The soldiers had been riding for about ten minutes when distant echoes of screams pierced the night air. The terrified cries of women mingled with the sinister laughter of barbarians, growing louder with each passing moment. Smoke from the burning village became more visible, spiraling into the dark sky like a sinister beacon.

— We’re close — murmured one of the soldiers, tightening his grip on the sword. The tension in the group was palpable as they began to slow their horses to a halt.

— Dismount! — ordered Lyra, her voice calm yet authoritative. The soldiers obeyed immediately, swiftly dismounting and preparing their weapons. The air was thick with anticipation, the ground beneath them vibrating with the sounds of chaos just ahead.

Lyra took a deep breath, scanning the faces of the soldiers. Her eyes flickered over each one, ensuring they were ready for what lay ahead. But then, her brow furrowed in confusion.

— Wait… — she whispered, recounting the soldiers again. Something was amiss. — Where is the hooded soldier?

The group looked around, the reality of their situation dawning on them.

— He was right behind us — a soldier said, his voice tinged with discomfort. — I saw him dismount with us, but now…

— He’s gone, disappeared! — another soldier exclaimed, his wide eyes betraying a growing sense of dread. The realization that they had lost one of their own before even reaching the village sent a wave of anxiety through the group.

Lyra clenched her jaw, her mind racing. She felt a knot in her stomach, but there was no time to turn back.

— We can’t wait for him, not with the village under attack. We have to move forward — Lyra declared, trying to keep her focus on the mission.

— But what if he’s in danger? What if he’s captured? — a soldier asked, clearly torn between the mission and their missing comrade.

— If he’s been captured, there’s nothing we can do for him now. We’ll have to trust he can handle himself. Our priority is the village — Lyra replied, her voice firm, though concern flickered in her eyes.

— Let’s keep our eyes open. If we spot him, we’ll bring him back. But right now, the village needs us — said another soldier, trying to rally the group.

Lyra nodded, appreciating the soldier’s determination.

— Let’s move. Stay low, stay quiet. We’ll split into two groups — Lyra instructed. — One will circle around the village and cut off any escape routes. The other will approach from the front and catch them by surprise.

The soldiers nodded, preparing themselves for the battle that lay ahead. As they began to advance toward the village, Lyra couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. The missing soldier gnawed at her thoughts, but she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand.

The screams and laughter grew louder as they neared the village, the flickering flames casting haunting shadows on the ground. Lyra led her group forward, her senses on high alert. But the question lingered in her mind: Where had the hooded soldier gone?

Was he a coward who had fled, or was there something more sinister at play?

— Focus — Lyra whispered to herself, tightening her grip on the sword. She looked at the soldiers by her side, equally tense but ready for the fight. The village was just ahead, and soon they would be face to face with the enemy. But with one of their own missing, Lyra couldn’t shake the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.

As the rest of the group cautiously advanced toward the burning village, Aemon felt a growing unease. Something about the entire situation seemed off. Everything was going too smoothly — the path was clear, no barbarians were on guard, and the mission unfolded as if it had been meticulously orchestrated. It felt too perfect, too controlled, as if it were a trap waiting to be sprung.

Aemon’s thoughts raced as he recalled his earlier conversation with Cedric. Cedric had been so confident, so precise in his instructions, and now that confidence felt suspicious. The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place in Aemon’s mind. He started to suspect that Cedric had orchestrated this whole scenario.

— Could it be an ambush? — Aemon whispered to himself, the realization sending a chill down his spine. He knew he couldn’t take any risks. If Cedric had truly set this up, entering the village with the rest of the soldiers could lead them all to certain death.

Stolen novel; please report.

In a split-second decision, Aemon silently broke away from the group. He moved stealthily through the shadows, keeping hidden and out of sight as he searched for a vantage point where he could get a better view. He had to be careful; any wrong move could alert the barbarians or, worse, confirm Cedric's suspicions that Aemon was after him.

As he approached the village, Aemon’s eyes fixed on the largest structure — probably the home of the barbarian leader. He could see a faint glow of light coming from within, and the sound of muffled voices reached his ears. Aemon’s heart raced as he carefully positioned himself behind some stacked crates near the house, giving him cover and a clear view of the entrance.

Inside the chief's hut, the barbarian leader sat calmly at a large wooden table. His demeanor was relaxed, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding outside. It was clear he was expecting the attack. Cedric had indeed informed him of the planned assault, and the barbarian chief ensured his men were ready. They were hidden within the village, armed and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

— Cedric, you bastard... Aemon thought bitterly, his suspicions now confirmed. The entire attack had been a setup, and the soldiers were walking straight into a trap.

