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Teaching has advanced to Rank D

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The line of men swinging their swords were a sorry lot. Their contorted, scowling faces glistened with sweat, and the stench of their unwashed bodies had reached a peak Alden had not thought possible. Then there was the topic of their talent.

Most lacked even the minuscule talent Alden had had before creating his Extreme Skill Development ability, and progressed slowly. But there was progression, little as it was. And it was the perfect opportunity to enhance his Teaching Skill.

Morning, the sun had barely risen when Alden had called them together for practice. They were his men now. He would tolerate no incompetence. Eventually. Now, however, he could only grit his teeth and bear with it.

With the morning light came a truly unbelievable sight. Blotting out the fields and parts of the sky, they had awoken to the sight of hundreds of crows, perhaps thousands, flying and grazing and dancing in the sky. Quiet, they did not squawk or caw, made no sound at all that Alden could hear.

Unnerving. He wasn’t certain how to handle them, other than leave them in peace. His men did the same, giving the birds a wide berth, huddling close to one another even as Alden began drilling the art of swordsmanship into them.

An underlying fear spread through the camp like fire. Men and women alike muttered prayers to the Gods, and Gosfrid, seeing Alden’s confusion, had pulled him aside.

“Superstitions, sir,” Gosfrid explained. “Black birds… well, they’re a sign of witches. Warlocks, too, I suppose. Most of the tales are about witches, though.”

“Witches?”

“Don’t know much about’em, sir. Different from mages, but I don’t rightly know. An evil sort, sacrifices and the like. Tales you’d tell misbehaving children.”

“Will it be a problem? These superstitions?”

“Maybe, sir. That’s a damn lot of crows. We’d be feeling odd even without superstition.”

There was truth in that. A swarm such as this would put off anyone. Terror even began to grip him, slowly, as the morning passed.

He did not want to stay and tough it out with the birds, he decided.

The camp packed and the wheels of their carriages turning along the Imperial Road once more, the dark birds receded behind them, quiet, suspicious.

There was some relief, he could feel that much. In himself, firstly, as he realized just how tense his muscles had been, and how now they began to relax. The others were relieved, too, clear as day. Some looked back, shivered, faced forward once more.

Superstitions or not, the birds marked something. A turning of events beyond his reach. What, he couldn’t say, but staring at the faint black thread coming from his chest, pulled taut towards the forest to their right, the thread thick as a finger, he believed it couldn’t be anything good.

Whatever it was, he was glad to be leaving it behind.

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Nestled against a cool boulder, Alden observed the campsite of the raiders they had been tasked with dispatching. They had followed their trail for the better part of two days, discovering nothing but carnage in their wake. Two more caravans had been found, their men and horses killed, their supplies stolen or torched. The second caravan had been burning when they found it. Easy to spot from the black column of smoke that rose from it, visible from miles around.

What they had not found, however, was a trace of a living person since the discovery of the first caravan. Rumors spread easily enough on the Imperial Roadways. That could have explained it, for the most part. What it didn’t explain was the lack of patrols, dead or alive.

A holdover from the beginning days of the Empire, career soldiers in the employ of the local nobility were often tasked with patrolling the roads, ensuring a degree of safety for those who traversed it. During war time these patrols were to be doubled, if not tripled, with all expenses paid for by the Empire itself.

Not once had Alden seen such a patrol since his mission began.

That fact had only been adding to his piling anxiety of late. Destroyed caravans were one thing–they were expected, after all—but disappearing soldiers set him on edge, especially with the events of that morning. Sacrifices, Gosfrid had said.

Staring at a group of raiders, he hoped that they were the ones responsible. Hoped it was mundane killing and hiding bodies.

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The campsite sat a distance away, fires burning bright in the darkness of nightfall. He counted twenty men around the fires, another ten standing guard at the camp's perimeter. A handful, he saw, leaned against trees, resting. Sloppy.

Some of the older soldiers told tales of the Empire in its heyday, stories passed down from their fathers and uncles. The current emperor had been a shrewd general in his youth, feared by enemies and allies both. Twice his Empire had faced rebellion from its vassals, and twice they had been put down with overwhelming force. The Empire’s armies were, at the time, the greatest in all the world, a force that brought fear into the hearts of all who dared oppose it.

That was over seventy years ago.

Whether the Empire had been peaceful for too long, or else had begun to rot from corruption, what was clear was that ways had changed.

Thirty men in all, perhaps more in the tents. More than he’d counted from their tracks earlier that day. Regrouping to camp, then, only splitting to travel and ambush. Not a bad tactic.

