2.6 Luke's Favorite Prey

Pluie told them that it was a trap, but they took that carriage anyway. The driver, who almost certainly did not have a license, said he'd give them a huge discount since he didn't know any magic for cooling spells. Hours later, as his kidnappers lay half-dead on the floor, Pluie was about to say, 'I told you so' when the rude one—Vit—force fed him a language grimoire. Literally. It tasted like grapes. "Guys," he said, after committing such crime, "I can't... sorry, I need to sleep."

"Someone needs to stand guard," replied Svart.

"You... you do it..." Then Vit switched to a language they'd spoken to before, and which, only now, could Pluie understand. "You feel that? He's speeding up. I told you this was the one."

"I'm not stupid," replied Svart, in the same tongue. "I know. None of the locals fell for the trap. They must be targeting foreigners. Val, tell the guard the plan. Remember to sound pained."

"Yeah. Yes. So, um." Val and Pluie exchanged glances, then looked away as though they'd physically repelled each other. "So basically, we're gonna infiltrate the bandit camp and, um. And capture them. It's a double trap. Svart says that if you help, we won't report you for corruption, but that you also need to stop helping criminals because you guys are supposed to protect the innocent, not the other way around. Oh, yeah, and follow along. Pretend you can't understand us."

Pluie had figured that part out, yes. "What's going on?" He asked. "What is she saying?"

"None of your business," Svart growled.

"She doesn't look well."

"Your point?"

"We're almost there," the driver told them. "Just relax. I'll wake you guys up."

Pluie was great at improv, actually. He could cry on command. He'd been a theater kid. "Please hurry. They really don't look well."

The driver spared them a glance before focusing on the road. The moment he did, Vit gave Pluie a thumbs-up. "That's strange," said the driver. "Why are you worried about them? Why are you tied up, anyway?"

"Just a misunderstanding. The girl asked me for directions and... I messed up... and they thought I was tryna have my way with—"

The driver cackled.

Val blushed, scowling at Vit when he bit back a snort.

"...yeah. I don't think they're bad, though. You know how it is with southerners and their savagery. Gotta respect cultural differences."

Svart shifted, reaching for his claymore. He'd purchased it from the armory after kidnapping Pluie, as the other two convinced the shopkeeper and son that they were not, in fact, savages. "I can still... hear you. The moment we get out of here, I'll..."

"Almost there, almost there," the driver cooed. "No need to fight."

And he was right; tall, pink palm trees welcomed them, surrounding an oasis no larger than a city block. Scattered among the shrubbery stood yurts made of animal hide. That, or human skin. Pluie's heart began to race—no, pound, as though trying to escape. He didn't even need to act anymore. "Are we... where is... t-this isn't the city?"

"Nope, it's not."

"Then where are we? What's going on?"

"Listen, guard, I don't usually get locals involved. None of this is your fault, but... wrong time, wrong place, you know? If you talk to the chief, he might let you go... if you help us in the future."

The trio of foreigners exchanged glances. Pluie writhed against the ropes. Loud. So the driver would hear him struggle. "This can't be happening. This can't... please. I'll do anything!"

The carriage stopped. The driver hopped off it, summoning some water from the oasis for his lizards to drink. He looked almost as young as Pluie and was a half-beast of some kind, based on the way his ears drooped. "I'll talk to the chief," he said. "He might spare you, I dunno. Just don't try to be a hero. How are the southerners doing?"

Should he follow along or act like a fool? Svart shook his head, but Pluie had no idea what that meant. "T-they're... they. Please. Let me go. I won't say anything. Promise."

The half-beast driver waved at someone Pluie couldn't see until he inched closer to the edge of the carriage. It'd been years since his last performance, so he wasn't quite as confident of his facial expressions anymore. Then again, the fear was genuine. These weren't ordinary city thugs.

Sure, these three foreigners had to be strong if they'd been able to stand toe-to-toe with two of the heroes, but... still...

Pluie took a look outside. A couple other carriages stood not too far away. Near one of the biggest yurts, a group of bandits shared drinks, laughing, as one of them fiddled with an oud. Soon, another one joined with percussion. The group cheered. They might as well be adventurers or bounty hunters at the pub, or, well... guards.

Oh, and now there was a cooling spell. "Can anyone help me with these?" Asked the half-beast. "I got two men, a girl and, uh, a guard, but he says he'll cooperate."

How had he even ended up in this mess? After Cérise had so cruelly left with Mish, for some reason, Svart had presumed that Pluie had something to do with the escape which, granted, he had, but the accusation itself was unfounded. Still, Svart wouldn't budge. Not when Vit told him he was ridiculous. Not when Pluie begged for his life. Val only ever spoke to apologize and introduce her companions and herself, despite clearly not agreeing, either. After such a calamitous turn of events, having purchased new weapons and indebted themselves to pay the armory's damages, they bribed a guard (who had been Pluie's classmate yet pretended not to know him) into telling them about juicy bounties, and then... well. They heard about the "ghost carts". If you rode one of them, you never came back. The rest was history.

