“Skilled people,” Lowa suggested, as they talked about the people who broke into Garner’s Tower, “probably assassins. Likely they were hired to take out some of the Towers that aren’t responding.”

“Yes, but Chief and I left some nasty surprises for them.” replied Garner, still angry about the invasion.

Lowa chuckled darkly, however everyone else in the camp was still very alarmed by the news, none more so than the two apprentices, who fell themselves straight in the cross-hairs of the surging violence. Wizards were powerful in various kinds of ways, but assassins were experts in taking out from knights to mages, and only the very rich could afford their services, especially of the Order of Fidajin.

“My family’s Tower?” Leanor worriedly asked.

“They’ve sent messages. They failed to infiltrate the Tower, but they are under siege, lass. There’s nothing we can do from here.” replied Lowa.

“They will hold for a long time, Leanor, the Towers aren’t an easy thing to crack,” He added, to her benefit. As far as he could tell, many wandering practitioners were murdered, but few Towers had fallen. And those who did, were mostly betrayed by their servants from the inside, he decided not to tell them, though he couldn’t help but glance at his own people.

The servants mumbled between them, worried about their now dangerous relationship with a wizard, but a dark glare from the majordomo cut that particular crisis short. The Chief and his men nodded grimly at Garner, their oaths bound them to stay by his side anyway, but their support was appreciated. Some wizards preferred to keep retainers instead of avowed warriors, and some had payed dearly for that.

“How could they do it so fast, Master? Hit all those Towers? And what about ours?” Tealdin asked, his eyes boring into his Masters’.

“They must have managed to delay the news of the revolution happening until most their soldiers were in position - I truly didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I’ve gotten a message from Lord Gilliam’s mage that he’s besieged at his castle after denying the Lotharian demands. Because of that conflict, our Tower is still mostly untouched.”

Everyone couldn’t happen but to be happy for the sharp foresight that Master Garner and Lowa showed. If they had kept at their routine, they would have been in a much more direr straits.

“And what can we do?” burst out one of his footman, his wide eyes showing the beginning of panic.

“We will do what we set out to do, good man. We’ll journey to the Third Spire, fortify and repair it. We’ll hole up there, and do our best to offer assistance to wizards and mages in need.”

“Master,” Tealdin interjected, “Would anyone risk attacking and damaging one of the Spires?”

Before he could answer, Leanor asked, chagrined, “What do the Spires do again, Master?”

Most of Garner’s party, save Lowa and Tealdin, looked at him hoping to hear good news for once. He gave a pointed look to his ward, promising hours of lessons for his lack of basic historical knowledge. Lowa laughed at the master-student by-play. Clearing his throat, he turned his eyes back to his audience.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of the Elfey?” He began, receiving nods from all of those around him. The Elfey figured in most stories mothers told their children to make them behave, always involving gruesome ends to naughty children. “The Spires are part of an ancient seal to keep the Elfey from our lands. There was a pretty big war when they were building them, and they held out against many sieges till all five of them were completed and they performed the banishment ritual.”

“A strong and proven fortification…” considered the Chief, liking their prospects better.

But one of the maids nearly panicked, “The Elfey?! They say they pass through the borders still, Master Garner!”

“Be quiet,” reprimanded Romer, the majordomo, “Trust that Master Garner knows what he is doing.”

“It’s true it happens, girl, but rarely. The seal is getting old. But we have a lot more to worry about than the Elfey at the moment,” said Lowa.

“Yes,” Garner confirmed, “And though I know you’re all excited, I still have to ask you to try and sleep. It’d be better to make good time today, it’s best not to tempt fate.” The wizard shooed his people back into their tents, massaging his neck, stiff by the tension of the last days.

But his hunters approached him before he could retire to his own tent. “Master,” one of the two said as they approached. “With what you’ve just told us, we think it would be more prudent for one of us to range ahead tomorrow, and for the other one to lag a ways behind.”

“Alright, I trust your judgment,” Garner replied. And he also trusted that there were probably some people on their trail already. Most likely, only scouts, but you could never be too careful.

