Later that night, after playing dice with Telo, Ai and Tam for a few hours, Dem withdrew from the tent, walking with Telo.
"I want all Sub-Chiefs to meet at your tent right now." Dem hadn't shared anything Mamar mentioned, taking the few hours to consider the options.
"Something up, Dem?" Telo asked.
"Yes," Dem told him about Mamar, the deal they made for the Travelers to accompany them, and the intel about tomorrow's arrival at what would be their base camp for the next few months.
Dem sat on a cushion near the center of the tent, waiting as all his sub-chiefs arrived. "Sub-Chief Sark, we received intel from a credible source that something dangerous might be going on."
"Any specifics?" Sark asked.
Dem shook his head. "That's your job… I need you to get those specifics. The rest of Sentry will trail the scouts by a few miles, then once we are within three miles, we'll halt and wait for your report."
Sark nodded. "Let's leave now, if we can scout them at night, that would be best."
Dem considered the request; they'd already had a long day of training, but they'd been showing improvement all week. "Agreed, we can always pull back after getting an idea of what we're facing and rest then if needed. Rally the Sentries, I'll let the Swiftwinds know we're moving ahead and will meet up with them on the road."
The Sub-Chiefs dispersed at once — no hesitation, no questions — and Dem rose to follow Telo into the night.
Shortly after midnight, Sark arrived with his scout odun. In the basin below, campfires burned bright despite the late hour. The scene didn't look temporary — a stable full of horses, several hastily built structures, and more than a dozen tents. Whoever had taken the valley was already settled in.
The place Swiftwind intended to winter was occupied.
Sark scanned the layout once, then turned to his team.
"Bez. Take two scouts and probe the northern perimeter.
Juti — same to the south. When you meet on the far side, withdraw together to the tree line."
Bez — a sharp-eyed, light-footed Stonefall woman — nodded once and signaled for two of her own. Juti, a slight youth from the Brightsun Clan, waited until Bez slipped into the shadows before motioning his pair to follow.
Sark watched them vanish. Dem had given him complete authority over the scout odun, and though most of them were young, they moved like ghosts. Nimble. Quiet. Deadly if needed.
"What are we doing, Sub-Chief?" whispered one of the two scouts who remained.
Sark crouched between two large boulders with them — the Swiftwind twins, Umi and Dael. He'd found them during a Gathering hunt, communicating in a complex language of hand signs they'd invented themselves. He'd insisted on learning it — and made the entire odun learn it as well.
Sark signed slowly, making sure they could follow his meaning:
Straight ahead. Stay close. No sound.
Both nodded, and the three slid forward like shadows.
Three roving sentries guarded the camp's perimeter. They walked overlapping routes, pausing to visually confirm each other before splitting in opposite directions.
Sark waited for that separation — the moment when the guards' backs all faced outward.
Move, he signaled.
They slipped into the camp's edge, hugging shadows, keeping low.
A tap on his shoulder made Sark halt instantly.
Umi signed:
Dog. West.
Sark turned his head slowly. Two small camp dogs dozed near a stack of firewood. One twitch of their noses and the entire camp would be alert.
Good catch, Sark signed back.
We stay east.
The twins nodded, and the three of them slid deeper into the camp's dark veins — unseen, unheard, and searching for answers.
Dael followed close behind Umi and Sark, their footsteps silent against the soft grass. Suddenly, he stopped and let out a low croak — the soft, throaty sound frogs make from within long grass. Both Umi and Sark froze instantly.
Dael's hands moved in a sharp flurry. Bad scent.
Umi inhaled, nostrils flaring. Something sour — metallic and wrong — hung in the air.
Wait, Sark signaled.
He turned his body toward the source of the smell. In the darkness, the freshly disturbed soil was nearly indistinguishable… until his boot sank several inches into soft dirt. He stopped cold.
Then the sounds hit him.
Unwashed bodies. Heavy breathing. The shuffle of limbs. The muffled groans of people crammed somewhere they shouldn't be.
Sark dropped prone and crawled forward, inch by inch, until his hands brushed against a heavy tarp stretched tight. A large patch of ground had been excavated, the dirt carried away, and a steel-barred pen lowered into the pit.
Sark swore under his breath.
Slaves. Retreat.
The twins immediately withdrew, and Sark followed them out of the camp's shadowy edges. His jaw worked silently as he processed what he'd seen. Slave trading was illegal in the Four Kingdoms — but importing slaves wasn't. This wasn't a farmstead or settlement. It was a holding pit—a staging ground.
A trafficking hub.
Meanwhile, three miles away, the Sentry force lay in quiet readiness. Most slept; a minimal watch was kept. Dem sat near Telo's bedroll, eyes scanning the dark horizon with predatory calm.
"They're coming," he murmured. "Gather the Sub-Chiefs. Let the rest sleep."
Telo snapped awake, grabbed his spear, and slipped into the night as Dem moved to the camp's edge.
By the time the Sub-Chiefs arrived, Sark stood ready to report, while the rest of his odun quietly stabled their horses and spread out their bedrolls.
