“What do you mean they’re gone! How could you imbeciles lose track of an entire caravan! What do I even pay you lot for! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT NOW!” Xeander could be heard throughout the palatial building, followed by the sound of shattered drinking cup. Many of the servants could be seen taking special care to avoid his path, especially after and during his time with the commanding officers of the guard.

Only one individual showed no hint of fear or intimidation as he casually approached the study, moving aside as the officers of the guard scurried past and down the halls as fast as humanly possible. “Is that you Lysias… You are the only one I can trust; the rest of these incompetent buffoons are incapable of carrying out even simple tasks. What suggestions do you have that we might find that hateful low born cretin Cadeyrn.”

Lysias did not immediately answer, instead taking a seat across from his lord and pondering the question allowing Xeander to slowly stew in anticipation. As if sensing the corpulent man’s growing agitation, he decided to make his suggestion at that specific point, forcing Xeander’s full attention upon him. “My Lord, I believe there is still time to catch our prey. They may have eluded our grasp yet again, but they have wagonloads full of additional baggage. Should we organize a small pursuit force made up of cavalry, they should have no problem catching up. However, the cost will not be cheap, and we will need to set out by tomorrow at the latest.”

“You have never failed me before my servant, but that old fox is a crafty one. No doubt he has a plan… he always has a plan. How can I be certain you are not leading my men to their deaths?” Although Xeander was still hesitant, his demeanor had calmed considerably when the mention of a plan had been proposed. It assisted in garnering his full attention, containing the anger which threatened to boil over, yet there still existed a deep-seated fear. The Scholar had many enemies, that was true, and yet none had succeeded in eliminating the upstart. Not only was the man crafty, cold, and methodical, but he was also an excellent warrior.

“You need not worry my Lord; I understand the danger than man represents. However, with a large enough force of cavalry we can pick their people off little by little, at most they possess perhaps twenty men capable of combat. We need simply to overwhelm them with the appropriate numbers, after all quantity is its own quality. But we must act fast, that man is currently vulnerable, he does not have his main army… this is perhaps the only time you would have to strike him down.”

That last statement seemed to push Xeander over the edge, one could imagine the thoughts in his mind churning, thinking of the possibilities and the understanding that this may be the only chance. “What is your suggestion, how will you find them? What of supplies? Who is to lead the forces? Also, if you are to depart by tomorrow, there is no conceivable way to assemble a significant cavalry force in that time. We may be able to assemble a squad of cavalry that can be dispatched but that will not be enough for a strike upon the caravan.”

The points Xeander raised were salient, Myrmien did not have a large enough standing cavalry force, and mercenaries who could be hired to fill that gap would not be available within the required timeline. Current forces were also fairly limited as the farms had to be harvested before the onset of winter, and it would be in turn difficult to conscript the necessary forces. All hurdles that Lysias would have to deal with, there had to be a guard force present to garrison the city, so it was unlikely that Xeander would dispatch the more experienced cavalry units. It was also unlikely that any force they have would be able to match the experience and capabilities of the frontier troops who were veterans of multiple conflicts.

It was then Lysias’s eyes gained a dangerous glint, “We can raise a force of conscripts using the low born and foreigners within the city. Promise the freemen citizenship and the slaves freedom if they fight, we merely need to supply them with a cheap wicker shield and spear. They will after all act as meat shields for our main infantry, a squad or two of veteran guards to keep in the rear. We can allow the expendable troops to soak up the arrow fire and tire the enemy, this would drastically reduce our cost.”

“What about supplies, since we would be pivoting over to a primarily light infantry-based force transporting the needed supplies would significantly reduce marching speed. Would that not mean that the caravan would be able to escape your pursuit?” Xeander may have been a lazy slob, but he was no fool. Although a coward in battle, his mercantile capabilities were well known, costs and expenses were his battlefield, and logistics were merely another avenue of that.

“Fear not, we will travel light. Only the supplies we can carry on our backs, and if we are desperate, we may be able to forage from the surrounding villages and terrain. However, the fact is we would be cutting it close, but if done correctly the men will be forced to fight harder as there would be no avenue of escape. Then following the battle, we can simply loot everything we require from the caravan, I know for a fact that they are laden with all manner of goods.” Xeander had calmed considerably, clearly the plan was also coming together in his mind. Contemplation replaced the rage which had plagued him earlier, with him now savoring his drink, which contrasted with the many shattered cups and spilled wine defacing the surroundings.

“Lysias, you are my most faithful servant. I will approve of your plan, but I cannot have you leave my side. Your value is far higher than any of those imbeciles we will send, I will need you to stay and assist in the affairs of the city. We still need to deal with the clans, whittle away some more of their strength before we can truly exert our authority.”

Wine dribbled down the sides Xeander’s mouth if there was ever an apt name for a person, ‘toad’ was his. “Before you leave Lysias I will grant you the authority to choose a capable commander, someone you trust who can ensure the completion of this task even if things should go south. Do make sure to bring the Amazon and my arena champion back to me alive, as for the other survivors you and your men may do with as they please… just make sure that bastard Cadeyrn dies. Use the weight of our numbers to trample that oversized head of his into the ground… make him pay for all his insults!” Color slowly rose into his cheeks, a mixture of anger and intoxication clouding his thoughts. The servants scattered as quickly as they could, many within the residence knew the vicious beating the Lord would provide his servants once he had entered such a condition.

“As you wish my Lord, I will see that your will is done. The ‘butcher’ should be the perfect tool for this job, and I have a qualified cavalry captain in mind as well… However, as your advisor and steward, I would ask that you lay off the drink, your ‘guest’ should be arriving soon.” As soon as Lysias mentioned the ‘guest’ Xeander’s face drained of color, he simply nodded and lumbered from the room as the servants descended like ants to clean up the damage to the study.

Lysias left the servants to their task, proceeding towards his own destination. His apprentice had been given ample training with the recent targets, the clans weren’t the easiest prey, but neither were they the most difficult, especially the smaller clans. The Scholar would be a much bigger prey, yet also a much tougher nut to crack, as each of the soldiers who surround him were experienced veteran warriors in their own right.

“May Almeira watch over you my Lord…” the whisper carried in the wind, as if caressing Lysias’s neck, he shivered from the touch, quickly turning to spot the figure waltzing toward the study. The feminine curves were alluring, to the point of leaving both men and women dumbstruck. However, for Lysias his eyes were drawn to something else entirely, namely the bronze plate within her hand, upon which was depicted a glistening dagger with a hilt that appeared as if the root like extremities were alive.

A cold sweat covered Lysias’s forehead, infatuation was the furthest thought from his mind, fear however was clearly visible within the depths of his eyes. Rather than staying to observe the ‘guest’ he turned and increased his pace, placing as much distance as possible between himself and that which had come to visit.