“We’ll also set some more traps and alarms, Master,” the other one said.

“Yes, feel free to, though I’ve also set some magical precautions.”

With no one or nothing else to deal with, Garner tiredly looked for his tent, stepped carefully over his wards, and joined them in an uneasy sleep.

***

At the same night that Garner lead his party out of his Tower in search of the safety of the Third Spire, a group of the Chief’s companions were getting ready to head there after receiving the veteran's message. They were to join Master Garner’s band of warriors, maybe even take the vow if they liked what they saw. The Chief had warned that these were dangerous times for people affiliated with wizards and they should keep it quiet. But they were used to dangerous situations and so were confident, having faced a lot more dangerous opponents than a rabble of wizard-hating peasants.

Orwin and his companions, the fair-haired siblings Mons and Maia, had just packed their belongings in the tavern rooms they had been sleeping in, and gone downstairs to the cozy common area for dinner and a last drink before departing early on the next day. Behaving in public, the former soldiers were bearing only short or concealed weapons, and enjoying the crackling hearth’s warmth. They heard the beginning of a tumult starting outside the tavern, but didn’t pay it much heed, not even bothering to take a look out the windows at the dark streets, lighted only by scant torchlight.

The warrior, scratching his almost bright bald head, was distracted briefly by the noises outsides, trying to make sense of them with the minimum amount of effort, as he didn’t wish to get involved in whatever was going on. When he turned to his companions, he realized there still in the middle of the ceaseless bickering he’d had to deal with for years now.

“I’m telling you, Maia, that serving-girl was looking at me!” his male companion argued, slapping the scuffed table for emphasis.

“You’re dumb, Mons. She was just preoccupied with the disturbance outside.” His female companion replied, scoffing at her brother.

“Knock it off, you two.” Orwin interrupted, securing his keg of beer to avoid spilling if they decided to get more rowdy. “I was wondering myself why things aren’t calming down yet, it’s been a while already.”

The pair finally stopped arguing, and payed more attention to the noise. They noticed there was shouting, and it seemed closer to the tavern than before. The common area of the tavern had actually quite a lot less occupants than they were used to seeing. The balding and pot-bellied barkeeper cleaned glasses nervously with a rag, glancing at the door from time to time.

“Wait here.” Orwin oriented his companions, his heavy and wide frame making his stool creak as he rose to have a talk with the man about what the hells was happening on the village. They were staying on Green Knoll, a prosperous little village near Arburgh, not far from Master Garner’s tower. “Barkeep,” He called as he approached the bar, leaning his elbows on the wooden surface, “Should we know something about what’s going on?”

The man looked at him nervously, checking on the rest of the patrons before setting the rag over his shoulder and leaning closer to him. “What I’ve heard is that a a lot of soldiers approached Lord Gilliam’s keep down in Arburgh. Everyone is worried that there could be trouble…” the tavern’s owner told him, raising his hands in helplessness.

“Trouble here?” Orwin frowned at the man. “I thought this was a remote and peaceful land, what trouble could there be for your lord and you folk?”

“The Lotharian kind of trouble, soldier. They say wizards are betraying the Realm, and are hunting them. They have made a camp watching the city close to us.” Orwin nodded at the man’s words, not bothering to correct him about being called a ‘soldier’. His soldiering days were done, but his posture would always mislead discerning eyes. He had to grimace at the news, though, it seemed the threat to Master Garner was graver than he had believed, and that put Orwin and his companions in a more danger too were they to be found.

He could only hope the local lord resisted the Lotharian intrusion on his lands and their demands to give them time. Still, that situation would probably get nasty for Lord Gilliam’s outlying villages like this one. The former soldier turned to the siblings and gestured for their room upstairs. Both of them nodded, a lot more serious now after hearing his talk with the barkeeper. He joined the pair upstairs, and they put on their armors, helping each other with the straps and buckles, and strapped their shields to their backs, weapons to their belts or on slings.

