Chapter 16: Hunting Dogs

The creaking of the wheels is fitting as the train approaches the densest part of the road. The sun, still low, barely penetrates the treetops, plunging the path into a greenish twilight.

Garrick looked ahead, then at Damon, and handed him his ideas.

“Hold on tight.” He positioned Damon’s hands correctly. “Pull back if you want to stop, gently push forward if you want to move. There’s no secret; the animals already know the way.”

Damon raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“What if they shoot?” he said, half-seriously.

Garrick gave the half-smile of a veteran accustomed to unexpected events.

“Then just don’t fall.”

With a swift leap for someone his size, the knight dismounted. The sound of his light armor made a slight clang as it hit the ground.

“I need to deal with what’s ahead.” He adjusted his belt and the sword at his waist. “Take care of the carriage.”

Damon heard him walk away and reunite with Caelan, who had already come forward. The two exchanged a quick glance, that kind of silent communication only trained men know. Then, together, we began walking slowly, slightly ahead of the wagon, shoulder to shoulder.

Both lowered the visors of their helmets, the metal reflecting the faint light that might pass through the leaves. Their swords slid from their scabbards with a sharp, controlled sound, nothing theatrical—just the precision of someone who knows every movement counts.

Damon adjusted the reins in his hands, testing. The horses moved in response, obeying easily. To his surprise, guiding the wagon was much simpler than he had imagined. All he had to do was keep his touch firm, but not rough, and let the animals do the rest.

He advanced slowly, mindful of the path and the two riders cutting in front. The wheels scraped over rocks and roots, but the wagon remained steady. Damon thought he might get used to it.

The sound of birds faded. A strange silence began to form, heavy and dense. Even the branches, swaying in the wind, simply moved more slowly.

The road now narrowed, flanked by tall trees with thick trunks. The filtered light created shadows that stretched and curled on the ground, like arms trying to grab the wheels.

Garrick raised his hand, signaling for Damon to slow down.

“Slowly…” the veteran murmured to Caelan, his deep voice almost fading in the cold air.

And then they saw it.

The tree fell right in the middle of the road. The trunk was wide, dark wood, and still had green leaves at the tips, as if it had been felled recently. Broken branches littered the road, forcing any vehicle to stop or swerve through the brush.

Garrick frowned.

“It didn’t fall on its own…” he murmured, touching a waterfall. “Cut marks. Sharp blade.”

Caelan crouched beside him, examining.

“And there’s no sign of windblown sawdust. That was done today.”

Damon kept the wagon stationary a few feet away, his hands steady on the reins. His gaze flicked constantly between the two riders and the shadows of the forest, waiting for some movement.

The silence was almost palpable. There was no birdsong, no sound of insects. Only the occasional rustle of leaves and the slow breathing of the horses.

Garrick drew his eyes to Caelan. “They’re here. Just waiting for us to get closer.”

Caelan gave a slight nod, the muscles in his neck tense.

Damon felt a twinge of anticipation mixed with caution. A rusty spear rested beside him, and for the first time, he gripped it more firmly.

Garrick took a deep breath, as if weighing the weight of the moment. Then he walked to the fallen tree, the metallic thud of his armored boots echoing on the packed earth. The veteran knight crouched for a second, examining the trunk’s position… and then, without warning, he twisted and slammed a brutal blow into the wood.

The impact echoed like a muffled thunderclap. The trunk, which had seemed solid and immobile, rolled sideways like a toy, dragging branches and leaves, opening the passage once more.

It was at that instant that the forest responded.

A piercing whistle filled the air, and Damon only had time to catch the metallic glint against the dim light before the rain of arrows came. There were many welcomes of various varieties, descending like a lethal curtain.

But Garrick was already moving.

He spun on his heel, raising his sword with both hands. The blade, polished to a high shine, sliced through the air in a wide arc. The instant he moved, a roar of wind erupted from the blow, so strong it shook the leaves of the surrounding trees violently.

A volley exploded forward, meeting the arrows in the air. The sound was like the sound of graves breaking, but multiplied by several times—pressures of wood snapping, points deflecting and falling to the ground, not a single one coming near him or Caelan.

Damon blinked in disbelief. He’d already known the knights were dangerous… but seeing such cruel power, so immediately, made his stomach tighten with something he couldn’t tell if it was fear or awe.

“Get ready!” Garrick roared, his voice charged with authority, its timbre reverberating across the road like a clarion call.

Caelan already had his sword raised, his eyes scanning the woods. Damon instinctively shifted in his seat, his fingers closing around the rusted spear. The cold of the metal in his palm felt more real, heavier.

The woods were alive with subtle movements. A snap of a twig here, a quick tremor of bushes there. The enemies couldn’t be seen yet… but they were there. Surrounding.

The rustling grew louder. It wasn’t the wind anymore. Footsteps—light, quick, precise—came from all sides.

Through the gaps in the trees, Damon began to make out shapes: shadows and lithe, low as integration. His heart raced.

Garrick and Caelan positioned themselves side by side in the middle of the road, guarding the passage to the wagon. Their swords reflected the filtered light, ready to receive the first attack.

Damon glanced at the horses—they snorted and stamped their hooves, restless but not panicked. He knew that if he stayed there, trapped in the seat, he would only serve as an easy target.

“Damn…” he muttered, letting go of the reins.

With an awkward leap, he dismounted. The weight of the rusty spear in his hand felt both strange and comforting, as if it were a piece of history that didn’t belong to him.

“Damon, stay back!” Caelan said, his gaze never leaving the woods.

“I’ll stay where I can help!” he replied, already advancing to line up a few paces behind the two knights.

Shadows began to materialize. Men in light armor, their skins painted with dark patterns to blend in with the undergrowth, and simple helmets with narrow visors. Each carried curved blades, and some still had bows dangling from their shoulders—the retreats that had thwarted the first attack.

There were at least a dozen of them… and more movement could be seen behind them.

The leader, a tall man with reinforced leather shoulder pads, stepped out from behind a thick trunk. He waved when he saw the slightly inconspicuous carriage.

The leader took a few steps forward, the blade dangling seemingly carelessly in his right hand. His smile held no warmth—it was the kind of expression calculated to convey absolute control.

He stopped a few feet from Garrick and Caelan, his gaze sweeping between them as if assessing an inconvenient obstacle before focusing on the wagon and, finally, on Damon.

“Nice train…” he said, his voice low but filled with confidence. “And well-escorted, it seems.”

He swung the blade slowly, the metal reflecting a flash of green light filtering through the leaves.

“Let’s make this easy,” he continued. “Drop your weapons, hand over what you have… and no one need die today.”

Behind him, the other warriors began to spread out further, closing in on the encirclement. The archers adjusted their arrows, unhurriedly, as if they already knew the situation was decided.

Garrick didn’t move. Only the slow sound of his breathing, muffled by his helmet, betrayed that he was sizing up his opponent. Caelan kept his sword low, but with a slightly outward point forward—ready to strike in a heartbeat.

Damon, with a firm thrust, felt the weight of the attention of several eyes on him. Heat crept up his neck, but he didn’t flinch.

The leader inclined his head, his smile widening slightly. “Quick choice. I’m not one to repeat proposals.”

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