The dim glow of the candles flickered as Aran stared down at the map laid out across his desk. It detailed the southern routes where Rook's forces had struck, marking the locations of recent attacks. Aran's hand hovered over the parchment, his mind piecing together the pattern of movement. This was no random surge of violence—Rook's benefactor had been strategic, hitting key supply lines, avoiding any direct confrontations that would lead to too much attention from the council.
"Rook is being careful," Aran murmured to himself, his finger tracing the paths that converged on a central point—an old fort on the outskirts of Aramore. The fort had been abandoned for years, but if Aran's hunch was right, it was now being used as a base for Rook's regrouped forces.
His thoughts shifted to the council. Lady Vareth's demand echoed in his mind. *"Find Rook. End this."* She was beginning to question his loyalty, and Lord Veridan, despite his attempt at diplomacy, shared her concerns. The council's suspicions had reached a dangerous tipping point.
The pressure was mounting, but Aran saw an opportunity. This was the moment where he could strike back, regain control of the narrative, and solidify his position. He just needed to set the perfect trap.
He stood up and strode to the corner of the room where his cloak hung. Pulling it over his shoulders, he reached for a small vial on the shelf beside it—one of the many concoctions developed by the Truth Order's alchemists. A few drops of the liquid within could render someone unconscious for hours. It was one of his favorite tools when subtlety was required.
Aran slipped the vial into his cloak and headed for the door. There was someone he needed to see before executing his plan.
---
The winding streets of Aramore were quiet as Aran made his way to the lower districts. His destination was a small, unremarkable tavern frequented by dockworkers and smugglers. It was the perfect place to meet the man who would help him draw Rook out of hiding.
Inside, the tavern was filled with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of mugs. Aran spotted his contact in the far corner, seated at a table away from the crowd. The man was dressed in simple clothes, his face half-hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He looked like any other common laborer, but Aran knew better. This was Mathis, one of Rook's former lieutenants who had been cast aside when the gang fell apart.
Mathis had a grudge against Rook, and that made him useful.
Aran approached the table and sat down without a word. Mathis glanced up, his eyes narrowing with recognition.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Mathis said, his voice low and wary.
"I didn't expect to need you again," Aran replied, matching his tone. "But circumstances have changed."
Mathis leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "So, you've heard Rook's back in business. What's it to you?"
"I know you want revenge for how he treated you after his fall," Aran said, his gaze steady. "And I'm offering you the chance to get it. Rook has regrouped, but he's still vulnerable. I have information about his benefactor, and with your help, we can take him down."
Mathis's eyes flickered with interest, though he remained cautious. "What's in it for me?"
"Rook out of the picture, and his benefactor exposed. You'll be free to take control of whatever remains of his operation," Aran said smoothly. "You've always wanted to run things yourself, haven't you? This is your chance."
Mathis's lips curled into a smirk. "You make it sound easy. But how do I know you're not just using me to clean up your own mess?"
"You don't," Aran admitted. "But if you don't take this opportunity, someone else will. And when Rook consolidates his power, do you think he'll forget what you did?"
Mathis's smirk faltered slightly. He knew the risk of letting Rook rise unchecked. After a long pause, he nodded. "Alright, I'm in. What do you need me to do?"
Aran leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "Rook's been hitting supply routes, and I've pinpointed where he's operating from—an old fort outside the city. I need you to send word to him that a major shipment of weapons is moving through one of those routes. Make it seem like it's coming from one of the council's arms dealers. He'll take the bait."
"And when he does?" Mathis asked.
"We'll be waiting. I'll have a team in place to intercept them at the fort. But I need Rook to be there in person. Make sure he believes this is a game-changing score."
Mathis nodded, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. "Consider it done."
---
Hours later, under the cover of darkness, Aran stood on the outskirts of the abandoned fort. His agents from the Truth Order had already positioned themselves in the surrounding area, hidden among the trees and rubble. They were few in number but highly skilled, trained in the art of silent combat and subterfuge.
From his vantage point, Aran could see the flicker of torches inside the fort. Rook's forces were already gathering, preparing for the ambush they thought was coming. The trap was set, and all that remained was for Rook to arrive.
A rustle of movement behind him signaled the approach of one of his agents. "We've spotted Rook's carriage on the main road," the agent whispered. "He's on his way."
Aran's lips curved into a cold smile. Everything was proceeding as planned. Once Rook arrived and entered the fort, they would spring the trap, surrounding him and his men before they even knew what hit them.
As the minutes passed, the sound of hooves and wheels approached. Aran watched as Rook's carriage came into view, escorted by several of his men. The gang leader stepped out of the carriage, his eyes scanning the fort's perimeter. He looked more confident than Aran had expected, but that didn't matter.
Aran gave the signal, and his agents moved in silently, surrounding the fort.
But just as they were about to strike, a flash of movement caught Aran's attention. A figure emerged from the shadows near the fort—a woman dressed in dark robes, her face obscured by a hood. She approached Rook, speaking in hushed tones.
Aran's eyes narrowed. This woman didn't fit the profile of any of Rook's usual contacts. Could she be the benefactor?
Before Aran could issue a new command, the woman turned her head slightly, as if sensing something. In an instant, she threw her hand into the air, and a wave of magical energy erupted from her palm, scattering Aran's agents like leaves in the wind.
This wasn't part of the plan.
As chaos erupted around him, Aran's mind raced. The benefactor was far more dangerous than he had anticipated. And now, his trap had become a battleground.