The Scouts’ Warning

Kain laid near the dying embers of the campfire. The muffled snores of bandits and the occasional clink of chains from the prisoners filled the night. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids.

Eventually, sleep took him, but it was not the rest he hoped for.

Kain stood in a vast, circular arena. The ground beneath his feet was slick with blood. Around him, the cheers of a faceless crowd. The arena's walls were impossibly high, shadowed figures looming at the top.

He turned, as a figure emerged from the haze. It was massive, towering over him, its features shrouded in shadow. A single, glinting blade reflected the dim light as the figure raised it high.

Kain's heart pounded as he gripped his wooden staff, now splintered and bloodied. He wanted to run, but his legs felt rooted to the blood-soaked ground.

The figure lunged, faster than anything so large should be. Kain raised the staff instinctively, the force of the blow jarring him awake.

Kain shot upright and his body drenched in sweat. The campfire had burned out completely. Around him, the bandits and prisoners remained still.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, his chest still heaving. The dream lingered in his mind. The faceless crowd. The blood. The towering figure.

From somewhere in the forest, a low growl broke the silence. Kain froze, his fingers curling instinctively around his staff. The sound faded quickly, but the chill it left behind settled deep in his bones.

The girl stirred in the cage, her voice soft and groggy. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kain muttered, his eyes scanning the treeline. "Go back to sleep."

But even as he said the words, he knew he wouldn't be sleeping again that night.

Far beyond the forest, in a distant, bloodstained arena, a similar figure moved silently through a darkened corridor. Its blade gleamed faintly as it prepared for another fight, its thoughts fixed on the next challenger.

The next day, Kain stood near the prisoners' cage, his staff resting across his shoulders. The girl sat with her back against the bars, her eyes fixed on the forest beyond. She hadn't spoken since the march ended. The scarred man leaned on the bars, his smirk nowhere to be seen.

A sharp whistle cut through the clearing.

Kain's head snapped up. His grip on the staff tightened. It was one of Torik's scouts, his leather armor smeared with mud. His wide eyes betrayed the urgency he tried to hide.

"Torik!" the scout called.

Torik appeared from the shadows. "What is it?" he asked, his tone casual.

The scout hesitated, his gaze flicking to the rest of the bandits before settling on Torik. "Tracks," he said, his voice quieter now. "Just over the ridge. Fresh. Maybe six men. Armed."

A murmur rippled through the camp, low and nervous. Some of the bandits stood, their hands drifting toward their weapons. Others exchanged tense whispers, the weight of the news settling heavily on their shoulders.

Torik's dagger stilled. "How close?" he asked, his voice cutting through the growing noise.

"Half an hour, maybe less," the scout replied. "They're moving quiet. Like they're tracking."

The murmurs grew louder, panic seeping into the edges of the group. Kain caught fragments of their voices.

"Lirian's men...""They'll cut us down...""We should've moved faster..."

"Enough." Torik's voice cracked through the air. The clearing fell silent, the bandits' mutterings snuffed out. He stepped forward, his smirk gone. "We don't panic. Not here. Not now."

Torik turned back to the scout. "What else did you see?"

The scout hesitated, his hand twitching toward the hilt of his blade. "Nothing concrete, but... they're too quiet. If it's Lirian's men, they're not here to fight. They're feeling us out."

Torik's smirk widened slightly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Good. That means they're not expecting us to fight back."

He stepped to the center of the clearing, drawing a rough map in the dirt with his dagger. "They'll come from here." He pointed to a ridge marked by deep slashes in the soil. "They'll spread out before they move in, looking for openings."

One of the senior bandits, a wiry man with a long scar running down his jaw, frowned. "And what if they've already spotted us? They've got the high ground. They could pick us off before we even see them."

Torik glanced up at him, his smirk sharpening. "Not if we make them come to us."

He jabbed the dagger into the center of the map. "We'll draw them in here. Tight quarters, no room for them to maneuver. We take the fight to them before they can regroup."

Torik turned to Kain, his sharp gaze locking onto him. "You're with me."

Kain blinked, his grip tightening on the staff. "Why?"

"Because I said so" Torik replied, his tone blunt. Kain nodded, his jaw tightening. "Fine."