Aemon knew he had to act quickly. He couldn’t just watch as the soldiers were ambushed, but he also couldn’t reveal himself too soon. He needed to find a way to turn the tide against the barbarians and warn the others without getting caught.

As he surveyed the area, Aemon’s eyes fell on a pile of barrels nearby. They were filled with oil, likely used for the village torches. An idea began to form in his mind. If he could create a distraction, something that would draw the barbarians away and give the soldiers a chance to fight...

Aemon moved silently, carefully approaching the barrels. He had to work quickly, but stealth was crucial. If he could ignite the barrels, the fire and resulting explosion could disorient the barbarians and give the soldiers the opportunity they needed to regroup and retaliate.

With a steady hand, Aemon began to loosen the lids of the barrels, all the while keeping an eye on the hut and the area around him. He could hear the barbarian chief giving orders inside, confident that the night would end in his favor. Aemon’s jaw clenched. He was determined to prove that man wrong.

As he prepared to strike, Aemon’s thoughts briefly returned to Cedric. He had trusted him, and now that trust had been shattered. But there would be time to deal with Cedric later. For now, Aemon focused on the task at hand. He had to ensure that this ambush didn’t end in tragedy. The lives of the soldiers, and possibly his own, depended on it.

As Aemon watched the barbarians slowly emerging from the chief's tent, taking their positions for the ambush, he knew he had to act quickly. With the men now leaving their posts, he saw his chance. Moving swiftly and silently, Aemon slipped into the tent, where he was greeted by a scene of horror.

Inside, the air was thick with the stench of blood and fear. The tent was dimly lit by a flickering torch, casting grotesque shadows on the walls. He saw women, stripped of their dignity, huddled in the corners, their eyes wide with terror. Nearby, the bodies of fallen men lay scattered, their brutal and merciless deaths evident. Aemon’s stomach churned at the sight, but he forced himself to stay focused. He couldn’t afford to let the horror of the scene distract him from the mission at hand.

Ignoring the ghastly tableau, Aemon began to work. He found barrels of gunpowder and started spreading them around the perimeter of the camp, being careful to remain hidden in the shadows. He moved with purpose, knowing that every second counted. The plan was simple: if he could ignite the gunpowder, the explosion would not only cause chaos but also give the soldiers the upper hand.

However, no matter how careful he was, his luck soon ran out. One of the barbarians, sharp-eyed despite the darkness, noticed a trail of gunpowder leading away from the tent. The man's gaze followed the trail, and

Aemon knew he had been discovered, but he also realized something crucial: the barbarians had left their ambush positions. This was his opening, the only chance to turn the tide in favor of the soldiers.

Meanwhile, the knights, advancing toward the village, heard the unmistakable sound of swords clashing. Their leader, Lyra, immediately recognized the sound of a fight and knew something was wrong.

— This isn't part of the plan, Lyra murmured, narrowing her eyes as she urged her horse forward. — Move! Now!

The knights pressed on, spurred by the sound of battle. As they drew closer, they saw the flickering light of the campfires, and then they spotted Aemon. He was locked in combat with the barbarians, his hood thrown back, revealing his identity. The sight of him fighting alone against overwhelming odds propelled the knights into action.

At the same time, the remaining barbarians in the camp, hearing the sound of swords clashing, quickly abandoned their hidden positions and rushed toward the fight. They hadn’t expected the knights to arrive so soon, and now they found themselves face to face with fully armed soldiers. The ambush had turned into a full-blown battle.

Without a word, soldiers and barbarians clashed in a furious struggle. The night was filled with the sounds of battle: the clash of swords, the cries of the wounded, and the shouts of warriors engaged in combat. Aemon, though still outnumbered, fought with renewed vigor as the knights joined the fray. The tide had turned, and what was meant to be a trap for the soldiers had now become a desperate fight for the survival of the barbarians.

Aemon's gamble paid off. By drawing the barbarians out of the ambush, he gave the soldiers the chance they needed to strike. The battle continued, but now the odds were more even.

The battle reached its climax, with Aemon bravely fighting against three barbarians, his sword moving with precision, but the weight of the fight and his lack of experience were taking their toll. Even with his armor, he felt the impact of the blows, pushing him back and forcing him to retreat.

The soldiers accompanying him were not in better shape. The more numerous and fierce barbarian forces were dropping them one by one. The sound of clashing swords, the cries of pain, and the fury of the combatants filled the air, creating an atmosphere of pure desolation.

Lyra, observing the chaos around her, shouted with all her might:

— Keep fighting! The prince is with us!