The plan was set in motion. As they crept closer to the bandit camp, Garth’s final words echoed in Radyn’s mind. “Take them by surprise,” he had said, but Radyn’s nerves were alive with the uncertainty of battle. His aura thrummed beneath his skin, the Mantle—a war glaive—hovering at the edge of his mind, just a breath away from being summoned. It was a calming presence, but also a reminder of the power he wielded, a power he wasn’t sure he was ready to unleash.
The campfires of the bandits flickered in the distance, casting long shadows through the trees. The group was small—maybe a dozen—but Radyn knew they could still be dangerous. The rustle of the underbrush and the soft murmur of their voices signaled that the bandits were unaware of the approaching Dragoons. Radyn’s pulse quickened, his heart racing as they closed the distance. Garth signaled for the squad to spread out, his sharp eyes scanning the clearing.
Radyn crouched low beside Garth, the cold steel of his sword in hand. But the weight of the sword felt wrong now. The Mantle was what he needed. He could feel it calling to him, the warmth of his aura swirling beneath the surface. He flexed his hand, summoning the Mantle briefly, letting the ethereal glow flicker in his grip before dismissing it. The familiar sensation of the weapon grounded him, steadying his nerves.
“Ready?” Garth whispered, his voice barely audible.
Radyn nodded, gripping the Mantle tightly as it shimmered into existence, its pale light reflecting off the damp ground. The glaive was solid in his hands now, the weight of the long weapon perfectly balanced, a testament to his training.
Suddenly, a sharp shout pierced the night.
“We’ve got company!” one of the bandits cried, his eyes wide with alarm as he spotted the approaching Dragoons.
The forest exploded into chaos.
Garth launched forward with a roar, his sword a blur as it sliced through the air. Radyn’s muscles tensed as he surged into action, the Mantle humming with energy as he followed Garth’s lead. The bandits scrambled for cover, their makeshift weapons raised desperately to defend themselves. But the Dragoons were faster, more coordinated, and lethal.
A bandit charged at Radyn, a wild look in his eyes as he swung a rusted axe. Instinct kicked in. Radyn spun on his heel, the glaive twirling as he parried the blow. The impact reverberated through his arms, but he held firm, the Mantle’s weight perfectly counterbalancing the force of the attack. His aura flared, boosting his strength as he countered with a swift, calculated strike.
The blade of the glaive sliced through the air, catching the bandit off guard. Radyn’s strike was precise, the edge of the Mantle biting deep into the bandit’s side. The man gasped, stumbling back as blood welled from the wound. Radyn didn’t stop. He pressed forward, his movements fluid and deadly, each strike guided by the energy coursing through him. The bandit fell with a grunt, his body collapsing to the ground.
Radyn barely had time to catch his breath before another bandit rushed him, this one wielding a crude spear. The man thrust the weapon toward Radyn’s chest, but Radyn was ready. His aura surged again, enhancing his reflexes as he sidestepped the attack. In one smooth motion, he brought the glaive down in a sweeping arc, the ethereal blade cleaving through the wooden shaft of the spear.
The bandit stared in shock at the broken weapon in his hands, but Radyn didn’t give him a chance to recover. With a powerful swing, he drove the butt of the glaive into the man’s stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground. A quick follow-up strike ended the fight, the Mantle’s blade glowing faintly as it dispatched the foe.
“Radyn, left!” Garth’s voice rang out, cutting through the din of battle.
Radyn whirled around just in time to see another bandit bearing down on him, a wickedly curved dagger raised high. He barely had time to think. Instinct and training took over. Radyn raised the glaive in a defensive stance, catching the dagger with the shaft of his weapon. The bandit snarled, pushing against him with surprising strength.
Radyn’s aura flared again, pushing his muscles beyond their natural limits. He twisted the glaive, breaking the bandit’s grip on the dagger and sending it flying into the underbrush. With the bandit disarmed, Radyn spun the glaive in his hands, the blade whistling through the air as he brought it crashing down on his opponent. The bandit crumpled to the ground, unmoving.