"Good." Torik's smirk returned as he straightened, his dagger twirling in his hand. "The rest of you, get into position. No noise, no mistakes."

As the bandits scattered to prepare the ambush, Kain lingered by the cage, his thoughts racing. The scarred man watched him closely, his expression unreadable.

"You nervous, kid?" the man asked, his voice low and quiet.

Kain didn't respond. His eyes scanned the forest, searching for movement, for any sign of the scouts drawing near.

"You should be," the man continued, his tone edged with grim amusement. "Lirian's men don't play fair."

The girl spoke softly, her voice breaking the tension. "Do you think we'll survive this?"

Kain turned to her, his expression hard. "I don't know. But if you want to live, stay quiet and do what I say."

She nodded, but the fear in her eyes didn't fade. Kain turned back to the forest, the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. The distant sound of rustling leaves reached his ears, faint but growing closer.

The scouts were coming.

The forest breathed with an unnatural stillness as the bandits crouched in the underbrush, their weapons gleaming in the light. Torik stood at the edge of the treeline, his eyes locked on the ridge ahead, where the enemy scouts would soon appear. His dagger rested loosely in his hand, but the tension in his posture betrayed the weight of his focus.

Kain knelt near the prisoners, his staff clutched tightly in both hands. His heart pounded in his chest, its rhythm a relentless drumbeat that seemed deafening in the silence. 

"Eyes up, boy," the scarred man murmured, his voice low. "They'll come quick, and they won't miss."

Kain's fingers tightened around the staff. "I know."

From the treeline, Torik raised a hand, signaling the group to ready themselves. The bandits shifted, their movements. 

The first figure emerged over the ridge. He carried a crossbow slung across his back, his eyes scanning the forest floor for signs of movement. Four more followed, their weapons ready.

Kain's breath caught in his throat as he watched them. These weren't the clumsy, overconfident soldiers he had imagined. They were hunters.

Torik waited, his hand still raised. The scouts drew closer, their formation tightening as they neared the clearing. Kain could feel the tension in the bandits around him, their grips tightening on swords and bows.

"Wait," Torik hissed, his voice barely audible.

The lead scout stopped suddenly, holding up a fist. The group froze, their heads turning sharply as if they had caught a scent on the wind. One of them knelt, inspecting the ground, his fingers brushing over faint tracks.

Kain's stomach twisted. The scout's hand moved to his crossbow.

"Now," Torik growled.

The forest exploded into chaos.

Arrows hissed through the air, striking two of the scouts before they could react. One fell instantly, his body crumpling into the underbrush. The other let out a strangled cry, clutching at the arrow buried in his shoulder.

The remaining scouts scattered, their training kicking in as they sought cover behind trees and rocks. One loosed a crossbow bolt, the projectile whistling past Torik's head. The man turned, his sword raised, but Torik was faster. The dagger flashed, slicing across the scout's throat. The man fell silently, his body slumping against a tree.

Kain's hands shook as he watched the fight unfold. One of the scouts broke from the group, his gaze locking onto the prisoners. He sprinted toward them, a short blade gleaming in his hand.

"Stop him!" the scarred man barked, his voice cutting through Kain's haze.

Kain surged to his feet, his staff raised. The scout was on him in an instant, the blade arcing toward his chest. Kain blocked the strike with the staff, the impact jolting through his arms. He swung hard, the wood cracking against the scout's ribs. The man grunted, staggering back.

But he didn't fall.

The scout recovered quickly, his movements sharp and practiced. He feinted left, then lunged right, his blade slicing toward Kain's side. Kain twisted, the edge grazing his tunic, and countered with a downward strike that caught the scout's wrist. The blade fell from the man's hand, landing with a dull thud.

Kain didn't hesitate. He drove the staff forward, striking the scout square in the chest. The man stumbled, his breath hitching, but still he didn't fall.

The scout's eyes met His and Kain hesitated, his grip faltering for a fraction of a second.

