Chapter Text
The Imperial Highway; dusk.
“Hold!” a gruff voice rang out over the caravan, just loud enough over the patter of rain to cause the dwarf inside to flinch. A dark, dirty lump stirred on the caravan floor beside him, and he grimaced as he stepped carefully over his sleeping companion’s legs. A set of sturdy wooden doors at the back of the trailer separated him from the forest outside, and he could just barely pick out the voice of a stranger speaking in a harsh murmur to the elf behind the reins.
“If you don’t cooperate, it’ll be a bad time for you, elf,” The man growled insistently. The dwarf wrinkled his nose in distaste. That wasn’t a great sign. He cast a harried look over his shoulder at the sleeping form of his companion, concealed behind the bulk of their amassed cargo, and he at once made a decision.
He eased open the door, hopping out onto the mud-caked road, and peered carefully around the side of the wagon. It only took him a moment to size up their potential aggressor, a relatively tall human man in thick, creaking armour. A familiar insignia, an emblazoned sword, graced his plackart. A templar, then. A quick glance around revealed several others, gathered further back in the tree-line, but making no genuine attempt to conceal themselves. He wasn’t surprised. The templar order didn’t typically demand obedience through cunning.
“Is something wrong?” He asked, stopping the templar mid-sentence. The templar’s eyes darted over his front, and his posture relaxed as he appeared to decide a shabbily dressed dwarf with sleep-tousled hair was no immediate threat. Good.
“We’re stopping all of the wagons passing through,” the templar said, his tone markedly more cordial than it had been with the elf, though only just. “I’ll need to inspect what you’ve got in back.”
The elf at the driver’s seat sent a careful glance over their shoulder, meeting eyes with the Dwarf. They offered a subtle jerk of their left arm, amputated at the elbow. Do your magic, it said, though by the look on the Elf’s face, the hint of a smirk hesitating on their lips, the dwarf would likely be working on a timer. Casper Lavellan wasn’t exactly a bastion of patience.
“I see.” The dwarf smiled congenially. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, though. I can't image what we might have to interest you templars, but I can provide papers if it'll move this along fast.”
"Papers?" The templar asked.
"I'm a merchant. I probably should have led with that," the dwarf corrected, "Sorry about that, but it's late and the road to Minrathous can feel pretty inhospitable. I'm sure you understand my haste." He wasn’t a merchant, but he hoped it might explain away the boxes they'd used to wall off a portion of the inside of the caravan. More importantly, he hoped it might separate any curious templars from what he suspected would be a mistake for all of them. He noted the templar drifting, his eyes shifting over the unusually thick wood of the windowless carriage, and so he lurched toward him, fishing a creased roll of papers from the lining of his jacket.
“Raakjekk’s the name,” he added, withdrawing as the Templar fixed the papers with a scowl and stomped, instead, toward the back of the caravan with purpose. “Whatever are you looking for?”
“That’s no concern of yours. It's order business.” He jabbed a gloved hand toward the sturdy wooden doors that Raakjekk had fastened securely behind himself with a look of incredulity. He hadn’t missed that they were a touch more secure than was strictly necessary. “What’s inside?”
Raakjekk exchanged another subtle glance with the elf at the helm and stepped up to the doors, deftly unfastening them without fanfare.
“My wares,” he stated, forcing a bit of irritation into his voice as he eased one of the doors open with a gesture. He'd hoped a glance would be enough to move the templar and his goons along without any unnecessary escalation, but the boxes inside were disorganised, hastily packed assortments of unrelated items of varying worth, and while he was certain it might have appeased most, this particular man bore the distinct misfortune of a discerning eye. The templar’s brows crinkled together as he took a cursory look at the mess, and he turned a skeptical eye on Raakjekk, who gazed back unaffected.
“What did you say you were peddling, exactly?” He asked, a bite to his voice.
“Oh, I didn’t,” Raakjekk replied sweetly. "Odds and ends, mostly." Move along. Please.
To his dismay, the templar signalled for the others to join him, and Raakjekk’s fingers instinctively brushed the dagger sheathed in a hidden panel in his trousers. But before he could decide whether it would be more of a mercy to kill him then and there, he heard the distinct thump of nearly-bare feet impacting the muddy ground behind him. A glance over his shoulder revealed Casper, deftly stepping forward to cut off the advancing templars.
The armoured men stuttered to a halt, clearly expecting resistance, but Casper passed them a look of pointed indifference and pivoted instead toward Raakjekk. Raakjekk stiffened, though he offered them a slight nod as they leaned against the caravan beside him. The lead templar was taken aback at first, clearly confused as to why the driver, of all people, had made an approach, and Raakjekk could tell his hackles were up even before he spoke.
“What’s this then?” The templar snapped. “Leave us to it, and I'll stop at asking your employer here to compensate us for the time you're wasting.” Raakjekk’s expression fell. He could practically feel Casper vibrating with subtle amusement beside him.
“I’m sure my employer wouldn’t mind a bit of hassle, would you Roach?” The elf grinned as they patted Raakjekk’s shoulder, driving one of the templar’s bushy brows further up his temple. Raakjekk, for his part, didn’t fail to notice they were surrounded now.
