The roads were quiet, even when they were still within sight of RhyDin. The low-level conflict that had flared in the city hours before was enough to discourage most night-time travel. It was one factor that the Baron had not taken into account, and while it had not given them trouble yet, he still regarded his pitch-black surroundings with a dark frown as their little convoy rattled up the track on their way to the Smith family farm...

He looked over his shoulder at the slaves hidden away in the back, then over at Val, who was driving the wagon while Alain rode shotgun. "...Would it bother you if I smoked?"

The redhead gave a quick shake of his head, shot a snub-nosed grin across at the Baron. "Nah, not ou' in th' open like this." After the shock of Johnny coming in bleeding and the crowd of slaves, Val had recovered. Now? It was an adventure for the young teen. He checked the distance from their wagon to Johnny and Sianna's rattling ahead, and gave a quick flick of the reins to speed up the team.

Alain chuckled softly into his cigarette as he lit it. "Never do this," he added, tapping the end with his thumb. "It's terrible for you." His eyes did another slow scan of their surroundings, paying close attention to the few details the moonlight revealed. Jesus H. Christ... If the bounty hunters didn't kill him tonight, Sianna was sure to finish the job herself.

From her perch at the front of the wagon, Sianna was turned to keep an eye on the sleeping children -- those visible and not -- in among the flotsam and jetsam that was a hastily packed life. At the scent of the tobacco, blue hawk-eyes sought out the burning end flashing like a beacon as Alain took a drag. Only seeing one, she held her tongue. For now.

"Mary, Michael an' Bride..." Her voice was low and the syllables blurred together as she spoke invocations for protection and guidance, slipping into the comfort of the Gaelic at midpoint. Yet for all of her requests for peace and shielding, she was dressed to do harm that any might cross their path.

Which might have surprised Alain when they set up the travel arrangements. Johnny had a mace, spiked and sturdy, but it was Sianna that had the sword, the dirk, the sgian duibh and more weapons besides. Johnny's eyes were silvered again, and he'd reverted to the infrared mode of sight that was so useful at night. Unfortunately, as they traveled the north road, the underbrush was too thick for the infrared to gain him more than a few extra yards of view. The chuck of his tongue was soft to the front as he urged the horses on.

Up ahead, something warm moved in the underbrush. Alain didn't see it, checking off to either side and behind them, but they showed up like little fires in Johnny's eyes. The shapes were low, but not low enough to be animals. They were men, and only a few of them stood upright. The rest of them were hiding, and would have been doing a good job of it if not for the silversmith's heat-sensing.

Three were out in the road, and an enormous, carefully covered wagon was pulled off to the side where two more crouched, but something hot and massive stirred restlessly within. Metal rattled.

At the sound of startled birds leaping to flight seemed to echo from trees off to the right, Sianna's hand tightened around the handle of the tartan-concealed broadsword. She gave a final glance behind her as she shifted her body forward to the edge of the wagon seat.

Alain observed the details likely long after Johnny and Sianna, but when he did, he turned to Val and whispered, "When... if things happen, find a good place to hide and stay put. I mean it."

The three in the road were about to get a rude shaking up. Because Johnny, instead of pulling the lead wagon to a halt, suddenly rose to a half-stand and snapped the reins with a shout to urge forward the horses. And a startled team of draft horses can move surprisingly fast even hauling a loaded wagon, at least for a short distance. "Ambush! Back an' sides in th' trees, somethin' in th' wagon!" The silversmith's baritone was powerful over the rattle of wheels and wood.

Sianna crouched low, the sword in her right hand and a dagger in her right. Her long hair had been braided back into a thick plait and secured out of the way so as not to block her vision. The only thing that stopped her from emitting a piercing Highland shriek was the thought that it would only frighten the children that much more than the shouting would.

The three yelled and scattered, but one of them gathered his wits faster than the others. An old rifle cracked and a bullet whistled over the second wagon; he was reaching for the pistol at his belt when Alain drew first. Three quick flashes later he was staggering back into the trees screaming bloody murder. Clean kills weren't an easy matter by moonlight.

But they had thought ahead. Two great big trees blocked the road -- with effort a wagon could slowly pick its way around them, but at that speed it required a full stop. Their ambushers were rallying, and chains rattled loudly from the wagon... The Baron shifted the pistol to his left hand, and put his right on the hilt of his sword, which flickered into view only when he reached for it.

Leather creaked and strained as abruptly Johnny had to pull the reins taut with a "Whoah!" The horses pulled up as short as they could, and the wagon still only just managed to stop before the horses hit the trees. Behind them, Val's wagon jerked to a similar halt, easier only because it hadn't had at much time to gather speed. The silversmith gritted his teeth, feeling the strain of the action through his stitched leg, then dropped the reins to grab his mace. "Ya migh' wan' ta call in backup if'n ya go' it, bro!"

Their attackers' plan became clear almost immediately. They had been the first to leave the city, had long since dropped out of contact with their "colleagues," and still had a solid battle plan to work off of -- if you encounter a convoy that tries to run your 'checkpoint,' separate the wagons and defenders into groups. Steel flashed in the moonlight as a half dozen men rushed into the space between the first and second wagon, and three more were coming up behind Alain and Val.

To make matters worse, not far away, something roared very loudly. More than likely the thing their attackers had brought along in their wagon.

A dark figure wedged himself between the wagon and the horses, grabbing to undo the hitch pin and render them immobile. From her spot, Sianna placed a leg on the running board and then stood to her full height, the blade glinting quicksilver in the hazed moonlight. Blade went down like a pin into a cushion, falling where it may. Unluckily, the blow was not lethal and the stabbed man yelped and howled in pain.

