Nightfall – Day 25
The forest was alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures, but Alexander and his team moved like shadows through the underbrush, silent and purposeful. The moon hung high in the sky, offering just enough light to navigate without the need for torches. Every step was measured, every breath controlled. This mission had to be perfect—failure wasn't an option.
Alexander signaled for a halt as the Baron's supply stockade came into view. The structure was simple but sturdy—wooden palisades surrounded a small compound where wagons, barrels of provisions, and weapons were stored. A pair of guards patrolled lazily near the entrance, their torches flickering against the cool night air.
Silas crouched beside Alexander, his eyes locked onto the camp. "Four men at the entrance. Two on the walls. More inside, probably asleep."
Elias smirked. "Let's make sure they stay that way."
Alexander nodded. "We take them out quietly. No alarms. Once the guards are down, we destroy everything we can't take."
Lyra readied her bow. "Leave the ones on the walls to me."
Alexander gave a short nod. "Go."
Silent Elimination
Lyra melted into the shadows, scaling a nearby tree with the precision of a seasoned scout. She perched on a thick branch, drawing her bow in one smooth motion. The first guard on the wall didn't even have time to react—the arrow embedded itself in his throat, and he crumpled without a sound. The second barely turned before another arrow struck home.
Meanwhile, Tyrell and Elias crept toward the entrance. The two patrolling guards were chatting idly, oblivious to the danger stalking them.
"I'm telling you, the Baron's gonna wipe them out in one swoop," one guard muttered. "These peasants don't stand a—"
Tyrell struck like a viper, his dagger slipping between the man's ribs. He stiffened, a strangled gasp escaping his lips before he collapsed. Elias grabbed the second guard from behind, his blade slicing across the man's throat in one swift motion.
Alexander and Silas moved quickly, dispatching another pair of guards near the supply wagons. Within moments, the exterior of the stockade was clear.
"Move," Alexander whispered.
Sabotage and Destruction
The team slipped inside the stockade, moving between the wagons and stacks of barrels. Silas pried open a crate, revealing swords, shields, and arrows—supplies meant for the Baron's upcoming attack.
"We take what we can carry," Alexander said, "and destroy the rest."
Tyrell and Elias immediately began slashing open sacks of grain and spilling water barrels. Lyra set small torches against key supplies, ensuring the fire would spread once they left.
Silas motioned to a wooden tower near the center of the stockade. "That's the signal bell. If anyone wakes up and rings it—"
He never finished his sentence. A door creaked open near one of the wagons, and a sleepy-eyed soldier stumbled out, rubbing his face. His eyes widened in horror as he took in the scene.
"INTRU—"
Alexander's spear silenced him before the word was finished. But the damage was done. Shouts erupted from the barracks.
"Time to go!" Elias shouted.
The first flames caught onto the barrels of oil stored near the wagons. Within seconds, the fire spread, engulfing the supply depot in a raging inferno.
Alexander grabbed a pack of salvaged weapons and slung it over his shoulder. "Everyone out! Now!"
The team darted toward the exit as soldiers poured out of the barracks, some barely dressed, others frantically grabbing weapons. The first few were cut down before they could react, but more were coming.
"We're not gonna make it out clean!" Tyrell called.
Alexander scanned the area quickly. A wagon filled with barrels of oil sat near the entrance.
"Elias, light it up!" Alexander shouted.
Elias didn't hesitate. He tossed a torch onto the wagon and dove for cover. The explosion rocked the stockade, sending a shockwave through the camp. Flames shot into the sky, igniting parts of the wooden palisade. Soldiers reeled from the blast, momentarily blinded and deafened.
"Move!" Alexander commanded.
The team slipped into the darkness just as the camp fell into total chaos.
Retreat and Pursuit
The group sprinted through the forest, their breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Behind them, the Baron's stockade was ablaze, the glow of the fire visible even through the dense trees.
"They'll be coming for us," Lyra said between breaths. "Fast."
Alexander didn't slow his pace. "Then we make sure they don't catch us."
The sound of pounding hooves rang out behind them. The Baron's men had horses—they wouldn't outrun them forever.
Silas cursed under his breath. "We need to split up."
"No," Alexander said firmly. "We lead them to the ravine."
Tyrell nodded. "The old deer trap. Smart."
The settlers had scouted the area weeks ago—there was a deep ravine with a narrow, unstable crossing. If they lured the pursuers there, they could turn the terrain to their advantage.
"Stay close," Alexander ordered.
The group veered toward the ravine, the sound of hooves growing louder. Arrows whizzed past, embedding themselves in trees and soil. The Baron's riders were gaining.
"There it is!" Lyra called.
The ravine opened before them, a jagged wound in the earth. The only way across was a rotting wooden bridge.
"Go, go, go!" Alexander urged.
One by one, they sprinted across. The bridge groaned under their weight, but it held—barely.
As soon as the last of them reached the other side, Alexander spun around. The riders were almost on them.
"Cut the ropes!" he ordered.
Tyrell and Elias hacked at the bridge supports. With a splintering crack, the bridge collapsed just as the Baron's riders reached it. The first horse skidded to a stop, barely avoiding the fall. Others weren't so lucky—several plunged into the ravine with panicked screams.
The remaining riders pulled back, unable to pursue.
Elias grinned. "I think that's our cue to leave."
Alexander exhaled, nodding. "Back to camp."
Foreshadowing the Baron's Wrath
Far behind them, at the burning stockade, a lone rider arrived amidst the wreckage. The Baron dismounted his black stallion, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the destruction.
One of his captains approached, blood trickling down his face. "They hit us hard, my lord. Took what they could, destroyed the rest."
The Baron's fists clenched at his sides. "Alexander Maxwell," he growled. "He thinks he can fight me like a common warlord."
His icy gaze swept over the smoldering ruins. The weight of his next words sent a chill through his men.
"I am done playing games. We march at dawn."