The fight was relentless, but Radyn could feel the power of his Mantle guiding him. Each movement was more confident, more precise. His aura flowed seamlessly with his strikes, making every attack faster and stronger. The bandits were no match for the coordination and skill of the Dragoons.
From the corner of his eye, Radyn saw Jarek darting through the trees, his knives flashing as he took down a bandit with a quick, lethal strike. Talia, her movements swift and deadly, fought off two bandits at once, her blades a blur of motion. Even Edrik, with his hulking frame, moved with surprising agility as he cut down a foe with a single powerful swing.
But the bandits, though outnumbered and outmatched, were unwilling to go down without a fight. A particularly large bandit emerged from the trees, his eyes burning with fury as he charged at Garth, wielding a massive club. Garth met the attack head-on, his sword ringing as it clashed with the bandit’s weapon. The two were locked in a brutal struggle, each straining for dominance.
Radyn’s eyes darted back to the remaining bandits, two of whom had set their sights on him. They charged together, their mismatched weapons raised. Radyn’s heart pounded, but he forced himself to remain calm, his grip tightening on the Mantle. He could do this. He would do this.
As the bandits closed in, Radyn summoned his aura, feeling it swell within him like a roaring flame. The Mantle hummed in his hands, the glow intensifying as he prepared to strike. When the first bandit swung his sword, Radyn ducked low, the blade whistling over his head. In one fluid motion, Radyn spun the glaive, the long reach of the weapon allowing him to strike both bandits in quick succession.
The first bandit let out a pained cry as the blade of the Mantle sliced across his arm, forcing him to drop his sword. The second bandit fared no better—Radyn’s follow-up strike caught him in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him staggering back. Radyn pressed the attack, the Mantle moving like an extension of his body. With a powerful downward slash, he finished the fight, the glow of his aura slowly fading as the final bandit fell to the ground.
Radyn stood panting, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle. The clearing was littered with the bodies of bandits, their ragged forms motionless in the dirt. The Dragoons had emerged victorious, but the weight of what they had done—what he had done—began to settle over him.
His hands trembled as he wiped the blood from the Mantle, the weapon still shimmering faintly in the dim light of the forest. He had fought, and he had won, but the reality of taking a life—multiple lives—was heavier than he had anticipated. He glanced down at the bodies, his stomach churning at the sight of the bloodied figures.
Jarek appeared at his side, clapping him on the back. “Hell of a first fight, kid,” he said, his usual grin back in place despite the carnage around them. “You held your own out there.”
Radyn nodded, though he couldn’t find the words to respond. His mind was still reeling from the intensity of the fight, the rush of power that had surged through him when he summoned the Mantle. It had been exhilarating—and terrifying.
Garth approached, wiping his sword clean on a bandit’s tattered cloak. His expression was unreadable as he looked Radyn over, but his eyes showed a hint of approval. “You did well,” he said quietly. “But this is just the beginning. Get used to it.”
Radyn swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the ground. He had done what was necessary, but the weight of the kill still hung heavy on his shoulders. He had chosen this path, but now, more than ever, he understood what it truly meant to be a Dragoon.
As the squad regrouped, tending to their wounds and gathering what little information they could from the bandits’ camp, Radyn stood silently, the Mantle still clutched in his hand. The warmth of his aura had faded, leaving behind a cold, hollow feeling that gnawed at him.
The chaos of the battle had settled, leaving only the crackling of the campfire and the heavy breathing of the squad. Radyn wiped the sweat from his brow, his Mantle fading into the air as he steadied his nerves. The bodies of the fallen bandits were scattered across the ground, their hastily assembled camp now quiet.
Garth surveyed the scene, his expression grim as he motioned for the squad to start searching through the camp for any clues. Jarek was already at work, turning over crates and barrels, his eyes sharp for anything out of place.
As Radyn knelt by one of the tents, he heard a faint rustling coming from behind a stack of firewood. His muscles tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for where his Mantle would appear. Garth caught his movement and approached silently, his sword ready.
Radyn stepped carefully toward the noise, and that’s when he saw her. A woman, huddled in the shadows, her body shaking. Her clothes were torn and covered in dirt, her face pale with fear. She couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Radyn, but the terror in her eyes made her look much older.
