They slipped through border patrol using an insider the resistance had reached out to. Smuggled in large crates padded with foam and sealed shut with voidslime from Leirza, they remained undetected. The crates were stacked on carts pulled by Khaori Bierds. One of the birds was comically oversized, but no one gave it much attention.
They made it out of Chronisca.
The moment they crossed into Neuraleth, the cart slowed, then stopped.
Inside, Azriel groaned. "Damn, my back hurts."
The top of the crate creaked open. Sunlight flooded in.
Leirza grinning. "That's what you get for sleeping like luggage."
Outside, the cart driver—lean and sunburnt—turned his head back toward them. "Hey, you lot strong?"
Azriel narrowed his eyes. "We manage. Why?"
The driver pointed ahead. A group stood in the road, blocking their path. Cloaked figures, armed, waiting.
"Mercs," the man said. "Black Hats. Just strong mages with no jobs."
