Hal Heartwick ran a hand through the short stubble of his nearly bald head, and sighed heavily; the speed of events over the last several weeks had been dizzying. He would have to accelerate his plans if he did not wish to fall behind his enemies, that could prove catastrophic. It had been a steady stream of bungled and foiled operations and personal losses in every corner of his organization; his remarkable string of luck and success that he had painstakingly built his empire around seeming to falter for the first time. To make his rapid fire month of bad news even worse, his man Vincent had brought him possibly the worst news anyone in the history of modern Verden had ever received, the realization of one of his greatest fears. After a century since humans had emerged from under the shadows of their winged tyrants, dragons had once again been spotted in Verden.
If the five have returned... it was too horrible to imagine but if the information was correct, and he did not doubt his source, they had returned. After all this time, all the sacrifices made by the last several generations of Verden, and the personal losses he himself had withstood, his enemy had still succeeded.
It was a shame that they had lost Andrew, he was a good asset and, more importantly, a good man that had been a trusted ally, a friend even, if he could consider anyone a friend in his line of work, for almost thirty years. Andrew's loss would be devastating to his organization. It was troubling that a dragon had gone to the farm so directly after waking; their ancient resting place must be close to Clearfield, there was no other explanation unless one of his enemies had managed to learn of Andrew's existence, which was a troubling thought of its own. He cursed bitterly, angered that they had never managed to find their hidden bodies before they had awakened. He needed to speak with his contact in High King Castius' inner circle, it was vital he knew what the rulers of Verden knew about the dragons. It was rare that the King's men had amassed information that he himself had not yet discovered, on any subject, so he doubted heartily he would glean anything important from their council. It should, however, be somewhat helpful to know if the nobility had plans on how to deal with the dragon menace before they were plunged back into a world of fire and ruin.
Absently he pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The nip of the fall breeze was beginning to carry with it a hint winter's wind. It was all very poetic, he mused to himself. The bards of the future would have a delightful time spinning tales of Verden's fall coinciding with the changing of the leaves and their own beautiful demise. If there were any bards left around to ruminate on such things he chuckled to himself. One could never be sure exactly how the future would play out, no matter how devoutly some people believed in the idea of fate. Fate was a simple excuse for people to divert the blame of their sad lives on some invisible master plan rather than their own poor choices, or the cruelness of the world. He chuckled to himself darkly; how easy would it be for him to blame so much of his life on the whims of fate. It would be incredibly freeing, he supposed, to blame the gods for everything that had befallen his life and his organization.
The sound of rustling leaves below quickly extracted him from his thoughts. It had not been particularly loud, but to Hal's trained ears it could not have been louder if it had been a royal procession with trumpets and drums heralding its arrival. He peered down the side of the small hill, upon which he was camped at the crest, to see several armed men clustered at the base. A quick glance around told him that they had almost completely surrounded the hill. They had been tracking him for several days now, ever since he had caught their eye near Dûnenor's Crest, a large plateau on the southern edge of the Great Plains of Verden. He had kept out of sight at first, believing them to be one of the High King's regiments, but they lacked the telltale insignia of a fist clenching a lightning bolt. Neither did they ride under the banner of Endemoor Provence where he had been traveling, and there were much too many well supplied men for it to be a group of bandits. Realization had struck him at that moment, these men must belong to his old friends. There had been ample time for a man such as himself to escape their notice, but he could not let this stroke of luck pass by. Now the trick was allowing the men to believe that he did not know he was being followed, that would give them the false pride that they were in control of the situation.
It had been a simple matter to allow their sentries to glimpse him as he walked openly near their camp that night, and he had kept a decent lead over them since. If the men had any real trackers in their group they would have noticed how obvious of a trail he had been leaving as he cut through the center of Verden. Extra trampled patches of grass, a scrap of fabric left on a bush, occasionally allowing himself to be spotted in the distance ahead of their party; this had been some of the most fun manipulations he had pulled in years. It was good to know he still had it in him, gods knew he would need to be at his best for what was to come next.
He sat cross legged on the ground and closed his eyes as if he were meditating. If he played his cards right, this could be the fortunate break that he had been looking for, a way to level the playing field in his favor. He relaxed his ever turning mind to the extent that he could, it had been decades since he had been fully at peace, and calmed himself for the coming interaction. If this interaction played out the way he intended, this could go down with limited violence. For their sake he hoped it would. His reputation alone should be sufficient enough to keep the soldiers at a weary distance, the stories of his abilities had grown to such ridiculous heights that the people who had heard of him believed he was capable of almost anything. Not that he was complaining, he had put much effort into growing those stories into almost legend status. If one believed half of the tales about him you would be under the impression that he could order the death of a nobleman with the slightest whisper, or single handedly topple a government within a week. He almost laughed to himself, it had been one small city-state in the Wildelands, not a massive empire, anyone could have done it given they had half a brain and knew how to use it. He had always been inspired to undertake grand endeavors, but if someone would have told him when he was a young man that he was going to grow up to be one of the most feared men in the world he would have never believed them.