“Garth!” Radyn called softly, and the captain joined him, his gaze falling on the woman.
She cringed at their voices, trying to make herself even smaller in her hiding spot. Garth crouched down, his voice low and soothing. “It’s alright. We’re not here to hurt you. You’re safe now.”
The woman didn’t move at first, her wide eyes darting between Garth and Radyn, clearly unsure whether she could trust them. Radyn took a slow step back, giving her space, his heart heavy at the sight of her fear.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. “They… they took me from my farm. The bandits. They’ve been raiding farms for weeks.”
Garth nodded, his face softening. “We know. You’re safe now. What’s your name?”
“Alina,” she whispered, her voice shaking.
Radyn glanced at Garth, noting the tension in his commander’s shoulders as he asked the next question. “Alina, were the bandits alone? Or were there others with them?”
Alina’s expression shifted, her eyes widening in terror. “It wasn’t just them,” she said, her voice breaking. “There was… something else. Monsters. They said the orc chieftain is gathering a force.”
Jarek, who had been listening nearby, stiffened. “An orc chieftain? This far south?”
Alina nodded, clutching the edges of her tattered shawl tightly around her shoulders. “I heard them talking about him. The bandits were scared, too. They’re working with the chieftain, doing his bidding. They raid the farms, take people and supplies, but the orcs… they’re the ones pulling the strings.”
Garth’s face hardened, his jaw clenching. “Do you know where they’re based? How many orcs?”
Alina shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know… I don’t know how many. They come in the night. The bandits were taking me back to my farm when you found us. Please… please help my family.”
Lyra, who had been tending to the minor injuries of the squad, stepped forward, her expression softening as she gently touched Alina’s arm. “You’re safe now. I’ll take you back to the city. You can rest there, and we’ll make sure your family is cared for.”
Alina’s relief was palpable, but the fear still lingered in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking again. “Please… hurry. They won’t stop.”
Garth turned to Lyra, nodding. “Take her back. The rest of us will head to her farm and see what we can find.”
Lyra helped Alina to her feet, the young woman still trembling but no longer hiding in fear. As they prepared to leave, Lyra gave Garth a determined look. “Be careful,” she said quietly. “If there really is an orc chieftain involved, this is bigger than we thought.”
“We’ll be careful,” Garth replied, his voice steady. “Get her to safety. We’ll meet you back in the city.”
With a final glance at the squad, Lyra and Alina mounted their horses and rode back toward the city, leaving the rest of the squad to deal with the looming threat of the orcs.
The ride to Alina’s farm was tense. Radyn could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him as they rode in silence. The forest around them was quiet, too quiet, as if even the animals knew that something was wrong.
As they approached the outskirts of the farm, the desolation became apparent. The fields, once full of crops, were trampled and barren. Smoke rose from the charred remains of a barn in the distance. It was clear that the bandits had been here recently.
“Spread out,” Garth ordered, dismounting from his horse. “Look for any signs of the orcs.”
Radyn dismounted as well, summoning his Mantle as he moved cautiously through the wreckage of the farm. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and something more primal. His heart raced as he scanned the area for any signs of movement.
He approached the farmhouse, its windows shattered and door hanging loosely from its hinges. Inside, the destruction was worse. Furniture had been overturned, and the walls were marked with deep gouges as if something large and clawed had been inside.
“Talia, Edrik, over here!” Radyn called, motioning for them to join him.
Talia entered the house first, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. “This wasn’t just bandits,” she muttered, running her fingers over the claw marks in the wall. “Something else did this.”
Edrik grunted in agreement, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Orcs. Garth was right. They’ve been here.”
Radyn felt a chill run down his spine as he continued to explore the farmhouse. In the back room, he found a large wooden chest that had been smashed open. Inside were remnants of what appeared to be food stores and other supplies—things the bandits had likely been after. But there was something else.
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A map.
Radyn knelt beside the chest, carefully pulling out the crumpled piece of parchment. It was old, the edges frayed and worn, but the markings on it were clear. The map detailed the surrounding region, but what caught Radyn’s attention were the markings along the northern border. Strange symbols he didn’t recognize, along with a name scrawled in a heavy hand.
