The Lion’s Den

Dust burned in Lucius’ eyes as the line of merchants inched forward almost imperceptibly, his gaze still lingering on the spot where Calzorak had taken Melissa away. 

Tagunel stepped closer to him. 

“Lucius… you have to pull yourself together.”

Lucius blinked, forcing himself to look ahead.

“How can we just stand here?!” Lucius hissed. “They have Melissa! What if they...” 

His voice broke off, and Liviana leaned closer. 

“Calm down. If we suddenly run off, it’ll draw attention. And that would be a death sentence for Melissa as well.”

Lucius clenched his fists. “I can’t just stand here and do nothing!”

Tagunel lowered his voice further. “Do you want us arrested before we even get close? Think of the mission.”

Lucius let out a quiet snort. “To hell with the mission…”

Suddenly, Liviana grabbed his arm, her claws digging lightly into his sleeve.

“Listen to me. If we want to help Melissa, first we need to get inside that tent. Then we can get someone to bring her back.”

Lucius ground his teeth, his entire body trembling with suppressed rage.

“So we’re just supposed to wait here…”

“...Until they call us,” Tagunel answered. “Then we keep playing our roles. And once inside, we’ll find a way to act without raising suspicion.”

Liviana released his arm, her gaze flicking briefly toward the large tent. “Besides… I think she can handle herself. You know what Melissa is capable of.”

Lucius clenched his teeth.

Then a booming voice called from up ahead: 

“Lucan di Almarath!”

Tagunel grabbed him by the sleeve. “This is it, now or never!”

They took a deep breath and stepped under the high roof of the Lords' Tent.

Inside, oppressive heat engulfed them, the air thick with the smell of meat, exotic spices, and burnt resin.

To the right and left sat the entire nobility of Yashar, all lavishly dressed, cross-legged on colorful cushions. 

Servants hurried back and forth, collecting lists, checking seals and records, delivering food and drinks.

On a raised dais beneath a vast domed canopy, a group of men in heavy armor sat enthroned. 

Those must be the Yashari Warlords.

“Lucan di Almarath?”

He nodded, as one of the scribes beckoned them closer.

“This is my business partner, Brandhel of Regitsu,” Lucius continued. “We’ve come to pay tribute.”

“What have you brought?” asked the scribe, as he gave Liviana a thorough once-over.

Tagunel gestured to a crate filled with fine fabrics and precious delicacies from Tiberun.

“Fine silk, rare oils, and…” Tagunel swallowed. “…two rare Selvarin, as a special gift. The second one was… already examined by Lord Calzorak. Perhaps she could be brought back here? It would be a shame if the other Lords did not also have the chance to see such exquisite goods.”

“Hmmph. Calzorak…” The scribe grimaced as if he’d bitten into something bitter. “Consider your other slave lost. Be grateful he didn’t take both of them. Wait over there. You’ll be called shortly.”

They joined a new, smaller line before a low step leading up to the warlords. 

Lucius gave Tagunel an anxious look.

"What do we do now?!" He whispered to Tagunel.

But then he spotted a familiar face, and his heart nearly stopped.

Sitting a little apart from the other Lords, was a man whose face was half wrapped in bandages. Shiny, taut skin stretched over one burned cheek, and one side of his lip was grotesquely twisted.

Lucius felt his temples pound. “The bandit leader, he's alive! But why is he here?” he whispered.

Tagunel pulled him aside. “He can’t recognize us. Pull up your hood!”

They concealed their faces as best they could while Liviana hunched down, letting her hair fall forward to obscure her features.

A servant announced them loudly.

“Lucius di Almarath and Brandhel of Regitsu, from the northern lands!”

They stepped before the Lords and threw themselves to the ground, not so much out of reverence as to hide their faces.

One of the Lords spoke up.

“You come from Tiberun? What brings you to offer us tribute?”

Lucius kept his gaze lowered.

“Our young trading company lies near the border. We hope, through a gesture of respect, to lay the groundwork for trade that will benefit us all.”

The Lord burst into loud laughter.