“I see you’re not just the driver, then,” the templar surmised.
“Perceptive.” Casper grinned a lop-sided, toothy grin, fiddling momentarily with the braid slung over their shoulder as they glanced from the templar to the open cart of mismatched wares. “So, were you planning to buy something?”
The templar’s lip curled in contempt.
“Look, sir-er, ma’am?” He stuttered. The elf’s grin only seemed to devour more of their face.
“Never mind that. I'm about to be a problem.” They shoved their amputated arm forward in a mock gesture of greeting. “Lovely to meet a fellow troublemaker.” The templar eyed the movement, unsure of what to do.
“They don’t teach you templars to shake hands?” The elf asked withdrawing their arm with a huff that only barely concealed their amusement over their own joke. Raakjekk just about deflated beside them.
“Casp,” he hissed under his breath, making a subtle attempt to nudge the elf’s calf with the toe of his boot, but when it became clear that Casper was intent on ignoring him, he redoubled his efforts, instead, on deescalating the templar problem.
“Sorry, er—” he searched the man’s armour for any sign of rank, “—Commander, but we really are in a bit of a hurry. We’re trying to beat the storm to Vol Dorma. Old mares not fit for inclement weather anymore, and she’s become frightful in her old age.” He tapped the side of the caravan, lightly enough, he hoped, not to wake its inhabitant. “We realise you have important work to do and all, but it’s imperative we don’t waste too much light on the Imperial Highway.”
The templar looked as though he wanted to object, and he wrinkled his nose at Casper before finally relenting.
“Fine,” he said, motioning for his men to continue their approach. “We’ll have a quick look and send you on your way.”
“Much obliged,” Raakjekk responded, practically pushing Casper back as the templars closed in to swarm the mouth of the wagon. The dwarf didn’t need to look to know Casper’s keen gaze would be focussed on the search efforts, and tension, like static chasing a storm, had settled between them as they counted their breaths against every agonisingly uncareful sound the commander made. A scrape here. A knock there. The caravan rocked softly as the he climbed inside with a huff of exertion. Nothing stirred within.
"Junk," he muttered as he liberated a few stray items from their containers. "Can't imagine how you lot afford to eat every night peddling this crap." Raakjekk could feel the press of Casper at his back, nearly spurred into motion as the templar Commander picked up a cloth sack lined in a dark, clinging fabric. Raakjekk held out a hand to stay Casper, and they watched with rigid intensity as the templar loosened the string on the bag, a clumsy, gloved hand pawing about inside.
“Roach…” Casper hissed. Raakjekk clenched his teeth and gave a minute shake of his head, the both of them rigid as the templar removed a small, ornate bottle filled with a viscous, shimmering liquid. The templar frowned at the bottle, fished out the second held within, and then dropped them back into the sack with a huff. Raakjekk pressed a breath through his nose, his wide eyes pinning the pouch as the commander shoved it aside without so much as a second thought. What kind of templar couldn’t recognise a phylactery?
Raakjekk could feel Casper's grip tighten on his shoulder, but it wasn't until he spared them a glance that he realised, with dismay, that Casper's expression had shifted subtly. A spring-loaded mixture of amusement and anticipation. Another clear message as the corner of Casper's mouth quirked upward, a wicked flash of teeth and barely restrained curiosity. Let it happen, it said. If Raakjekk had ever learned to distinguish Casper from the demons they'd faced in the inquisition, he was certainly rethinking that now.
The sky cracked with thunder, brilliant light spilling over the templar commander's back as he shifted aside another box with a grunt. Raakjekk caught the flash of a predatory pair of eyes just over the oblivious man's shoulder, glinting for just a moment before the darkness swallowed the road again. A hush rippled through the amassed men as realisation passed between them. Their loose formation and slack faces a sure sign that they'd seen what the dwarf had. They shifted anxiously in their stolen armour, just a moment of hesitation as they doubted their own eyes. That was all they had. A moment.
A curdled scream pierced through the drum of rain, and the scrape and thump of a struggle rocked the inside of the caravan. The commander lurched forward as if he'd been dragged, his hand grasping uselessly at the loose boxes for traction. Casper withdrew their burning grip on Raakjekk's shoulder and he was off, stumbling toward the caravan door as the spry elf rounded on the confused onlookers with a hoot of excitement. He'd hardly grasped the heavy door when he heard the sickening crack of the templar's head intersecting the caravan wall inside, and a spray of warm blood spattered his face. He hesitated, fear tightening his chest. His eyes glanced off of slick black hair and roping saliva as it vibrating off the end of a low, guttural hiss. The wet rasp formed into a word, as a crooked, thin-fingered hand scraped toward him through the blood pooling on the caravan floor.
"Friend," it said, and he could feel the ice of it shoot through his veins. He threw his weight against the door, slamming it shut, as the horror of Casper's lighting glanced off the stolen armour of the screaming men behind him. He clenched the rod that barred the door, sliding it into place with a flinch. He couldn't bring himself to turn around. Not even as the sound of rain overtook the screams.