Morning came, and with it a dreary sense of hope. The dark mass of Raiders could still be seen to the north, but they were little more than a black smudge on the horizon, shadowed by a cloud of smoke.
"Glad we can put that behind us," said Gibb.
Sarn grunted, and led them down from the stone outcropping. They ate a meager portion of ration bars behind the shelter of a nearby thicket, and then Gibb dragged out his silky blankets, handing one to Meyer.
"Rest up, Greenie. I'd bet half my gold Sarn's going to push us hard tonight."
And indeed, Sarn did push them hard that night. Meyer's raw feet burned, and his legs dragged, but thankfully they stopped more frequently than usual as to allow Sarn to scout the surrounding area for any lingering danger. Soon Meyer lost count of Sarn's excursions into the darkness, the night blending into a repeating sequence of painful movement followed by brief recovery. The only break in this endless patter was when during one of the stops, a silvery object caught Meyer's attention. He stooped to the ground, and his fingers closed around cold metal. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see the outline of a skull fused with a five pointed star. The emblem filled his palm, and for a moment he felt a faint beating.
Just then Sarn appeared out the darkness. "Let's move," he said.
Meyer slipped the emblem into his pocket, and followed Sarn back into the night.
And so the days went by. At dawn Sarn would find a hidden area for them to camp, and at dusk they would set off again. The nights were long, and though Meyer sometimes thought he could hear a dull ringing in the distance, they were otherwise monotonous. The days were equally blurred. Meyer drifted in and out of sleep, deep into the afternoons as the empty land lulled him into submission. If they resumed their journey before nightfall, Meyer would survey the surrounding expanse for landmarks, but it was an exercise in futility, and he searched with his mind and not his heart. The plains were vast, and even when they reached a peak he saw nothing but endless hills, and grass, and patches of trees. Sometimes as they ate their ration bars before leaving, Gibb would make conversation, but Meyer mostly just shrugged and nodded. His blisters had turned to callouses, and his emotions had turned to steel. He was fairly sure Gibb and Sarn were not Raiders, but the conclusion only served to quell any fear about his immediate well being. He was hardly bothered by eating the same dense meal for days on end.
On the tenth day since his capture, Meyer was jolted from his comatose when Gibb returned from an afternoon scouting mission.
"Boss," he said. "Looks like we've got company."
Sarn jumped to his feet, reaching for his sword.
"Slow down," said Gibb. "For all you know I ran into a two-hundred year old blind Halfling."
Sarn withdrew his hand from the hilt of his sword, but his expression remained the same.
"Well actually," said Gibb. "It couldn't have been a two-hundred year old Halfling, because then he'd still be talking my ear off, but—"
"Gibb," said Sarn, his forearms twitching.
"I saw a few Raiders," said Gibb. "Just the normal highway bandits, though, nothing we can't handle."
"How many?"
"Eight or nine. I cast a vision charm, but it's hard to be sure."
"Well, let's lay low and see if they don't just go by."
"Not in the mood for a more forward approach, Boss?"
Sarn squinted into the plains and then spoke. "It's too open here. If we start moving we'll be seen."
Gibb shrugged, and leaned his back against the nearest tree, sliding down until he was sitting on the ground. "Ready to meet some Raiders, Greenie?"
Meyer swallowed.
"If we're lucky, we won't be meeting any," said Sarn. "Pretty unpleasant folk."
"Unfortunately, the Boss is right about that," said Gibb. "Though I'd bet half my gold those Raiders will be showing up soon. It's unlike them enough to be marching around in broad daylight. I have a feeling they've spotted us."
Soon night had fallen, but still they waited. Meyer found that he was more alert than usual, and his mind kept on returning to the stories he had heard about Raiders growing up. If half of them were true, then Sarn's description of Raiders as 'unpleasant' was a vast understatement. Eventually Meyer could bear the silence no longer.
"Can the Raiders really find us in the darkness?" he asked.
Sarn, who was leaning against a tree with his arms folded, turned to Meyer. "If they saw us earlier, they'll find us."
Meyer turned to look at Gibb.
