They gathered in the shadow of the communal house. The veterans formed a defensive perimeter around the village, rotating guards while others listened. Rylan sat near Torin, with Aldwen on his other side. Len was leaning against a wall, one of the veterans checking his bandages.
The blacksmith sat on a burned bench, his hands clasped between his knees.
"A year and a half ago we started hearing rumors of bandits operating in the Edge Mountains. It wasn't unusual. There have always been bandits here. Fleeing criminals, deserters, that sort. At first it was business as usual. They attacked caravans, solitary travelers, poorly protected merchants. They never bothered us because we are poor. We don't have gold or valuable goods. We just farm enough to live."
He paused to drink water from a canteen.
"But yesterday everything changed. They arrived at nightfall without warning. We were eating dinner, getting ready for bed, and suddenly there were torches everywhere. Screams. Clashing steel."
His voice began to tremble.
"Those of us who tried to fight were cut down. The miller's son grabbed an axe and charged at them. They ran him through with three swords before he could take three steps. Old Marcus took his hunting spear. They cut off his arm first. Then his head."
He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
"They killed eighteen of us in less than ten minutes. Everyone who tried to resist. And then they stopped."
He opened his eyes, his confusion evident.
"They didn't massacre the rest. They could have. But they didn't."
"Instead, they started checking people. One by one. As if they were picking out livestock."
The bitterness in his voice was profound.
"They separated the young people. Men and women between fifteen and maybe thirty years old. They set them aside from the rest. They tied them with ropes while they cried and screamed. And then they took them away. Dragged them toward the forest. Deep into the mountains."
"We tried to beg. We offered everything we had. Food, tools, every coin we owned. We begged them to at least tell us why. But they didn't answer. Not a word. They just finished selecting the ones they wanted, burned a third of our village, and left."
Heavy silence.
Aldwen spoke first.
"How many attackers did you count?"
"More than fifty. Maybe sixty. It was hard to know exactly in the dark and smoke."
"How were they armed?" Zella asked.
"Swords mainly. Some axes. Spears. I saw several archers. And some wore pieces of leather or metal armor."
Torin remained silent for a moment.
"Where exactly did you see them go?"
The blacksmith pointed northeast.
"That way. There are old trails in that direction that go up into the higher parts. Some lead to deep caves. Others get lost in the endless forest."
Len spoke from his reclining position, his voice weak but firm.
"I know those trails. I've hunted in that area for years. I know exactly where they went."
Everyone looked at him.
"There are only three places in that direction where a group that large could set up camp and stay hidden. Two are extensive cave systems with hidden entrances. The third is a valley between two mountain peaks with fresh water and defensible terrain. My father took me there once before he died."
Torin watched the young man for a long moment.
"We go after them."
He stood up, his decision made.
"We move now. We prepare gear and set off."
Len struggled to sit up, the pain evident on his face.
"Sir, please. Let me go with you."
Everyone looked at him.
Len's expression hardened, showing determination.
"I don't have blood family. My parents died three years ago. Since then, this village raised me. The master blacksmith here taught me metalworking when I needed coins. The old woman fed me when I had nothing to buy food with. The miller let me sleep in his barn when the cold was too much. His daughter 'is like the sister I never had'. The blacksmith's son was my best friend since we were children."
His voice broke slightly.
"They took nineteen people who are my family in every way that matters. They dragged them out screaming, and I don't know what they're doing to them up there, but I know that every minute that passes is one more minute of suffering."
He looked directly at Torin.
"I'm not going to sit here while they're up there. I don't care if I'm injured. I don't care if I die trying. I'm going up those mountains with you or without you. But if you come with me, I can lead you on paths those bandits don't know. I can show you shortcuts that will shorten the journey. I can point out places where the terrain favors ambushes and places where you could set a trap for them."
He paused.
"Please. Let me do something useful. Let me help save my people."
Aldwen shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"Master, the boy is injured. He would slow us down. And if we get into combat, he would be a liability."
