Rycharde's party had stayed in Thralkeld for three days before departing for Damerel, though Mirstone remained their final destination. Rycharde and his crew woke before dawn, their breath wafting in the cold air as they departed through the northwest gate. They took the heavily rutted road that led directly toward the Abrosite Capital.
Rycharde could see other caravans traveling along the route with them, which was a good thing. The more wagons churning up the dirt alongside them, the less risky the journey became. There was always strength in numbers, even if those numbers didn't have magic in their veins. More ears to hear. More eyes to see. Each of the merchant caravans had their own hired swords, and enough coin to afford a few trueborn mercenaries.
They kept their pace steady, still traveling under the cover of a simple grain transport heading toward Mirstone. After a two-day journey, the combined convoy entered a dense patch of trees—too small to be called a proper forest, but thick enough to break the biting wind. The merchant train decided to halt.
"Sir Rycharde," one of the leaders of the merchant caravans said as he rode up alongside him. "We are going to use this as a stop for the night. What do you think?"
Rycharde frowned, as he scanned the surroundings.
He had no obvious reason to disagree. The patch of trees would provide them cover and shelter from the elements. It would provide them sturdy tree trunks to tie their draft horses and pack animals so they wouldn't wander off. Even though he wasn't at the very front of the procession, he was looked to as the leader by the other two merchants. They had sensed an air of nobility around him and an aura of natural leadership. The other knights in the party didn't pale in comparison to his demeanor, and yet they obviously looked to Rycharde for commands, which only cemented his status.
Rycharde contemplated breaking off and leaving the other two behind, but he weighed the pros and cons. In this case, it was still more advantageous to stay with the group and use them as a buffer.
"Yes, I think we can set up camp, but we need to check first," he said. He motioned to Evered and Oswyn to scout ahead for any potential threats.
The merchants agreed and held for a beat. When Evered and Oswyn returned to confirm nothing was out of the ordinary, they made camp.
The dense patch of trees quickly transformed from a quiet wilderness into a chaotic, sprawling settlement. Drivers shouted over the creak of settling wood and the jangle of harness chains as they backed their heavy wagons into a rough perimeter. Men unhitched the massive, exhausted draft horses, leading them toward the thicker trunks to tether them for the night.
The sharp, rhythmic chops of hand axes echoed off the bark as hired hands immediately set to work stripping dead branches for kindling. Within the hour, the first signs of fire began to rise as smoke curled toward the sky, followed by the blooming, orange glow of three large campfires built specifically to keep the evening chill at bay.
The smell of smoke soon mixed with the heavy scent of roasting meats and boiling oats. The merchants' hired swords dropped their packs near the flames, laughing loudly as they passed around clay jugs of watered ale and kicked off their heavy boots. The camp was a hive of careless, exhausted noise, the light of the fires casting deep, flickering shadows into the brush just beyond the tree line.
Rycharde's party broke off from the merchants and gathered around a smaller, smokeless fire.
"I don't like this." Rycharde frowned, staring into the dark woods.
"It leaves us open to attacks from the trees, just like what happened in Irriton," Evered said, his grip tightening on his spear.
"Well at least, there aren't any instances of Arcanist attacks deep in these parts, though," Oswyn pointed out.
"No one sleeps tonight," Rycharde ordered flatly. "Eyes open for the three of us."
"Use these on our patrols." Rycharde took out three portable gemlamps and gave them to Evered and Oswyn. The heavy brass cylinders felt cold in their hands.
"Just stay close to the wagon that contains the Press."
Everyone nodded and finished their food in silence.
Later, the tight beams of the gemlamps projected their white light toward the darkness of the trees.
Evered and Oswyn crossed paths on their patrol routes.
"It's quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Aye, all quiet in the east side as well."
Suddenly, a horse neighed in the distant merchant camp. Oswyn looked in the direction of the sound but didn't find anything in the shadows.
Then another horse neighed. Then another.
Within seconds, all the horses seemed to scream at once.
"Attack!" A panicked shout was heard.
"Attack!" another voice echoed. "Beasts are attacking!"
Oswyn swept his gemlamp toward the merchant lines. The tight beam of white light cut through the dark. It illuminated the heavy draft horses. Felwolves charged at them, but the horses were tied to the trunks and couldn't run.
Rycharde sprinted toward Oswyn and Evered, his war hammer in hand.
"Evered, secure our cargo. That's what we are here for. Stay and form a defensible position. I will go"
"Oswyn, you make sure that our soldiers make our steeds safe."
"Yes!" They shouted together as they broke off toward the Press wagon.
When Rycharde arrived at the scene, he saw felwolves attacking half the horses. Men-at-arms scrambled to draw their lances and form a perimeter.
Rycharde inspected the panicked horses and saw thick, unnatural vine tethers had tied them down to the earth. He scrunched his brows.
A felwolf pounced toward a man-at-arms' blind spot.
[Fire Ball] Rycharde roared. He had gotten faster at chanting the second circle spell.
The spell hit the beast squarely in the chest burning the beast's fur. The wolf hit by the spell had fallen beside the man. The spell had changed where the beast had landed.
"Form up!" Rycharde commanded. His voice cut through the panic.
The men-at-arms, hearing a Rycharde's voice, started to form in lines.
"Defend the horses!" Rycharde roared, punching the air as he formed a spell. He used a shortened version of the spell.
[Stone Bullet]
A jagged chunk of rock shot forward, hitting another felwolf cleanly in the eye and blinding it.
A halberd from a man at arms came chopping down the wolf's neck. It connected but it didn't cut it clean leaving the head hanging on top of the body. The wolf was taken out of the fight.