The Halfling nodded in the darkness. "They spread out in small bands, and they know the land better than a Elf knows his birth woods. To you the plains might look like a random scattering of hills and trees, but to the Raiders—"
"Listen," said Sarn.
Gibb lifted his chin, and Meyer strained his ears. For a moment all he heard was the rustle of leaves, but then his muscles tensed as he discerned a dull trumpeting sound.
"They're communicating with one another," said Sarn.
His tone was bleak, but Meyer thought he caught a hint of admiration in Sarn's low voice.
"I thought Raiders attacked towns," said Meyer.
"That's just the big bands," said Sarn. "Most Raiders stick in small groups and harass travelers. They're quite adept at intercepting strangers passing through their territory."
"Which is why there is usually no point in hiding from Raiders," said Gibb. "And that's coming from a Halfling. Hiding is supposed to be in our blood!"
"We've seen them go by before," said Sarn.
"And if Gibb is right and they do find us?"
"Then Sarn and me do some talking." Gibb took a breath as though to continue speaking, but for once, Sarn paused him before he began.
"Enough talk," he said. We've made too much noise already."
Meyer saw Gibb shake his head, but the Halfling said nothing.
They waited in silence for long hours. Every so often Meyer would stand and stretch his arms, but just as his nerves would begin to settle, the low sound of a horn would echo in the night. Meyer wasn't sure, but he thought the blasts were growing closer. Finally, as the first light of early morning pierced the sky, a deafening horn blast broke the silence.
"That would be the Raiders," said Gibb, getting to his feet, which did woefully little to increase his presence.
Meyer was also standing, having sprung up at the sound of the horn.
Sarn turned to him. He had swung his sword from around his back, so that the straps held the hilt loosely above his hip.
"Stick close to me and Gibb," he said. "And, don't say anything, or make any sudden movements. The more at ease you can be, the better."
Meyer doubted he would be able to abide by Sarn's last bit of advice, but before he could say as much, a rustle in the trees caused him to whirl around, as a Raider stepped out of the foliage.
The Raider had long unkempt hair, and his exposed skin was tinged brown with dust and dirt. His clothes were tattered, but his display of weaponry was first class. Buckled to the sides of his boots were ten-inch daggers, and a curved scimitar hung from his belt. Strapped to his back was a shield and another sword.
There was another noise, and Meyer spun around in time to see a second Raider emerge from the trees. More rustling, and another appeared, and then another; a few seconds later he, Gibb and Sarn were entirely surrounded.
Meyer tensed—follow Sarn's lead—no sudden movements... Calm! But he couldn't, not when he felt his heart in his ears. He wanted to run—or hide—anything but stand there with his muscles feeling loose and heavy.
The wind blew, and Meyer inhaled the cool air. He took another breath. He wasn't dead yet. And he was a Martial Recruit, the son of Leo Brant. He clenched his teeth and looked around the circle. There were a total of fourteen Raiders, all ragged and heavily armed. A few were short and twice as broad as a normal men. They must have been Dwarves. Meyer hardly paused as his eyes traveled over their abnormally squat proportions.
And then a stocky Raider with shoulders big as weighing stones stepped forward. He had a thick beard and blue marble earrings that matched the color of his eyes. A massive hammer was strapped to his waist, complementing the axe slung across his back.
"And what brings you travelers through our land like thieves, unannounced?" said the Dwarf. He spoke slowly, his deep voice laced with rancor.
"Thieves," said Gibb. "Look who's talking."
The Dwarf's eyes narrowed.
"It's a wonder Halflings like you survive without learning to keep your tongues in check. I half fancy to crush your tiny skull right now, and I've hardly met you."
The surrounding Raiders jeered.
When they quieted, their leader continued. "Or maybe just strangle you with one hand."
Again there was laughter.
"And it's a wonder big folk like yourself don't learn that Halflings being small doesn't stop them from slitting throats."
The Dwarf stepped forward, fingering the hilt of his war hammer. "Is that a threat?"