“Chieftain Gharok,” Radyn read aloud, his voice barely a whisper.
Talia and Edrik joined him, their eyes widening as they saw the name.
“That’s it,” Talia said, her voice tense. “That’s the orc chieftain Alina was talking about.”
Garth entered the room, his expression darkening as he took the map from Radyn’s hands. “Gharok,” he muttered. “I’ve heard that name before. He’s not just any orc. He’s one of the old bloodlines. Dangerous.”
“What do we do?” Radyn asked, his heart pounding.
“We head north,” Garth replied, his voice grim. “If Gharok is gathering forces, we need to know how big his army is and what his next move will be. But first, we need to send word to Captain Aldric.”
Radyn’s stomach churned at the thought of facing an orc army, but he knew there was no turning back now. The squad had been drawn into something bigger than a simple bandit raid, and the stakes had become deadly.
“We move at dawn,” Garth said, rolling up the map and tucking it into his pack. “Rest up. We’ve got a long fight ahead of us.”
At first light, the squad set out in tense silence, their horses’ hooves thudding softly against the dirt path as they headed northward. The sun had just begun its slow descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows over the landscape, and the forest around them grew denser with every mile. The air turned colder, and with it came a creeping stillness that seemed to smother all sound: no birds, no wind, just the weight of what was to come.
Radyn’s hand hovered near the shaft of his Glaive, the ethereal weapon flickering with a faint glow. He had summoned it earlier, a silent reassurance and its presence brought him an odd sense of control amid the building tension. Every step forward felt like moving closer to something ominous, a force waiting to strike from the shadows. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the further they rode, the deeper they ventured into something far more dangerous than any of them had anticipated.
Garth led the way, his eyes sharp as they scanned the trees. The map they had found in the ruined farmhouse had pointed them north—toward what seemed like an abandoned outpost near the mountains. But none of them could shake the feeling that they were riding straight into something far more dangerous than bandits.
Usually chatty and light-hearted, Jarek was silent, his gaze flicking between the dense trees. Talia rode beside Radyn, her face set in a frown, fingers drumming lightly against the hilt of her sword. Even Edrik, stoic as always, seemed more alert than usual.
As they crested a small hill, Garth raised a hand, signaling the group to halt. Radyn strained his ears, trying to figure out what had caught Garth’s attention, but then he heard a faint rustling, voices carried on the wind. They were guttural, sharp, and distinctly different from human speech.
“Goblins,” Jarek whispered, his face hardening as he crouched low beside his horse, his hand reaching for the crossbow strapped to his back.
Radyn’s pulse quickened. Goblins were bad enough, but where there were goblins, orcs were often close behind. They worked together—a dangerous mix of cunning and brute strength. His grip tightened around his Glaive.
Garth motioned for them to dismount and spread out along the treeline. The squad moved silently, falling into position, their eyes fixed on the clearing ahead. Through the thick foliage, Radyn could make out a small group of goblins, their crooked figures illuminated by the faint light of a campfire. Three hulking orcs stood near them, their voices low but audible.
Radyn and the others crouched low, just close enough to hear their conversation without being spotted.
“Why we here?” one of the orcs growled, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down Radyn’s spine. “Lanthir send us chasing shadows. Nothing here.”
Another orc, slightly taller, snorted in frustration. “Gharok say follow. So we follow. You want to tell him no?”
A goblin, hunched and wiry, sneered from the fire’s edge, its voice sharp and sneaky. “Promises, promises! Lanthir talk big, but what we get? Same old scraps. Bah! No power, no rewards.”
The second orc’s eyes narrowed. “Shut mouth, goblin! Gharok don’t protect you if Lanthir hear. You know what Lanthir can do.”
The goblin scoffed, glancing away. “Bah! Lanthir just words. Send us here, there, do this, do that. But what we see? Nothing. We follow, we fight, and for what?”
The third orc, who had been silent up to this point, crossed his arms and scowled. “Goblin right. We out here for days. What we find? Humans run. We wait for Gharok while Lanthir hide behind magic.”
