They entered the camp under the cover of night; Urz and Nicos, creeping stealthily across the sand. The young hunter had refused to let Nicos go at it alone, after he had outlined his plan. Grasa and her two fellow hunters were just as hesitant, but Nicos did not miss their relief once they'd realized that they would be bloodying their hands no further.

The pair had waited until the forward scouts had stopped for the night. The militarily-minded part of Nicos wandered if Cardin had sent them away as some kind of juvenile punishment, taking out his woes on his subordinates. The four groups had followed the Naru's trail for a good while, but none of them had even matched the progress of their predecessors before having to stop for the night. The desert was simply too dangerous a place for them to brave in the darkness of twilight. Even the Naru preferred moving during daylight, simply using resonance to keep themselves cool.

The scouts had been forced to move cautiously now, after their earlier losses. It put them in the unfortunate (for them) position of being too far from the Naru to be a threat, and too far from Cardin to be of assistance. Nicos considered it an act of Karma. They had been placed in their position by the pettiness of the man they were meant to protect. That very decision would lead to that man's death. He liked the symmetry of it. Too few people reaped what they sowed.

Infiltrating the camp was almost too easy. Urz knew the location of the guards before the pair had even set out. All two of them. Another was posted outside Vaughn Cardin's wagon. They simply did not have enough for any more than that. And why would they need to? They had made camp in a safe location. A token force was more than sufficient to deter any beasts in the area. There should be no other dangers. The Naru did not attack.

But Nicos did.

The plan was a straightforward one. Creep in while the enemy slept, and kill Vaughn Cardin. Any guards they could remove on the way in would be the polish on his armor. The two men posted outside the camp were barely half-awake. They drowsed while standing, leaning heavily against their spears and lit by torchlight. They hadn't even bothered to properly fortify the camp. They used the wagons as crude walls, with wooden boards propped up to fill the gaps. Torches hung off sconces, hastily attached to the wagons, but they were intermittently lit at best. Enough light to scare off lesser predators, but not enough to deter a determined infiltrator. Slipping through the enclosure was child's play.

They left the gate guards alive. Killing one would mean killing the other, and there was no need for the noise, nor the attention. Now, should one of the slavers stick their head out their tent, they could see the guards faithfully keeping watch. The rest were fair game, but even then, Nicos was taking no risks.

The camp had been set on a relatively flat patch of sand, on a particularly elevated dune. Once Nicos and Urz slipped past the outer ring of wagons, they quickly encountered what remained of the camp. It was immediately obvious, both to Nicos and to Urz, that the camp had not been adjusted since it had lost most of its members. There were several large tents set up to shelter sleeping warriors, and multiple signs of activity. Though most of the surplus had been packed away, and brought with the tracking teams, there were still dozens of campfires and makeshift seating areas. Several torches were still burning, planted vertically in the ground.

Nicos idly wondered how the tracking teams planned on keeping themselves supplied without their wagons. Presumably, they didn't expect to be out for long. Just long enough to sniff out whatever trap or danger had claimed the last scouts. The boy eyed the wagons, filled with supplies, and the lit torches peppering the camp.

Well... there was an idea. He stored it away for later. Nicos kept his eyes on the prize. At the center of the camp, in a wagon larger and more ornate than the rest, a single guard kept watch. The man was enormous, even taller than Eurya, light-skinned, and muscled like an ox. His head was shaved and his clothes were simple. A threadbare shirt and linen pants. There was a shackle on his left wrist, attached without a chain. He held an odd, three-pronged spear loosely over his shoulder. His posture was relaxed, but Nicos knew with a single glance: this man was dangerous.

He cursed, softly, under his breath. "This won't work." He turned to Urz. "We can't sneak past that man." His instincts were screaming at him. Danger, do not approach!

He swore again, and Urz's eyes flicked to him. They both slunk deeper into the shadows. Nicos' mind spun as he reconsidered his plan. The safe thing to do, possibly the right thing to do, would be to retreat. The plan had failed, but he had not yet lost anything. Perhaps he could regroup with Grasa and the others, and return in force. It made no sense for five of them to kill a single man, but that was no longer possible.

Then again, there was little chance that they could sneak back into the camp, undetected. Not as five. And they would still be outnumbered, should someone be alerted. Nor were the Naru built for this, knifing people in the dark. Nicos could see it. Even Urz, steady and reliable, felt ill at ease doing what was necessary. He would do it, but he hated the task. More Naru would not help. What Nicos needed, was to even the odds. To thin the herd, before going for the kill.