"No offense, kid, but you have no training," Garron added. "In a battle against fifty or sixty armed men, you'd be the first to die."
Len opened his mouth to protest, but another voice interrupted.
"Let him come with us."
Everyone turned to look at Rylan.
The young heir stood up, walking toward where Len was.
"You said you know these woods and mountains better than anyone. Is that true?"
Len nodded.
"Yes, sir. I've hunted in these mountains since I was eight years old. My father was the best tracker in the village and taught me everything before he died. I know where the moss grows that indicates nearby water. Where there are caves for shelter. Which trails become impassable in the rain. Where the ground looks solid but is treacherous. Where the eagles nest that alert to intruders. Every mark on the trees, every rock formation, every stream, I know them."
Rylan nodded.
"Then you give us a tactical advantage—knowledge of the terrain."
He turned to Torin and Aldwen.
"We are entering unknown territory, pursuing enemies with superior numbers who know the ground where they established their base. Every advantage we can get could mean the difference between success and failure. Between rescuing those captives and finding them dead."
He looked at Aldwen.
"I know it's a risk. I know he's injured and untrained. But we need that knowledge of the terrain. If Len can lead us on faster routes, or help us avoid dangerous ground, or identify defensive positions, then the risk is worth it."
He turned to Len.
"But there are conditions. You obey every order without question. If we tell you to stay behind, you stay. If we tell you to run, you run. If we tell you to drop to the ground and not move even if there's combat, you do exactly that. Understood?"
Len nodded fervently.
"Yes, sir. I will do exactly what you tell me. I won't be a liability. I swear it by the memory of my parents and the lives of the people they took."
Rylan looked at Torin, waiting.
Torin watched his young lord for a long moment.
Finally, he nodded.
"Very well. He comes with us." He looked at Len with an unyielding expression. "You obey orders without exception. If you become a liability, we leave you. If you attempt something stupid that puts my men at risk, I will tie you to a tree. If you lie about your knowledge and guide us into a trap, you will be the first to die. Clear?"
"Perfectly clear, sir."
Torin looked at one of the veterans.
"Talk to the village people. Discreetly. Confirm the boy's story. Any detail could be important."
The veteran nodded.
The next two hours passed in preparation.
The veterans checked gear, sharpened weapons, checked armor. Len received additional medical attention. The veteran cleaned his wounds, applied ointment, and bandaged them with fresh wraps. He gave him herbs to chew against the pain.
"It'll hurt anyway. But you'll be able to function. Don't make sudden movements with that shoulder. If your side bleeds too much, you tell me. Understood?"
"Understood."
One of the villagers brought Len his hunting bow along with a quiver of twenty arrows.
"It was your father's. I kept it after he died. I guess today is the day."
Len took the bow with trembling hands.
"Thank you. I'll use it well."
"Bring them back, son."
Meanwhile, the veteran Torin had designated moved among the survivors, asking casual questions.
He spoke with the blacksmith, with an elderly woman, with other villagers.
The answers were mostly consistent. Len was an orphan, his parents had died three years ago, the village had taken him in. He was known as a skilled hunter, quiet but reliable.
But there were details that raised questions.
The blacksmith confirmed that Len was hunting when the attack occurred. But an elderly woman swore she had seen him in the village shortly before dusk, helping to repair a roof.
"I'm sure it was him. I saw him clearly."
"What time was that?"
"Just before it started to get dark. Maybe an hour before the attack."
That contradicted Len's story.
He also spoke with a man who had worked with Len's father.
"Good lad, that Len. Always a bit strange, though."
"Strange how?"
"He'd disappear for days in the forest. Sometimes a week. He said he was hunting, but when he came back, he never brought any game. He just said he'd been exploring."
"Exploring what?"
"He never said. But my son followed him once. Said Len went up to the higher parts of the mountains, where nobody goes because there's nothing to hunt. My son lost his trail because Len moved too fast and knew paths my son didn't."
The veteran nodded and walked away.
There were inconsistencies. Small contradictions that could mean nothing or something important.
