers should dress up as nobles while the fighters amongst yers can act as bodyguards, as none o' the nobles ever travels without 'em."

"If yer ain't got no winter clothes, then I reckons yer should 'ave a look in 'ere for some. It's bleedin' brass monkeys out there at the moment and looks like it's gonna stay that way for the next few days at least. Yer'll catch yer deaths o' cold if yer don't wrap up."

"Will yer be travelin' up there wiv the rest of us? We don't bugger about wiv all this cross-country business, as it takes much longer to get there that way, an' we 'ave ways of getting' past any problems."

Only at the last possible minute did Faewen'il come out of her room; dressed in rich looking clothes and looking every bit of the noble lady she was imitating. Obviously Sonya had had something to do with styling her hair, as it was gathered daintily off her neck with carved wooden pins and combs. The plush green velvet dress set off her eyes and the dainty embroidered black corset that captured her waist merely enhanced her already noticeable chest. Ruby earrings hung from her ears and a fire opal nested itself quite naturally in her cleavage, concealing something tucked further down. Draped over her shoulders was what one would expect of a noble lady visiting a fur farm; a white wolf fur cloak. Delicate black gloves covered her hands and soft black boots adorned her feet. A delicate chain hugged her hips that contained two small satin pouches, of which they were sure contained spell components.

In her hands she carried four books. With an icy glare she dropped two of them unceremoniously on the table; and with a visibly pale face she walked over to a hearth fire and threw the remaining two in before hastily beating a retreat from the blaze. Eerie colored flames then began to lick at the two books and a foul stench could be detected as they burned far faster than one would normally expect them to burn; turning to mere ashes in but a matter of seconds.

Will does not comment as he sees Faewen'il and her actions, not wishing to start another argument.

As you are getting ready to leave, Karel and Lukash, the Dobroushkans, come up to you and Karel speaks:

"I think that it is time to say our goodbyes now," he says. "I can see that you have many tasks to perform and that you have many more pressing matters that require your attention other than escorting us back to the village, as it will not be a short exercise what with the livestock that will take a while to drive there. It has been well over a week since we left Dobroushka now and I fear that the other villagers will fear for our safety should we take any longer to return. Although Boris and Sonya have been very hospitable during the days that we have been guests of theirs, I have a young daughter waiting for me who has never known a father's love and I wish to return to her as quickly as possible."

"But you will certainly need some protection upon your journey," Winnacer replies.

"I got that sorted," interjects Boris. "I've 'ad a word with the Bodyguards' Guild an' paid for them to provide four o' their best men for the job. They won't 'ave no problems wiv them lookin' after the villagers."

"But are you sure that they can be trusted?" Winnacer inquires, concerned for Dobroushka's safety.

"Don't worry about it," Boris reassures him. "The Guildmaster 'as 'eard about what's 'appened in Pardubitze an' knows 'oo's runnin' Hradetz now, an' so 'e's gonna be takin' care to put 'is best men on the job. Also, the Guild's got its reputation to think of. If word got around that the bodyguards were rippin' off their employers, then no one would employ 'em any more. No, don't yer worry, Winnacer, there ain't no risk in puttin' 'em on the job."

Winnacer nods, knowing that Boris knows his way around the various organizations in Hradetz and so he says his goodbyes to the Dobroushkans:

"I wish you well on your journey. Also, I hope that you don't mind, but I took the liberty of telling the Church of Radegast in Pardubitze about your situation, after ensuring that the secret will go no further. Hrust and the Padre of the Church should be stopping by over the next couple of weeks to see whether they may be able to assist you with your security."

Karel nods as he shakes Winnacer by the hand:

"Thank you for thinking of us, Lord Winnacer," he replies. "I had hoped that Dobroushka could live in peace after its centuries of tragedy, but I have a feeling that it cannot be so. We shall listen to what the Radegastians have to say, but I cannot say that we are ready to take a new god yet."

They finish saying their good-byes to the Dobroushkans and then descend the stairs to the ground floor of the warehouse. They see that Milan and Tadeas have been up for a while and have made their horses and asses ready for the journey. The floor of the warehouse is currently packed with horses as, in addition to their mounts, there are another ten horses for the Dragons who will be accompanying them, which consists of Boris, Corrow and eight of the Dragons' best men, all of them veterans from the Pardubitze job. They nod at Winnacer, Xavier and Faewen'il, particularly Faewen'il.

It took a visible effort from Sonya to prod Faewen'il outside and onto her horse. There was muttering to be heard as Faewen'il tried to situate herself on the animal sidesaddle fashion so as to appear to be ladylike. The two women then whispered their farewells before the group set off.

Sonya is there to see you all off. She kisses Corrow goodbye and is obviously worried for his safety, as she looks nervous. She gives Faewen'il a hug in order to say goodbye and shakes the rest of them by the hand, although deliberately avoids looking at either Bennett or Flint.

They then begin the very difficult task of persuading Flint to ride on one of the four asses that they have accumulated during their travels.

"I don't bleeding ride horses or asses," says Flint as he stands with his arms crossed before him.