"What should we do?" the young tribesman asked.

"Improvise," Nicos murmured. He pointed to the tents. "Take out as many as we can. First the sleepers, then we burn the wagons."

Even if they failed in their mission, destroying the camp's supplies might be enough of a blow that they would be forced to turn back. It would be a delay, not a deterrent, but it might be enough for the Naru to safely relocate.

"And when we get caught?" Urz asked, because there was almost no chance that they could silently kill six people without being noticed.

"Fight or flee," Nicos replied. "We'll have to see how it goes."

"I don't know about this, Nicos. Perhaps we should simply retreat? It's one thing to kill a single man, and get away. It's another entirely to slaughter a camp of almost a dozen people. This is dangerous."

"We can do it," Nicos replied firmly. He believed it. He had faith in himself. "Move quietly, and strike swiftly. We'll cripple their supplies, and destroy their morale. This is what must be done."

Urz bit at his lip, but nodded in affirmation.

They split off, using the discarded tents and old camps as cover. The camp was lit, but poorly. Flickering torches cast deep shadows, dancing at the edge of vision. The tents themselves were massive, more makeshift barracks than single occupant shelters, but the remainder of the slavers had spread themselves across the camp. They slept far apart, in bedrolls and isolated. Their snores told Nicos everything he needed to know about their sleeping arrangements.

One by one, they were silenced. The silent ones died first. Sleeping men, waking up to cut throats. It was a bloody, visceral act, that Nicos knew Urz would be uncomfortable with. The boy moved quickly, perfectly willing to bear the dragon's share of this burden for his friend. He killed two men, to Urz's one.

Nicos ran a quick mental head count. Three dead, three more asleep. Two outside, on guard, one more outside Cardin's wagon, and Cardin himself. Seven left alive. He grit his teeth, and pushed forward. One more died, his snores cutting out to a soft gurgle. Nicos crept on to the next, slipping into a tent where he had last heard a snore. He came face to face with his prey, the man sleepily sitting up in his bedroll.

The man's eyes were open. Nicos froze as their gaze locked. The man's gaze was vacant, as if he'd just woken up, but surprise quickly cleared his mind. He shouted, alarmed and afraid, and Nicos dashed forward. There was a spear propped up beside the man, and he lunged for the weapon. Nicos raised his blade—

Instinct saved his life once again, a screaming remnant of his ancestors' Memory, flinching backwards in alarm. Nicos followed suit, his sword flashing up into a guard position, even as he skid to a stop. A javelin ripped through the tent, thrown from afar, and he caught its tip on the edge of his blade. The force knocked him clear off his feet, blasting him through the tent's wooden supports and diverting the javelin just past his neck. The tent collapsed, the slaver screamed, and the projectile gouged a trench through the sand. Nicos crashed down beside it.

He was back on his feet in an instant, resonance fully activated and blood pounding in his ears. His free hand grasped at the weapon beside him, reading just enough to confirm what he already suspected. The identity of its thrower rang out in his mind like a bell. Shouts echoed across the camp, the gate guards roused from their slumber by the noise.

Urz appeared at Nicos side, seemingly stepping out of a nearby shadow.

"Fight or flee?" he asked, his voice tense and every muscle taut.

Nicos flipped the javelin into a throwing position. His previous target staggered out of the collapsed barracks, finally free of the clinging leather. Nicos planted the javelin in the slaver's side and watched him fall, cut down like a marionette.

The noise settled and battle lines were formed. At the center of the camp, Vaughn Cardin climbed out of his wagon, a curious grin on his face. His massive guard stood slightly ahead of him, scooping up another javelin from a pile that Nicos had missed. The two gate guards flanked the giant, fidgeting nervously.

Nicos scanned his opponent, listening to the hints his Memory whispered to him. They were two against four. At least one opponent was tremendously skilled. This was a proper battle. The kind bards sang about. The kind that would win a man his name. But Nicos did not care about that, anymore. It lingered somewhere in the periphery, a pleasant bonus on top of an already generous payment. His target lay before him, the head of the snake. Vaughn Cardin's cape glittered in the torchlight.

A snarl split the boy's lips.

"We fight."