The scout lunged again, his hands closing around Kain's staff. They grappled, the scout's strength nearly overwhelming him. Kain gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He won't stop. He'll kill me. I have to—

With a guttural yell, Kain wrenched the staff free and swung it with all his strength. The wood connected with the side of the scout's head, the crack echoing through the clearing. The man crumpled, his body hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

Kain stood over him, his chest heaving, the staff trembling in his hands. Blood trickled from the scout's temple, staining the forest floor. Kain couldn't look away, the weight of what he'd done.

The sounds of the skirmish faded, replaced by the breathing of the bandits. Torik stood at the edge of the clearing, his dagger dripping blood. He surveyed the bodies of the scouts.

"Not bad," he said, his voice calm despite the carnage. "But we're not done."

He turned to the scout with an arrow in his shoulder, who had been captured and restrained by two bandits. The man's face was pale, his eyes darting between his captors. Torik approached him slowly, his smirk widening.

"You're going to tell me everything," Torik said. "Who sent you, how many more are coming, and why you're here. And if you lie..." He twirled the dagger, its edge gleaming. "You won't get another chance."

Kain stood frozen, his gaze locked on the scout he'd killed. His hands still trembled, the weight of his actions settling heavily on his shoulders. The girl's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"You saved us," she said softly. Her eyes were wide, filled with something between gratitude and fear.

Kain didn't reply. He couldn't.

The scout knelt in the dirt, his breathing ragged and uneven. The arrow lodged in his shoulder hadn't killed him, but the pain had drained the fight from his body. Blood dripped steadily, pooling beneath him as his head hung low. 

Torik crouched before him. The circle of bandits stood in silence, their expressions a mix of anticipation and unease. Even the prisoners had gone still, their whispered plotting forgotten as they watched the scene unfold.

"Last chance," Torik said, his voice low and cutting. "Who sent you, how many, and how far behind are they?"

The scout spat blood onto the ground, his lips curling into a weak sneer. "Go to hell."

Torik's smirk widened, his teeth gleaming faintly in the firelight. "Already been there, friend. Didn't care much for it. But let me show you a piece of what I saw."

Without warning, Torik drove the hilt of his dagger into the scout's injured shoulder. The man let out a strangled cry, his body jerking against the pain. Torik leaned in close.

"You think you're tough? That you've seen worse?" He twisted the dagger slightly, eliciting another scream. "Let me tell you something about pain. It doesn't end when you pass out. It lingers. It finds ways to crawl under your skin, even in your dreams."

The scout's breathing came in shallow gasps, but his defiance flickered like a dying ember. "You... think this'll break me? Lirian's men don't break."

Torik tilted his head, his smirk faint. "Good. That means I can take my time."

He stood and gestured to one of the bandits. "Bring the box."

The bandit hesitated for a split second, then hurried to retrieve a small wooden chest. When he returned, he set it at Torik's feet, his hands trembling slightly. Torik opened it revealing an array of tools, small blades, clamps, and other implements designed for one purpose.

Kain's stomach twisted. He averted his gaze, gripping his staff tightly, but the scout's pained breathing forced his attention back.

Torik selected a thin blade. He knelt again, his expression calm, he pressed the blade lightly against the scout's hand.

"Fingers are funny things," Torik said conversationally. "You don't appreciate them until you start losing them."

The scout's body tensed as the blade slid under his nail. Torik paused, glancing up. "One more time. How many are coming?"

The scout gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face. "Go to hell."

Torik didn't hesitate. With a quick flick of his wrist, he drove the blade beneath the nail, prying it upward. The scream that followed was raw, animalistic, and it echoed through the clearing. Even the bandits flinched.

Kain's grip on the staff tightened until his knuckles turned white. He could feel his stomach churn, but he forced himself to stay still.

"Still nothing?" Torik asked, his tone almost cheerful. "You've got a lot of fingers left. We could be here all night."

By the time Torik moved on to the second finger, the scout was shaking uncontrollably, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Blood dripped steadily onto the dirt, staining his pants and pooling around his knees.

Kain couldn't look away. He wanted to, he told himself he should, but something held him there, rooted in place. He needed to see the reality of what Torik was capable of.

But deep down, he wasn't sure if that was true.

When Torik finally stopped, the scout was barely conscious, his head lolling forward. His voice was a hoarse whisper. "Fifty... fifty men... two days back."