Swinging the mace like a baseball bat was inelegant - but it worked, powered by a strong enough back and arms. The man Sianna had stabbed staggered back into the path of the blow, and went down like a sack of flour. Val froze on the bench of the wagon as a "Watchman" grabbed the reins; then the teen kicked out at the man's jaw before scrambling into the bed of the wagon.

Meanwhile, Johnny was pulling himself to his feet, cursing up a blue streak as he realized that at least half the stitches in his leg had torn back open with the fall and activity. It was not a good time for the last ambusher around the front wagon, currently trying to pull down one of the slave-women from the bed. Not when Johnny took out his aggression by planting his feet and swinging with a rib-crushing blow at the man's torso. That was a heavy mace he was swinging, and it had spikes.

Even in its weakend state, Sianna felt no empathy, no pity. She was nothing but adrenaline and rage, bringing the sword down in one final arc in a Daisy-and-Golialem reenactment. When she was done, none of the eyes moved. Black ooze splattered her from head to toe and she heaved deep gulping breaths.

Spinning back towards the wagons, she came face to face with an ambusher who had had a change of heart. The man's eyes nervously moved from the decapitated construct and back again. With a high-pitched squeal, he fled as fast as he could towards Rhydin proper.

Alain was venting a little anger of his own. Someone with a few prepared spells packed into an exploding crystal had reduced the Baron's best pistol to slag and gotten a decent slice in while he tried to recover. Now the man was dangling by the neck from Alain's left hand, which he was doing his best to close into a fist. Soon enough it worked, and he dropped the limp form.

No more ambushers.

"Righ'." Johnny sucked in another whoop of a breath, leaned hard against the back of the wagon. The slave-woman he'd kept from getting hauled down scrambled back into the bed of the wagon and into her hiding spot. "Wha' in th' Lor' an' Skies was tha'?"

The pitch black viscera that had saturated much of her clothes stunk to high hell. Peeling off her vest, Sianna dropped it to the ground with a look of disgust and stepped off into some grass to clean her blades as best she could.

Val stuck his head up from behind the edge of the wagon seat, Caitir wide-eyed and shaking under his arm. "They gone now?"

"They're gone, Val. Help me get some waterskins for Johnny and Si, yeah?" Alain had only gotten a glimpse of the angry Highlander soaked in black ooze, but a glimpse had been enough. He offered a heavy canteen over to Johnny and answered his question.

"Necrolim. Used to be built for undead armies, now they're mostly rented out to muscle that wants to pack an extra punch. Haven't seen one in three years."

The battle rage was fading, yet she kept her distance for now. Overhearing Alain's answer, she cursed under her breath. What was it about her that made her the undead magnet. Zombies... necrolim, dear God, what would she ever have to face next?

With a nod upwards of thanks, Johnny claimed the waterskin from Alain, and tried to give Caitir a reassuring smile. The girl gasped and ducked back behind the wagon seat. Johnny winced, lifted the skin to take a gulp of water, then splashed a stream of it across his face. "Seems like overkill, yeah? Wha' were they expectin'?"

"Me," he said flatly, sitting on the edge of Johnny's wagon to inspect his wound. It wasn't too bad, but hurt like hell. "My guess is... these guys left early. I'm thinking they were waiting to ambush reinforcements from the Barony. Unlucky us," he finished with a grunt.

"Bro," Johnny paused to take in another breath and clamp his hand over the torn slice in his thigh, "If'n someone's sendin' ou' beasts like tha' when they're expectin' ya, ya migh' be in th' wrong line of work. Jus' somethin' ta consider."

Inspecting the wagon the ambusher's had pulled across the road, Sianna stepped behind it for some privacy. Things they could use would be pulled to the side and loaded up. But first she would seek out some fresh clothes to change into. The only thing water would help would be her face and hair.

Alain laughed breathlessly and shook his head. "Downside to fighting for these people, huh..." As soon as the words left his lips and he looked their way, he faltered. Paused. "...Come on, have a seat, and I'll get your leg back up to speed again," he said at last, pulling a medical bag from the wagon.

Sianna emerged from behind the wagon, clad in fresh clothes, that smelled of pipe tobacco and grain alcohol. But it was an improvement from her previous ensemble, and that was all that mattered. Taking the waterskin from Val with a half smile, she jerked her head towards the vehicle. "There's some things there we could be using tae th' farm. Get th' others tae help ye fetch them, aye?"

Sianna bent over at the waist, holding her head between her knees as she tilted the waterskin over. Cold water sluiced through her hair and over her face as she scrubbed with one hand to remove as much of the muck as she could.

The redhead nodded and hurried off to obey Sianna's command. It had a lot more impact coming from a woman who still had pitch-like blood in her hair. Johnny eased back to sit on the bed of the wagon with a grateful nod to Alain. The silver was retracted from his eyes, and in the moonlight abruptly he noticed something. A puzzled look crossed his face. "Say, bro... where'd you say yer from, again?"

"New Brittany," Alain said slowly, and paused prepping the needle and thread to stare critically at Johnny. "...Never had any cousins with the surname DeMuer or DeMort, have you?"

Headshake... and headnod. "No' DeMuer. There's a Demort in th' family tree in th' Book, way back." Johnny paused and took in a deep breath. In the moonlight, all the colors were washed out, but he'd be getting paler along about now if there was daylight to see it by. "Now, ya excuse me, I'm jus' goin' ta lay back a bi'..."

"Hey Johnny, stay with me now... Johnny? ...****."