Blackpool Outlook was so named for the large lake it sat upon in the mountains, and from the expansive overview one was provided of the open plains beyond. Standing by the window in one of the keep’s towers, Jarod watched as the rain began to dissipate, and the city of Chath came into view in the distance. Withered clouds trudged over the forest past the mountains, trying to save their remaining water for the fields in the farmlands nearer the city with varying degrees of success.

  Their meeting with Greta, the mayor, had been short and to the point. They explained the situation in Cleftshire, describing the terrible trifleys that had emerged from the chasm, and the plan of the villagers to come here, seeking refuge. Greta hadn’t been suspicious of their story, per say, more so in disbelief and confusion over the monsters’ sudden appearance. Luckily, Filgrin happened to run into Zachary, an old friend and retired soldier. Zachary hadn’t seen the creatures first hand, but he’d remembered the sizable response from the kingdom that they’d prompted, and had seen the devastation they’d wreaked after the fact. Having an elder from town back up the story had impressed their significance upon Greta, and she’d agreed to do what she could to house the villagers.

  Nikolao had gone out after the conversation to wrangle up some horses Greta said would be available. The others had been given a moment to rest and eat a warm meal before their journey continued. Jarod had chosen the moment to admire the view: to see the vast terrain laid out before him that they’d be crossing in only a few day’s time. Even seen from the distant walls of Blackpool Outlook, the city of Chath loomed nearly like a mountain itself, craggy castle spires set tall upon the only rise in the plains for many miles.

  “Make me glad we’ve got these walls all around us.” The comment came from Lori, the cook that had prepared them the food, and a housekeeper for the keep.

  “Our village will be glad as well,” said Jarod, stepping slightly to the side to allow Lori to take a place at the window next to him. “After the attack, it will give them some peace of mind to sleep behind solid stone.”

  “Aye, it’s a terrible thing has happened,” she said. “But it seems like you lot have the situation under control now. What with the king’s ear and all.”

  Jarod nodded and raised his brows appreciatively. The physical and mental respite provided by their stop at Blackpool Outlook allowed him to fully acknowledge their luck in the matter for the first time. “Yes, somehow it seems like it might work out.”

  “Just a shame you can’t stay a bit longer. The lake’s still low for this time of year, and you can take a boat right into the grotto to see the glowing vines that hang down from the walls.”

  “That’s right, I forgot about that.” Jarod thought back to when he was young, on his first trip out of Cleftshire. Him and his father had come here and had a picnic right in the grotto underneath the glowing lights. He frowned then. “That cave doesn’t go any further underground does it?”

  “No, just the shallow grotto. No deeper caves to speak of, a blessing based off your story.”

  Any further reminiscing was interrupted as Nikolao stepped inside. Their horses had been acquired. Time to leave the warm walls of the keep.

  * * *

  Jarod wasn’t an experienced rider by any means, but he would take the soreness of riding the next 75 miles to Chath over the pain of walking it. Everyone else looked more comfortable than him on a horse, aside from Tex’ana. Nikolao had found the biggest horse he could that would make the distance, but the sight servant was still folded up, awkwardly alternating between riding positions to alleviate his discomfort. Just as usual though, he never voiced a word of complaint. Neither did his horse seem to bristle at the large rider. Tex’ana might have been large, but he must not have weighed overmuch.

  They switched the horses between walking and trotting as they rode down the leisurely descending mountain path. As the miles wore on, their group left the steepest bits of the mountains, and arrived at the rolling foothills of the Snowspire Range. Spring was in full force down out of the cold mountain towns. The rich green of plants waking up from their winter slumber and the vibrant hues of early season flowers dotted the edges of the forest along the trail. Soon the roads would be full of travellers again, as merchants and travellers began their trips between towns to peddle goods and food. For now though, travellers were scarce, and their group of five hadn’t seen another soul on the road since the two riders.

  Nikolao turned around in his saddle as he slowed his horse to a walk. “Let’s find some water to give the horses a rest. We’ve another 2 hours before nightfall.”

  The others followed in a narrow file behind the surveyor as he rode off the road, following a game trail through the forest that led in the general direction of a stream they’d crossed once before.

  Jarod leaned back and rolled his neck, letting his horse follow the path unguided. He needed a rest of his own. As he stretched, something caught his eye. A soft column of smoke that rose above the treeline.

  He passed a message of his observation down the line. Nikolao brought the group to a halt to observe it himself.

  “A promising sign,” he said. “With any luck, they’ll have set up along the stream, or at least know how to get to it. On this way.”

  They altered their course slightly, ditching one trail for another to head in the direction of the smoke.

  It was only another couple hundred feet before what they’d taken for game trails began to merge together into one more well-trodden. Regular horse travel had worn away at the foliage and compacted the dirt into a more solid path. Not enough to be called a road by any means, but one that had seen use for over a week at Jarod’s estimation.

  A clearing came into view ahead of them, marked by a couple fallen trees. Jarod still couldn’t spot anything else because of the forest around and the horses ahead, but a horrid stench that smelled like pungent rotting meat pierced through the normal vegetal smells of the forest. Aside from the smell though, all seemed normal. They drew closer and the distant sound of the stream began to fade into focus.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Then, poignant over the sounds of nature ahead, came the rapid click and twang of ratcheting mechanisms suddenly released.

  Hit for [2] damage.

  Health: 6/10

  A volley of crossbow bolts streamed out of the forest. A good handful hit the riders of their group, while a couple that missed their primary mark sank into the flanks of their horses.

