"I'm sorry for your loss," said the smelly old man solemnly as he and the remaining Sisters of the Sand watched the last of the sewer folk escape through Dagolar's tower and into the darkening wasteland beyond. "I have nothing to offer you but our thanks."
"Where will you go?" asked Nerith quietly as she shifted her gaze to the sunset on the horizon.
"I've heard of villages out in the wastes - villages formed by escaped slaves no less, the most successful having the most ludicrous name of Tea Kettle," replied the geezer. "You girls would do well to find one and live free. Don't worry about me, my leg will only slow you down."
"It's dangerous out there," began Nerith but the old man cut her off.
"More dangerous if you go in an unprepared, large group like that lot," he said ruefully as he looked at the fleeing sewer folk. "That's just asking to be caught again, or worse. Come now, it's time for you to go. Besides, nothing is going to eat something that smells as bad as I do."
Nerith felt a pang of guilt leaving the old man behind as the trio made their way out into the desert, packs of food and supplies on their back. It occurred to her that they had never even bothered to ask old man's name. After more than two hours of hiking after the sun had set, the girls were making their way through a narrow canyon between two rocky cliffs when a familiar voice called out from in front of them.
"Going somewhere?"
Not these guys again.
Nessa, who was in the lead, stopped suddenly as a line of six soldiers previously hidden by the rock face marched into the canyon, blocking their path. Another half dozen soldiers began marching into position behind them, and atop the cliffs a trio archers stood up with bows drawn. From the safety behind his soldiers, the green garbed arena announcer grinned at his prey.
"Surrender now slaves, and I may yet be merciful."
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