ch. 28 - the Western Highlands 2

As Merlin walked the perimeter, his senses remained sharp, continuously pulsing with Lightning Vein Pulse to map the environment around him. The more focused he became, the clearer the signals from the enemy grew. He felt the approaching presences converge, their numbers increasing with each passing moment.

The pulse technique had finally given him an accurate count: at least twelve individuals, surrounding the caravan in a wide arc. The enemies were closing in from all sides, slowly tightening the noose. Despite the high number, Merlin didn't feel the overwhelming pressure of an immediate threat—there was no chaotic rush of energy, no recklessness in their movements. They were professionals, likely experienced raiders or mercenaries, careful in their approach.

With every step he took along the perimeter, Merlin subtly etched magic arrays into the ground using his own mana, his fingers flicking in deliberate motions as if tracing invisible patterns in the air. The arrays he laid down were simple but effective—each one designed to act as a silent deterrent or a warning, waiting for the right moment to trigger.

Merlin's traps were designed to remain hidden for as long as possible, only activating when the tension reached its peak. Every array was laid with caution, and the more he walked, the more he felt the presence of the would-be attackers creep closer. They were on the move now, their positions changing as they coordinated their assault.

Merlin could feel the subtle tug of the traps in his mana. They were ready.

Returning to the caravan, he met Granth's eyes. The older man had been watching him carefully, his weathered face tight with suspicion. Merlin gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"They're closing in," Merlin whispered. "Twelve. They'll strike soon."

Granth grunted in acknowledgment, unsheathing his sword. "Ready your magic, boy. This isn't going to be a peaceful night."

Merlin returned to his place near the center of the caravan, adjusting the positioning of his saber and wand. His focus sharpened, every second counting.

He could feel the pulse of energy—his traps, ready to snap shut.

The waiting game had begun.

The air was thick with tension as Merlin sensed the completion of the encirclement within the dense forest surrounding their camp. His keen eyes scanned the moonlit shadows, searching for any sign of movement. Around him, the caravan's guards huddled around flickering fires, their weapons gleaming in the faint light, their whispers laced with unease.

The night stretched on, silent and unnervingly still. Every rustle of the wind through the trees made the guards grip their weapons tighter.

But as the hours crept by, nothing emerged from the darkness. No howling beasts. No shadowy raiders. Nothing.

Merlin's brow furrowed as dawn began to break over the horizon, the golden light spilling across the camp.

*****

As the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, the tension that had hung heavy in the air began to thrum with anticipation. The group emerged from the treeline like shadows dissolving into the light. They moved with precision, their formation deliberate yet nonthreatening. Each figure was clad in Highlander garb, their weapons visible but not drawn—a gesture of wary diplomacy rather than aggression.

Merlin's instincts remained sharp as he watched their leader step forward. A tall woman with braided auburn hair tied back in a warrior's knot led the group. Her bearing was commanding, her armor a mix of practicality and artistry, with intricate clan patterns engraved into the steel. Her voice carried the clipped yet respectful tone of someone who spoke for their people.

"Granth, I presume?" she called out, her clear voice carrying across the campsite. Her accent was thick but not incomprehensible.

Granth stepped forward, his broad shoulders easing as he sheathed his sword in a sign of goodwill. "Aye, and you'd be…?"

The woman placed a fist over her chest in a Highlander salute. "Cairine MacAlasdair, Captain of Clan MacAlasdair's guard. We were sent to assist in ensuring the safe passage of this caravan. My lord wishes to ensure the terms of our agreement are honored." She gestured to her group, who stood at respectful attention behind her.

Granth relaxed further, his expression softening as he extended a hand. "Well met, Captain. Your help is most welcome."

Merlin, standing near the edge of the group, observed the exchange closely. His mana traps were still primed, their faint hum an ever-present reminder of the precautions he'd taken. With a subtle motion, he withdrew the mana from the arrays, disabling them without a trace. The air seemed to settle as the ambient mana returned to normal.

Granth turned toward Merlin and gestured him forward. "This here's Merlin, our mage. He's the one responsible for making sure we've been unbothered during our journey so far."

Merlin stepped forward, offering a polite nod to Captain Cairine. "Merlin, Inner Court Disciple of the Dawnsedge Sword Sect," he said formally, his voice calm and measured. "Your assistance is appreciated, Captain. It will make the journey safer for all involved."

Cairine gave him a sharp, appraising look, her green eyes flicking over his combat robes, the saber at his waist, and the wand holstered at his hip. "A pleasure, Disciple Merlin," she said, inclining her head slightly. "The Highlands can be treacherous to outsiders. Clan MacAlasdair is honored to guide you."

Her gaze lingered a moment longer, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face before she turned back to Granth. "Our scouts have already swept the road ahead. We'll escort you the rest of the way. There's a narrow pass a day's travel from here where ambushes are common."

"Much obliged," Granth said. "We've had a quiet trip so far, but extra swords never hurt."

As the caravan began preparing to move, Merlin fell into step beside Granth, his thoughts lingering on Cairine. Her reaction to him had been subtle but not dismissive—something he'd have to consider as they continued their journey.

For now, the Highlanders' presence was both a relief and a mystery. The Highlands were known for their strong ties to tradition, and Clan MacAlasdair's involvement hinted at deeper connections between the Sect and these remote lands.

The journey through the Highlands was far from over.