“You fear for your skins, that’s all!” he bellowed. “But fear is a wise advisor if you intend to trade near our borders. You bring tribute? Good. We’ll see if it’s worth sparing you, if we decide… to extend our borders.”

He turned to another Lord, behind whom the supposed bandit leader sat.

“Lord Sahmir, was it not your son who was tasked with guarding the borderlands of your estates? Perhaps he could see to this matter?”

Lucius felt a chill run down his spine. 

“He certainly could, if my worthless son didn’t spend his time getting himself mutilated.” His gaze slid backward, his voice dripping with both scorn and disappointment. “Isn’t that right, Nazirul?”

Nazirul leapt to his feet, glaring at his father. Without a word, he left his place, while Lucius and his group were signaled to make way for the next merchants.

They bowed deeply and slipped aside, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the disgraced Lord’s son. 

But scarcely had Nazirul taken a long draught of wine when his eyes began scanning the hall.

Finally, his gaze settled on Lucius and Tagunel, and he approached them.

“Lucan di Almarath… from Tiberun?” His voice was calm but razor-sharp. “What kind of business do you conduct in the border regions?”

Lucius remained silent as Tagunel spoke without looking up.

“We trade mainly in silk, oils, spices… and slaves.”

Nazirul stared at Liviana longer, his eyes narrowing, yet he didn’t seem to recognize her.

“Hmm. Slavery is forbidden in Tiberun. How do you manage such a trade?”

“You see, noble Lord,” Tagunel replied swiftly. “There’s little legal oversight along Tiberun’s southern border. It doesn't attract much attention if a few refugees… vanish there.”

Nazirul twisted his burned lips into a crooked smile. “You have business sense. I like that. Very well. One of my men will contact you. You may go.” Then he turned away to speak with one of the scribes.

For a fleeting moment, it seemed they were getting away.

“Thank you, my lord,” Lucius said. 

But just then, as Nazirul half-turned away, he froze.

Slowly, almost mechanically, he turned back to Lucius.

“Wait…” he said softly. “A human… and a halfling.” 

Then his gaze locked onto Liviana, who was trying to turn her face aside.

Slowly, he stepped closer. 

Lucius instinctively held his breath as Nazirul stared deep into his eyes.

“You!” he finally spat out.

Then everything happened at once.

“Fumogairm!” shouted Tagunel, who had already slipped several concealed vials into his hand. 

A dense cloud of smoke exploded throughout the tent.

Voices roared, guards charged forward, sabers drawn, cutting through the swirling haze.

Liviana tore the chains from her body, seized a tray, and smashed it into a guard’s head.

“GET THEM!” Nazirul bellowed.

A soldier rushed in, uncorked a flask, and cast a Ventha spell.

The blast tore through the tent, sending canvas flapping until everything became visible again.

“Run!” shouted Liviana.

Lucius grabbed a long, oval fruit he’d snatched in the chaos and poured an Essence over it. 

“Mutaglavior atharraigh!” 

The fruit flared with bright light, grew longer and thinner, and transformed into a long, strangely shaped sword.

With a single slash, he cut an opening in the tent while Liviana and Tagunel fought off the advancing guards.

Icicles whizzed past their heads as a Yashari mage hurled Essences at them, while three soldiers charged at Liviana.

With a swift kick to the leading man’s knee, she sent him crashing down.

She spun around and raked her claws across the throats of the others.

Spikes of frozen shards struck her in the shoulder, spraying blood.

She hissed in pain. 

“Liviana!” Tagunel shouted.

“I’ll hold them off! Get out of here!” she yelled back.

“We’re not leaving without you!” Lucius protested, but Liviana merely flashed him a wicked grin.

“Don’t worry. I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. I’ll catch up. Trust me!”

Lucius and Tagunel exchanged hesitant looks.

“You’d better come back, or else!” the halfling growled finally, before they dashed out.

Behind them, the sounds of battle and Nazirul’s furious roar echoed through the tent:

“STOP THEM! DON’T LET ANY OF THEM ESCAPE!”

Horns blared into the night, torches flickered between the tents. 

Somewhere, a warlord bellowed orders, and soon after, all of Sahzarun knew Intruders were on the loose...

...as the city of tents blazed with chaos.