Radyn exchanged a glance with Talia, who had moved up beside him. Her eyes gleamed with both intrigue and concern. The orcs and goblins weren’t afraid—they were frustrated, discontented, openly questioning the commands they were following. It wasn’t fear driving them; it was resentment.
“Lanthir promised power,” another goblin muttered, bitterness dripping from his tone. “Promised control. We see none.”
One of the orcs growled in response, more out of irritation than anger. “Lanthir got power. Gharok follow ‘cause he knows. He smarter than you. We follow orders, goblin.”
The goblins muttered amongst themselves, clearly unhappy but unwilling to outright defy the orc’s authority. The orcs, too, looked displeased, their grumbling barely contained.
The tallest orc slammed his fist into the ground beside him, making the goblins flinch. “Enough talk. We follow Lanthir’s orders ‘cause Gharok say. Now shut up, we move soon. Meet Gharok at the ridge tomorrow.”
The goblins fell quiet, but their resentment hung in the air. Even the orcs seemed ill at ease. Their loyalty was stretched thin by the lack of results.
Radyn’s heart raced as he crouched low behind the log, his grip tightening around his Glaive. This wasn’t the usual dynamic of goblin and orc raiders. Whoever or whatever Lanthir was, it hadn’t delivered what it promised, and the creatures beneath its command were growing restless. This was the kind of weakness that could be exploited.
Garth motioned for them to pull back, and the squad regrouped just beyond the clearing, out of earshot of the patrol. His face was grim, his voice low and tense as he spoke.
“You all heard them,” Garth said. “Lanthir’s grip on these creatures isn’t as solid as it seems. They’re questioning their orders, and that means they’re vulnerable.”
Jarek rubbed a hand across his face, his usual carefree expression replaced with something far more serious. “We’ve got orcs and goblins doubting their leader. That’s a crack we can use.”
“We need to act carefully,” Talia added, her voice thoughtful. “If we can push these monsters further into doubt, maybe we can turn this to our advantage.”
Radyn nodded, his mind racing. If these creatures were already questioning their loyalty, it might only take a little more pressure to make them break.
“What now?” Edrik rumbled, his voice steady, though Radyn could see the flicker of concern in his eyes.
Garth’s jaw clenched as he glanced back toward the clearing where the orcs and goblins had been talking. “We need more information. There’s an opportunity here, but we need something concrete.” He looked around at his squad. “Radyn, Jarek, and I will move in. Talia, Edrik—stay back and cover our escape if things go south.”
Radyn’s stomach churned, but he nodded, gripping his Glaive tightly. This was their best chance to learn more, but it also a risk.
The three of them crept forward, careful to avoid drawing attention. As they neared the clearing, the firelight cast long shadows over the goblins and orcs, their conversation still murmuring in low, frustrated tones. Radyn’s breath was shallow as he crouched low behind a fallen log, his eyes locked on the small camp. His Glaive hummed faintly with energy, its comforting weight in his hand. The orcs and goblins were too preoccupied with their complaints to notice the squad’s approach.
Ever the nimble scout, Jarek moved quietly beside him, his eyes darting to every possible escape route, while Garth remained focused on the task at hand. They needed anything that could shed light on Lanthir’s plans and how to exploit the growing discontent.
Radyn’s heart pounded as they edged closer. He could hear the orcs’ deep voices clearly, their frustration mingling with the goblins’ sharper complaints.
One of the goblins clutched a scroll, its clawed fingers tracing over the parchment as if trying to decipher something important.
“We meet Gharok by ridge,” the goblin muttered, holding the scroll up. “Lanthir’s orders. No say what next. Why trust?”
The quieter orc, the one who had spoken earlier, stepped forward. “No matter what Lanthir want. Gharok follow for reason. Power. But if no reward soon, even Gharok start thinking.”
Jarek’s face darkened as he glanced at Radyn. “This is bigger than we thought. We need that scroll.”
Radyn’s mouth felt dry, but he nodded. If they could get their hands on the scroll, it might reveal more about Lanthir’s plans and how deep its influence ran. But getting it would mean taking a risk that could expose their position.
