The moon shone bright and high, illuminating the rolling hills of western Falkenrath in a pale, eerie glow. The wind was stiff but intermittent, a light harbinger of the coming season of storms. The landscape was bare, save for a light path of dirt, beaten onto the face of the earth through years of use.
A wagon trundled across the hills, the squeak of its ancient wheels and the steady trot of the horses disturbing the peace of the night. The wagon was flanked by a horseman either side, with another riding in the van. The men atop the beasts were upright in the saddle, and alert despite the late hour, their hands never straying from their unsheathed weapons.
The wagon itself was low sitting and open, with five figures slouched in the back, huddled together for warmth. The group was silent, as were their guards, making the grinding, rhythmic sound of travel oppressive in the otherwise silent night.
Rukh sat next to the wagon driver, a raddled old merchant in new but ill fitting clothes. The acrobat was bored - she had signed on as a caravan guard three weeks ago, money was running low and she neededto save for the impending windy season. The ride had been uneventful; the caravan was carrying twine and felt and was not the most attractive target for brigands, until the young, enterprising leader of the outriders had happened upon an enclave of people. The presence of a badge on two of their cloaks had sealed their fate - they had been corralled, tied and bundled into the wagon to be handed over to the authorities.
Rukh sighed. She was unconvinced as to the supposed treachery of the prisoners - why would mages make themselves so easily identifiable if they were subversives? It didn't make sense. Still, she itched to talk to them, to see if they had any information relevant to her search.
Her hands tightly clutched the hilt of her sword, which was between her legs, as she fought the urge to leap into the back of the wagon and begin an interrogation.
