Ira Archer was a long way from home.
He was used to it though – travelling through the dirt, the grime, the mud. Wasn't that where a merc like him belonged, he wondered – down in the dirt? If he tried to think back, back to a time when he hadn't been a bow for hire, Ira would always find that the memories would get cloudy, blurry – as if such a time never existed. It was his mind's own defensive mechanism, telling him to never look back, or he might get lost in the memories – frozen still, like a pillar of salt. So he moved forward, but sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder – how did he get into these situations?
Sure, he was a merc – but he was cleaning up his act now, doing Ansgar's work, and hunting down mages – or rather, magic-users, and bringing them in for a profit. Some dark voice in the back of his head asked him if he would still be doing this if he wasn't going to be paid for it, and the answer to that was in the negative. If he had not stumbled across the secret business of turning in mages, Ira probably would still be bloodying his arrows for senseless, thankless work – but at least now, he could justify himself and his motives, and could sleep a little better at night.
Or, he would sleep better at night, if he were not up in the damned Kilanthro Mountains.
They had been here for a week or so now – 'they' being his partners, fellow mage hunters employed by Hashasa – out on a job, following a lead on a pack of mages that were rumored to be secretly helping mages escape Connlaoth by helping them traverse through the Kilanthro Mountains, and find a safe haven in Hyoite. They were crafty guys, these mages – and Ira still had no idea how they had managed to elude the Mordecai, but that was why they were here. To silently bag some mages, and erase these tainted mages, who had been rumored to be slipping in and out of Connlaoth for quite some time now.
But rumors were rumors, and Ira didn't care for them – he wanted to find them, to be done with them, and to return to more peaceable climates. It was damned cold up here – and it had been snowing lightly for the past hour. Vern, the bloodhound Ira kept at his side, who could detect hints of magical energy, was scowling in annoyance, for even he could not stand such chilly weather. Ira gave him a quick pat on the head to silence him, and looked up ahead of him, at the mountainous landscape stretched before them, and couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.
They had been given a detailed report of what the mages were supposed to look like, and had even been supplied with what was supposed to be an article of clothing stolen from one of the mages, that Vern clung to possessively, hunting their scent. For the past week now, they had been following the mages careless trail – remnants of a campfire, evidence of magical energy left behind, and sometimes they'd get so close that they'd see footprints still in the snow, if the snow decided to let up. But so far, they had not seen hide or hair of the actual mages.
Suddenly, Vern's tail started wagging, and he let out a few loud barks. He ran ahead of the crew, taking a few turns and twists, off the beaten path, before eventually coming across a campsite. It was a full campsite, equipped with tents, a pot hanging over a burnt out fire, along with a few backpacks and rucksacks, filled with survival items.
"They must've been in a hurry," Ira muttered, "To just leave everything here, without even trying to cover their tracks..." He turned towards Sorin and Cadmus beckoning them over to the campsite. Before, the mages had at least covered up evidence of their presence, or at least tried to, but to just leave a campsite abandoned like this?
He crouched down to get a better view of the area, peering into the steel pot that hung over a burned out fire. Soup was still inside, and some of the bowls around the camp lay unfinished. "We must be close, maybe. Hell, maybe they even know we're chasin' 'em. I mean, why else would they be in such a hurry to leave, right?" He shook his head, thinking. "Either that, or they planned on comin' back here later..."
He shook his head – it was a conundrum, and Ira hated having to deal with puzzles.