Heavy footfalls clanked and crushed as the men ran up the hill, now certain in their ability to capture their quarry. Repressing his instincts to fling his eyes open, Hal sat still, his legs remaining peacefully crossed as he listened to the men begin to surround him. After nearing two decades on the run this 'surrender', even if it did advance his goals, was so antithetical to the man he had become that for the briefest moment he doubted whether or not he had made the correct choice.
"Halvor Heartwick, you are to come with us immediately." The apparent leader of the men intoned in a serious voice when they had loudly positioned around the wanted man's still form.
"You certainly took your sweet time getting up here," Hal observed not bothering to open his eyes. "And please, call me Hal. Only my mother calls me Halvor and she's been dead for many years." He stilled his breathing, listening intently so to discern whether or not his insolence was about to earn him a blow on the head. He remained still when no rustle of movement indicated that one was forthcoming.
"We did not want to alert you to our presence and let you escape," the lead man said, trying and failing to hide his irritation at the verbal jab.
"You should not have wasted your time trying so hard. I have been watching you follow me for days. If I had wanted to escape it would have been all too easy." Hal chuckled. He cracked open his eyes, peering at the men accosting him for the first time. The man who was speaking stood directly in front of Hal, looking exactly as one would imagine a man of his position to appear; cropped hair, a square jaw, and an unflinching gaze, the classic mid-level soldier look. Hal could have described the man before he had even opened his eyes. He slowly turned his gaze to see roughly a dozen men standing in a circle around him. Unlike their leader who had left his sword sheathed, the other men held various weapons ranging from short swords, to halberds, to crossbows drawn and trained on him.
The soldiers shared nervous glances, clearly unnerved at the realization that they were not as stealthy as they had believed. This is good, Hal thought, they clearly know who they are dealing with. He knew that a combination of pride and a fear of possible punishments that could follow such a glaring mistake would prevent the soldiers from letting on to their superiors that he had let himself be captured on purpose. Under the right conditions they might let slip that it had been easier than expected, which could lead some to consider whether or not his capture had been a set up, but that was inevitable regardless.
"You had no idea that we were following you, you are just playing mind games." the leader scoffed, attempting to bolster his men's confidence. He flicked his hard gaze around the circle of soldiers as if daring one of them to contradict him. The men seemed to draw some strength from their leader's spirit, some even beginning to nod their heads in agreement.
Hal laughed again, a low unsettling sound. "You can believe whatever you choose to believe. If it makes you feel better, you can tell your superiors that you have gotten the better of me, I would not dare to disagree."
"Shut up," the soldier barked, anger beginning to creep into his voice. "Stand and come with us now. They will want you alive, but if you should resist us... well, accidents happen." He slid his sword halfway out of his sheath, showing the polished steel to Hal with a look of quiet confidence that not many dared to show. Hal could admire the man for his resolve if nothing else.
"You need to lighten up," Hal advised, slowly rising to his feet. "Why are you attempting to take me hostage anyway?" He put extra emphasis on the word attempting. This time however the soldier did not take the bait.
"Because you are dangerous. Our superiors believe that it would be in our best interests to keep you out of the picture for the time being." He explained slowly as if he were speaking with a particularly dense child. Hal had to fight to stop the smile from spreading across his face, he loved getting under peoples' skin. He had a natural gift for the skill.
"Of course, because I am clearly your biggest threat. I can't think of anyone else that is more dangerous to your little...group," Hal said sarcastically, choosing his words carefully to maximize the condescension. In all honesty, he was not surprised in the least that these soldiers' superiors had come to that basic conclusion, they always had misevaluated risks.
"If you speak one more word, you will be unconscious for the duration of the trip," the soldier said forcefully, gripping the hilt of his sword tighter as he clenched his teeth together almost audibly grinding them in frustration.
"Is that a threat?" Hal asked quietly. Even said at a near whisper it caused several of the soldiers to tense uneasily, they knew that he was not a man to threaten lightly.
"You better believe it is," the lead soldier said, once again earning a small glimmer of respect that Hal would never voice aloud. Tougher men than this had fallen apart in front of his presence on more than one occasion. It was refreshing to speak with someone who possessed enough of a spine to stand their ground.
"Well, you lack logic, a sense of humor, and basic courtesy; traits I believe you inherited from your master. However, I will come with you." Hal inclined his head slightly in acquiescence to his new status as their prisoner. For the first time since their conversation began the soldier appeared more personally insulted than angered, but he held his tongue, not willing to say anything that would change Hal's mind to come with them peacefully.
"There, you're getting better already," Hal approved only semi-sarcastically, stretching his hands out in front of himself with mock impatience. An audible sigh of relief escaped from several of the men surrounding them. An extremely nervous young soldier with pale skin and hair so blonde it was almost white bound Hal's wrists with a length of rope, shaking profusely the whole while. The lead soldier motioned for Hal to walk behind him as the rest of the men formed up in a square pattern around him, leaving no side uncovered for a potential attempt at an escape. With another terse command from their leader they began a slow and steady military march down the hill towards wherever it was that they were taking him. Once again Hal struggled to suppress a smile.
It was almost too easy.