"Why, yes. I thought that went without explaining," said Gibb, "But then again, you are a Dwarf, and they're known for being rather thick skulled. I suppose that might correlate with being thick headed—"
In a flash the Dwarf loosened the giant hammer from his belt and pelted it into the ground. "One more word and you're a dead Halfling!" said the Raider leader, pointing to the hammer which was lodged in the earth. "Mark my word, another sound from you, and when I leave this place I'll have the juice from your brain dripping from my hammer."
Meyer felt the last threads of his previous calm slip away. The encounter was about to turn violent, and he prepared to charge the gap between the two nearest Raiders. He might be able to catch them off guard and escape. Or maybe one of the Raiders would strike with a lazy attack. Then he could dodge and possibly rip free a weapon. He would have a chance of survival...
"Enough," said a Sarn. His voice cut through the air, freezing Meyer in his place. "I'm sure everyone is already well versed with the ageless conflict between Halfling and Dwarf. What my small friend meant, is that we are familiar with the Outlands. How much is your price?"
The Dwarf grunted. "And we're familiar with Blood Hunters. We know the boy is worth ten times anything you might give us."
"The boy stays with us, and that is non-negotiable," said Sarn, and slowly he reached towards the hilt of his sword.
"You're outnumbered seven to one," said the Dwarf. "That's no position to be making demands."
Sarn's eyes drifted around the ring of Raiders, before fixing on the Dwarven leader. "An old Raider is the one that picks his battles wisely."
The Dwarf glared at Sarn, as if to intimidate his enemy, but Sarn remained deadly still, his eyes empty, body powerful.
Meyer felt his heart pounding. They were at the precipice. Either he would live or he would be stabbed and bludgeoned to death.
And then the standoff was over; the Dwarf was speaking. "You're lucky that we just scored a nice haul, and I'm feeling good about my crew," he said. "Otherwise I wouldn't mind a nice pruning to get rid of the soft ones. But come now, let's see what you got."
Sarn took a small pouch from his belt and tossed it to the Dwarf. The Dwarf snatched the flying sack from the air, and pulled it open, peering inside. He wrinkled his nose, as if to smell the contents, then looked up at Sarn.
"We'll take it," he said. Then the Dwarf turned to the rest of his band and nodded.
With a loud rustling, the ring of Raiders disappeared into the greenery from which they emerged. The Dwarven leader picked up his hammer from the ground and tromped off after them. As he reached the edge of the clearing, he turned around.
"I won't forget you, Halfling. And mark my words, next time I won't be so forgiving."
For a few minutes, Sarn and Gibb stood silently. Meyer's eyes kept darting around the edges of the clearing, expecting to see the Raiders come bursting back through at any moment. But they did not return, and Meyer felt the pounding of his heart subside, the chirping of birds seeping back into his consciousness. The dawn had given birth to a sunny morning.
"Well, that went well," said Gibb.
"And you're quick to draw conclusions," said Sarn. "But what else is new."
"Come now, did you see the look on the Dwarf's face? That was a scared Dwarf or I've never traveled through the Outlands."
Sarn swung his sheathed blade over his shoulder and onto his back. "In any case," he said. "We better get going. We'll walk until noon, and then we can break until nightfall."
For several hours they walked through greenery and yellow grass, but as promised, when the sun reached its peak, Sarn found a shaded knoll and they stopped. Gibb quickly set up his makeshift bed and moments later Meyer could hear his soft, steady breathing.
Meyer wrapped himself in his own silky blanket and lay down, but sleep did not come to him. The encounter with the Raiders continued to replay in his mind, and after a time he opened his eyes. Sarn was sitting on a smooth stone with his legs outstretched, reading from his leather bound book. For a long time, Meyer stared at his captor, feeling more alive than he had in days. Finally he sat up.
When Sarn didn't say anything, he spoke. "Why did Gibb provoke the Dwarf?" he asked.
To his surprise, Sarn laughed. The sound was guttural and brief, but there was no questioning the slight smile on his captor's lips. "Well, it's not only because he doesn't like Dwarves, though believe me, Gibb doesn't like Dwarves."
"That's not true," said a groggy voice.
Meyer turned and saw Gibb rollover in his sleep, muttering to himself.
