Under the midday sun, a raiding party of sixty Mountain Clansmen marched along a dirt path, herding a group of Lowlander captives tied together with long ropes.
The group was a mix of Burned Men and Stone Crows.
They were a wild, ragtag bunch. They wore mismatched furs and boiled leather, their weapons a chaotic assortment of rusted iron swords and axes looted from previous raids. They moved fast, with no order, driven by the thrill of a successful plunder.
Suddenly, a young Stone Crow scout burst out of the woods ahead, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with terror.
"The forest!" he gasped, his voice trembling. "It's strange! The trees are talking! They are watching me!"
Del son of Cheek, the leader of the Burned Men contingent, stepped forward. Half his face was a ruin of black scar tissue—a badge of honor among his people.
He laughed, a harsh, grating sound, and spat on the ground.
"Are you scared of ghost stories, little bird?" Del mocked, raising a fist. "Did the trees talk to you? Let's see if my fist talks to you!"
Smack!
He punched the young scout in the face, sending him sprawling into the dirt with a bloody nose.
"How dare you!"
The Stone Crows instantly bristled. Hands went to axe handles. The alliance between the clans was fragile at best; an insult like this could spark a bloodbath.
"Stop!"
A large, older Stone Crow warrior stepped between them. He looked at his bleeding kinsman, then at the sneering Burned Men, and finally at the silent forest ahead.
He took a deep breath, swallowing his pride.
"Del son of Cheek! You walk your path!" he said coldly, pulling the young scout to his feet. "We will follow behind."
"Suit yourself, crow!" Del retorted.
The Burned Men laughed, mocking the Stone Crows' cowardice. Del waved his looted longsword and urged his men forward, dragging the weeping captives with them.
At the edge of the woods, an old Burned Man veteran frowned.
"Del," he whispered. "The woods are too quiet. No birds."
"They are afraid of us!" Del shouted. "Afraid of the Burned Men!"
"It feels like an ambush," the old man persisted.
"An ambush? By whom?" Del scoffed. "The Lowlanders are all hiding in their stone walls or running from the squids at the sea! Don't talk like a coward! Get in the back!"
The old man sighed and fell back, shaking his head.
Deep in the shadows of the trees, Solomon watched with narrow eyes.
He had been worried when the scout entered the woods, fearing his position was blown. But then, the strangest thing happened. The enemy column split in two.
Are they idiots? Solomon wondered. Dividing their force right before a choke point?
It made his job easier.
"Archers, ready," he whispered.
Beside him, Lauchlan looked nervous. "My Lord, the captives... they are Riverlanders."
"War has casualties," Solomon said, his voice flat. "Aim carefully. Try to miss them."
Lauchlan nodded, swallowing hard.
Solomon raised his right hand.
The air in the forest seemed to freeze. His soldiers, no longer shaking with fear but vibrating with greed, gripped their weapons. They didn't see savages anymore; they saw walking bags of silver.
Del son of Cheek led his men deeper into the trap, strutting with arrogance.
"See?" he yelled back at the Stone Crows. "Nothing! Just trees!"
Whoosh.
Solomon dropped his hand.
A storm of wooden stakes and arrows erupted from the greenery.
Solomon had innovated. His men were poor archers, so he had them cut hundreds of heavy, sharpened wooden stakes to throw like javelins.
"Ambush!" the old veteran screamed.
But it was too late.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Seven or eight Burned Men dropped instantly, stakes protruding from their chests and necks. Their crude leather armor offered no protection against the heavy wood.
Del stood frozen as chaos erupted around him. He raised his sword to parry, but an arrow caught him in the left arm, pinning it to his side.
"Argh!" he roared in pain. "Kill them! Charge! Charge through!"
But a second volley followed immediately.
The Burned Men panicked. They ran in circles, trying to find cover where there was none. The captives screamed, huddling together on the ground as arrows whizzed over their heads.
Solomon watched the slaughter calmly.
"Lushen! Lauchlan!"
"Here!"
"Lauchlan! Take your squad and cut off their retreat! Hit them from behind!"
"Yes, my Lord!" Lauchlan took off, leading his men toward the rear of the column.
"Lushen! Frontal assault! With me!"
"Yes!" Lushen drew his sword with his right hand and raised a war horn with his left.
Boooo-oooooom!
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