“I don’t suppose you could explain to me how he’s unconscious? Remember, you are under strict instructions not to do any permanent damage.” Boozehound asked over the radio.

  There were a few seconds of awkward silence as the airwaves crackled before Riptide gave a somewhat sheepish sounding response. “He spotted me hiding behind a tree and began pulling out a whistle so Four had to act fast. He was able to drive the butt of his rifle into the side of his head and the momentum did the rest. He isn’t bleeding or anything, and his breathing seems steady enough.”

  “Good enough, keep an eye on his breathing, would you? And make sure he doesn’t start choking on his own tongue, or vomit if that arises.” The medic instructed.

  “We’ll do that, do you want me to put some soup on for when he wakes up as well?” Riptide asked cheekily.

  “Merde.” Boozehound muttered to himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose, but didn’t make any retort.

  “Hey, at least they weren’t spotted earlier and forced to open fire.” Alter murmured in a vague attempt at breaking tension.

  “I suppose so, but they still could’ve handled that better. Now they’ve got to drag him along with them if they’re forced to move.”

  Alter made a non-committal noise as he shifted uncomfortably and batted away a long stalk of grass that had been tapping his left cheek with a moist seedhead. His attention soon snapped back to the scope as further sounds and movements demanded his sole focus. The front door to the larger farmhouse had been opened and the titular farmer himself appeared, a grey-haired, sun-shrivelled man with what Alter could only describe as a powerfully hunched back. Slow steps saw him cross the yard to the barn where he began opening the wide doors at a glacial pace. This mammoth task completed, the curious heads of a few dozen cattle poked out into the open air as the herd was ushered away from the buildings and towards the distant pastures where they would spend the rest of the day. As this happened, the smaller house once again saw motion as another figure in workers clothes, Blue, emerged from the same door that Green had. He was a much taller, lanky figure who had no qualms with keeping his short sword in full view on his belt. He sauntered across the yard and leaned casually against the wooden perimeter fence next to the main gate, his focus down the road towards the village. Alter chuckled to himself as he watched, all the man needed was a wide-brimmed hat, a cigarette and a six shooter and he’d be the perfect fit for a spaghetti-western.

  “I don’t suppose we could tempt him out too?” Boozehound asked.

  Alter considered the idea for a moment but eventually shook his head. “Not right now. If one person goes missing for a while is a curiosity, then two people disappearing is worth investigating. They wouldn’t be much of a threat to us if they did come in force but I don’t want to take any unnecessary risks today.”

  “Suit yourself. It looks like he’s waiting for someone, but I don’t think the village workers are due for another hour yet. Perhaps we’ve got some other visitors coming today.” Boozehound supposed.

  “Visitors who don’t mind weaponry being on full display, maybe the cloaks are going to make an appearance this morning. That could throw a spanner in the works.” Alter grumbled.

  “Well, let's not go diving down that rabbit hole until we don’t have a choice. Look, here comes Brown.” Boozehound pointed back towards the farm as another man stepped out to join his compatriot at the fence.

  The two fake workers spent another ten minutes lounging, chatting quietly to each other. As the time continued to pass, Alter couldn’t help but notice them cast puzzled looks towards the various orchards, a behaviour that was only increasing in frequency as the minutes ticked by. At the fifteen-minute mark another man, Red, arrived and after exchanging a few words began staring daggers at each patch of trees in turn, a clear look of anger etched upon his features.

  “It seems like they think that Green’s been gone for too long already. Two, any update on his condition?” Alter asked into the radio.

  “He hasn’t stirred.” Riptide reported anxiously. “This behaviour is new, why are they getting so agitated?”

  “It feels like something important is about to go down, and they’re expecting all hands-on deck.” Whim added.

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  “I don’t like this, it looks like they’re about to start a manhunt.” Boozehound frowned as the last member of the undercover troupe came hurrying out, another man in brown but his lack of hair meant he’d been christened as Bald.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” Chimed Pavejack. “We can snatch them all up in one go.”

  “Not without a struggle if they stick together, we’d need to evade and elude should that happen.”

  “I don’t think they have time for that,” Boats interrupted as the faint sound of running horses reached their ears. “There’s a whole squad of riders coming in.”

