The pack was leaderless, but they were not dead yet. Animals such as they always found a way to survive. The dynamic adapted, shifted, the hierarchy changed through challenge and subservience. By night they were eight... now they were six. Confused and angered, frightened and bereft of the strong leadership they needed... but they were not dead.
And they were deep within the Bronze Woods. For all wild creatures of Mizahar, that counted for a lot.
The new alpha - still bearing ugly marks where it had asserted its dominance over its most "vocal" rival - stopped in the clearing and sniffed the air. Around and behind it, six grey wolves did the same, waiting on their new leader's signal. They had journeyed east, hard and fast, escaping the shade that had slaughtered two of them with ease. Even though one of the strange human-wolves had saved them, they would not return to that territory. It was cursed, tainted in their eyes... no. They had to wander deeper and deeper into the Woods.
So they tread carefully.
The new alpha peered into the treeline... and with a quick series of barks and growls, ordered the pack to head south. Something was coming; a great many somethings, a sense-muddle of humans, which all the wolves knew, Kelvics, some race that stank of raw aggression, and...
A clipped, terrified yip ended the orders. At the sound of it, the six wolves moved from a trot to a headlong retreat, vanishing into the trees.
Even wolves knew what the dead smelled like. Especially when it had come close to killing them all.
"This looks like the place..."
The curling vines and thick shrubbery gave way, as if reluctantly, to a thin clearing before Razkar's eyes. He frowned, muttering in his own tongue and reaching for the map. It was rough and topographical details weren't exactly the cartogapher's main intention, but... yes... this looked familiar.
The Myrian stopped and, as one, the column stopped with him. If you could call it that. Traveling in two distinct groups, Kelvic scouts loping ahead of them, the mercenary band stalled in silence, eyes casting about at the trees, branches, even the leaves fluttering on the ground.
Razkar studied the map and looked to the east. He could smell the Geysers from here... hear them, too. The constant, soft crashing of water falling from the sky after being forced from the ground, like the spawn of a waterfall and a thunderstorm. It was to the east, too, and judging by the sun... yes, direct east.
"This is place." He spoke louder, voice carrying around the clearing but not beyond it, alerting his band to be ready. Their journey had been long and uneventful; marching through the brambles and detritus of the darkened jungle, stopping to sleep for only three bells. But now they had arrived at the site of their slaughter and payday, they were wide awake. "This is where we make ambush."
The Myrian cast his practiced and calm gaze around in a full circle. The clearing meandered like some ancient, overgrown road now covered by a thick carpet of leaves. But one could clearly see the wide thoroughfare between the trees. It wasn't straight, even or even completely flat... but it was there, and Razkar would wager that other travelers with carts and a desire for anonymity had used it before.
Bushes and shrubs were more scarce, though. The trees had taken all the nutrients and moisture from the ground, leaving precious little for the clustering vegetation that would have covered the ground in Falyndar up to your armpits.
Less places to hide, but the trees... yes, they should be wide enough. Distance across the clearing... perhaps forty yards. Easily enough for a crossfire.
"We split in two for ambush."
He spoke without preamble, gesturing first at one side of the rough trail, and then the other with his hands, fingers together and pointed like a blade.
"Ekvan, you and you people, make line that side. My people go this side."
Razkar looked up and saw the Kelvics had returned, Fubuki floating down from the treetops with a lighthearted giggle and, of course, her usual twirl.
"Kelvics and ghost, go to north. Mistress Fubuki? Stay high and away. Not let them see. Kelvics? Stay as wolf or dog or..." he stumbled for a moment and then finally shrugged "... whatever thing you are, yes? Better if caravan has scouts they see animals, not people."
Then he reached into his pocket and held up the letter for all to see, if not read.
"Caravan has four cart." He said, making sure they got every word. "Made like... like jail on wheel, yes? To keep slaves. Perhaps fifty slaves. Twenty sellsword left Ravok, but person who wrote this... wrote they may get more. So, they have more. But we have ambush, we have surprise."
The Myrian pocketed the letter and looked across the faces arrayed before him. He wished he knew the words to make them move smoother and surer, to make soldiers out of them, the breed he'd been used to dealing with in Falyndar. Goddess, it would have been so much easier... but without stress and strain and obstacles, victory was meaningless.
So say the priestesses. How many of them were leading sellswords in petching Syliras?
Razkar let his gaze fall on his band, one after the other. Ekvan would only question or insult him, and he had no patience for that.
"When caravan come and scouts see, Kelvics will be like shadow to caravan. Will ambush, too, but make sure no-one escape. Cover back, yes? Fubuki? You stay high, out of sight. I will fire first arrow. My side will... will draw wrath of caravan."
A ripple of surprise, shock and "oh, petch that for a bunch of bananas" went through the group... well, his group. Ekvan and his thgs just looked smug, as usual. Razkar raised a hand and went on, voice firm but somewhat understanding.
"First volley will kill men who drive carts. Stop carts, stop whole caravan, and that is point. Then aim at sellsword. And once they all look at us-" he pointed to Ekvan, who was nodding slowly, as if reluctantly "-Ekvan and his men will take them in back, when they not see. Will be slaughter... but for few chimes, all wrath of sellswords will be on us."
Razkar looked at them again, slowly, noting the change in their expressions. Now there was more shuffling, glances exchanged, grimaces, as if they were all waiting for someone to voice the opinion that they didn't sign up to be target practice.
Perhaps not, but you did sign up, and if that means you have to be a diversion, so be it.
The Myrian deliberately rested his eyes on Kyra, but his voice was directed at all.
"But if anyone had other plan, I will hear..."
OOCHere we are! This'll be a short one, getting everyone in position, and we'll end it with the opening salvo of the ambush. I think my plan's pretty easy to follow, but any questions, suggestions, anything at all, this is the place for it.