  Action, all around. Shouts, coming from either side in the forest. Black-hooded figures stepping out of the underbrush, some readying dirks, while others began to reload their crossbows. Jarod felt himself start to tumble as his horse reared back in pain.

  Athletics check (?)

  [6]+1-2

  Partial success

  Jarod hit the ground rolling, unable to find something to grasp on his saddle. He carried his momentum back, quickly springing to his feet with his sword drawn.

  Now he could get a look at the brigands who had attacked them. One was rushing towards him already, while another behind was reloading his crossbow, eyeing him and Basma, looking for the cleaner target. All around, his companions were dealing with the same thing. Basma and Filgrin were already on their feet, handling the quick assailant who’d charged them by wrestling the man to the ground. Nikolao’s horse had escaped unscathed, and he charged the archers with longsword drawn, even while an arrow protruded from his upper leg. Tex’ana hadn’t been quite so lucky. The sight servant had tumbled from his precarious position atop his mount and landed in a heap on the ground. He was still moving, but his horse hadn’t been so lucky.

  Jarod brought his focus back to the immediate threat in front of him. He dropped low to avoid the thrust from the brigand’s dirk, then shoved the man back with his forearm to buy some space and the advantage with his longer blade.

  Roll to hit

  Shortsword: [8]+1

  Hit for [5]+1 damage

  The other man tried to bring his dirk up to parry Jarod’s blade, but Jarod felt fast and powerful, more so than he ever had before. The shortsword bit into the man’s neck quicker than he could react, and he stumbled backward, clutching at the wound. Before he got even a second to recover though, Jarod slashed out again, drawing a cut across the other side of his neck and down across his chest. After just one more footstep, the man tripped backwards over a rotting tree stump, and lay still on the forest ground.

  Roll for initiative

  [4]

  Win initiative

  After they weathered the initial assault, it became clear just how inexperienced their ambushers were. Nikolao rode along their line of crossbowmen in the woods, cutting them down, one after the other. Tex’ana managed to regain his feet and dispatch the couple that had been attacking him, and Jarod raced forward at the crossbowman, who was just finishing racking another bolt, when he was stabbed through the chest.

  As quickly as it had begun, the fight was over. The sound of rushing water from the stream beyond still splashed in the background, but over the stream were the struggling grunts of the brigand Filgrin and Basma had managed to subdue.

  “Lemme go,” he called out in a gruff voice. “I promise I’ll be good, won’t I. Don’t need to kill me.”

  The other three converged on the man’s position, and his struggles ceased as he realized his predicament. Jarod cocked his head in the moment’s surprise. It was one of the riders they’d seen earlier when hunting the hinge-neck moose. The pieces fell into place as the uneasy sensation Jarod had felt about the man began to make sense.

  Nikolao stepped forth to address the man. “Just a hunter bringing some meat back to your camp, wasn’t it?”

  “That wasn’t a lie, honest,” the brigand said. “Wasn’t much for eating though, you can smell it out here.”

  Nikolao’s nose wrinkled at the reminder. “Just how many more of you are there?”

  “There’s another four of us, sir. The boss and the man he works with, then Udi and Cari, but that’s it, I swear.” The man looked up at Nikolao with pleading eyes.

  “What are we to do with you,” Nikolao said slowly. “You know it’s a crime punishable by death to attack one of the gentry.”

  Jarod had heard that charge before. He was glad Nikolao hadn’t seen fit to carry out that sentence.

  The man groveled with his head down in the dirt. “Please sir, I was just doin’ a job. We weren’t trying to kill you, we would’ve kept you alive, for ransom. But you won. You can leave now and it’ll be like nothing happened. The boss don’t know anything that’s gone on up here. They’re all down in the hideout, won’t have heard a thing. Please.” The words came tumbling out, hoping to latch onto something that his captors would judge pitiable.

  Nikolao kneeled down close to the man, pulling him up by his hair to look him in the eye. “Your crimes are clear, and they cannot be forgiven. I don’t abide your filth,” said Nikolao. Without further delay, he drew his sword and slit the man’s throat.

  Basma let out a startled yelp, as the man toppled forward, gurgling his last breath, bleeding out in the dirt.

  “There’s no time for this now,” said Nikolao. “Grab some of their horses from the camp, and let’s get out of here.”

  Nikolao marched on back to his unharmed horse and climbed back atop it, even before treating the arrow in his leg. Jarod looked to Filgrin and Basma, a little shocked by the surveyor’s brutality, even if his actions might have been logical. It served as a reminder that, though he might have accepted their necessity, he was still of a social class far above their own. Jarod walked off into the camp to fetch some of their horses.

  The brigand’s camp seemed to be situated at a set of abandoned buildings which had crumbled and decayed long ago. Only deteriorating stonework remained intact, as moldy wood from two shacks and a stable lay in collapsed heaps overgrown with pointed grey mushrooms. The partially butchered corpse of the hinge-neck moose lay some ways off from the buildings, and a pair of the rancid-smelling steaks were now burned on a grate atop the campfire. The seven horses of the brigands had been smartly tied up away from the stench.

  The only intact structure was a stone building Jarod recognized as a mine. An iron ladder descended from the entrance deep into the earth, hopefully far enough below ground to dampen any sounds of the scuffle. A heap of equipment lay in a pile beside the entrance, no doubt taken off of their previous victims.

  Jarod’s breath caught. Sitting among the rubble was a heap of the partially decorative armor that he knew the surveyors wore. Even more importantly, he saw a forest green cloak with patches of brown sewed in, one that he recognized. It had been Esther Foxlove’s.