The debate with the dwarf lasts for several minutes until Yaz tells him that if he doesn't ride with them, then he'll simply have to stay behind and will thus miss the opportunity of blowing up both the arena and the fur farm. This eventually does the trick and the dwarf mounts the ass reluctantly, looking rather unstable as he grips onto the saddle.

They are then ready to leave. Vit checks that no one is watching and then opens the doors to the warehouse and they all walk their mounts out into the chilly early morning. As they ride through the semi-deserted streets of the city, they make an impressive sight with the seven of them, Flint, two squires and the ten Dragons leading three asses laden with their belongings, making a pretty impressive group.

Within ten minutes, they reach the northwest gate that will take them towards the fur farm. The gateguards immediately come to attention as they see them heading towards the gate and cross their spears to bar their way. Boris, obviously used to these inconveniences, immediately rides to the fore and spends a couple of minutes negotiating with the guards before a leather pouch is handed to the sargeant and the orcs move aside to let them pass. They then pass over the bridge across the River Labe and start heading north up the road that leads to the fur farm.

As the sun rises further, the temperature rises above freezing, yet it is by no means warm and the sky is overcast. They spend the entire morning riding up the road. On their way, they pass several ornately decorated wagons that obviously belong to rich merchants and nobles that are also heading towards the games. The bodyguards of the wagons watch them as they approach, their hands moving for their weapons, breathing a sigh of relief as they pass them.

As they carry on traveling throughout the morning, they reach a unit of some fifty orcs heading in the same direction as they are. As they come closer to the troops, they see that they are looking quite beaten up and are incohesive as a unit. Boris checks them out to look at their insignia:

"Looks like some o' the troops that was with Malek outside Pardubitze," the master rogue says as he sees their markings. "We 'eard that Malek lost quite a few companies on the rout from Pardubitze. Strakota pursued them until Malek's forces got past Hradetz an' then 'e decided that enough was enough an' went back 'ome, satisfied that 'e'd given Malek a good 'idin."

Bennett looks at them with hatred in his eyes:

"Well, if they're Malek's troops, wouldn't right now be a good time to slaughter them, what with them being in such a bad way already?"

"Are they headed for the games? If so, why? If the orcs are headed for the games, then I insist that we stop and kick their asses, as fifty orcs we don't need reinforcing whatever they've already got there, though for the life of me, he won't know why a company of Malek's orcs would be going to the games anyway."

"Well if yer wants to slaughter 'em then go ahead, but me an' the boys ain't gonna give yer no 'elp," replies Boris to Bennett's suggestion. "Beat up or not, fifty orcs is fifty orcs. I don't doubt that we could take 'em, as I've seen what yer capable of, but we'd take a fair bit o' damage ourselves an' might lose a few of us. There would only be Yaz's abilities to patch us up an' so we would be goin' to the games beat up while the guards an' stuff would be right as rain. An' what would we 'ave achieved apart from there bein' fifty out o' god knows 'ow many tens or 'undreds o' thousands o' the bastards less?"

"I think it 'ighly unlikely that they's 'eadin' for the games. They's just 'eadin' 'ome to Dvur I would imagine, same as all of Malek's other routed troops."

"Save it for the Nyemetz lords an' ladies at the games, Bennett. Yer can't kill the 'ole Nyemetz army on yer own, as much as I'm sure yer willing to give it a try!"

Bennett grumbles a great deal, but accepts Boris' reasoning that it is not worthwhile jeapardizing the games for the sake of fifty orcs.

They pass the orcs as you ride onwards towards the fur farm. The orcs look at them as they pass, but look demoralized and are obviously in no mood for any more fighting. The party carries on for another couple of hours and then stop at the side of the road in order to have some lunch and to rest the horses. After an hour, they re-saddle their mounts and carry on their way.

They carry on riding throughout the afternoon. At around 3.00 p.m. they pass a ramshackle group of eleven tough-looking men armed in chainmail carrying a variety of weapons who stop and stare at the party as they ride pass.

"Mercenaries by the look of 'em," says Boris as he sees them. "Could be Saxons, Silesians or Polaks, but they don't look like Bohavians to me. I would 'ope that they ain't 'eadin' for the games, but I 'ave a feelin' that they might be. As I said, them lot what's organizin' the games knows a thing or two about security an' so they may 'ave drafted in a bit of extra 'elp for the show."

Xavier glances at this group and tries to listen for any conversation between them, but they walk in silence. Hoping that they are fellow Saxons, he jests with them in the banter of a mercenary:

"In the name of Rodengast good fortune upon you freunds. What brings you to this land? Its wonderful climate, its flat roads, its hot beer or its cold women?"

Xavier laughs deeply at his jest, awaiting any response.

The mercenaries shrug as Xavier attempts to speak with them, obviously not understanding what he is saying. They start to speak to each other in a tongue similar to Bohavian, but still not totally comprehendable.

"Polaks," Boris whispers to Xavier as he hears snippets of their speech. "I'm afraid that they ain't none o' yer countrymen, Xavier."