He returned to Torin and reported in a low voice.
Torin listened in silence.
"Your assessment?"
The veteran hesitated.
"I don't know what to think, Master. It could be that people misremember amidst the trauma. Or it could be that the boy knows more than he says. That he's been going up into those mountains for reasons he hasn't told us."
"Do you think he's working with the bandits?"
"No. His pain was genuine. His desperation to help is real. But that doesn't mean he's telling us the whole truth."
Torin nodded.
"Keep a constant watch on him. One of you always nearby. If he tries anything suspicious, we stop him. Clear?"
"Perfectly clear, Master."
Torin had survived decades because he trusted his instincts. And his instincts told him there was something about Len that didn't add up.
But they also told him the boy was not a direct threat.
Two hours later, the column was ready.
Torin gathered everyone.
"We are moving into hostile territory. Len will guide us."
He looked at Rylan.
"Young lord, this will be your true baptism by fire. It will be blood, death, chaos. Are you prepared?"
"I am prepared, Master."
Torin nodded.
"We move. Now."
The column set off from the devastated village, moving into the deep forest.
Seventeen Drayvar warriors and a young, wounded hunter.
Len guided with precise instructions, pointing out hidden trails, indicating where to step. Despite his injuries, he did not falter.
The forest grew denser. The trees older. The light scarcer.
They had been moving for two hours when Torin suddenly stopped.
He raised his hand. The column froze.
The Master turned his head slightly, his eyes scanning the forest ahead. His body tensed in a way the veterans immediately recognized.
He had detected something.
Then, without warning, Torin's Aether exploded.
An electric blue flash enveloped his body, so intense that it made the air crackle. His eyes glowed with that characteristic radiance of Drayvar power.
He shot forward like lightning.
His speed was impossible to follow with normal eyes. One moment he was with the column, the next he had crossed thirty meters in less than a second.
His sword was unsheathed mid-movement, the steel singing.
And then he struck.
The first man hidden in the bushes didn't even have time to scream. Torin's sword split him in half in a single horizontal cut that passed through armor, bone, and organs as if they were paper.
The second tried to raise his crossbow. Torin's sword pierced his chest before he could aim, the blade entering through the sternum and exiting through the back with such force that the body was lifted from the ground and thrown three meters backward.
The third managed a scream. Barely. The sword severed his throat halfway through the sound, turning the scream into a wet gurgle as blood sprayed in an arc.
The fourth and fifth were together, hidden behind a fallen log. Torin spun, his sword describing a perfect arc imbued with Aether. The edge cut through the wooden log as if it didn't exist, and continued through the two men behind it.
Both fell in pieces.
The whole thing had lasted less than five seconds.
Torin stopped, his Aether still crackling around his body, his breathing controlled. He looked around, searching for more threats.
There were none.
Behind the bodies, hidden in the vegetation, was a trap. Taut ropes connected to crossbows mounted on wooden frames. If the column had continued forward undetected, a hail of projectiles would have rained down on them.
The veterans approached quickly, weapons drawn, scanning the area.
Aldwen examined the trap and the bodies.
"Scouts. They were waiting for us."
Torin nodded, his expression grim. His Aether slowly dissipated.
"They already know we are coming."
He looked toward the northeast, toward the rising mountains.
"Which means we don't have time for subtlety. If we wait, they'll use the hostages as shields. Or worse."
He turned to the column.
"Change of plans. We're going straight for them. Fast and brutal. Len, guide us on the most direct route. It no longer matters if they detect us because they already have."
He looked at each veteran.
"From now on, it's all-out combat. No breaks. No caution. We reach that camp and eliminate them before they can react properly."
Rylan watched the five shattered bodies, the blood soaking the moss. This had been his first real demonstration of a Master of Arms' power.
And he understood, with absolute clarity, how far he still was from that level.
"We move," Torin ordered. "Now."
The column resumed the march, but now the pace was different. Faster. More urgent.
Because the race had begun.
And the enemy knew they were coming.