Garth signaled for them to move, and with careful, practiced steps, they crept closer, ready to strike. The goblins and orcs were still arguing, their attention divided as tension simmered within their ranks. Radyn could feel the energy thrumming through his Glaive, the ethereal weapon eager for battle.
Suddenly, the tallest orc slammed a fist into the ground, silencing the bickering goblins. “Enough! We follow because we must. Meet Gharok at ridge, give Lanthir’s orders. Then see what happens.”
The goblins grumbled but quieted. This was their chance.
With a silent nod, Garth launched into the clearing, Radyn and Jarek close behind. The orcs and goblins barely had time to react before the squad was upon them, their movements swift and lethal.
Radyn’s Glaive hummed with energy as it met the first orc’s weapon, the force of the clash sending sparks flying. His training took over, and every strike was measured and precise as he fought to keep the orcs at bay. The goblins scattered, one clutching the scroll tight as it tried to flee.
Jarek moved in quickly, intercepting the fleeing goblin with a well-placed bolt from his crossbow, while Garth engaged the largest orc in a flurry of strikes.
Radyn focused on the orc before him, his Glaive dancing through the air with a grace that belied its size. The orc swung its crude axe with brute force, but Radyn sidestepped the attack, countering with a quick thrust that left a deep gash in the orc’s side.
The orc roared in pain, but Radyn pressed his advantage, his aura flaring as he brought the Glaive down in a powerful arc, ending the fight.
Jarek retrieved the scroll from the fallen goblin, tucking it into his belt as the rest of the creatures lay defeated.
“Got it,” Jarek panted, wiping sweat from his brow.
Garth surveyed the scene, his face grim but satisfied. “We need to get this back to Aldric. Whatever Lanthir is planning, we’re running out of time.”
As the squad regrouped, Radyn couldn’t shake the feeling that the scroll in Jarek’s hands held the key to something far more dangerous than any of them had anticipated.
“Let’s see what Lanthir’s orders really are,” Garth said, standing up and motioning for Jarek to open the scroll.
Jarek unrolled the parchment, his eyes scanning over the jagged script, written in a language unfamiliar to Radyn. His face darkened as he read. “It’s written in orcish, but there’s something odd about the dialect. This isn’t a typical battle order.”
Garth stepped closer, peering at the scroll over Jarek’s shoulder. “What does it say?”
Jarek frowned, his finger tracing the words. “It’s not a direct command for war or plunder. It talks about a ‘convergence’—something about gathering at a place called Blackthorn Ridge. There’s also a reference to summoning something. No details, just mentions that ‘Lanthir demands compliance,’ and anyone who resists is to be dealt with.”
“Summoning?” Talia scoffed, stepping forward. Her voice was sharp, but her eyes reflected concern. “Since when do orcs and goblins summon anything other than trouble?”
Radyn, still catching his breath, felt a chill run through him at the word. He had heard enough dark tales during his travels to know that summoning was never a good sign—especially when it involved creatures like orcs and goblins.
“This Lanthir…” Radyn began, his voice uncertain, “Whatever it is, it’s pulling together different groups for something bigger than we anticipated. And from the way these orcs and goblins were talking, they’re not exactly thrilled about it.”
Garth’s face remained grim as he folded his arms, lost in thought. “Lanthir is consolidating power, but for what purpose? And if the orcs and goblins are just pawns, who or what is the real threat?”
The squad stood silently for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Radyn could feel the weight of their uncertainty, and his gaze drifted back to the orc he had killed. These creatures weren’t mindless beasts, not entirely. They had their own fears and their own doubts about following Lanthir’s orders. And that, perhaps, was the key to understanding what was coming.
“We need more information,” Garth finally said, his voice firm and resolve. “This convergence at Blackthorn Ridge could be the gathering of something far worse than bandits or raiders. We can’t let this go unchecked.”
Radyn’s heart pounded in his chest as the squad mounted their horses once again. Garth was right. The scroll had only raised more questions. What was being summoned? Why was Lanthir consolidating forces in this region? And more importantly, what was this convergence supposed to achieve?
