Stewing

Armat Caravanserai

Malacost cursed the Pillars and his luck. Twice that wretched girl had been within arms reach and twice she had eluded him. First it had been that little thug that had tried to pull her away from her guard. And than the group of strange men from the desert had wounded her guard only to sequester her in the tent outside the fort before she was released back into the brunette woman that seemed to be an emissary for the Odonine. A witch as well, if the few glimpses of rumors he managed to capture were true.

Malacost was sure she was was from Helias as well. Her features didn't belong to anyone he had seen yet among these lands. And now both were gone. Gone into the accursed desert.

He bit into the meat and onion skewer voraciously, juices bursting over his chin. These people made good food for a bunch of infidels.

He needed a new plan. All this playing with his prey had cost him close to 500 gold pieces. He should have taken the assassin from the mountain village, but his cravings to hurt the young lass had spoken louder. Maybe he could go back. Take the man in, cash his bounty. Return to Margrave Otho. Sell the information he had learned, that the Odonine clans, allied to the Duke used witches as did the Odsier.

He finished his meat tossing the wooden stick on the floor. No, there was no turning back now. Only one way forward. Into the desert somehow. Into this cursed Holy City

He spat on the ground and melted into the shadows of the Caravanserai.