Boris crouched low in the bushes, eyes narrowed as he watched the Kantadars, a savage group of raiders; charging toward the village of Selva. His heart pounded, not from fear of them but from something darker inside him.
The fire on the hillside had slowly begun to die out, leaving behind an eerie orange glow that flickered in the night. It reminded Boris of the danger creeping ever closer, but instead of moving to do something about it, he stayed hidden, paralyzed not by fear, but by a deep-rooted indifference.
Should I go back and warn them? he thought briefly.
"Pah! Warn them? For what? It's not my problem."
As he shifted slightly, a sharp pain shot through him, the wound on his side reminding him of his own vulnerability. He clenched his teeth and cursed under his breath. The pain was nothing compared to the venom in his thoughts.
His father and brothers had been conscripted for the war long ago, and now they were far away, probably dead or close to it. The village meant nothing to him anymore. This place had done nothing for him. Why should he risk his own skin for these people?
Especially those old fools, constantly gossiping and prying. He spat at the thought of them. If they were all to die tonight, it wouldn't make a shred of difference to him.
And then... Olivia. Her face flashed in his mind. He chuckled to himself, his lips twisting into a cruel grin.
"Ah, Olivia... you self-righteous fool. Protecting that outsider spy, thinking you're so noble. Let's see how noble you are when the Kantadars come. I can't wait to see your face when everything falls apart."
He could already picture it; the horror, the devastation. The idea of her suffering filled him with a sick sense of joy. It made the pain in his side seem insignificant. Fueled by that twisted delight, Boris forced himself to his feet. Despite his injuries, he felt lighter, almost energized. Without a second thought, he began walking down the dirt road, heading away from the village.
"I'll go to town, inform the Lord. Maybe there's something in it for me," he muttered, disappearing into the night, the fate of Selva already sealed in his mind.
Meanwhile, far from where Boris slipped away, another group had gathered under the cloak of darkness. Dozens of cavalrymen, battle-weary and worn from days of fleeing, had come to a halt at the base of a hill near Selva. Their once proud armor was now dulled by the dust of retreat, and their horses, just as tired as the men who rode them, stood in exhausted silence.
They had no food left, no water, and their spirits were near breaking, until the village came into view. A glimmer of hope. Small, vulnerable, and unaware.
Several scouts, having surveyed the area, returned on horseback to their leader, the noble knight Kantadar. His face, gaunt with exhaustion, brightened as he listened to the report. The news was promising, just a small village with a few dozen households. Hardly a threat.
The fatigue that had weighed on Kantadar's shoulders melted away. Beneath the moonlight, his expression twisted into something triumphant, almost gleeful. This village would be their salvation. He spun around, his voice cold as he issued orders to his knights and mercenaries.
"Rest briefly. At dawn, we surround the village. Take everything. Leave no one alive. No one escapes."
The words were simple but brutal. He didn't flinch as he sentenced the unsuspecting villagers to death.
His forces quickly split into four groups, moving with silent efficiency. The noble knights, draped in their heavy cloaks, led their attendants and cavalry to surround the village from the east, west, and south, trapping the villagers like prey. The mercenaries, less disciplined but just as deadly, took to the north under the command of their leader. They moved swiftly across the hill, towards a small, half-ruined tower that the scouts had noticed earlier.
"Take the tower," the mercenary leader ordered. "Use it as a sentry post until the attack."
The plan was set. The village of Selva, now enveloped in the deep silence of the night, had no idea of the storm about to descend upon it.
The sound of horse hooves echoed ominously along the dirt road, growing louder with every passing second. In the stillness of the night, danger crept ever closer.
Inside the windmill, Leon sat slumped in the corner by the window, half-asleep. He'd barely caught any rest since the thug from the village had barged into his house earlier, and his mind was still racing with the events of the day. But now, something stirred him from his drowsy state; a sound, faint but distinct.
His eyes snapped open, his senses on high alert. What was that?
Holding his breath, he listened carefully. There it was again. The rhythmic clatter of hooves in the distance, gradually nearing. Leon rose to his feet in an instant, heart pounding. He moved to the window, cautiously peeking through a gap in the half-open wooden shutters.
What he saw made his blood run cold. Shadows danced along the hillside in the moonlight; figures mounted on horses, their armor glinting under the pale glow of the moon. A group of cavalry was moving steadily toward them.
Leon's mind raced. Where had they come from? And more importantly, why? His first thought was Boris. Could that scoundrel have summoned reinforcements to settle his personal grudge?
No, that didn't make sense. Boris was nothing but a lowlife. He wouldn't have the influence or resources to call in cavalry like this.
At that moment, Liam and Brandon, his companions, came running over. They had heard the horses too, and now they crowded beside him, peering through the window with growing dread. Their faces mirrored Leon's unease.
"There's too many of them," Liam muttered, barely able to contain his frustration. "A dozen at least. We can't take them on, no way."
Leon swallowed hard. He knew Liam was right. The three of them were no match for a heavily armed cavalry.
"Bandits?" Liam continued in a hushed voice, his fists clenched. "Are these guys from Selva? First we get a thug breaking in, now we've got a bunch of bandits coming for us? We must've stepped on some cursed ground tonight."
Brandon's eyes darted nervously between the approaching riders and Leon. "What do we do? They're definitely not here for a friendly chat."
Leon's mind whirled, trying to piece together an escape plan, but the more he thought about it, the more trapped they seemed. He pictured the terrain in his head; the hillside, the cliffs, the single road leading down. Every option led them straight into the path of the cavalry.
"There's no way out," Leon muttered, sweat beginning to form on his brow. "If we try to run, we'll be caught in an instant. We can't outrun them on foot, not against their horses."