"Don't mind him," said Sarn. "He's still sleeping. Unfortunately even that doesn't completely silence him."
Again Meyer thought he caught a quiver of a smile flicker across Sarn's face.
"Anyway," continued Sarn. "When Gibb acts aggressively, he demonstrates our strength. If you show Raiders you're not worth the fight, they'll leave you alone. It also helps if you pay them off."
Meyer nodded.
"And why did the Dwarf call you a Blood Hunter?"
Sarn hesitated a moment. "It's a name for the trade in which Gibb and I partake." He stood and walked over to Gibb, shaking the small body awake.
The Halfling sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"I'm going to scout around," said Sarn. "When I get back I'll want to rest." Without waiting for Gibb to respond, he set off into the surrounding landscape.
Gibb yawned and stood up. He was stretching his arms when he noticed Meyer and cocked his head. "Greenie? What are you doing awake?"
"Oh," said Meyer, who had forgotten he was sitting up, blanket cast aside. "I was just talking to Sarn."
"I'm impressed you got that stoic statue to speak. He's not much of a conversationalist." Gibb reached into his pack took out his water skin. "What were you discussing?"
"Nothing really," said Meyer. "I just asked him about the Raiders... why you're called Blood Hunters."
Gibb gave a curt laugh. "Bet Sarn didn't have too much good to say about the title of Blood Hunter, though considering we traffic in magically inclined people, I can't say it's too inaccurate myself."
"What?" said Meyer.
"The name Blood Hunters, it's quite accurate."
"But what did you say Blood Hunters do?"
"We bring people with strong magical ability from the Outlands to the High Provinces. Why else do you think Moon would be interested in you?"
Meyer stared blankly.
"You do know who Moon is—did Sarn and I not tell you about him? He's our client. Lord of Ilith, actually, but a good man. I wouldn't be surprised if you thank me later for bringing you there... "
Gibb tilted his head towards Meyer who sat with a quizzical look on his face. "Greenie?"
"I know who Moon is," said Meyer. "Sarn told me you were bringing me to him. He just never said why Moon wanted me..."
"Why else would Moon want you if not for your magical talent?"
Meyer didn't say anything. The rational part of his brain wanted to express disbelief, but his mind seemed to have transitioned into a state of osmosis, better suited for accepting rather than processing information.
Gibb sighed loudly, bringing a hand to his forehead. "I should have expected as much," he said. "You're just like the other Outlanders. Don't even recognize your own magic when it hits you on the head."
"So you're telling me I'm magical," said Meyer slowly.
"Sure, if you want to put it that way."
Again there was silence, but when Meyer didn't say anything, Gibb continued.
"Now, if you don't mind me saying, you look rather shocked. Quite like you've just seen a shade. Why don't you go relax and think about things until your face takes on a more normal expression. I'll bet you half my gold that in a few hours you'll be wishing you had gotten more rest."
Meyer lay down, silently pondering Gibb's words. There had been the experience in the tunnel when Sarn had captured, but he hadn't done any magic then. Sarn had been the the one to cast a spell at him... And then there was the sparring match with Dex, but everything had been normal until... until the strange haze, the explosion of strength... Had he been too quick to dismiss his overly powerful attack on Dex?
Meyer shook his head. It just couldn't be. He had been so angry when he attacked Dex... even thinking about it was making his pulse quicken. Meyer pulled the light blanket around him and rolled over. The last thing he needed was to start thinking about Vanroc. Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his mind. To his great surprise, he fell asleep.
The following days passed uneventfully. For a time Meyer contemplated the possibility of his magicality, but the matter soon seemed irrelevant. He knew nothing about magic, and whether or not he had some unnatural proclivity for it made no difference. Instead Meyer's attention shifted to the changing geography. The crags and wild tangles had given way to soft hills and tame woods and underbrush, and with their passing came an uplifting aura. Gibb had taken to hunting while they breaked from their journey, and as a result, they were often spared travel rations in favor of rabbit or squirrel stew (the latter which Meyer took to rather quickly, despite it being, as Gibb pointed out, an 'acquired taste'). Even Sarn seemed to have lightened up, having shifted their schedule so that they departed in the late afternoon and stopped while it was still dark outside. According to Gibb, they were reaching the edge of the Outlands, and even a curmudgeon like Sarn had to ease up on the rules. Meyer greatly appreciated the change in schedule, and found himself looking forward to the afternoon part of their journey. On a good day, they might summit a ridge, and have a short opportunity to look out over the expansive landscape, but even when the afternoons were passed winding through trees and valleys, Meyer enjoyed the wildflowers and tangled shrubbery.