Dem counted heads — all scouts back, no injuries. Good.
"How did it go?" he asked.
Sark's weathered face was set in a grim line. "Slavers," he said bitterly. "They've dug a pit and stuffed people under a tarp."
"Slavers?" Dem exhaled. "Good. I was hoping it wasn't settlers. Then we'd have to pick another place. But slavers? No one will blink when we run them out."
Telo huffed a humorless laugh.
"What kind of numbers?" Dem continued.
"Eighteen by our count," Sark said, "give or take a couple. Their camp's tight. Roving guards. Well-lit interior. Traps. Defensive barriers. They even brought in half a dozen farmers to pretend they're settling the land."
Dem frowned. "Are the eighteen including the farmers?"
"No." Sark shook his head. "From guard chatter, they're preparing a shipment. We also found three river barges. Likely their transport route — slaves go downriver to the coast, then onto ships."
"Rest for a few hours. We go in just before dawn," Dem ordered, moving toward the clearing where most of the force slept.
A short while later, he slipped out of camp, placing his bedroll over a cluster of rocks beside Telo to make it look occupied.
Once clear of the tents, he broke into a steady run — a dark shape gliding through the night like a whisper of wind.
As the slavers' camp came into view, the air thickened around him. His vision sharpened painfully, brightness gathering behind his eyes until he was forced to stop. This time, he had the presence of mind to undress and slip his clothing into his storage ring before the change overtook him.
A black rat of unusual size crouched in the grass.
Its eyes gleamed like polished obsidian, sharper and brighter than any common rat's. Ribbons of scent — bright to him as drifting smoke — curled through the camp. The strongest, darkest stream marked the hidden slave pen beneath the tarp.
Larger and darker than the average rat, Dem moved swiftly, shadows folding around him. He disturbed nothing, leaving no trace, gliding into the camp like a wraith.
Sark had mentioned a particular tent: larger, more ornate, set apart from the rest — the kind used by leaders who enjoyed comfort purchased with cruelty.
Dem ignored the posted guard entirely.
He slipped to the side of the tent and opened a thin cut in the canvas with a single swipe of razor-sharp claws.
Inside, the light was dim; lanterns had burned low. A bronzed, heavyset man slept on a cushioned bed draped with silks. Two women, naked and shackled to the tent's central pole, hung limply from their restraints. Their eyes were half-open, pupils blown wide with whatever drug they'd been forced to ingest.
The nearer woman moaned softly, helpless, her gaze fixed on the large black rat that had just slipped through the opening.
Her breath stuttered as the rat blurred — stretched — and a small, shadow-wreathed figure appeared in its place.
Dem dressed quickly, then crossed to the sleeping man. The movement was silent, practiced, inevitable.
He drove his blade upward through the man's closed eyelid and deep into the skull — an execution, not a fight. The slaver never woke.
Dem searched the tent with cold efficiency. Every item he touched vanished into his ring — a ledger, keys, coin, maps. Finally, he returned to the body.
That too disappeared.
His work done, Dem paused, turning to the shackled woman whose breathing had shifted — fear melting into something like hope.
"Don't worry," he said softly. "Help is coming."
Her eyes widened, trying to focus on the shadowed figure. She saw him blur again — shrinking, folding inward — until only the black rat remained.
In a breath, it vanished into the darkness as if it had never been there.
**
Telo blinked awake the moment a guard knelt beside him. "I'm up," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.
He glanced left just in time to see Dem slide out of his bedroll, roll it with practiced speed, and slip it neatly into his storage ring.
"Have everyone meet at the horses," Dem said, stretching his arms overhead before stifling a yawn. He wove through the cold camp, silent boots crunching lightly on frost-hardened ground.
The sky was still dark, the horizon only beginning to pale, but dawn was close when the Sentry force reached the basin's edge.
Dem surveyed the dark valley below, then nodded once.
"Let's go over the plan."
He looked to Sark first.
"Can your people take out the roving guards quietly?"
Sark nodded. "We mapped their routes. Give us a few minutes to get into position."
Dem turned to Reyka. "Specials ready?"
Reyka's pale face had been soot-darkened, her blond hair wrapped and hidden. She carried two quivers — one normal, one fletched with black feathers.
"We'll hit the central tents on the first volley. They'll go up fast."
"Perfect." Dem nodded. "Rodric will lead the spears in and eliminate any threats."
Rodric crossed his massive arms. "What if they surrender?"
"Pretend you're hard of hearing," Dem said.
Rodric cupped a hand behind his ear. "What's that?"
"Exactly." Dem snorted. He glanced back at Reyka. "And after the fires?"
"We support the spears from the perimeter," Reyka said. "Anyone who breaks cover, we pin down."
Sark stepped forward. "My scouts and I will withdraw and maintain outer watch once the guards are dealt with."
"Perfect," Dem repeated, hefting his spear. "Telo — you're with me. We make straight for the slave pit in the chaos. We free them first."
Telo nodded, jaw set. "Ready when you are, Commander."
Dem breathed out slowly, eyes fixed on the predawn shadows below.
"Good. We move on Sark's signal."