The merchants who had fully woken, had taken up their weapons. They formed a tight circle around their wagons, keeping the non-combatants at the center. The leader stood tall, shouting commands at his own armed escort.
Beside him, another merchant carried a bow and calmly started shooting at the beasts in the dark.
Rycharde eased toward them to get an understanding of the current situation.
"You know these routes right?"
The merchant nodded. He was tense but he wasn't too afraid. He looked like he had experienced a few caravan attacks in his time.
"Aye, we do, Sir Rycharde," the merchant nodded.
The merchant looked at the retreating wolves and the panicked horses.
"Are felwolves common in these parts?"
"There are a few, but this is the first time we have been attacked by felwolves in this particular woods."
"I saw some briars that had crawled up on the horses," Rycharde said, testing the man. "Are there plants you know of in these parts that do that?"
"There are some particular vines that grow that fast, but they wither in a day," the merchant nodded.
Maybe these are just random beast attacks, Rycharde thought.
But to Rycharde something was still off.
The merchant's escorts formed a shield wall with their spears raised.
The interlocking wood and iron created a solid barrier. A felwolf launched itself from the dark and slammed heavily against the shields. The line buckled under the weight, claws scratching frantically at the metal rims, but had braced. They leaned their weight forward as their heavy boots digging into the dirt.
"Thrust!" the mercenary captain barked.
Three spears darted out from the gaps in unison. One iron tip caught the wolf squarely in the throat, driving it down into the mud. The beast thrashed violently, but the men held the shafts steady, pinning it until it stopped moving. They pulled their spears back and reset the wall in a single, fluid motion.
The two trueborn mercenaries stood directly behind the spearmen, watching the gaps. When a massive felwolf crashed through the brush acting as a battering ram, one of the trueborns dropped to a knee and slammed his palm into the earth.
[Earth Wall]
A thick slab of rock shot up from the soil a few feet in front of the shield line. The charging wolf smashed into the stone with a sickening crack of bone and tusk. The beast staggered backward, completely stunned by the impact.
Arrows flew toward the stunned beast, peppering it with holes. A trueborn archer with a compound bow loosed a final shaft. The arrow went through the beast's eye and punctured it clean through. The beast shivered once and fell heavy to the dirt.
Seeing that the two members of their packed dying, the remaining wolves started to retreat.
After the little skirmish, the merchants started to account for casualties. There were a few that had been wounded—mostly non-combatants caught in the panic—but there was one confirmed death.
"Since everyone is up anyway, I suggest we pack up and set on the road again." Rycharde said.
The merchant sheathed his sword with a sharp scrape of metal. "Aye," he said. "There might be another felwolf pack around these parts."
"Agreed," said the other merchant leader. He signaled his men to break down the perimeter. "We don't know how they got here, but we might as well go. Pack it up!"
As the camp began the loud process of packing in the dark, Rycharde went with the mercenary captain to check on any casualties.
Rycharde used a gloved hand to peel back the shredded, blood-soaked tunic.
"Look at that," Rycharde said quietly to the captain, keeping the tight beam of his gemlamp focused directly on the man's chest. "That's too clean."
The captain crouched beside him, his knee sinking into the damp earth. He leaned in, squinting against the harsh white light, and traced a finger just above the narrow puncture wound. "Aye. It looks like a dagger."
"Where was his corpse found?" Rycharde asked, his eyes never leaving the body.
"Quite far from the camp, actually," the captain said, the leather of his armored glove scraped roughly against his stubble. He still stared at the corpse, investigating it further.
"How far?"
The captain changed his gaze and pointed out into the pitch-black woods. "Around sixty or seventy paces away."
Rycharde finally looked up from the corpse. "When was the last time anyone saw him?"
"He was part of the night watch, actually. He said he needed to do his business." The captain shifted his weight, his heavy boots squelching slightly in the mud. "He was seen around an hour ago."
"So before the attack?" Rycharde said, shifting his eyes from the torso to the claw marks on the arm.
"Yes, a little before that time." The captain nodded.
Rycharde stood up, his joints popping slightly in the cold air. He stared out at the wall of trees beyond the camp, his mind trying to piece together a theory.
"I see." Rycharde lowered his gemlamp. "Just be on the lookout, captain. This may be more than what it seems."
The captain nodded grimly, wiping his fingers on his trousers before turning back toward the packing caravans.
Rycharde bid the captain farewell and went back to the blackfyre convoy.
He arrived at the Blackfyre convoy to find everything in perfect order. There were no casualties on their side. Everything was flawlessly lined up, packed, and ready to go.
"How did the attack go here?"
"There weren't any," Evered said, shaking his head.
"Not even a stray wolf," Oswyn seconded. "The two merchant convoys ahead took on everything."
Rycharde stood in silence, the orange glow of the distant merchant fires reflecting in his eyes. He looked out into the pitch-black tree line, his mind racing.
"One of the the merchant's watchman," Rycharde murmured, his voice dropping low. "He was found seventy paces out. Looks like a dagger clean to the heart, he was covered up with claw marks."
Evered tightened his grip on his spear. "A dagger?"
"It could be something else entirely, though. I didn't have time to inspect. They were wrapping up and packing up."
"There are felwolves that have fangs as thick as a dagger, though," Oswyn said.
Rycharde nodded slowly.
The groomsman handed him his steed, and Rycharde mounted the quintil.
"Move out," Rycharde commanded as soon as he was on top of the horse. "We follow the caravan in front."
At the corner of Rycharde's eye, just past the edge of his sight, he saw a fox with a dead rabbit in its mouth scampering away into the deep brush.
Rycharde's jaw tightened. They formed the convoy and moved out toward the other merchants, riding out into the dark.