They carried an untainted happiness, oblivious to the shadow closing in. Fate’s cruel indifference had already set the trap.
Far from the cheerful caravan, hidden deep within the woods, a group of bandits gathered in their makeshift hideout. Flickering firelight painted jagged shadows across the cracked stone walls as their low, sharp voices discussed the plan.
“They’ll be at the pass by tomorrow.” The informant leaned forward, hands spread on the rough wooden table. His voice was quiet, nearly drowned out by the scrape of a whetstone on steel. “Small group--a family, two carts, and a couple of second-rate adventurers. Likely hired hands.”
The leader, a tall, lean man with a scar slicing across his left cheek, raised an eyebrow. “Adventurers? Hired hands, you say. What kind?”
He leaned back, tapping his fingers against the table. The fire’s glow danced in his cold, calculating eyes.
“Listen up,” he said, his voice sharp enough to silence the room. “We’re splitting into two groups. Group A will take the front, head-on. Loud and messy. Keep the caravan’s eyes on them. Make sure those so-called adventurers think they’re the real threat.”
A wiry man with a crooked grin nodded eagerly. “You want us to draw them out, huh? Keep them busy while the rest move in?”
“Exactly.” The leader jabbed a finger on the map, his scarred cheek twitching as if savoring the thought of chaos. “Group B will circle through the trees and hit the caravan’s rear. They’ll be too focused on the fight to notice. Group B’s job is to clear out the carts--take anything of value. Food, coins, supplies. Leave nothing behind.”
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Bran, the burly man with the missing tooth, shifted uncomfortably. “And what if those adventurers are tougher than they look? What if they’ve got a trick or two up their sleeves?”
The leader smirked, a flash of cruel amusement flickering across his face. “That’s why Group A needs to stay on them. If the adventurers put up a fight, you keep them occupied. Stall, distract, whatever it takes. Group B will already be gone by the time they realize what’s happening.”
A younger bandit, barely more than a boy, raised his hand hesitantly. “What if the family fights back too? The parents or anyone else?”
“They won’t,” the leader said, a cold edge in his voice. “Families like this are soft. They’ll panic, maybe run. And if they don’t--” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It won’t matter.”
Another bandit, older and weathered, spoke up from the back. “What about the timing? When do we strike?”
“Just before dawn,” the leader answered. “The caravan will be groggy, half-awake, maybe setting up camp again. That’s when we hit them. Group A will attack first, draw them out. Group B, you move in as soon as the chaos starts. No delays. Stick to the plan, and we’ll be out of there before anyone knows what hit them.”
The room filled with nods and murmurs of approval. The bandits began preparing, grabbing weapons, checking bows, and sharpening blades. The tension was palpable, the air thick with anticipation.
The informant lingered near the doorway, watching nervously. “You really think this’ll go smooth, boss?”
The leader didn’t look at him, his focus on the battered map spread across the table. “It’s not about smooth, kid. It’s about quick. Stick with the plan, and you’ll get your share.”
The informant nodded but couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at his stomach.
Outside, the forest pressed closer, its shadows deepening as if nature itself recoiled from the coming storm.