Emmaline gave Neil a wicked look and giggled in a manner that made a nearby goodwife kick her wide eyed husband under the table.

"And how much sleep would I actually get then?" she teased in a tone which was definitely not a complaint. In truth she had been looking forward to a bath and following exactly such a course of action, though where they would fine privacy in such a crowded inn was an open question. 

"If you two are quite finished," Johann hissed from the edge of the table.

"I haven't even had a chance to start yet!" Emmaline protested, "I had a whole thing with a sausage.." Johann made an impatient gesture with his knife hand and they both stood up reluctantly, Emmaline swallowing down the last of her mead. The bandits had a point that without coin it would be a difficult journey across an Empire in which every bed and scrap of food would soon be commandeered by soldiers. The wyrdstone they had stolen was valuable for certain, but only once they actually reached Altdorf and could find a wizard to sell it to. Out here in the rural marches it was more likely to lead to a pyre than a profit. 

"Fine, fine," Neil acquiesced and they stood up and followed the bandit chief from the common room, depositing some of their few remaining coins to cover drinks and food. The locals stared at them in abject amazement, but no one moved to stop them as they headed out into the rapidly deepening twilight.

"So what is the plan boss?" Brandt asked once they were outside and passed the gate wardens.

"You are going to love this," Johann grinned.

_______

Emmaline did not love it. She crouched beside a stone wall a mile east of the Inn. Both moons were in the sky now, reflecting the greenish glow of Morslieb down onto her. It cast shadows in hard and unforgiving light without providing as much illumination as it should. The Winds of Magic, normally little more than a flicker at the edge of her vision, ebbed and flowed in pulsating unhealthy gusts. A lone wolf howled off in the distance making Emmaline shiver as she adjusted her position for the hundredth time. 

"I told you," Johan grinned, also for the hundredth time. The bandit had claimed that the coach they had passed earlier would soon realize that it could not make safety in the beast man ravaged east and would be forced to turn back. It seemed he had been right, and Emmaline had the impression that he would not tire of reminding them any time soon. Johann moved on along the wall to whisper the same thing to the rest of the band as they awaited the arrival of the coach. A slight wind had come up, and the willow trees above them rustled unnervingly. Emmaline swallowed back the bitter copper taste of fear as she remembered her earlier impressions of the coach. She couldn't deny that hijacking the coach would not only provide them with gold but with transportation, but her skin prickled and she had to fight the urge to run. Neil reached out and squeezed her thigh in comfort before returning his grip to his rifle. She had whispered her spell as she had loaded it, and hoped that the small infusion of magic to powder and ball might be worth something on a night like tonight.

In the distance the coach came into view, the curvature of the road making it seem to slowly drift towards them despite the fact that the steeds were being driven at a fearful pace. Spurts of dirt flew from the hooves of the unwholesome looking steeds, and sparks flew where steel shood hooves struck flint in the roads metaling. The wolf howled again, but suddenly chocked off as though in pain and the only sounds were the clatter of wheels and the crack of the coachman's whip. Emmaline was assailed by the sudden urge to run. She had no business being out in the cold trying to rob a coach, she was terrible with weapons, and her paltry magical skills had to be kept secret. She tried to balance that feeling of helplessness with the thought that if they pulled this off, she might be back in Altdorf within a fortnight.

With eerie smoothness the coach began to slow as it approached the fallen log which Johann and the others had dragged across the road to impede passage. The coppery taste grew sharper in Emmaline's mouth as the coach came to a stop with the unearthly smoothness of a beer stein being slid across a polished bar. The great black horses pawed and snorted, their breath forming jets of steam in the cooling air. No one emerged from the carriage. Emmaline could see the moons reflected in the polished ebony of its timbers, and in the immaculately oil black coats of the steeds. The dread grew all but unbearable and she prayed for a scream, or a shot, or something to break the tension. With a groan, Gert and Brandt stumbled from their concealment, rushing forward with weapons raised. Their faces were dawn, and Brandt was clearly struggling hard to shout a challenge of a command, Emmaline could see his throat constricting with the effort, but he couldn't make his vocal cords work. The coachman, a figure in black robes turned to regard the approaching bandits without comment.

"Ge..Get...Getttt," Brandt stammered, unable to master what by now was a tension so acute it bordered on terror. Emmaline's hand hurt and she realized she was gripping the hilt of her little knife so had that her knuckles were pale and bloodless. The door of the coach opened, revealing a smooth feminine arm. There was a soft chuckle that curdled the blood and a smell of cinnamon and metal which tickled the sinuses and watered the eyes. The arm made a gesture to the two thieves, an beckoning crook of the finger. Both Gert and Brandt groaned oddly, then slowly lowered their weapons. The figure gestured again, imperious and commanding. Their weapons fell to the ground as both thieves stumbled, as though befuddled, to the coach. They climbed up and vanished into the interior, obscured by the closing door and the heavy red velvet drapes a moment later. Emmaline worked her mouth trying to make a sound but without success. She thought she heard Johann whimper. The coachman raised his whip and cracked it, the sound, louder than a gunshot, made Emmaline flinch and the coach turned and rolled up over a gap in the low wall. Crows exploded from the trees, as though fleeing the awful presence of the coach as it began to pick up speed. Emmaline's breathing came deep and rapid as she realized that it as on a dirt lane heading towards a low hill. She was sure it hadn't been there when they placed the tree across the road. She was pretty sure.

"Ran... Ranald's bloody balls," she gasped finally forcing her paralyzed mouth to speak with a tingling surge of effort.