The priest already on edge, spun at the voice. He yanked his shield up and placed himself between the voice and Miklos to protect his back. He pulled the fail and stood ready. He didn’t expect archers to shoot into potential melee, but he wasn’t sure.
Feldard did not recognize the elven voice and assumed it a hidden accomplice of the horse-trader. He turned to look for its source but did not follow it’s directive. Instead, the dwarf hefted his axe and closed the distance to the covered wagons to gain some cover should the hidden elf begin firing arrows at their party.
Stephan’s sword veritably flew from the scabbard. The metal resonated with the action leaving a high-pitched tone hanging in the air. Like a pitch-pipe preparing musicians to play, the sound was familiar to the companions and had the effect of focusing the mind for battle.
Hasan was as confused as the rest by the second elven voice. He froze in place and watched.
Stephan took a step back, shield and blade raised, to give himself some room. Not sure what the voice meant for them—was it Hasan casting some sort of spell?—he kept his eyes on the Fyodoryll, shifting them only to take in the four ruffians.
“Its a trap!” cried Miklos. He flung his wand out and jabbed it toward the elf. “Utter a word. Make any sudden movement and it’ll be your last. Now all of you. On the floor. Now!”
She paid him no heed, as her expression changed from feigned dismay to deliberate action. Her hands moved from obfuscating her mouth to gesticulating in the air, weaving a spell with which Miklos was very familiar.
Her henchmen drew their swords, with the intention of taking full advantage of the distracting voice from the forest.