On the seventh day since their encounter with the Raiders, they saw a group of people in the distance. At first Meyer thought it was another band of Raiders, but both Sarn and Gibb assured him it was only a trading caravan, and as their path neared that of the other travelers, Meyer saw that his captors had spoken truly. The procession consisted of many mules laden with goods, and a score of men clad in shiny helms and carrying tall spears. Gibb explained that just as Raiders could be paid off, they could also be intimidated by a stalwart escort.
Indeed, over the next few days, Meyer continued to see other traders traveling into the Outlands. Most seemed to travel alone or in small groups, and he never caught more than a glimpse of them as Sarn seemed to navigate precisely to avoid any direct encounters, but still, such sightings were always a welcoming change in the scenery. Finally, they reached the official end of the Outlands.
"Well look at that, Boss," said Gibb. "Right on schedule."
They had reached the peak of a small hill, and in the distance rose the dark outline of man made structures.
Sarn shaded his eyes against the afternoon sun. "If we get to Urbana before nightfall, we'll be ahead of schedule," he said.
"Of course," said Gibb. "I should have guessed that on schedule wouldn't be good enough for you."
"I don't suppose you'll be complaining tonight when you have a roof over your head, and a full plate of food in front of you."
Gibb raised a finger in the air. "The Boss makes a fair point!" He extended his arm forward. "Onward!"
At first the city remained a blotchy outline on the horizon, but by late afternoon the large walls were in plain sight. Tall towers towers rose from the ramparts, and the roofs of large buildings peaked out from within.
"What is this place?" asked Meyer.
"Urbana," said Gibb. "You've never heard of it?"
"No," said Meyer.
Gibb raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
"Almost all the goods going in and out of the Outlands come through here," he said. "It's the meeting place of three main roads, and in the times of the Aramore Kingdom it was one of the largest trading posts in the known world. This whole area used to be covered with lodging, warehouses, stables."
Gibb waved his arm over the empty plains, and Meyer looked around incredulously. All he saw was tall grass and clusters of trees.
"It's been over five hundred years since then," said Gibb. "I wouldn't expect to see much. Most of the structures were quarried for their stone, and what wasn't hauled away was leveled off to plant farms, though even those are gone now."
"How do you know all this?" asked Meyer.
"Basic history," said Gibb. "I suppose they didn't teach you any of this in Vanroc?"
"No." said Meyer.
"Well, I can't turn you into a scholar in one day, but you should at least know your own history. The Aramore Kingdom ruled the entire East for generations. Lore masters say its kings reigned for over six hundred years."
"So all the Outlands were once part of the Aramore Kingdom?"
"Except they weren't the Outlands back then," said Gibb. "They were the western province of the Aramore Kingdom, and they were prosperous. At its peak, the Aramore Kingdom was probably as powerful as any of the Great Realms.
"And then around five hundred years ago the Kingdom collapsed. Nobody's quite sure why. Some attribute it to famine, others to Trolls descending from the Darnac Mountains... There are even tales about a dark power that arose in the east, but those are more legend than history. Either way, in the course of a generation, the whole Kingdom was gone. If you travel to the right parts of the Outlands you can see some of the ruins of the bigger cities, but Aramore was known for its agriculture, not its architecture, so mostly there isn't much left to see. And of course the Raiders plundered the biggest cities long ago."
Meyer kicked a stone on the ground. Up ahead the gates of Urbana loomed tall against the setting sun. He found it hard to believe that the land he was walking through was once filled with large buildings, and even harder still to believe that the Outlands were once home to a great civilization.