"I can feel the wind getting colder," Luren said, wrapping his arms around himself. It had been five days since they left the Western Duchy.
"We're nearing the border between the West and North," Craige replied. "The temperature drops the closer we get. Here..wear my fur cloak." He handed over the warm garment, concern flickering in his eyes.
Suddenly, a desperate voice echoed through the trees.
"Help meee!"
A young boy came running toward them, breath ragged, eyes wide with fear.
"Ho!" Craige and Keith pulled the reins, halting their horses immediately.
"What's happening?" Craige asked as the boy stumbled to a stop in front of them, tears
streaking down his dirt-smudged face.
"Bandits! they're attacking our village!" the boy sobbed. "Please help us!"
Craige reached out, pulling him up onto the horse. The boy clung to him, trembling, as
he sat behind while Luren remained in front.
"Which way?" Craige asked.
"Turn left," the boy directed, his voice shaky.
As they approached the outskirts of the small village, distant shouts and crashing
sounds filled the air. They stopped short of the entrance, tying the horses in a thicket for cover.
"Stay here with Clara," Craige said, looking at Luren.
"No! I'm coming with you. I can fight," Luren said firmly, determination burning in his eyes.
Keith nodded at Clara. "Guard the horses."
She gave a short nod, her hand already on the hilt of her dagger.
Guided by the boy, they crept into the village, hiding behind a massive old tree. From their vantage point, they could see the grim scene unfolding.
The villagers were huddled together in the center square, fear etched into their faces. Six bandits stood guard, swords raised threateningly.
"They're stealing our food and money," the boy whispered bitterly.
"Rolen, did you send the message to Venn?" Craige asked in a low voice.
"Yes, Your Grace," Rolen replied as he appeared silently from the shadows.
Luren blinked in surprise. How long had he been here?
"I counted five bandits looting supplies and four patrolling the village," Rolen continued. He had already scouted ahead on Craige's order when they first spotted the boy.
"Plus the six guarding the villagers," Keith added grimly.
Craige turned to the boy. "What's your name?"
"Ferdy," he answered softly.
"Alright, Ferdy. See the woman with the horses? Run to her. Stay with her. We'll take
care of your village." Craige rested a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder.
Ferdy gave a quick nod, wiping his tears, and took off toward Clara.
Craige looked at the others. "Let's take out the four patrolling the area. Quietly."
The three nodded. Their eyes met in silent agreement.
They moved like shadows through the village. The first bandit barely had time to turn before steel flashed in the dark.
"Ghh—ughh!" One by one, the four fell, stunned and groaning in pain, their limbs slashed and weapons knocked away.
Before they could raise the alarm, Rolen and Keith swiftly bound the villagers' hands and
feet, muffling their cries with cloth. Their movements were precise, silent, trained.
They crept toward the house that had been ransacked by the bandits, each step heavy with tension.
Luren caught sight of the first bandit and didn't hesitate. With a silent growl, he
lunged, slamming the hilt of his dagger into the back of the man's head. The bandit crumpled without a sound. Keith quickly secured the unconscious body with rope, his hands working fast and practiced.
Meanwhile Rolen and Craige split off toward another hut. But just as they neared the
door, a bandit stepped out and spotted them.
"Soldiers!!" the man shouted, his voice slicing through the silence.
Chaos erupted.
From the shadows, five bandits charged at them. Steel clashed with steel as the ambush turned into a brawl. Craige drew his blade just in time, parrying a vicious strike. Another man leapt at him, knife raised, but Craige twisted his body, dodging the blow with a grunt and slashing back, leaving a shallow cut on the attacker's arm.
Rolen fought beside him, swift and relentless. He drove his elbow into a bandit's
face, hearing the crunch of bone before sweeping the man's legs and knocking
him to the ground. Blood splattered the dirt as he turned to block another strike.
Craige ducked under a sword swing and drove his fist into the attacker's stomach, then slammed his knee into the man's jaw as he doubled over. "You picked the wrong
village," he hissed.
The fight was far from over, but they were holding their ground, every breath sharp,
every movement life or death.
Keith and Luren rushed in to support Craige and Rolen, blades drawn, eyes sharp.
Together, the four men stood their ground as the remaining bandits gathered, their faces twisted in defiance and desperation.
The clashing of steel filled the air, swords collided with loud, ringing clangs, and the swish of blades cutting through air and flesh echoed through the night. The ground became slick with dirt and blood. Grunts, cries, and shouts tore through the silence as both sides fought savagely.
Just as the tide threatened to turn, a loud horn blared from the northern path.
From the darkness, Venn arrived at the head of a squad of Northern Knights, their silver
armor gleaming in the moonlight. Without hesitation, they joined the fray, overwhelming the bandits with disciplined precision. Within minutes, the skirmish was over. The last of the bandits were either captured or unconscious, tied and disarmed.
The villagers, who had been held captive or hiding in fear, were quickly freed. The Knights aided them gently, offering blankets and water.
Craige and Luren stood to the side, watching silently as the knights moved among the
villagers, tending to the wounded and securing the raiders.
Craige crossed his arms. "Send the bandits to the Western Duchy," he said to Keith
firmly. "This village falls under Cassian's domain. He will see that these intruders are punished accordingly."
Keith gave a sharp nod. "Understood."
"Rolen," Craige continued, "I'll write a letter to Cassian. Send it through Habek."
He glanced up at the night sky, where the wind was calm, perfect conditions for flight.
Habek, the proud eagle Craige had raised himself, was more than a pet, he was a trusted messenger. Rolen, who had cared for Habek whenever Craige was away, stepped
forward and nodded.
"I'll get him ready," Rolen said.
Just then, a familiar voice called out.
"Luren…!"
Clara appeared, running toward them with Fredy close behind. Relief washed over her
face as she saw Luren safe. The horses they had ridden were being taken by the Northern Knights to them
Luren turned, his face softening as he saw her. He stepped forward, brushing the blood off his hands quickly.
"Clara…" he breathed, then smile
"Your village is safe now, Fredy," Luren said gently, placing a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Thank you," Fredy murmured, his voice still trembling. He turned to face Craige, eyes wide with gratitude.
"Thank you, Your Grace!" he said, bowing deeply.
"Go find your family," Craige replied with a warm smile, his tone gentle yet commanding.
As the dust settled and the last of the danger passed, the villagers gathered around them,
offering tearful thanks and words of heartfelt gratitude. Some wept openly, while others clutched the hands of their saviors in silence, their eyes speaking volumes.
With the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the village, the group turned to leave.
Together, they made their way toward the North.