"You swore!"

A disembodied voice boomed out. Echoing but for a scantling of a second. Still it was long enough to spark an shudder of recognition from Modru, God of Chaos. Afore his last shiver could even subside, the gargantuan form of the God of Order had coalesced nearby. Facing off across the blankness of the aether, neither brother appeared pleased to behold his sibling.

"Does thy guilty conscience prick thee?" Tynan asked, approaching at a skew-whiff angle, forcing Modru onto his backfoot.

"Never," Modru barked back over his shoulder. "Praytell, what ails thee brother?"

"Hmmph, our wager appears to have taken a curious turn," Tynan replied, stepping ever closer, invading his brother's inner outer-space.

"Our champions were only chosen two mortal years ago, yet in that short while a duke, a sorcerer, an assassin, brigands and even a demon have taken up your cause... Was an emperor not enough?"

Tynan glared at his brother, who flinched and fleetingly flickered out of being before returning to some semblance of permanence.

"Mere coincidence," Modru mumbled. "What can I say, my mortal moves in glittering circles..."

"I see your hand stirring those circles Modru - yet your meddling matters not one jot. We made a pact you and I, whereupon our sworn word became an entity unto itself. You forget that part at your peril."

"Stuff and nonsense, what need have I to encroach in such pismire affairs? I chose an emperor, you chose some piffling swain..."

Modru scowled defiantly but Tynan browbeat him back into cowering silence with a glance.

"Be warned brother mine, powerful enemies oft begets powerful allies. My boy may be beset for the nonce but beware the balance!"

Glowering, Modru made a muttering retreat into the aether. Wordlessly Tynan watched his brother dissolve. As he did, his stern grimace twisted into a wry smile - he'd kept secrets too. In particular, the obscure human prophecy The Path of the Seeker:

From a prince to a mage, a guard to a captain, a soldier to a general, a baron to a duke, a jack to a king, seeking 'tis the only certain thing.

Mysteriously the magic dagger was already in play. Modru had assayed there no doubt, but did he truly know with what he dealt? Surely, in his hubris he would have let some tiny hint slip? Mayhap it was in sooth a "mere coincidence" ?

The God of Order smiled again, almost maliciously. He loved it when a prophecy came together. So it begins...

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He was a good boy. Mama always said so. So why was this happening to them? Why did everybody loathe them so?

For the last week his world had been caged wagon - little more than a long wooden crate on wheels. Cast-iron doors at either end swung outwards on cylindrical hinges as thick as the bars. The boy's eyes weren’t the best so beyond the bars everything was a blur. Everything baffled him, the tilting horizon shifting sideways with every twist and turn in the road. Apart from the harsh staccato cries of his captors, creaks, clangs, bumps and thumps were all he could hear. And he felt them first. Every breath he inhaled the musty smell of the dank canvas covering the roof and three sides of his world. Yet he was grateful his captors, left it there. It made the cage more like a cave, a small comfort. As was the dusty, blanket he clutched, threadbare as it was. The biggest comfort though was of course his mother.

Whenever he was upset, like he was now, she’d hug him close, cooing sweet nothings until he felt safe again. He burrowed deeper into the dark well of his mother's embrace, a cavern of safety, his safe-haven.

Several hours later he awoke. They had stopped. It must be night-time. Snuffling he turned into his mother again, delving into her musky scent, averting his eyes from the flickering firelight, riffling across the bars of their cage casting intermittent shadows that dazzled his weak eyes. Grunting she locked her arms around him rocking gently as his racing heart slowed, Behind his eyelids the flaming orange faded to a cool umber. The mercy of slumber's release wasn't granted to him though, instead a fistful of hurtful memories pounded his young mind.

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He sniffled, as the accompanying ttears welled, trickling down his stony face into his nose. It was all his fault. He was the one cast out as unclean. A half-caste mongrel they called him. That’s why they had to live outside the village in the first place. One of the main reasons they were able to got snatched up. The other villagers hated him and his mother had to suffer too. It wasn’t fair.

That’s why he always tried to be a good boy. He was big for his age and when the other boys pushed him or prodded him with their sticks, sometimes he forgot and found himself seething instead of being scared. But whenever he felt the urge to smash them into smithereens, he ran away as mama taught him to. Cause he'd been told when the red curtain comes down you run.