As they rode back through the forest, the air felt heavier, like the weight of the looming threat was bearing down on them. The sun had fully set, and the forest was now shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the moon above. The cold night air bit at Radyn’s skin, but the chill of uncertainty gnawed at him the most.
After what felt like hours, they broke through the treeline and into a clearing just outside the city. Garth led the way toward the gates, the sounds of distant nightlife filtering through the air as the city bustled with activity. But for the squad, the weight of what they had uncovered hung over them like a cloud.
As they dismounted and led their horses toward the barracks, Garth stopped them.
“We’ll report to Aldric in the morning,” he said, his voice tired but resolute. “Get some rest tonight. We’ll need our strength. Blackthorn Ridge is several days’ ride from here, and I suspect we’re going to find answers, whether we like them or not.”
Radyn felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him, but sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. His thoughts were filled with the orcs and goblins, their talk of the mysterious Lanthir, and the chilling mention of summoning something. Talia’s voice cut through the haze of his thoughts.
“Radyn,” she said, sitting on the edge of her cot. “You held your own today.” Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, a hint of acknowledgment beneath her usual sharpness.
Radyn blinked, surprised at the compliment. He nodded, still feeling the rush of adrenaline from the fight. “Thanks. I… I wasn’t sure I would. But we need to figure out what Lanthir is doing before things get worse.”
Talia smirked, the usual spark of her attitude returning. “We always get through, one way or another. But you’re right. This is bigger than we thought.”
Jarek, who had been tending to his crossbow, leaned over with a mischievous grin. “First real mission, and you’re already tangled up in dark summoning rituals. Just another day for the Dragoons.”
Despite the weight of their discovery, Radyn found himself chuckling. Though subdued by the day’s events, the squad's banter provided some relief. He felt a sense of belonging here, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. They were a team, and whatever Lanthir had planned, they would face it together.
As the squad settled in for the night, Radyn lay awake on his cot, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling. The room was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of one of his companions getting comfortable.
He closed his eyes, but the image of the discontented orcs and goblins lingered in his mind. What kind of power did Lanthir hold to bind such creatures to its will? And what was this summoning at Blackthorn Ridge meant to achieve?
Sleep eventually claimed him, but it was restless, filled with fragmented dreams of shadowy figures and unknown threats lurking in the darkness.
The next morning came quickly. The squad gathered their gear and prepared for the briefing with Captain Aldric. As they entered his office, Aldric’s sharp gaze swept over them, immediately picking up on the tension radiating from the group.
“Report,” he said, his tone direct as always.
Garth stepped forward, recounting the events of the previous day—the bandits they had encountered, the scroll they had found, and the unsettling conversations between the orcs and goblins.
When Garth mentioned Lanthir’s name, Aldric’s expression darkened. He leaned forward, his fingers steepled in front of him. “Lanthir,” he murmured. “I’ve heard that name before, but it’s been years. If Lanthir is truly involved, then this situation is far more dangerous than we anticipated.”
Jarek handed the scroll over to Aldric, who unrolled it and studied the text. “Blackthorn Ridge,” he muttered, his eyes scanning the parchment. “A convergence and mention of a summoning. It seems Lanthir is gathering forces for something much larger than raids.”
Aldric stood up, crossing his arms as he stared out the window, his face hard. “We can’t ignore this. If Lanthir plans something on this scale, we must find out what it is and stop it before it begins.”
He turned back to the squad, his expression resolute. “You’ve done well to gather this information, but the next part of this mission will be far more dangerous. I’m sending you to Blackthorn Ridge. Your orders are to observe, gather intelligence, and, if possible, disrupt whatever Lanthir is planning.”
Radyn felt a surge of both excitement and fear. This was the moment he had been training for, the real test of his abilities. But the unknown threat waiting at Blackthorn Ridge weighed heavily on his mind.
“Prepare yourselves,” Aldric said, his voice firm. “You leave at first light tomorrow.”
As the squad left Aldric’s office, Radyn exchanged glances with his companions. The mission had become more dangerous than any of them had anticipated. But they were in this together and would face whatever Lanthir had planned.