After a grueling journey through untamed wilderness, the trio progressed far slower than they had anticipated. They had managed to procure only a single pair of boots from a fallen mercenary, leaving two of them to tread the rough terrain barefoot.
Tragedy struck early in their trek when Brandon, despite his vigilance, stepped on a concealed sharp object in the grass. His foot badly punctured, the lone pair of boots was promptly surrendered to him to cushion the wound.
With Leon's seasoned hunting skills at their disposal, the group subsisted on whatever the wild offered, snaring rabbits, spearing fish, and even defending against and then consuming the wolves that dared to challenge them. During leaner times, they foraged for wild fruits and dug up edible roots to stave off hunger.
Directionless without a map, they could only guess their way forward, often finding themselves more lost than before. After what felt like an eternity, they stumbled upon a country road, a relieving sign of civilization after days of disorientation and a first glimpse of human presence since their narrow escape from the mercenary encampment.
Upon discovering that Brandon could communicate in Uriah, Leon was eager to locate a village. They were desperate, not just for better supplies, but also to relieve the agony of walking barefoot through brambles and underbrush, and the chill of the night air biting at their thinly clad bodies.
Their spirits lifted at the sight of a small village, its humble thatched huts dotting the horizon. Yet, they didn't approach directly. Instead, they hid themselves in the nearby woods to devise a strategy.
Brandon, proficient in Uriah and possessing the demeanor of a noble's son, was to pose as a knight's squire and venture alone into the village armed with chain mail, sword, shield, and their collective hopes carried in a few silver coins. His polished manners and noble lineage were expected to ease his acceptance among the villagers.
Meanwhile, Leon and Liam positioned themselves atop a nearby hill, keeping watch over the village from their elevated lookout.
As Brandon disappeared into the maze of village houses, Leon noticed something unsettling, it was eerily quiet. The lack of any village activity during daylight was disconcerting.
It wasn't long before Brandon reappeared, sprinting from the village, frantically waving them over. Bewildered but swift, Leon and Liam descended from their perch and raced towards their friend.
"What's happened?" Leon panted as he approached the village edge.
"It's deserted. There's chaos everywhere, homes ransacked, and worse, bodies. It looks like the villagers fled in a hurry," Brandon reported grimly, handing back the sword to Liam as they took in the silent desolation.
Leon paused at the village's entrance, suddenly taking note of the scattered horse hoof prints and the several battered wooden fences. "Has this village been robbed?" he asked, the evidence mounting before him.
"I'm not sure," Brandon replied with a furrow of his brow. "But we shouldn't linger. The villagers' bodies suggest they've been here a while. If any survivors have escaped, they might bring the local lord's troops to deal with the bandits. Let's quickly search for anything useful and get out."
As they stepped further into the village, the remnants of chaos were evident. The wooden doors of the cottages hung open or were smashed off their hinges, providing easy access. Spreading out, they moved from one cottage to the next, their urgency palpable.
Despite the apparent looting, Leon found himself hopeful; bandits often overlooked what they deemed worthless. In one cottage, he discovered a pair of shoes beside a bed, simple, with frayed hemp soles and weathered leather ties. They were a far cry from comfortable, but they were certainly better than the unforgiving ground underfoot. Slipping them on, he felt a measure of relief, his movements quicker and less painful.
His search continued, more productive now. He sifted through the remnants of the raided homes, finding nothing of value but managing to gather some coarse linen coats and tattered trousers. Though rough and uncomfortable, they would offer some protection against the night's chill. Fashioning a makeshift sack from the fabric, he collected what meager provisions he could find, scattered coarse bread and grains left behind in a shattered clay bowl.
"These bandits left nothing behind but scraps," Leon muttered to himself, his frustration growing with each empty cupboard and drawer.
Entering another wooden house, a stench hit him, a pungent, rotting smell that led him to a ghastly sight in the inner room. The first thing he saw was a decayed female corpse, her body exposed and bearing the tragic signs of brutal mistreatment. The sight was horrifying, her young features twisted in the agony of her final moments.
Turning away, his heart heavy, Leon's eyes then fell upon another victim, a headless male corpse nearby, stripped and kneeling with hands bound, his torso scarred from blades. A severed head lay not far, its older, weathered face twisted in anguish. Leon's stomach churned with revulsion and sorrow, piecing together the dreadful fate of what likely was a father and his daughter.
"The sheer barbarity…" Leon whispered, his voice choked with anger and despair. "To imagine their final moments…" His thoughts were haunted by the cruel reality of their last hours, the village's silence now a grim testament to its past horrors.
Leon stepped back, his face a mask of anguish as he closed the door quietly behind him. The horrors within the room had dredged up his own painful memories, the kind that clung stubbornly to the corners of one's soul.