Full of steel, some of it carrying some minor wards they had scrounged up money to pay wandering mages for, the group picked up their backpacks and went down again the creaky stairs. The few people still in the inn got out of the way of the intimidating group, and the barkeeper nodded farewell, a bit worried about losing the company of warriors in such a situation. As Mons approached the bar’s door, it suddenly burst out inward, catching him squarely on the face, making him stagger back as a boy stormed into the establishment together with a cold draft of wind. Maia was furious, and decked the boy with a powerful hook to the side of the head before Orwin could react, knocking the boy to the ground.

As she was readying a kick to the stunned boy, Orwin recognized him as the bar’s stable-boy, and pulled her back. “Take it easy, Maia, it was an accident.” He told her. As always, the reaction time of the archer surprised him, and that was one of the reasons she was terrific at her job. Orwin hoped never to give her a reason to shoot at his ass. Maia scowled at the scared boy laying at the ground, looking up at her, and turned back to her brother. Mons signaled he was alright, though his other hand was making pressure on his bleeding nose.

“What the fuck you thought you were doing, boy?” she asked, still angry.

“S-sorry, ma’am! It’s just that there’s a mob forming, blaming the witch upstairs for our trouble!” the stable-boy reported, making the tavern-keeper pale. “I think they will come here, or warn the Lotharian, boss!”

“Witch?” asked Orwin, frowning at the situation. “Weren’t they hunting wizards, what does a witch have to do with that?”

“They don’t care, mister!” answered the boy.

The barkeeper exited the bar, and stammered, “Please, help her! The mage is staying here, and she has never hurt no one, mister soldier!”

“Witch or mage, we’ll help her.” decided Orwin. He entered sergeant mode, and started organizing everything to avoid a disaster: “Maia, go get her. Boy, fetch and ready our horses plus another one, if you have it. Mons, quit feeling sorry for yourself and go get our packs!”

No one questioned him, and got right into executing his impromptu orders. The grateful barkeeper was confused when he threw him a couple of golden coins, and he had to clarify, “For the extra horse.”

“No need,” the man replied, throwing them back. “Just make sure she’s safe.”

Even if a lot of these villagers were panicky sheep, ready to throw other people in harm’s way to protect themselves, there were always a few worth their salt. Orwin nodded at the decent man, and exited the tavern to the cold night, helping the stable-boy to raise and strap one of the heavy bags Mons had brought down. The sound of a crowd moving was drawing closer, and the boy kept glancing nervously behind his shoulder until Orwin told him to get away from the tavern.

As Mons got the last horse ready, Maia exited the tavern, pulling a disheveled and confused woman by the hand, and though it was dark, Orwin couldn’t help but to notice how stunning the ‘witch’ was, with flowering black hair and blue eyes. He broke out of the (non magical) spell, and said, “Let’s go witch, ride up.”

“Not a witch.” the woman replied automatically, as if she had to make that correction constantly, but Maia was already pushing her toward the new horse. Though annoyed, the woman accepted the help to get up on the saddle, clutching a bag with the meager belongings that she’d managed to pack under Maia’s urging.

“The name is Valena, and I have to th-” the not-witch began to tell them, when the baying of the panicked crowd seeing its scapegoat getting away reached them, making them turn and see dozens of pitchfork and scythe-wielding villagers charging towards them. The warriors jumped on their saddles with no need of Orwin commanding them.

“Follow us if you want to avoid a burning at the stake, Valena.” yelled Orwin over the howling mass, while the siblings traded a glance, communicating their feelings about it the way only twins could. “Ride!”

The foursome prodded theirs horses, and was soon galloping out Green Knoll and Arburgh, away from Lord Gilliam’s impasse with the Lotharians, and towards the Third Spire and Master Garner’s group. But a villager had left for the Lotharian’s camp earlier, and trying to curry favor with the soldiers, he informed them about the presence of a witch in the tavern. A group of soldiers rode out from the camp to Green Knoll as Orwin’s group departed. The frightened villagers who didn’t run in panic at the arrival of the soldiers pointed out the direction the warriors and the ‘witch’ had left.

The chase was on.