He glanced around the windmill frantically, searching for any possible hiding spot. The room was sparse; too exposed. The walls were bare, and the space inside too open to offer any real cover. His eyes darted upward, and that's when he spotted it, the wooden beams crisscrossing the attic, high above them.
The attic wasn't much. It was little more than a framework of thick wooden beams, offering barely any cover, and the gaps between them were wide and exposed. But there was something else; a hole in the top of the windmill tower through which faint beams of moonlight streamed down.
"Up there!" Leon pointed urgently. "We'll climb up to the roof through that hole!"
Without wasting another second, the three of them sprang into action. They grabbed a wooden box, quickly positioning it as a makeshift stool. Leon scrambled onto it first, jumping up and grasping one of the beams. His muscles strained as he hoisted himself up into the attic space. He balanced himself carefully on one of the crossbeams, looking down at his friends.
"Hurry!" Leon called down. "Pass me the blankets, quilts; everything! We can't leave any signs that someone's been staying here."
Liam wasted no time, grabbing the rolled-up bedding and tossing it up to Leon, who caught it and began stuffing it into the attic. Brandon, ever practical, picked up the incense burner that Boris had left behind, handing it up as well. Luckily, they had packed their bags earlier in the evening. Had they not, the situation would have been much more desperate.
One by one, they passed up their belongings, making sure to clear away any trace of their presence. As Leon secured the last of their things, he looked down at his companions, his heart pounding in his chest. The hoofbeats were growing louder, the cavalry dangerously close now.
"Get up here, quick!" Leon whispered urgently, his eyes darting to the door. There was no telling how much time they had before the cavalry burst in.
With a final glance toward the window, they climbed up after him, disappearing into the shadowy attic as the sound of approaching riders filled the night.
The three of them hurriedly packed up their belongings, grabbing their bags, blankets, and anything that might give away their presence. With quick but careful movements, they began their ascent, climbing up the wooden beams that crisscrossed the windmill's interior. The narrow space between the partitions made it tricky, but they had no other choice. One after the other, they maneuvered upwards, inching closer to the entrance of the attic.
As they climbed, the eerie sound of horses' hooves echoed from below. Low neighs mixed with hushed voices reached their ears, signaling the arrival of the intruders. The windmill, tall and isolated, seemed fragile against the incoming danger. Leon's heart pounded in his chest. He knew the flimsy wooden door on the ground floor wouldn't hold for long.
Then came the banging. Loud and relentless.
BANG!
The door shattered, flung open by brute force.
Leon, Liam, and Brandon had just reached the roof of the windmill. Breathing hard, they flattened themselves against the rooftop, clutching their rolled-up bedding tightly. The night air was cool against their sweaty faces, but none of them dared to make a sound. They were high up now, the moonlight casting faint shadows over them, but they were hidden, for the moment.
Leon strained to listen, ears twitching at the muffled voices below. He could hear the mercenaries; rough, hardened men, moving through the windmill.
"Uriah, it's those Kantadar bastards," Liam whispered angrily, his voice barely audible as he clenched his fists. His frustration was palpable, but Leon motioned for him to be quiet, lifting a hand to silence him.
"Shh…" Leon hissed, though his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Why were the Kantadars here? How had they ended up in Aurland? Could it be that the border had already fallen, and these invaders were sweeping through the land, destroying everything in their path?
His thoughts were interrupted by the distinct clink of metal; armor and weapons, echoing from inside the windmill. The soldiers were moving swiftly, their heavy footsteps stomping up the wooden stairs, searching each floor.
"They're checking every room," Leon whispered, his heart now racing even faster. If they were found, they stood no chance against these seasoned mercenaries.
Down below, the leader of the Kantadar mercenaries barked orders, his voice carrying through the night. "Is there anyone inside?" he called out to his men.
One of the soldiers kicked a wooden box as he passed, the sound of it tumbling echoed hollowly through the windmill. He continued up to the third floor, where he lazily shoved open a window and stuck his head out, peering down at the leader below.
"Boss, this place is a dump. Looks like it's been abandoned for a while. No one's here; not even a rat."
The mercenary leader took a long look at the surrounding village, nestled quietly under the moonlit hillside. His gaze swept the area, then he nodded. "Fine. But stay up there and keep watch," he instructed, his tone gruff. "This windmill's got a good vantage point. Keep an eye out for any pursuers. We don't want to get caught off guard."
The mercenary who had called down shrugged, still hanging halfway out of the window. "Sure thing, Boss. Just don't forget to bring us something extra," he added with a grin, his voice laced with greed.
The leader chuckled darkly, the kind of laugh that made Leon's skin crawl. "Don't worry. When we're finished down there, I'll make sure there's a few village girls left for you to 'vent your anger' on."
The soldier let out a satisfied grunt, and Leon felt his stomach turn. Mercenaries like these lived off plundering, destroying villages and taking what they wanted. Killing was just a part of their business, a side job that accompanied the real reward; taking whatever, and whoever, they pleased.
Leon could feel the tension in the air, the weight of their predicament pressing down on him. He glanced at Liam and Brandon, their faces taut with anxiety. They had narrowly escaped detection, but the night wasn't over yet. They had to stay hidden, silent, and still. One wrong move, one misplaced sound, and their fate would be sealed.
Above them, the windmill creaked, the night wind stirring its worn-out blades. The moonlight streamed through the hole in the tower, casting long, ghostly shadows across the roof. For now, they were safe, but Leon knew it wouldn't last. Below, the mercenaries were settling in, waiting for the dawn, and waiting to bring ruin to the village.
The three of them lay there, pressed against the cold tiles of the roof, holding their breath, knowing that in this twisted game of survival, even the smallest sound could bring everything crashing down.