"Yar, so it seems Boris. Never had much use for Polaks. Never fought with em, or against them. It has been a long time since I have encountered one of my countrymen. A damn long time. Makes you seem pretty small and insignificant really. Ah such foolishness. At least now I am amongst good freunds. How far are we away from this place we are going. The Fey have been chattering about this damn farm for months."

"Aye" Boris replies. "The Saxons 'ave enough of their own problems without gettin' too involved in ours. Most o' the Saxon mercenaries lookin' for work are in Silesia fightin' the Rus. I 'ave a feelin' that if things keep 'eadin' in the same direction on the Eastern Front in Bohavia against the Slovenes then it won't be long afore the Nyemetz starts to offer some goodly amount o' coin to mercenaries to give 'em an 'and."

"It ain't too much further 'til we get to the arena now. Another couple of hours an' we should be meetin' up with Viktor, Tomas an' the rest o' the boys from Dvur."

"Really mein freund," Xavier responds. "So the Silesians still battle the cursed Rus. I had heard rumors that theie new Prince vanted to take up the sword against them again to avenge his dead father. But I did not know he had finally bitten the bullet. Good on him. The Silesians fight vell, there faith is strong. If he has half the spirit of his father, Prince Valerian von Strasloft, the combined banners of Silesia and Rodengast vill yet fly above the Kremlin. Vhat do the Bohavians know of Rus, mein freund. Bohavia had its own troubles, vhen I vas fighting there. I know not vhat news made it back here?"

"To be honest, I don't pay much attention to what's goin' on up there in Silesia," Boris replies. "Bohavia's got enough problems of 'er own without gettin' involved in Silesia's. Mind you, there's a lot of Bohavians fightin' as mercenaries up there, as they'd rather fight for a foreign flag than stay 'ere under the Nyemetz' rule. There's several veterans from the Bohavian Civil War an' invasion still fightin' up there, includin' the great General Jan Zizkov. Last thing I 'eard from Silesia was that the Silesians 'ad been makin' quite a bit o' progress against the Russ. Mind you, I reckon that it's come too late this year, as the winter's gonna favor the Rus. I reckons that the Silesian advance is gonna come to a grindin' halt as soon as the first snows come. The Rusky weather 'as put paid to many o' those that would seek to take Mockba."

"This general that you speak of, I have heard of him," Xavier replies. "He fought the Nyemetz to a standstill in the northeast did he not? A stout defence vhen all vhere else the Nyemetz advanced. His break out of the town of ...... vhat vas it called. .. ahhhh, I am getting old and my memory is not as good as it once vas. Anyway, he got most of his men out, taking sanctuary in Silesia. His exploits under his new lord, Prince Valerian, prior to his death, is legendary. I vas priviledged to see him fight but once. My men fought under his standard at the battle of Wassilissa in April of 3455. It vas a glorious victory. The Tzar ran vith his tail between his legs. Ve chased his forces for the next month, meeting them on the banks of Lake Roga. General Jan Zizkov, like us all did not count on the treachery of Sorcery. But that is the past. Vhat I vish to know, is how patriotic is the man now? If my lord Winnacer vas to raise the call, vould this man return to Bohavia. Our efforts have weakened the Nyemetz stranglehold somewhat. His generalship and the experience of his battlehardened men who remain in Rus could break the whoreson Nyemetz' hold right open."

"There ain't none more patriotic than General Jan Zizkov, if what's said about 'im is true," the master rogue replies with a smile. "'E's gettin' on a bit now as 'e's well into 'is fifties, but 'is mind is still razor sharp an' 'e ain't known peace since the start o' the Bohavian Civil War. I reckon the only reason that 'e ain't back 'ere now is that 'e knows that 'e's a marked man. There's still a price on 'is 'ead from when 'e was forced to flee the country with the most loyal of 'is men, knowin' that 'e 'ad won all 'is battles but lost the war. I reckon that, if 'e ever thinks that there's a real chance o' revolution, then 'e'll be back like a shot. 'E may 'ave spent the last twenty years fightin' for Silesia, but 'e's a Bohavian, an' 'e's not the sort to ever forget about 'is 'omeland."

"Vell dat does indeed warm my heart to hear, mein freund," replies the Saxon. "I think soon dat the Lord Winnacer should send vord to dis great man telling him dat in Bohavia dere still is a cause to fight for. A cause vhich is growing in strength. Dat is vhat I think. I vill speak to the lord of it this night. He is young, his courage unquestioned but he could at times been more focussed vith his energies. Dat is youth though, mein freund. Ve have all lived it. Enough talk for now I must check on the squires. Tadeus knows his stuff, but Milan rides a horse like I dance. Very badly.....!"

Xavier laughs loudly and canters back to the rear of the column to check on the squires.

They carry on riding throughout the rest of the afternoon and then the road reaches the forested part of the country:

"We're just over a mile away from the arena now," says Boris. "We needs to meet up with Tomas an' Viktor an' the rest of the boys from Dvur. They should be waitin' for us jus' to the west o' the road about 'alf a mile further on."

They carry on riding for another half-hour until they find the clearing. Sure enough, Tomas, Viktor and another ten of the Dragons are waiting for them in the woods.