You draw your sword and wait for your foes to approach. Your horse stamps at the ground in fear and anticipation.
The warriors come at you in a group. You swing at them with your sword, slashing across the throat of the nearest man, but then strong hands pull you from your saddle and drag you to the ground, and blows rain down upon you.
You see one of your assailants raise a sword, but a moment later, he is crushed under the hooves of Drazha's horse as she charges to your aid. You use Drazha's distraction to your advantage and, without hesitation, hack into the legs of the nearest warrior with your sword, then quickly rise to your feet to dispatch a second. The rest of them were clearly not prepared for such resistance; they flee, leaving their fallen comrades behind.
Next
"They were acting like bandits, not like scouts," says Drazha, looking back toward the ravine, now deserted. "What do you think they were doing, lagging behind Zhan-Ukhel's main force?"
You think for a moment. "I'd say they were deserters."
"If that's so," replies Drazha, "maybe Zhan-Ukhel's troops aren't as loyal to him as he'd like people to think. They're a long way from home now. Perhaps he's losing his grip?"
"It's possible," you say, turning once more toward the north, "but I'd wager there are plenty more who still look to him as a leader, and before we find the Tribe of the Red Bear, we'll have to get past them."
The rest of the day is mercifully free of further encounters, though you notice that you are ascending gradually but steadily for much of the time. By the day's end, the forest is thinning out, and you find yourself on the edge of an expanse of moorland and rocky moraines. The air seems to be noticeably colder here, and you stay within the safety of the forest as you make camp for the night.
The Next Morning
You have been riding for less than an hour the following morning when a turbulent river comes into sight, flowing in from the east before turning north. The road runs alongside the bank, and the tracks of what you assume is the Black Wolf caravan are quite clear. A little before noon, Drazha points into the sky ahead of you. You follow her finger and see, just over the nearest ridge, a number of plumes of smoke lazily making their way into the overcast sky.
The two of you carefully make your way to the top of the ridge. Below, the river curves around in a tight bend, creating a rounded peninsula of land on which the Black Wolf army is camped. Tents have been erected, and the supply wagons arranged in a circle at the camp's center. That said, not all of the camp is so neat and contained. Large elements of it sprawl over the land nearby in a mess of tents, tethered horses, and idle warriors. As you watch, a familiar figure walks out of the largest of the tents and stops in the center of the encampment. Suddenly, you feel nauseous, and your vision starts to swim before your eyes.
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