Despite Gilan's initial reservations about helping Halt and Fell, he found himself joining them the following day as they scouted Gwensely for the second time. They rose early and made their way into the Thorntree forest, scouting further upriver and finding a second area where the Tarbus could be easily forded. They crossed here, then traveled through the Thorntree parallel to the village before moving in closer. They traveled at a measured pace, pausing frequently to listen for any sounds or signs of movement in the forest.

The closer they came to Gwensley the more they noticed tracks or paths leading through the trees. They often ran out and away from the village before looping back once more and appeared to be frequently traveled. Halt signaled for them to pause near just such a track around midday, and for a long time they waited to see who or what passed.

They didn't have to wait long before a set of soldiers in white tunics with rising suns came ambling down the path, their voices quiet as they spoke. Each carried a halberd and had a sword at their waist, and they appeared to scan the forest as they moved through the trees. The Rangers and Fell remained concealed until long after they had passed before rising from their hiding place and retreating to the Tarbus and returning to the Redmont side of the river.

"You think they're patrolling?" Fell asked as he poured water out of one of his boots. He'd kept them on for the second crossing and was deeply regretting his decision. Gilan sat beside him on a flat rock, emptying his own boots in the same fashion. A few feet away, Halt was leaning against a tree at the edge of the forest, his gaze resting on the far side of the river.

"The pathways were well traveled, and they all encircle the village," Halt pointed out. "The guards weren't out hunting, and they certainly weren't staging an attack."

"It makes sense for them to patrol, to keep an eye on any who come and go in the Thorntree," Gilan said.

"But we didn't notice any patrols last night," Fell said.

"Last night we scouted from downriver, whereas today we came from the opposite direction. It's possible they only patrol during the day, or they only think it's important to patrol this side," Halt said. "They may not be expecting an attack from downriver since it's much harder to ford the Tarbus there."

Fell could see the sense in Halt's words, but it still seemed odd to him. The Cult seemed unconcerned about the force camped opposite in the Redmont forest. It was possible they were simply overconfident but Fell couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something. Why were they so confident?

"They're comfortable," Halt said aloud, echoing Fell's own thoughts. "How many are usually in each… Troop?"

"It varies," Fell said immediately. "Although there didn't really seem to be too many of them in Gwensley last night."

The Ranger nodded thoughtfully, then turned to head back into the trees, leaving his companions on the riverbank. Fell exchanged a look with Gilan, who simply sighed and stuffed his foot back into his still sodden boot before rising to follow his former mentor. Fell followed them to where the horses were tethered, and together they mounted and began to ride upriver. They stuck to the cover of trees, weaving between the trunks to stay within sight of the Tarbus.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Gilan called after they'd been traveling for some time.

"Something just like that," Halt reined in Abelard and nodded towards a clearing ahead. Here the river widened out, swirling around a fallen tree. The great branches trailed in the water, creating eddies in the current. More significant than the tree was the bank itself, which had been heavily churned by the passing of hooves and boots alike. The tracks led away from the river and into the Redmont forest.

"They already crossed," Fell said, a sinking feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. They were well north of Rodney's camp, well beyond the bounds of any sentries the Battlemaster may have assigned to watch for such a crossing. "How long ago?" Fell asked the Rangers.

Halt and Gilan had already swung down from their saddles and were inspecting the tracks. Halt knelt by the river, studying the tracks with a grim look on his face. Gilan moved away into the trees, his mottled cloak seeming to shimmer as he followed the tracks.

"Two days," Halt said. "Maybe three. It looks like they may have crossed in small numbers instead of coming across all at once. The most recent tracks are from yesterday."

"I count no less than a dozen," Gilan said as he reemerged from the trees. "It looks like they split up when they reached the woods, likely to throw off any trackers. It'll be hard to follow each set of tracks and add up how many men there are altogether."

Halt was already moving back to Abelard and gesturing for Gilan to mount as well. "We have to warn Rodney. The Cult stopped posting sentries because they're already on this side of the Tarbus."


"Only a little further now, Whip," Strider said to her horse as she patted him on the neck. She had risen early and spent most of the morning riding along the King's Road on the way to Redmont. It had been a long time since Strider had traveled much of anywhere, and it felt good to be in the saddle again, the hills rolling by them in a steady rhythm. There was no need for Crowley's disguises until her and Gilan began climbing the mountain passes where they would encounter other travelers. Strider wore her usual tunic and trousers instead, the weight of her knives at her belt comforting despite her doubts about how well she could wield them. Her hand was still heavily bandaged, and while she could close her fist around the handle Strider had doubts about how well she could hang on to her knife during a fight. She'd taken the sword Fell had given her and tucked it into her saddlebag, leaving the hilt sticking out of the flap where she could grab it just in case.

