Last of the Mastiff Riders, Part 2

Ferun's gaze pierced through the dimly lit streets, searching for any watchful eyes before nodding toward an abandoned house. Its worn facade hardly stuck out from the rest of the town. "It's abandoned," Ferun remarked, his voice barely audible above the rustling wind and occasional escaping sound of the tavern. "It should work."

Yesola followed his directed nod, her eyes narrowing as she examined the dilapidated building. Time had not been kind to its weathered exterior, and the lingering scent of neglect permeated the air. A broken window, like a shattered eye, offered a strategic advantage—positioned directly facing the tavern.

A fleeting moment of hesitation passed over Yesola's face, contemplating the risks and rewards of their chosen perch. She wouldn’t be a particularly good master if she hadn’t. The crumbling walls seemed to whisper tales of forgotten inhabitants, and an air of eerie desolation hung heavy around the structure. The abandoned house held the promise of an unobstructed view, hidden from prying eyes. It would serve as their observatory, a secret vantage point from which they could extract what knowledge they needed from within the tavern keeper's mind.

With a determined nod, Yesola's voice carried a touch of conviction. "Well done, Ferun." Her apprentice had come far in recent years. They moved with practiced stealth towards the threshold of the house. With their hoods drawn low, they blended seamlessly with the shadows that enveloped them as they approached the doorway.

With a gentle nudge from Ferun, the heavy door creaked open, allowing the mastiff mounts to pass through. Their padded paws made little sound against the worn wooden floor as they stepped into the abandoned house, their presence almost ghost-like in the dimly lit space. Ferun held the door ajar, ensuring a quick entrance for his companions.

Yesola, her eyes gleaming with determination, followed closely behind the mastiffs. She quickly assessed the room, looking for any surprises that might lay in wait. Dust particles danced in the faint rays of moonlight that filtered through the cracks, lending an ethereal quality to the forgotten space. The broken glass window framed their view with jagged fragments. The light filtering through the broken window casting elongated shadows upon the walls, dancing like phantoms in the stillness.

Yesola stepped further into the single-room dwelling, her eyes adjusting to the dimness that enveloped the space. The air inside the house felt stale and musty, carrying the faint scent of decay and forgotten dreams. As she surveyed the surroundings, she took in the simplicity of the dwelling—a humble shack that had weathered the passage of time.

As he turned to close the door behind him, Ferun’s gaze lingered on the tavern behind for a moment then closed the door with a soft click, sealing them off from the prying eyes of the outside world. The sound resonated through the abandoned house, a final barrier between their purpose and the outside realm. Darkness settled around them, enveloping them in a shroud.

Ferun's footsteps echoed in the empty space as he crossed the threshold, joining Yesola and the mastiffs within. The air hung heavy with anticipation, as if the abandoned house itself recognized the weight of their mission.

"Watch the tavern while I prepare the room," Yesola said, her voice steady and resolute. She knew that every moment counted, and she wasted no time in setting her plan into motion.

As Ferun positioned himself near the window, his eyes scanning the bustling tavern beyond, Yesola began her preparations. She moved with purpose, her hands deftly rearranging the meager furnishings within the room. Dust particles stirred and danced in the moonlight as she cleared a space, creating an area where she could work.

As the night deepened its hold, Yesola delved into the arcane arts, her nimble fingers rapidly producing the various sequences of hand gestures needed to manifest her life energy into magic. Of the many ways to produce such magic, she had always found the greatest aptitude in using this method and it was the instructional method used at her academy. With each spell she cast, a surge of energy filled the room, crackling with mystical significance. She weaved protective wards, invisible shields that guarded against unwanted intrusion. These wards would act to dampen any sound from within the area from escaping and inhibit other senses from attracting unwanted attention. These arcane barriers pulsated with a subtle energy, indiscernible by others unless they themselves were using detection spells to sense for the use of arcane arts in their vicinity.

Meanwhile, Ferun maintained his vigilant watch, his eyes fixated on the tavern. Peering through the broken glass window, he strategically positioned himself at the corner, using the fractured pane as a discreet vantage point. His gaze scanned the ever-changing scene, observing the gradual departure of patrons as they stumbled away, their gait unsteady and their voices muffled. Some disappeared into the inky darkness, heading home or seeking solace elsewhere.

Yesola's spells continued to hum with magical energy, the room now an enchanted sanctuary where they could operate securely. The mastiffs, ever steadfast in their duties, had retreated to the back corners of the room and awaited their next commands and watched as their wards performed their work. As the last stragglers stumbled out of the tavern, their hushed voices fading into the night, a palpable stillness settled over the scene. The tavern stood empty, a silent witness to the evening's activities.

Ferun's eyes narrowed, his attention sharpening, the moon's gentle light cast a pale glow upon Ferun's face, revealing the faintest outline of his features. His eyes, glittering with determination, remained fixed on the tavern, his unwavering gaze absorbing every detail in the scenery.

This was the moment they had been waiting for—the moment when the tide of the night shifted in their favor. He relayed the information to Yesola with a subtle hand gesture, a signal that their time had come.

Yesola, her preparations complete, met Ferun's eyes and with a nod, she silently conveyed her readiness. Ferun's gaze remained locked on the tavern's entrance, searching for any lingering figures, any sign that the time for their next step had arrived. The tavern's facade, now bathed in moonlight, seemed to exude an air of emptiness, its doors standing as silent sentinels.

As they stood in the secluded confines of the abandoned house, their eyes focused and their senses heightened, Ferun's sharp gaze caught sight of Tirn, the tavern keeper, emerging from the tavern's entrance. The moonlight cast a faint glow upon his figure, emphasizing the purposeful stride as he made his way to the back of the establishment, carrying a load of discarded refuse. Ferun quickly turned away from the tavern, his eyes briefly scanning the empty streets to ensure their privacy.

Ferun's lips barely moved as he whispered to Yesola, his voice a mere breath in the stillness of the room. "Tirn’s just outside now," he revealed, his words laden with a mix of caution and anticipation. The two halflings, pulling their hoods drawn low, exchanged a silent glance, their thoughts and intentions in perfect harmony. This was the moment they had been waiting for, the convergence of timing and opportunity that would set their plan into motion.

Ferun's eyes fixated on Tirn's every move. The tavern keeper's actions spoke of a routine, a familiarity with the darkness that enveloped the unregulated town. As Tirn disappeared from sight, blending seamlessly with the shadows, Ferun's mind raced with possibilities. "Wait for the opportune moment," Yesola cautioned, her voice barely a whisper as she grasped Ferun's arm. Her touch was a grounding force, a reminder of their shared purpose and the dangers that lay ahead. The keeper's presence, though momentarily absent, served as a reminder that they treaded on treacherous ground.

Ferun nodded in silent agreement, his gaze lingering on the spot where Tirn had vanished. They knew that their actions could have consequences, that their pursuit of truth within the realm of outlaws and renegades carried its fair share of risks. But their resolve remained unwavering.

The stage was set, the keeper momentarily out of sight. Ferun and Yesola, their minds sharp and their senses honed, prepared to seize the opportunity that lay before them. Ferun's fingers tightened around the hilt of his concealed blade, his grip firm and resolute. Yesola placed her hand to her hilt as well, and her magic coursed through her veins as she prepared to unleash her powers should the moment call for it.

Read part 3 now!