Traitor’s Ambush

Micro Contro — NQ 3

Sending Boomhowler and his trollkin anywhere near a big city like Corvis was a risk since they were liable to find some tavern and never emerge. Their “employer” did not like to leave them to their own devices for long. He was a small and shifty-eyed man with an Ordic accent, but he was dressed like a Llaelese fop. This worthy paced impatiently in the public room inspecting an ornate pocket watch and swearing under his breath.

He almost jumped out of his skin when someone spoke softly in his ear. “They won’t be making their appointment, I’m afraid. You’re going to take us instead.”

The fop spun and found himself face to face with a thin blond man in dark attire with a long scar across the bridge of his long and sharp nose. It gave him a resemblance to a bird of prey. “Excuse me?” He saw he was surrounded by an assortment of seedy looking men wearing grim expressions. None had drawn weapons, but several had fingers resting on blade hilts.

The blond man grinned at him, but there was nothing but malice in his smile — it did not touch his eyes. He held out a half-gloved hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, my name is Jarok Croe. When do we leave?”

“I don’t know you. Do you want me to call the — “

“Watch?” Croe finished the sentence. “Like that one?” He jerked his head to indicate one of the Corvis city watch seated at the other side of the tavern drinking ale and deliberately looking the other way. “Save your breath.”
“What is this about? I’m connected to — “

“The Syndicate? Yes, so am I. Listen closely, I know about your meeting. You will be taking me and my men, not Greygore. He and his crew are…indisposed. A rather severe case of food poisoning.”

“You can’t poison trollkin…”

Croe waved his finger in negation. “You are very much mistaken. They’ll be fine in the morning. Now, take us to your meeting.”

“He’ll kill us both!” The fop protested, looking miserable.

“There is always that risk.” Croe agreed amiably. “Now, shall we? Or do you want to make things… messy?”

The fop’s tavern had been a dive squirreled away right inside the south gate, so it was easy to exit the city in a carriage without drawing any attention and make their way along the King’s Highway. After several hours of travel, the armored carriage pulled over and Croe’s escort was allowed to tumble out and stretch their legs.

A hulking armored form stepped out from the shadows. His posture was hunched, and the hilt of an oversized sword jutted from above his shoulder. He rapidly unlimbered the broad-snout scattergun from his back and leveled it at the man next to the fop. “Croe! Where’s Boomhowler?”

“You’ve got the wrong man, Magnus. I’m Croe.” Jarok stepped out from the shadows of a tree nearby. His pistol Hiss was already drawn and pointed at the warcaster, but his posture was casual. “No offense taken. It is an honest mistake.”

Magnus scowled at the man under his rifle. The man he mistook for Croe was taller, had broader shoulders, and his face was shadowed under a wide brimmed cap. “I’d like to know how you manage that.” Giving Croe a look of scornful disregard, Magnus slung his rifle around again to his back.
Jarok gave another oily smile, and his pistol spun and vanished back into his holster. “Trade secrets — we all have them. I’m your replacement for the evening.”

Magnus folded his arms and stared at Croe. “This isn’t Syndicate business. Turn around now and I’ll let you live.” As if this statement had been addressed to him, the fop guide made a rapid exit.

Croe knew better than to test the warcaster’s patience. “We’re both wanted men here. I came at considerable risk, and I offer fair rates. You need extra muscle tonight; my services are yours.”

“My life’s in peril every minute I spend south of the Dragon’s Tongue. I trust neither you nor your men.”

Croe spread his hands and offered a slight bow in an attempt to appear humble. “Had I wished to claim your reward I could have done so already. I enjoy slitting the throats of Cygnaran officers as much as you do. I was given to understand this is a time sensitive operation.” He saw the look in Magnus’ eyes and realized just how close he was to death. Some of his confidence vanished. “I realize I have inconvenienced you — I’ll accept only half of what you intended to give Boomhowler. Consider this a test for future use of our services.”

Magnus’ expression was still angry, but his posture relaxed slightly. “You’ll accept whatever scraps I see fit to give you. There’s a secret convoy heading out of Corvis tonight on its way to Fort Falk. They should be here within the hour.”

“What kind of convoy, if I may ask?”

Magnus grudgingly an-swered. “Stormblades, maybe a journeyman or two. One is reputed to be some rising star in the eyes of Duke Ebonhart. A pretty face in need of seasoning.”

Croe’s expression was calculating. “It surprises me you would risk capture so close to Corvis for a couple of journeymen.”

“They’re guarding what I need.”

After a tense pause, Magnus added, “They’re escorting an inquisitor to Fort Falk for questioning. That’s not going to happen.”

“I thought they were all free already and set upon the Menites.”

Magnus’ scowl deepened. “Apparently your sources were mistaken. Ask me no more.”

Croe had no wish to antagonize Magnus further. “Of course. Dead as good as alive?”

“I need him alive. If he’s to die, it’ll be my hands. Remember that — leave the prisoner to me, but anyone else is a fair target.”

The cutthroat smiled at this instruction. “Certainly. You know my reputation.”
“There’s an abandoned barn on the west side of the road just north of here.

I’ve got a few ‘jacks fueled and stowed there. You wait in ambush here among the trees.” He pointed to the road where it curved below at the base of the hill. “I’ll come up from behind as you engage.”

“Any escape contingencies?” Croe asked casually as if the topic were of passing curiosity.

“I’m making east for Ternon Crag once I get the prisoner. You’ll be on your own.”

Croe gave another of his empty smiles. “Ternon Crag… I’ve always wanted to visit. I heard there may be opportunities in that direction for men such as ourselves.”

Magnus stared at Croe good and hard once more as if taking him seriously for the first time. “There may be. I can’t make any guarantees. Let’s see how tonight goes.”

Jarok Croe inclined his head respectfully and then stepped back into the shadows. He seemed almost to vanish before Magnus’ eyes. His men did likewise and left the warcaster apparently alone. Still scowling, Magnus turned on a jack-booted heel and strode away while pondering
the invectives he would hurl at Boomhowler the next time they met.