“Quiet,” Vincht barked, stopping so suddenly that Rowen collided with Lydia, nearly sending the both of them careening face-first into a tangled knot of brambles. Arik snickered and shook his head, anxiously twisting his hands around the pommel of his cudgel. Off to his right, the third soldier looked to Vincht for further instruction.
Rowen carefully plucked a hooked barb free of his tunic before turning to Lydia. “You alright?” he asked, but Lydia's unfocused gaze hadn't wavered since departing her homestead some thirty minutes prior. Rowen studied her face while untangling the brambles from her blood-spattered shawl, but the woman never so much as blinked. Red and swollen from the steady stream of tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, he wondered if she could even see, or if she'd simply been guiding them based entirely on instinct.
“Don't be such a pish,” Arik slapped Rowen's hand away. “Your bleedin' heart's makin' me stomach all gibbly.”
“Back off, Arik. No one asked you.”
Vincht scanned the vegetation ahead, ignoring the exchange unfolding behind him. Their trek toward the cabin had imbued him with a feeling of shrinking, as the trees swelled in girth and height, and the hungry ferns brazenly advanced higher and higher up his legs until they clawed at his belly with every step. The quantity of bramble patches increased as well, as though the Traagen was warning them off progressing any deeper.
The cabin's appearance wasn't what gave him pause. Lurking beneath the protective boughs of a hulking elm, their destination stood apart from the rampant vegetation on all sides, as though an invisible barrier blocked all comers but those who were invited. A faint orange glow outlined a single narrow window. As he watched, the glow waned and shifted, giving way to a vaguely human-shaped blob of darkness that briefly paused at the window before disappearing within.
No, something else had drawn his focus. Out there, out beneath the trees, something had shifted. Something had moved. Something, he sensed, watched them as they watched the cabin.
Arik waved a calloused hand through the old woman's blank gaze. “You see? May as well be buttons. She's whiffed, friend.”
It was Rowen's turn to slap Arik's hand away. “We should have left her back at the cabin.”
The pot-bellied soldier rolled his eyes. “Are you hearin' this? Pish think he knows best, now. Got balls like ripe melons, this one. Can't keep track of an 'orse, but thinks himself smart enough to earn some yups.”
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His brow furrowed in concentration, Vincht swept the scene. He saw only shadows - nature's vibrant patchwork of greens, yellows, and browns muted by the artificial curtain of night the densely woven canopy drew across the sky. His blade hand drifted to rest on the ivory pommel of his shortblade, taking comfort in its proximity.
Rowen raised his hands apologetically. “Hold on, that's not what I'm getting at. I merely meant-”
“I said quiet.” Vincht hissed. The two soldiers nodded, unconsciously straightening their postures to attention. Vincht's sword arm returned to his side. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but either way, a hidden observer was not likely to move again, not while he watched. He decided it best to go on like he hadn't noticed, with the hope they'd reveal themselves when they thought his guard down. He cast one final look into the shadows before facing his men.
“For the foreseeable future, I don't want to hear either of you so much as clear your throat without being asked to do so. Stand there and choke, if you must.” The two swallowed, nodding again. Rowan tugged at the collar of his tunic.
Vincht raised a finger overhead and drew a circle in the air. The third soldier nodded, slipping an red-fletched arrow from a quiver belted to his hip and nocking it in his bow before wading through the ferns in a wide arc in front of the cabin.
The black-haired soldier then pointed to Rowen. “Sweep the woods behind the cabin. If there's a back door, post up nearby. Should this...Ishen make a run for it, I want to make sure we're nearby to grab him. The forest here is too dense to let someone who knows the area get far. Too many places to hide.”
His attention shifted to Arik. “Find a tree trunk within line of sight of the front door and watch it. I'll be going inside alone. With any luck, he'll be alone and incapable of putting up of a fight. But in case he slips past me and makes a run for it, whatever happens, do...not...kill him. I don't care if he sprouts a wing and comes out spewing fire and swinging a ten foot long blade with one hand. Knock him out, break his legs, cut off his arms...stop him, however you can, as long as he's alive. We can treat wounds, but we'll get no answers from a corpse.”
Arik's hands tightened around his cudgel, the wood creaking faintly beneath his grip. Lydia twitched, fresh tears welling up in the corners of her dead, swollen eyes.
Vincht stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper and making a show of adjusting Rowen's vest. “Keep your guard up. I've a feeling we're not alone out here.”
“What about her?” Rowen asked before slapping a hand to his mouth. Vincht regarded him coolly, picturing the fool trying to speak with a mouthful of blood and a handful of tongue.
Instead of answering, he simply nodded to Arik. A wicked smile broached the pot-bellied soldier's lips, and the last thing Vincht saw before he turned toward the cabin was Arik extending his cudgel high above his head.