Torik leaned closer, his voice calm but firm. "And who leads them?"

The scout shuddered, his body convulsing as he tried to speak. "Captain... Orlen..."

Torik's smirk returned. "Good man." He stood, cleaning his blade on the scout's tattered sleeve. "You've been very helpful."

As Torik turned to address the bandits, Kain felt his chest tighten. The clearing seemed suffocating, the air thick with blood and fear. Torik's methods had worked, there was no denying that. But the sight of the scout's broken body, the sound of his screams still echoing in his mind, left a bitter taste in Kain's mouth.

"This changes nothing," Torik said, his voice sharp. "We move at dawn. Lirian's men will find nothing but ashes if they catch us here. Get some rest. You'll need it."

The bandits began to disperse, but Kain lingered near the cage, his mind racing. The girl looked up at him, her face pale.

The bandits moved quietly through the camp, their faces grim. Torik's orders had been clear, pack up and be ready to move by dawn. The scout's revelations had lit a fire under the group, but fear simmered beneath their movements. House Lirian's reputation wasn't exaggerated, their soldiers were disciplined, ruthless, and well-funded. Torik's group, for all its cunning, was little more than a gang of outlaws in comparison.

Kain sat near the cages. His gaze was unfocused, his thoughts still tangled in the screams and blood of the interrogation. The girl sat cross-legged nearby, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but still watchful.

"You don't look so good," the scarred man said, leaning against the bars. His tone was quieter than usual, lacking the mockery Kain had come to expect. "First time seeing something like that?"

Kain didn't reply, his jaw tight.

The man chuckled, a hollow sound. "Don't worry, kid. It gets easier. The first time's the hardest."

Kain's grip on the staff tightened, but he kept his voice steady. "It shouldn't."

Not far from Kain, the bandits huddled in small groups, their whispers carrying just loud enough to be heard.

"Fifty men... That's an army.""Torik's mad if he thinks we can outrun them.""Better to scatter. Let them chase ghosts."

As the bandits dispersed, Kain rose to his feet, his staff tapping lightly against the ground. He made his way toward Torik, his footsteps deliberate. Torik noticed him immediately, his smirk widening.

"Something on your mind, boy?" Torik asked, his tone almost amused.

"You're putting all of us at risk," Kain said bluntly. 

Torik's smirk didn't falter. "You've got a lot to say for someone who's still alive because of me."

Kain's jaw tightened. "We can't keep running forever."

Torik stepped closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't have a plan?"

Kain held his ground. "Then tell me."

For a moment, the only sound was the distant rustling of the trees. Then Torik laughed softly, shaking his head. "You've got fire, boy. I'll give you that. But you're not ready to play this game."

Kain's grip on the staff tightened, but he said nothing as Torik turned and walked away, his smirk faint but unshaken.

Later that night, as the camp settled into uneasy rest, Kain sat by the fire, his thoughts churning. The girl approached quietly, sitting down a few feet away. She didn't speak at first, her gaze fixed on the flames.

"You're thinking about leaving," she said finally, her voice soft but certain.

Kain glanced at her, his expression guarded. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged, her eyes never leaving the fire. "Because you don't look like someone who belongs here. And you're not stupid. You know this won't end well."

Kain didn't respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his tone was quieter. "And where would I go? Out there, I'd be hunted just like the rest of you."

The girl looked at him then, her expression unreadable. "Maybe. But staying here... isn't that just a slower death?"

Her words lingered as she stood and walked back toward the cage. Kain watched her go, his chest heavy with doubt. The fire crackled softly, the faint glow casting long shadows across his face.

Staying here isn't a choice, he thought. It's just survival.

Far from the camp, in the dense shadows of the forest, another figure moved silently. Alric crouched near the remains of the scout's trail, his sharp eyes scanning the ground. The distant echo of a scream had reached him earlier, faint but unmistakable.

He stood, brushing dirt from his hands, his expression grim. "You'd better have a plan, Torik," he muttered under his breath. "Because if you don't, we're all dead."

The flicker of torchlight in the distance caught his attention. House Lirian's forces were closer than he'd hoped.