### Chapter 20: Highway Robbery
*Trill's Point of View*
The sun had risen slowly, casting its pale light over the landscape as Trill and Bren sat together in the merchant's wagon. The day was clear, and the road stretched out ahead of them like a ribbon of opportunity. Despite the tension that lingered in the air between them, the journey had been uneventful so far, the only notable distraction being the merchant's constant boasting.
Trill had grown tired of listening to the man—he was obnoxious, spoiled, and clearly used to the finer things in life. He prattled on and on about his vast wealth, his expensive goods, and the fine cities he had visited. His arrogance was grating, but Trill hadn't expected anything else from a man of his ilk.
Bren, on the other hand, had been silent, though her restless posture spoke volumes. She was clearly no fan of the merchant either. Trill couldn't help but notice how she subtly observed the world around her, her eyes always alert, always calculating. It was a skill he respected.
They had just passed through a small clearing when Trill's keen senses tingled. His grip tightened on the edge of the wagon, and his gaze darted toward the tree line. Something wasn't right.
"Hold up," Trill murmured, his voice low but firm. Bren stiffened beside him, her hand immediately going to the hilt of her sword, her expression sharp.
The merchant, still oblivious to their surroundings, continued to chatter away. "I tell you, the food in Silvervale is unparalleled. And the women—"
"Shut up," Bren snapped, her tone cutting through the merchant's words like a knife. She shot him a glare that could freeze a man in his tracks. "We've got company."
Just as Trill had sensed, the trees ahead rustled, and a small group of figures stepped onto the road, blocking the path. They were rough-looking, with weathered faces and ragged clothes. Their eyes glinted with a mixture of hunger and malice.
"Great," Bren muttered under her breath, sizing them up. "Bandits."
Trill eyed the group, noting their weapons—dirty swords, crude axes, and a few old bows slung over their shoulders. These weren't experienced highwaymen, but they had enough desperation in their eyes to make them dangerous.
The bandit leading the group, a tall man with a jagged scar running across his cheek, stepped forward, a smirk curling on his lips. "Well, well, what do we have here? A fine merchant and his lovely passengers. Perhaps you've got something for us, eh?"
Trill raised an eyebrow, his hands casually resting on his lap. "What's the toll, then?" he asked, his voice as bored as if they were discussing the weather.
The bandit leader laughed, clearly amused by Trill's casual demeanor. "Toll? Ha! You don't get to ask, friend. We decide what you pay."
Bren didn't wait for further provocation. She swung her leg over the side of the wagon with a fluid motion, landing lightly on the ground with her sword already drawn. She stood tall and confident, her eyes narrowing in disdain as she addressed the bandit leader. "Get out of the way, or I'll make you."
The bandit's eyes flickered to her weapon, then back to her face. For a moment, it seemed like he might back down, but then he sneered and took a step toward her. "Feisty. I like that."
Before Trill could intervene, the merchant's voice piped up from behind them, full of arrogance and fear. "W-What are you doing? You can't just—! I'm a—"
Bren turned, her gaze sharp and her stance unyielding. "Shut up," she growled, causing the merchant to immediately clamp his mouth shut. "You've already said too much."
With a deliberate pace, Bren took a step forward, her eyes never leaving the bandit leader. "Leave. Now. Or I'll make you regret this."
The bandits hesitated, unsure whether she was bluffing. But Trill knew better. He had seen Bren fight before, and there was no bluff in her. She was every bit as dangerous as she looked.
The leader grunted, clearly irritated by her stance, but he couldn't hide the flicker of doubt in his eyes. "You think you can take all of us, girl?"
Without a word, Bren lunged forward in a blur of motion, her sword flashing as she sliced through the air. The bandit leader barely had time to react before he was forced to parry with his own sword, sparks flying as the metal clashed.
Trill sat back, watching the scene unfold with a detached interest. It wasn't that he didn't care—he just knew Bren could handle herself. He wasn't about to get involved unless absolutely necessary.
The other bandits, seeing their leader locked in combat with Bren, drew their weapons and moved in, hoping to overwhelm her with numbers. But Bren was already one step ahead. She spun, dodging a swing from an axe-wielding bandit, and in a fluid motion, she disarmed him with a well-placed strike, sending the weapon flying through the air.
Another bandit, wielding a crude bow, took aim at Bren, but Trill's eyes snapped to him just in time. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he released a small vial from his pouch, letting it roll toward the bandit. A puff of green smoke erupted from the vial, and the bandit's eyes widened in alarm as he stumbled back, gasping for air. The alchemical smoke was a quick-acting sedative, and within moments, the bandit collapsed unconscious to the ground.
Meanwhile, Bren had already dispatched two more bandits with precise, swift strikes, her movements so fluid it was like watching a dance. The last two were clearly starting to realize they were outmatched, but it was too late for them to retreat. They were already too deep into the confrontation.
Trill stood up then, his gaze cold and calculating. The merchant, who had been crouched low in the wagon, peered out from behind the edge of it, wide-eyed and trembling. Trill caught his eye, and the merchant immediately recoiled under the weight of his gaze.
"This wasn't part of the deal," the merchant said, his voice shaking with fear.
Trill said nothing, his eyes never leaving the bandits. He wasn't interested in negotiating with the merchant right now. He had more pressing matters to attend to. With a single gesture, he commanded his Pitcher plant soldiers, which had been silently waiting in the shadows, to move into position. The plants sprouted from the ground with startling speed, their long, tendril-like limbs encircling the remaining bandits.
The bandit leader, now clearly realizing the situation had spiraled out of his control, turned to flee, but Bren's voice stopped him cold.
"Not so fast," she said, her voice low and threatening. With a quick motion, she sent her sword cutting through the air, knocking the bandit leader to the ground in a single strike. He groaned, unable to rise as the Pitcher plants moved in, binding him to the earth.
Trill smirked, watching the scene unfold with quiet satisfaction. Bren's ability to command the battlefield was impressive, but what truly amazed him was how she had terrified the merchant into silence. The spoiled merchant, who had been so eager to speak and flaunt his wealth, was now cowering in his seat, his face pale and drenched in sweat.
"That's how you handle scum," Bren muttered, wiping her blade clean and sheathing it with a casual flick of her wrist.
Trill stepped forward, his eyes glinting as he addressed the merchant, who still hadn't moved. "Now, let's talk about that little contract we made. I believe you owe us a little something more for... the inconvenience."
The merchant gulped but nodded quickly, all arrogance gone from his posture. "Y-Yes, of course. Anything you want."
Bren watched this exchange with a mixture of amusement and admiration. "You really do know how to make people obey," she said, a hint of admiration in her voice.
Trill grinned. "It's all about understanding what motivates them. Fear is a powerful thing."
As the bandits were tied up and left at the mercy of the Pitcher plants, Trill leaned back against the wagon, feeling a sense of satisfaction. They had made it through another encounter. They had their answers—at least for now.
And Bren, it seemed, was beginning to realize just how resourceful he could be.
**To be continued...**