The embers of the great bonfire had cooled, but the warmth of celebration was quickly giving way to harsh reality. The battle had left them victorious, yet Emberhold stood on the brink of starvation. The feast had lifted morale, but it had also drained their supplies.
Alexander stood at the war table, his brow furrowed as he stared down at their dwindling inventory. Across from him, Gareth, Elias, Tyrell, Marcus, and Silas studied the same figures. No one liked what they saw.
"We're running low," Gareth stated bluntly. "Rations will last four, maybe five days if we stretch them. Less if more people arrive."
"The forest isn't helping," Marcus added. "The battle scared off most of the game, and the Baron's scouts are still lurking. If we send hunters too far out, they won't come back."
Alexander exhaled, tapping his fingers against the table. He had known this problem was coming, but knowing didn't make it any easier to solve.
"We need food," Elias said, leaning against a post. "And I don't see any growing around here."
Silas folded his arms. "That leaves only one option."
Alexander looked up. "We take it from the Baron."
A smirk spread across Tyrell's face. "Now that's more like it."
The Plan
Silas leaned over the table, pointing to a section of the map. "The Baron's supply wagons travel between his forward base and his stronghold. There's only one real path for them—this road, here. It cuts through a thick stretch of forest. Good place for an ambush."
"How many men?" Elias asked.
"Usually about ten guards per convoy, give or take," Silas replied. "Enough to deter small raiders, not enough to withstand a well-planned strike."
"We won't just be raiding this time," Alexander said. "We're not burning the supplies—we're taking them. The whole wagon, horses and all. That way, we don't just steal food. We steal time. If we keep this up, the Baron will start running out of supplies before we do."
"Smart," Gareth admitted. "But how do you plan on getting the wagon back here without being followed?"
Alexander traced a different route on the map. "After we take it, we don't go straight back. We cut through the eastern forest, cross the river here, and come back through the old hunting trail. It's longer, but safer."
Silas nodded. "Risky. But if we pull it off, it buys us time."
"Then it's settled," Alexander said. "We move at dusk."
The Ambush
The night was silent except for the distant rustling of leaves. Alexander and his men crouched in the underbrush, watching the Baron's supply convoy roll along the road. Two wagons, each drawn by a pair of sturdy horses, flanked by eight armed riders and four wagon guards.
Alexander's grip on his spear tightened. Twelve men. We can take them.
He signaled to the others. Tyrell and Marcus shifted closer to the road, while Elias and Silas took up positions near the rear.
The wagons rolled into the kill zone.
Alexander gave the signal.
Arrows whistled through the night. Two guards dropped before they could react. The remaining soldiers shouted in alarm, weapons drawn.
Tyrell and Marcus surged from the trees, cutting down another guard before he could mount a defense.
Elias leaped onto the first wagon, his sword flashing as he dispatched the driver and seized the reins. The horses reared, but he yanked them under control.
The Baron's men fought back fiercely, but the ambush had been too sudden. Within moments, the last of them fell, their bodies crumpling into the dirt.
Silas jogged over, scanning the bodies. "That was too easy."
Alexander frowned, glancing toward the road behind them. No reinforcements. No scouts. Why was this convoy so lightly guarded?
"We don't have time to question it," he said. "Move. Get the wagons off the road."
Elias cracked the reins, guiding the first wagon toward the treeline while Marcus did the same with the second.
The supplies were intact—sacks of grain, barrels of dried meat, even some medical supplies. More than they could have hoped for.
Tyrell smirked. "Well, that was productive."
"Don't celebrate yet," Alexander warned. "We're not safe until we're back inside Emberhold's walls."
The Escape
Guiding two large wagons through dense forest was no easy task, but the alternative—sticking to the roads—was suicide.
Elias led the way, his keen eyes searching for the safest path. The horses strained against their loads, but they kept moving.
Hours passed. The night stretched on.
Then, in the distance, a horn sounded.
Tyrell cursed. "They found the bodies."
"Pick up the pace," Alexander ordered.
Silas glanced behind them. "If they've got riders, we won't outrun them on this terrain."
"Then we make it home before they find us," Elias snapped.
They pushed forward, forcing the horses into a steady gallop. The wheels jostled over roots and uneven ground, but they held firm.
The river came into view. They crossed swiftly, the cold water lapping at the wheels. On the other side, the old hunting trail led them home.
By the time Emberhold's walls rose in the distance, the first hints of dawn crept over the horizon.
They had made it.
The Baron's Wrath
Lucius Valtor stood outside his war tent, his expression unreadable as he listened to his scout's report.
"They took the whole convoy, my lord," the scout stammered. "Wagons, horses, everything."
Darius, standing beside the Baron, clenched his fists. "They're not just raiding anymore. They're stealing from us."
The Baron was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smirk crept across his face.
"Good," he said.
Darius blinked. "Good?"
The Baron turned to him, his eyes cold. "They think they're winning. Let them. The hungrier a wolf gets, the bolder it becomes."
He stepped forward, staring toward the distant hills where Emberhold stood.