  Alter watched as the quartet’s agitation was instantly replaced by a mixture of alarm and grim acceptance as they too noticed the incoming group. Two of them scampered to the gate and opened it wide before rejoining the others who were standing to attention off to one side.

  “Look at that reaction.” Boozehound whistled gently. “I think we’re getting a visit from someone powerful. Do you think Bertrand would come out here himself?”

  Alter considered the possibility as he waited for the riders to enter his field of view. “Four didn’t mention that they were escorting a carriage, so I don’t think it's the man himself. It could be a lieutenant of some sort though; I could believe that.”

  “Now that would be a person worth grabbing.”

  “They would indeed.”

  The conversation stalled as the horseman came into view. Eight strong and moving in a double column, each wrapped in dark grey cloaks with the telltale bulges of weaponry beneath. The horses barely slowed down as they entered the farmyard, with more than one having to make a skidding halt before they inadvertently charged into the empty barn. Safely halted, three of the men hopped from their mounts and strode towards the waiting workers. The conversation started quiet and normal, however tempers were beginning to ignite shortly after as the apparent leader of the riders began making angry gestures, his voice audibly raising but Alter was still too far away to make sense of the noise.

  “We’re not close enough to make sense of it, does anyone else have ears on this?” He growled into the radio.

  “He started by asking if anything odd had happened here recently,” Walross translated. “Then he started talking about how one of their ‘prime obstacles’ has gone missing and could be in the area. They also mentioned that their boss had special interest in securing the services of said obstacle, so be careful.”

  “Hey, do you think they’re talking about us? The man was certainly keen on recruiting us back at the temple.” Vangroover hypothesised.

  “If that’s the case then I’m very flattered. Keep going, Six.” Was Alter’s unimpressed response.

  “Well, then they noticed that they were a body short and demanded to know where someone I assume to be Green was. Now they’re just having a shouting match about what could’ve happened and whose fault it is. Green’s name is Hadvar, by the way. Although, I don’t think he's a particularly popular man at the moment.”

  Alter snorted at the comment as the other riders were ordered to dismount. Not every word shouted was legible but the phrase ‘find that son of a whore’ was clue enough to the rest. Two trios and a pair of pairs were immediately dispatched towards each orchard, while the leader and one of their companions remained within the yard.

  “Well, that complicates matters, all teams fall back and go to ground.” Alter ordered, quickly receiving a ripple of acknowledgements.

  Fortunately, their chosen orchard was behind multiple fences and a stream just wide enough to require a small bridge, allowing them plenty of time to slink away. A short distance beyond the apple trees was a narrow hollow, conveniently covered by the branches of a nearby beech tree. Alter and Boozehound slipped beneath the canopy and slid down into the hollow in order to wait out the search. If the situation continued to deteriorate then the horses were tied up and ready a short distance deeper into the woods.

  Time passed, and though the air was filled with the gentle sound of rustling leaves and birdcalls, the unmistakable thud of footsteps could be heard somewhere above. Alter’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes scanned the greenery for any humanoid shadow looming before him. His rifle edged upwards, and he inwardly cursed the fact that he hadn’t disengaged the safety before its click could give them away. Relaxed voices were carried to them by the breeze, complete with the sound of crunching as one of the searchers took a bite of a snagged apple. Then, just as Alter convinced himself that they were a hair’s breadth from discovering them, the voices and footfalls began to fade as they moved away once more.

  However, his shaky sigh of relief was quickly cut short in horror. The morning air was split by the sound of gunfire in the distance, a cluster of five short bursts of semi-automatic fire.

  “Fucking shit!” Riptide roared over the radio. “Green was awake the whole bloody time, started shouting the moment his mates got near! All teams disengage!”

  “Back to the horses, now.” Alter whispered to Boozehound as the searchers rushed back passed them at a dead sprint, allowing the pair to make good their escape.

  Alter ground his teeth as they made it back to their mounts, hauling himself up onto Tarikell’s back and sending him into motion with the slightest touch. He didn’t know the Murphy who coined the concept of Murphy’s Law, but he had a few choice words for them.