"There's nothing more harrowing than confronting a nightmare you've lived yourself," he muttered under his breath, a sentiment borne of too much familiarity with suffering.
Liam approached, noticing Leon's swift exit from the room. His curiosity piqued, he asked, "What's wrong? Did you find anything inside?"
Leon sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "There's nothing in there worth our time. It's best left undisturbed."
Confused, Liam pushed open the door and peered inside. The sight that met his eyes made him recoil, and he quickly stepped back, his expression grim. Taking a deep breath, he tried to steady his rattled nerves. The reality of such brutality inflicted upon ordinary people, even those from an enemy nation, shook him deeply.
"Let's keep moving," Leon said gently, placing a reassuring hand on Liam's shoulder.
Their search through the village was thorough yet somber. They managed to gather enough provisions to last them for some time, and both Leon and Brandon found rudimentary straw sandals and linen clothes, shedding the last of their ragged appearances. They also stumbled upon two rusty pitchforks, allowing Leon to discard the makeshift wooden spear he'd been relying on.
With their supplies secured, the trio wasted no time. As the shadows lengthened with the setting sun, they quickened their pace, eager to leave the haunting memories of the village behind.
That evening, they prepared a simple meal of oatmeal porridge mixed with beans and complemented by coarse bread. Despite the nourishment, the meal was eaten in somber silence. The day's discoveries weighed heavily on them, a stark reminder of their own past ordeals.
The night passed uneventfully, and at dawn, they resumed their journey with renewed speed, now equipped with shoes and ample food. By noon, however, Leon sensed something amiss, a faint, rhythmic pulsing through the earth. Dropping to the ground, he pressed his ear to the dirt, a trick taught by his father. His suspicions were confirmed: the distinct tremor of approaching cavalry.
"Hide! Cavalry approaching from behind!" he hissed, urgency lacing his voice.
Without hesitation, Liam and Brandon followed Leon's lead, sprinting towards the safety of the woods. They dove into the underbrush, concealing themselves on a slope. There, they lay as still as the dead, barely daring to breathe, while the distant thunder of hooves grew louder, drawing nearer.
It wasn't until the rumble of horse hooves dissolved into the distance that Liam, Leon, and Brandon dared to let down their guard. Cautiously, they peeked from their hiding place, a thick copse of trees bordering the road.
"Who were those riders? Bandits, perhaps?" Liam's voice was tinged with anxiety, recalling a village nearby that had been ransacked just the day before.
Leon shrugged, his gaze lingering on the empty path where dust was still settling. "Possibly. Or it could've been the local lord's men," he mused, his tone suggesting he was far from certain.
Brandon's brow furrowed in concern. "Should we risk continuing down this road?" His voice betrayed his fear of another unsettling encounter.
Leon seemed lost in thought for a moment, a frown creasing his forehead as he mulled over their options. "I thought heading north would shield us, but it seems we've run straight into trouble regardless." His observation was punctuated by the distant, yet distinctly methodical sound of the horses' hooves they had heard earlier, a sound that spoke of disciplined cavalry, not ragtag marauders.
The possibility dawned on him that they might have stumbled upon an advance scout of a larger force. "If my guess is right, turning back now might be just as dangerous," he finally said, his voice low.
After a quick exchange of glances and a brief discussion, they agreed. "We'll press on, but keep to the woods. We're unfamiliar with these parts, so caution is our only ally," Leon decided, setting the tone for their continued journey.
"Stay alert," he instructed, his eyes scanning the tree line. "If anything seems off, we head deeper into the forest."
Silently, they quickened their pace, staying close to the cover of the trees that flanked the road. But no sooner had they moved than another orderly sequence of hooves echoed on the path, prompting them to conceal themselves once more. Leon's jaw tightened, the weight of their precarious situation pressing down on him.
By dusk, they had managed to skirt the main road and delve deeper into the dense forest. Finding a secluded rocky pit, they felt safe enough to kindle a small fire and set up camp.
As night fell, Leon found himself restless, tossing on the hard ground. His mind raced with all the risks that lay ahead. It was his idea to head north, and now each potential danger seemed to weigh heavily on him.
Would they stumble upon an encamped army? Could they possibly escape an encounter with the formidable Kantardar forces, or bluff their way through pretending to be locals, using the few phrases Brandon had taught them?
As these thoughts plagued him, another troubling thought surfaced. If the local lord's army was indeed so active in the area, why would bandits boldly raid nearby villages? The answer hit him with a chilling clarity as he recalled the atrocities he had witnessed in the city of Rolandar, where the Kantardar army and mercenaries wreaked havoc.
A somber realization dawned on him, echoing an old proverb he once heard: "Bandits pass by like a comb, soldiers like a rake."
It was a stark epiphany, perhaps it was not bandits who brought disaster to the village, but the very soldiers meant to protect it.