Alden observed the camp, wary. His chest tight, he felt a sense of disquiet in the air. There was something strange, unusual about what was happening. Unable to place it, he focused on the plan.

With him were Gosfrid and his team of archers, spread out amongst the trees, poised to strike. On his command they would unleash a hail of arrows, kill what they could, then, in the disarray, Alden would lead a charge. A simple plan.

He thought about waiting. Observing their movements could give them an advantage, reveal a more opportune moment to attack. Risky. One stray glance in their direction and they would be discovered, the element of surprise lost.

Not worth it, he decided.

He gave the signal to knock their arrows, then draw, then loose. Arrows whistled through the air, descended upon the camp. They struck their targets, piercing through chests and legs and arms alike. A good volley.

There was no movement in the camp.

A pause. Silence lingered. There were no cries of pain, no frantic yelling, so sound of clinking metal as soldiers rushed to face their ambushers. Nothing.

Confusion set in, then fell away as Alden began to understand what had occurred.

Alden was the first to check the camp, unwilling to send the others. He half expected a dozen arrows to descend upon him every time he took a step, or else a dozen men appearing from behind the trees with swords and spears ready to slaughter him. Neither happened, to his relief.

But his relief was not long lived, replaced almost immediately by anger. He understood, now, what had disquieted him. The silence. The lack of movement.

The camp was deserted, empty of life and anything of value. The soldiers were not soldiers at all, but dummies set up with spare clothing overtop sticks and grass and leaves. Decoys.

Alden stood, stupefied. He spotted a fallen helmet, picked it up, felt the cold steel in his hand and, internally, a rising heat. Tossing the helmet aside, he approached a nearby tree, eyed it, then punched it.

The bark of the tree gave way to an explosion of splinters, the tree twisting and groaning as it snapped in half and collapsed to the side of him. Addled, he stared at the fallen tree. There was, deep inside, a sliver of pride at the sight. Overshadowed, however, by his lingering rage.

His hand stung from the punch, the skin of his knuckles torn and bloodied from the impact. He healed it, then turned his attention back to the camp.

Gosfrid and the other archers approached carefully, appearing like wraiths from behind their trees. They followed the same inner turmoil that had plagued Alden–confusion, first, followed by anger. Being outsmarted had a way of leaving a particularly bad taste in the mouth.

“Orders, sir?” Gosfrid asked.

That was the question, wasn’t it? What to do.

They could not stay. Their enemies could be hiding in the woods all around them, waiting for an opportunity, or else they’d be miles away as they escaped. Or both. Both was an option, leaving some to ambush them while the others ran. A desperate move, perhaps, but they were being pursued by a knight, now. They would be desperate.

The options, then, were to chase after them and risk an ambush in the woods or else retreat, pick up their trail on the morrow. They had the men to overwhelm them, and Alden had his magic. And his unexpected strength. It would cost lives, but the mission would be accomplished.

Could he do it? Trade lives for victory? Maybe. He wasn’t sure it was worth it. But if he didn’t then these raiders would gain miles of distance on them. Their search would extend days, weeks. How many more caravans would they hit in that time? How many patrols?

Looking at his men he could see the trepidation on their faces, feel the fear inside them, the uncertainty. They’d been outsmarted once already.

No, he thought. That wasn’t the case. He had been outsmarted. Their leader. And they feared it would happen again.

It might, if he wasn’t careful.

“We retreat,” he finally said. A mix of emotions were splayed across their faces. Relief, tinged with disappointment. They did not meet his gaze. Couldn't, he realized. Their faith in him had been shaken, and they felt guilty for it.

Retreating proved peaceful. If there were ambushers lying in wait, they had opted to leave them be.

It was over a mile of walking before they reached the rest of the troops by the side of the Imperial Roadway. A dour mood had fallen over them once Alden and the archers had been spotted.

Their arrival was too soon. A clear message.

“The camp was a decoy,” Alden said to Uhtric and Elric as they approached. They exchanged looks, nodded to him.

“Veterans, then,” Uhtric said.

“Are we chasing them, sir?” Elric asked.

Alden pulled himself up into his saddle, easing himself into it.

“No,” he said, turning his horse around. “We’ll ride back a few miles, pick a decent spot, and set up camp. Double our lookouts for the night.”

They nodded, yelled out orders. Men and women moved hurriedly, frantically. Fearfully.

Once the safest roads in all the world, once upon a time. Now they did not feel safe as they once were.