The square was surprisingly crowded for the time of day, or so it seemed to Tyravel as he found his way there from the temple. The sun was up, but so low to the horizon that it had yet to clear the city walls, let alone some of the taller buildings nearby, casting the whole place into shadow. He looked up, briefly, noting that the sky was clear, with only a few white clouds here and there, those to the east still golden from the glowing orb beyond his sight. Good weather for it, at least, he thought.
In retrospect, of course, he should have expected the bustle; he'd just never been to this part of the city so early in the day before. But the merchant caravans were preparing to leave, setting off as early as it was light to make the most of the day. Perhaps in the height of summer they could afford to leave later, with more hours of travel available to them but, even though the winter had passed, he supposed the light was still short enough to make an early departure worthwhile.
Obviously, he'd known that the caravan he was looking for was leaving within an hour of the dawn; that was why he was here, after all. He just hadn't counted on there being quite so many others leaving at the same time. Most, presumably, would be heading west, but there was no large square by the west gate, so they doubtless all assembled here, getting their carts and wagons loaded and picking up any passengers who had paid for the journey.
Such as himself. He strained to look through the crowds of people, suddenly overwhelmed by the cries of the carters and merchants, trying to make out which of the many caravans he was looking for.
"Excuse me... excuse me..." he said as he pushed his way through, pausing every now and then to stand on tiptoe, craning his neck to see over the throng. He hardly knew why he bothered speaking; nobody seemed to be paying him any attention. But it was the polite thing to do, whether anyone else appreciated it or not.
Suddenly the noise abated, as the nearby carters paused what they were doing, their attention caught by something just out of his field of vision. He even saw one nudging a fellow who was lifting a barrel onto the back of a wagon, nodding his head in the direction of whatever it was the others had seen.
Tyravel followed their gaze and saw the crowds parting as a couple of women strode into the square. He could see why they had garnered such interest, a fact confirmed when somebody, somewhere, let out a wolf-whistle to a smattering of laughter from his colleagues. The women ignored it, and, in a moment the carters got back to work, their day brightened, but still with work to do.
But it had been just long enough for Tyravel to see his own objective, the brightly coloured wagon of Feribel Purslane, the gnomish merchant who would be taking him to Heronwall. Now that he had his bearings, he immediately headed in that direction, and was surprised to discover that he no longer had to push his way through. Glancing to one side made the reason for that obvious; the two women were headed in the same direction he was... and if nobody was paying attention to him, they were a different matter.
The woman who took the lead was perhaps the most striking. For one thing she was armoured, a white and gold surcoat hanging over a suit of plate and mail. It looked heavy to Tyravel, and the woman looked to be of merely average build, but it didn't seem to bother her, so perhaps looks were deceiving. She also carried a broadsword at her side, and had a shield hanging over her back. He couldn't see the design, but the one on the surcoat made that unnecessary; she was very clearly a paladin, one of the dedicated holy warriors of Pardror, god of chivalry and justice.
That alone would probably have granted her enough attention, but as the earlier wolf-whistle had indicated, there was another reason, too. The armour hid her physique, but she was undeniably beautiful, with clear pale skin and long golden hair tied back in a ponytail. Too tall, perhaps, for Tyravel's tastes, and her expression looked haughty, which wasn't something he found endearing... but others might well have a different opinion. She was, he suspected, probably of noble birth, as many paladins were, and had the natural attitude to go with it.
Her striking presence was probably the main thing that had caught the carter's attentions, but, if anything, Tyravel found her companion to be the prettier of the two. She was an elf, wearing white high-collared robes decorated with pale grey and silver trim, a small gold brooch at her neck the only other adornment. Her wide dark eyes, bright and eager were, to his mind, more appealing than the paladin's formality.
She was darker skinned than any elf he had seen before, her complexion a tanned brown and her braided hair a lustrous black that he doubted few humans could match. He wondered where she came from, with such an exotic look. Somewhere to the north, evidently... perhaps the arid lands that lay some way beyond Heronwall. The ones with that ancient city built on the hot springs... he struggled to remember the name for a moment. Ah, yes... Haredil.
By following in their wake, Tyravel found it easy to reach his destination. There were eight carts in all, not counting the wagon; three of the carts had arched canvas roofs of the sort that could provide shelter, while the others were open-topped, and being loaded with goods. He glanced around, trying to spot the gnomish merchant, and caught a glimpse of him through the throng, directing some of the carters, who were loading what seemed to be bales of cloth.
"Ah, there you are!" said Feribel as he approached, before he could manage to introduce himself, "the scholar! If you could just..." he paused, evidently catching sight of the two women as well, "Sister Ariawyn! Over here! Tyravel, isn't it? Yes, I thought so... never forget a name. I have three other travellers joining me today -- you'll have to share a wagon. Hope you don't mind."