It was past midday now, and Strider considered stopping for a quick lunch and to rest Whiplash. Around them the trees hemmed them in close, but she could see what looked to be a brighter area ahead where a clearing might be. Strider put her heels lightly to Whip's side, and they were beginning to canter when the hair on the back of Strider's neck stood on end. Strider wasn't sure what it was exactly—a rustle in the underbrush, a flicker of a shadow crossing the path ahead—but suddenly she knew something was wrong. She pulled up more sharply than she'd intended, earning a startled whinny from her horse.

"Sorry, boy," she said, eyes locked on the clearing ahead. Sunlight was streaming down onto a field of tall grass cut through with the path she'd been following. Strider couldn't see anything out of place, no sign of whatever had startled her. Whiplash danced sideways underneath her, and then Strider abruptly turned his head and moved them off the pathway into the trees instead. She moved parallel to the path at first before veering away and giving the clearing a wide berth. Strider slowed their pace until Whiplash's hoofbeats were no more than light thuds against the soft earth as opposed to the hollow clopping they made on the trail. She kept her eyes and ears alert for any sign there was something lurking the woods, but there was nothing to explain the strange sensation she'd felt earlier.

Once she was certain she had ridden well past the clearing Strider swung down from the saddle and tethered Whiplash to a nearby tree. She gave him a reassuring pat, mimicking the same action from only a few days earlier when she'd met Crowley and Gilan in the secluded cottage. She left her horse once more, slung her cloak around her shoulders and pulled up the cowl before retracing her steps. Strider hadn't made it a hundred paces when she heard it, the low sound of voices and the shuffle of bootsteps. She crouched for a moment and listened, only moving forward once she was sure of where the voices were coming from. Strider crept forward in a crouch and put her back to the trunk of a large tree. On the other side she could two men talking, the sounds of their voices carrying clearer now that she was closer.

"...still setting sentries out by the river, but none out into this side of the forest," the first man was saying.

"Good," a second man said with a grunt. "Have everyone get to their spots before sundown. We'll set up like we talked about before and take them by surprise. Surround them and drive them to the river where there's no easy retreat."

"I'll send out the orders," the first man said. There was a sudden shuffle of steps, and before Strider could react the steps were heading her way. Strider's breath caught in her throat and her body went suddenly rigid with fear. She was rooted to the spot, and before she could force herself to react, he was already there. The man brushed past her hiding place without so much as a glance in her direction, coming so close Strider could have reached out and touched him if she'd been able to move. He wasn't expecting anyone to be hiding in the brush, and he walked right past Strider without ever glancing down and noticing her pressed against the dark bark of the tree.

Strider stared at his back as he walked away, her eyes riveted on the crimson sun emblazoned on his tunic. She didn't know long it took for the feeling of panic to ebb enough for her to move again, but once she started moving, she found she couldn't stop. Strider crept back the way she had come, but the further from her hiding spot she moved the higher her panic rose, and the faster she moved. She moved away in a hurried crouch that quickly became a light jog, and at the sound of branch breaking nearby by Strider burst into a flat out run. She dodged around trunks and ducked under branches, her lungs beginning to burn and ache until they were throbbing from the strain of her exertion.

When she reached her horse, she staggered to a stop and leaned against his side, her head still spinning, her lungs screaming in agony. Strider was standing in the Redmont woods, her forehead pressed against the hard leather of her saddle, but her mind was back in the dungeon where the Cult had imprisoned her after running her down in Meric.

You're safe, you're safe, you are safe.

She kept repeating the words in her head, but Strider's wrists ached with the phantom weight of chains that had rubbed her skin raw. Her side seized with the bone deep pain of freshly broken ribs, with the tightness that had kept her from drawing a full breath for so long she had forgotten what it felt like. No more than a few moments ago Strider had been only a few feet away from two of the Cult, two men who could have easily captured her if they had known she was there eavesdropping on them.

"You're safe," she whispered to herself, then grabbed hold of the saddle pommel with her good hand and dragged herself onto her horse's back. She swung his head around and put her heels to his side, sending him off at a fast trot. They were only a short distance away from where Strider had been told Rodney's encampment lay. She was safe, she thought to herself once more, forcing her breathing to steady. Her hands shook with the reins, but she nudged Whip onwards.

She was safe, but those in the encampment were not.


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