(What they didn't know was that certain guards used foolish bounty hunters as bait, to then capture criminals with big bounties and get a bonus for rescuing citizens in distress, but said classmate wasn't one of them. Else, Pluie might've actually had hope.)

It took almost a dozen bandits to drag the foreigners out, not before one of them actually stabbed Svart's hand with a metal rod. He grit his teeth. That was it. The stabby brigand observed, "You really knocked them out, huh?"

"Eh, wasn't too hard. They're as pale as maggots. The roof of the carriage is pretty thin. Fifteen minutes in and they were already on the floor."

The stabby bandit then glanced at Pluie, who swallowed.

This was it.

Time to beg for... no, no.

No longer was he sort of man who'd turn a blind eye to evil. They'd chosen this fate. He had to believe. Otherwise, he'd never be worthy of joining the heroes.

"Why three dudes?" Asked a (female) bandit. "They won't sell that well."

"...sell?"

They turned to look at Pluie.

"Y-you guys are... you're not... um. But..."

The female bandit smiled the exact same way Cérise had before. "What, are you gonna arrest us? Aw."

"...no..."

"He said he'd help," reminded the half-beast. "Right?"

"...no, I... no. You guys are—"

"Scum!" Svart swung his blade at her before she could react. When had he...? How had he...? Oh, a summon. He'd just lifted himself off the ground with one hand and used the centrifugal force of the swing to get up. Behind him, Val tried, and failed, to do the same. The worst part? The best part? None of the bandits looked too bothered, even when their companion flew across the air.

In fact, one of them laughed. "Guys! We got heroes again!"

The bandits having lunch cheered. One of them stayed, while the rest picked their weapons. Pluie had known all along that the "trap" was a trap. The trio hadn't listened.

By the time Vit tore Pluie's rope off with his bare hands, they were surrounded. The half-beast bandir didn't look that happy, all things considered. If... once... this was done, Pluie would make him the one to 'cooperate' with the guards as a protected witness, in order to get a lesser sentence.

As Pluie braced himself for a beatdown, the bandits parted, which... "The leader," said Svart, in their language. "You guys know what to do."

"But he doesn't," mumbled Vit.

"He doesn't need to—did you untie him? Are you stu..." As the bandit chief appeared, Svart trailed off.

The chief wasn't the strongest, or the smartest, or even the most cruel. What was it the half-beast had said? 'Wrong place, wrong time'. He could've been a guard or an adventurer or a bounty hunter, had things been different for him. A scar began near his forehead and ran all the way down his face, under the corner of his lip. A ghostberry branch adorned his thin upper arm and shoulder. "Good day," he said. "Let's try to do this the good way, all right?"

From the way Val and Vit glanced at Svart, one would've thought he was the real menace. "You're one of them, too," was his response.

"Huh? Oh! Yup." The bandit chief tapped at his tattoo. "So you're here for the bounty after all. Cute. Sorry, but you guys can't win. Don't bother... or so I'd say, but you'll attack us, anyway. Remember, don't hurt the girl too—" He caught Svart's next swing with his hand. Grinning, he lifted his tattoo marked with the real Sand Wraith insignia before the rest of the bandits struck.

***

The driver cried, "Halt!" when she noticed the ruckus. The lizards obeyed. Their tongues slithered as they took in the surroundings.

Metal clashing. Laughter. Screams.

'Heroes'.

Those were Luke's favorite prey. He found them funny, how they'd fall for obvious traps thinking they were one step ahead, blinded by the greed of a fake bounty. Once he grew bored of them, assuming some of them survived, he let the rest of the Wraiths do whatever they wanted.

"Oh, dear," mumbled the driver. She waged her options—to take her prisoners to the camp and miraculously avoid losing them amidst the mess, or to go back. However resilient they were, the lizards would not survive two voyages in a row. Already they looked spent, shifting, tilting their heads at their master.

"Your lizards are tired," Mish stated redundantly. "They're... you... you're powerless now. Fiend."

"Nah nah. Move, and you're dead," said the driver.

She took out her dagger again. Daggers. Nothing infuriated Cérise more than double wielders, but this wasn't the time for that. "I'm gonna die anyway," replied Mish. "I'll kill myself. I'll kill everyone. Better than to be a slave."

"I'm not kidding. They're trained. Calm down."

"No!"

Mish swung. The driver dodged. The lizards opened their maws, spinning around, as someone behind them screamed: "Sandstorm!"

Cérise barely had time to reach Snail before the carriage quite literally exploded with sand, gravel, and... ice? Was it because they were close to a water source now? While Mish lost her footing, the driver, the lizards, and the rest of them joined. The ground itself was twisting.

Akiha went on: "Sandstorm sandstorm sa—" until Cérise slapped his mouth shut. Still, the floor shook and threatened to envelop them. Violent gusts turned the sky red. Two-Rabbit was a giant furball again, bouncing, until he absorbed a screaming Mish, then Akiha. Cérise flinched at first, for obvious reasons, but it was either getting assimilated, or swallowed. With Snail clinging herself to the furball, it bounced, high in the air, towards the oasis.