"And you must be Lady Katryn... well prepared for trouble, I see!"
Tyravel looked back and decided that Katryn must be the paladin, since 'Ariawyn' was an elven name. And 'Sister'? Perhaps she was a priestess of some kind. A cleric of Pardror seemed likely, if she was with a paladin, although, in his experience, they tended to go armed as well. Pardror was generally a deity who preferred to deal out justice at the end of a weapon, although at least his followers didn't tend to be indiscriminate about it.
"Are we expecting trouble?" he asked the merchant, feeling a little concerned.
"Well, not really. But it never hurts to be prepared, does it? This route may be shorter, but it can be tricky at times. Mostly fallen trees, or deep mud if it's been raining, but you never know! That's why we carry guards; the mere sight of them deters bandits, I always find. Bandits don't want a real fight, just too risky for them... haven't been ambushed in years, and we fought them off last time they tried it on. That was a good day, yes, indeed!"
"But visible deterrence is good, always good! Keeps them off, you see. And a paladin is certainly good deterrence, against anyone with any sense. You're a priest, you don't have any magic, I suppose?"
"I'm studying to be a priest, yes... but the only spells I know are for my work."
"Of course; scholarly magic -- that makes sense. Does that mean you can divine the way ahead?"
"It doesn't work like that, I'm afraid."
"Not to worry! We're more than safe enough. And coin is coin. You've paid your way, and the protection comes with the payment. Now, the three of you, that wagon over there will be yours. Make yourselves comfortable, it shouldn't be too long now before we leave. I don't suppose you've seen my other passenger? Elven woman, about your height, blonde hair? Wearing leathers and a green cloak last I saw her? No, well, never mind, I'm sure she'll be along. And I still have the down-payment if she isn't!" he chuckled amidst the stream of chatter, and then suddenly turned back to the carters, "No, no, not there! Put that to the side where you can secure it. We need to make more room in the middle. And where's the tarpaulin?"
Seeing that Feribel seemed to have forgotten about them again, Tyravel turned back to the other travellers, seeing that the elven woman had a smile on her face, amused by the talkative gnome and his sudden swings of attention.
"Shall we get on board?" she asked, looking at both the scholar and her own companion.
"After you," he said, beckoning towards the back of the wagon, where a step had already been lowered for ease of access.
"I am Ariawyn, by the way," she said, "pleased to meet you... Tyravel, was it?"
"It is indeed," he replied, as Lady Katryn climbed up into the wagon -- that armour really did have to be lighter than it looked, or else she was a lot more muscular -- and reached down a hand to help the elf.
He soon followed them up inside, before continuing the conversation, "as our host said, I am an acolyte of Nyrandos," the god of knowledge, but she would know that, "I am travelling to our temple at Heronwall to conduct some studies."
"On herons?" The smile told him she was joking.
"Not exactly, but on water-themed subjects, as it happens. It's a speciality of theirs."
"Ah, yes, I suppose it must be. Well, I am a divine healer, and my silent friend here is Lady Katryn, who, as you can probably guess, is a paladin."
"Pleased to meet you," said the blonde, her accent betraying a southern origin with its nasal twang and distinctive lilt, "we go where the gods will us. What we do in Heronwall, I do not know, but there is need there, this much I can be sure."
They busied themselves stowing away their luggage, although all three were travelling light. Four bed rolls had already been provided, but otherwise the interior of the wagon was simply bare boards. So far as Tyravel could tell, it was well-constructed, and the canvas looked intact and secure. The back was tied open at present but could obviously be lowered in the event of rain or a cold night, and a smaller flap led out front to where the carter would be driving the horses.
Not too much later, the sounds from outside changed, indicating that were soon to be leaving. Tyravel looked over at the fourth bed roll, still unclaimed. Time seemed to be drawing tight.
Before he could say anything, somebody jumped up onto the board at the back of the wagon. For a moment, he assumed it must be the other passenger, but he soon saw that this was no elf.
"Not here," she called out, tersely to someone behind her. Now, there was an accent he couldn't place. She turned back to look at the three in the wagon. "We go soon," she told them, jumped down, and pushed up the step, which locked into place, forming a wooden barrier at the back of the wagon. "Be steady." And, with that slightly cryptic statement, she vanished.
Tyravel blinked in surprise. Whoever that was, she had been striking, and everyone else he had seen in the caravan crew so far had been male. Not that she was particularly attractive, or anything, certainly not compared with his two fellow passengers. But she was short and wiry, with bright red hair that was surely died with some plant extract, rather than natural. It was shaved at the sides, leaving a wide strip of longer hair down the middle of her head, in a style he had never seen before. A sleeveless leather tunic left her arms bare, showing that they were not only decidedly muscular, but marked with tattoos.
