To the town.

“Town?” The Akkadian ponders out loud, surprised that there would even be a village in the Tel'Kadesh Oasis.

“At once, Mistress.” The orc bows, taking his lady's words as her will. “Get up you dogs!” He turns and orders the retinue into action. Once organized the caravan leaves the watering hole and heads straight into the desert. The assassin is impressed by the witch's strategic cunning. To aimlessly enter into the Deir Al-Zor Desert is simple suicide, yet this hidden watering hole is the clear marker to her abode, if one knows the correct direction to follow.

The journey is short, but very unpleasant. The burning sun, whipping sand and unrelenting heat nearly drives the fur covered wolves mad. Wrapping his head in a scarf the Akkadin surmises that to have a self sustaining tower the witch would need peasants to support her, but is her fiefdom so large that it requires a town?

After an half and hour of torturous travel the Akkadin begins to make out what seems to be a small forest in the middle of the uncompromising desert. He is surprised by its size, wondering if the Sorceress's magics have something to do with how lush and large the tropical oasis appears to be. Soon the signs of a walled town can clear be made out. Next to the town is the only elevation that can be seen as far as the eye can see, a moderate sized hill which is crowned with a stone motte-and-bailey castle. A tall well crafted tower rises up from the wall closest to the town, looking down on the village. The chief orc blows his horn announcing the arrival of its Mistress.

Though nowhere near the size of the City of Al Areth, the Sorceress's town is of finer construction and clearly better kept than the Warlord's domain. An exquisitely open carriage, with a regal seat, drawn by two horses is waiting at the gate as they arrive. A few guards, all human, stand around the vehicle.

With a bow, the large orc leaves the assassin next to the carriage and departs, leading the beastmen and wolves towards the tower. A dignified, well dressed tall man, with a graying beard approaches the Akkadian.

“Mistress.” He bows and offers his hand to help the assassin off his horse. Though galled that he would need any man's assistance for such a simple task, the Akkadian plays along.

“I hope your travels were pleasant.” The man escorts his lady to the awaiting carriage. “There are several matters that require your attention, Mistress. Grymvix continues to complain about the quality of this years oil olive, but simply nothing can be done about the matter. Also, the repairs on the west wall are far behind schedule, because we received only half of the promised shipment.”

The Akkadin is a bit surprised by this man's attitude. He is showing the appropriate respect demanded by his station, but he is speaking to the assassin as if he was an ordinarily liege-lord, not some sadistic witch.

“Oh,” the official continues as he helps the Akkadian up into the carriage which is driven by a cloaked man in a large hooded robe. “An outsider was recently arrested while trying to sneak into the town treasury. I sent the villain to the Tower, but since the stranger was quite physically attractive Grymvix is awaiting for your return before interrogating the prisoner, as per your standard policy."

“Finally,” the steward adverts his eyes for a second, apparently uncomfortable with his next report, “with regards to a similar matter, the guard who . . . displeased you . . . is being punished in the town square as according to your laws.” Stepping back from the carriage he bows. “I will meet you at the town hall Mistress, after you have witnessed justice being carried out, because I know such matters . . . please you and your people.”

The carriage pulls forward with the town gates closing behind the bewildered Akkadian.