Count Veyron did not let them leave the hall immediately.
Agreeing to the contract was simple. Sending another group into a forest that had already swallowed most of a mercenary company was not.
The count dismissed all but two of his advisors and ordered a map brought from the records room. A servant unrolled it across the long table before his seat, revealing the eastern reaches of Veyron's territory in faded ink.
Villages, mines, hunting trails, and patrol roads had been marked carefully. A broad section of forest east of the river had been circled in red.
"The first attacks were here," Veyron said, placing one finger near a pair of farms. "Livestock disappeared first. Then two hunters failed to return."
His hand moved north.
"The company followed the tracks toward the old iron mine."
The surviving captain stood across from him. Dirt still clung to his armor, and the cuts across his face had only recently stopped bleeding.
"We never reached the mine," he said.