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Arn rejoined the caravan in the late afternoon, literally arriving in a mad flap. Jak could feel how flustered and furious she was from a full furlong away. He watched anxiously as the giant eagle came screaming in from the south. Her huge wings were thwapping angrily against the very air. With a tap of the boot, Jak angled Star sideways then braced himself as she slammed talons first into his extended left arm. The impact wrenched his shoulder near out of it's socket. The underside of her left wing cuffed him across the back of his head, as her hallux dug deep into his flesh drawing blood.

Ouch, he really needed some sort of falconry brace for his forearm… Then he off and running with the idea. It could double as a bracer for the bow as well… Also as an arm guard for when sword fighting…

His daydream bubble was burst by the sharp rap of a beak on his forehead, The pain brought him reluctantly back to the bleeding present. A series of irate squawks and pecks put him in place, and pinned him there. Jak was shocked, the giant eagle was usually so... Well, unflappable. She'd been scouting ahead as usual and it seemed that something further up the road had upset her… Bandits?! Again? Brilliant!

Jak stuck the two knuckles which were kneading his sore forehead into his mouth. Eventually they produced a wavery wolf whistle, which in turn produced a panting wolf.

As usual Jak was out front of the caravan, riding point on Star. He twisted around in the Family Saddle to wave back at his guard partner Erek. Jak made a circle gesture with his forefinger indicating he was foraying ahead. At a nudge of his knees Star surged forward and Arn took to the air with a bitter screech. She flew barely above tree level leading them on – yet off the trail. Jak waved at Fang to run point parallel with himself and the warhorse. He was somewhat surprised at the straight southerly direction they were taking, He’d been expecting some sort of ambuscade along the trade route which ran south-east…

An hour later it all made sense. Sort of... In a bizarre way. Bellying up to the edge of small incline, the boy beheld a nightmarish sight. He felt sick to his stomach. His head swimming in shock. Fangs fragrant heavy breathing in his ear hardly eased his queasiness,

Below their perch, strung out along an old stream bed was another caravan. But nothing like theirs. Sandclans judging by their loose clothing, swarthy skin and sharp Sarkian-like features. Slavers?! They were setting up camp for the night. On the far side a string of ten spiritless prisoners were led shuffling into one of the few remaining patches of sunlight. Shackled at the ankles as one they slumped against the southern bank of the old watercourse. Heads hanging, they hunkered down in strict silence under the baleful glare of two guards. Most were large men that must have been press-ganged or simply snatched from their villages - fodder for the infamous desert fighting pits.

Forty feet in front of them were several narrow wagons arranged in a half circle. Indistinct in the twilight thickened shadows of iron-bars blurry shapes far too big to be men stalked to and fro. With a lurch, Jak realised the wagons were cages. Each one of the four was housing a large animal. As he watched, a huge human shape surged into the last slivers of fall sunlight. Gigantic fists gripped the thick bars and rattle the entire cage. A silverback gorilla! He’s seen pictures in Gran's books, but nothing prepared him for the raw power... So majestic and imposing! A wave of jealously welled up… Ooh, over there a tiger. Wow! He never dared dreamed he’d behold one in the flesh. Silky striped flesh too and so much of it... Oh, a lion too. Must be a male with that shaggy mane... Amazing…

Just above the animals a fluttering flickering drew Jak’s eye up. Peering through the gloom he could see several large birds had been cruelly tethered to the top of cages. No wonder Arn had been so incensed...

He had to act. It wasn't in him not to. Jak's heart began racing, his breathing laboured. He recognised that rare feeling of fear. Dare he face it front on?

Part of him wanted to turn away, run back to the traders' caravan and just resume his guard's life. But he couldn’t, slavery was wrong. So wrong and he would stop it. Somehow... The odds were horrible however. He’d counted a score of slavers, all armed and all grown men. Even if he waited until they went to sleep, the first thing he freed would likely let loose hell. Freeing prisoners was no guarantee they'd fight either, most would like as not hightail it. Anyway they’d have sentries on shift for sure... He could rope Kuruk in to help, but that was still only two humans... And their three animals of course... Against 20 armed men!?

Even with the element of surprise he’d need the support of the other eight guards and Kennison. Dammit, there was no way the guard captain would willingly leave his caravan responsibilities to attack strangers no matter how loathsome... The key word was willingly, Jak would have to force the captain’s hand somehow. He salamander-ed backwards, until he could stand uprigt unseen then headed east back to the trail. Jak needed to scout out a potential campsite for his caravan as close as possible to the reavers' one - which gave him roughly an hour to come up with a plan of attack.