The Caravan Merge
Cane let the team run. With two riders flanking the wagon, they made excellent time on the smooth, well-maintained road.
After two hours of pushing hard, Cane's eyes glowed amber. He reached through Pudding's vision to scout the caravan again.
"Slow to a walk," he said. "They're sending someone to investigate."
Clara:Are we going to turn off?
Cane:This is standard. Since we're unknown and approaching frombehind, it's only natural they'd send a detachment to check us out.
As they slowed, the dust thickened. Everyone caught the same dry, gritty taste in their mouths. Cane took a drink from his canteen and tossed it to Clara, who smiled her thanks and rinsed her mouth.
"All stop," Cane called.
Rita brought the team to a halt. Cane turned in his saddle.
"Fergis, you're with me. Clara—if she makes a run for it..."
"Yeah, I know what to do," Clara replied, her freckled face flashing with sudden steel. She leveled the blunderbuss casually across her lap, sighting it on Rita.
"Is this really necessary?" Rita asked, voice flat.
Dhalia gave a quiet nod. "You earned it."
Cane and Fergis nudged their mounts forward, cantering ahead a few minutes before pulling up and waiting.
Six riders approached, dressed in white pantaloons and red vests. Their heads were shaved, their skin the color of strong coffee. Each bore twin swords strapped in a cross-pattern behind their shoulders.
Fergis:I've always liked the shoulder harness for swords. Much more threatening.
Cane:Agreed. And check out their horses—desert bred. Fast and sleek.
Five of the men looked enough alike to be brothers. The sixth was different. Lean where the others were muscle-bound—sleek and sharp, like a blade drawn just before a duel.
"My friend," the lead rider said, his voice smooth and educated. "You are following our caravan. I am curious as to your intentions."
"We're heading to the capital," Cane replied. "Figured we'd enjoy the security that comes from traveling near a large caravan."
The lean man frowned slightly. "So you admit it."
Cane shrugged. "You already guessed. No reason to deny it."
"I'm afraid it is... inconvenient," the man said. "You are unknown to us, and we are transporting sensitive cargo."
Without a word, Cane swiped his storage ring and withdrew the runic chit from the Olivara Auction House—the one they'd given him after selling the Saltfang swords. He held it up.
The man's eyes narrowed. He removed a flat metallic disc the size of his palm. Placing the chit atop it, his gaze lit with recognition.
"Cane Ironheart," he said, then gave a respectful bow. "I am Captain Kamaroo. You are welcome to join our caravan."
"I accept, Captain," Cane said, then gestured to his companion. "This is Fergis. Where would you like us?"
"We will stop for thirty minutes," Kamaroo replied. "Join the line behind the cloth vendors."
He turned his horse, then paused to glance back over his shoulder. "If it suits you, I invite your group to be my guests tonight for dinner."
"Thank you, Captain," Cane said with a slight smile. "We look forward to it."
Cane:We have to decide what to do with Rita.
Clara:Can't she just keep driving like she has?
Fergis:In a group this big, it'd be easier for her to slip away. Might even be someone here who knows her.
Dhalia: We could give her a mount and send her back to Sarona.
Cane:We did bring a spare. Our options are: bring her or send her packing.
Dhalia:Even if we brought her, she could let it slip we're transporting gold.
Clara:Send her back.
Fergis:Agreed.
Cane reined in beside the wagon, tied his horse to the tailgate, and brought the spare mount forward.
"Get down, Rita," he said flatly.
Rita eyed the blunderbuss still aimed her way. "What's going on?"
"You're going back to Sarona," Cane said. "Take the spare and ride out. I'll be keeping the manifest."
She hesitated. "Can I have my weapon back?"
Clara scoffed. "No."
Cane shrugged. "Get moving. Return while we finish the delivery."
Rita passed him a leatherbound parchment. Cane flipped it open, scanned it, then tucked it away.
"Wait." He tossed her a canteen and a few food packs. "Make better choices with your life. The next group might not be so forgiving."
Rita took a moment to strap the supplies down. "Thanks…"
"My falcon will be watching," Cane said calmly. "If you turn around or trail us—I'll leave the convoy and bury you myself."
"I won't." Rita's voice was thin. She kicked her heels and rode hard, heading back the way they'd come.
Cane climbed into the wagon seat and took the reins. After releasing the handbrake, he flicked his wrists and the team began to move.
"Where'd you learn to handle a team like that?" Dhalia asked with a smile. "You look natural up there."
"I learned when I was an apprentice," Cane replied. "My master had me run deliveries to nearby villages."
"Do you miss it?" Clara called from the far side.
"Sometimes," Cane said, glancing ahead. "It was simple. Rewarding. But I'm glad to be here."
They trotted until they caught up to the caravan, which had pulled aside to wait. Cane found the cloth vendors and maneuvered the wagon into place just as Captain Kamaroo approached.
"Did you lose someone, Cane?" he asked, tone casual.
Cane nodded. "Teamster turned out to be trouble. Tried to set us up for a robbery."
Kamaroo exhaled through his nose. "Sometimes it's better to kill problems like that."
"I agree," Cane said. "But I made an exception this time. I've got my falcon watching her."
His eyes flared amber as he activated the rune. Pudding's vision snapped into place. Rita was still riding hard, back toward Sarona. Satisfied, he shifted focus again.
"Range far, north," he whispered.
Evening Camp
The caravan moved at a steady, meandering pace—slow enough to avoid kicking up dust, fast enough to let the breeze cool them as the terrain shifted from forest to foothills, then to lowlands. The air turned damp. The smell of swamp clung like warning.
As the sun dipped below the hills, the caravan turned off the road and began setting camp on a flat stretch of open land. Within minutes, dozens of tents appeared, cookfires flaring up with the practiced speed of routine travelers.
Cane set the wagon's brake and pulled out their tents.
Cane:We'll sleep close to the wagon. Should be safe enough while we eat.
Fergis:I'm starving.
Clara:I know… I've missed like ten meals.
Dhalia:We've only been gone two days.
Clara:Five meals a day. That equals ten.
They laughed, the tension of the day easing as they fell into simple rhythms—feeding and watering their mounts, unhitching the team, tying them to the wagon for the night.
Tomorrow, they'd be closer to the capital. Closer to answers. But for now, they had warmth, company, and the safety of the crowd.
Ambush at Dusk
"So good…" Clara's freckled face lit up with unfiltered joy as she bit into a steaming bun stuffed with spiced beef and melted cheese. "Where do you get these?"
Kamaroo grinned. "My cook makes them. Don't flatter him too much—his head's already too big to fit a hat."
The smell of woodsmoke, sweat, leather, and roasting meat wafted around the camp. It was a welcome improvement from the cold fare of the night before.
A flutter of movement signaled Pudding's arrival—a streak of brownish-gray-blue dropping from the sky. He landed lightly on Cane's shoulder, claws retracted.
HOOACH.
"What… is that?" Kamaroo's face split in a wide grin. "Is that your falcon?"
Cane nodded, unbothered by the stares and laughter spreading around the fire. "Technically… it's a fowl."
Kamaroo belly-laughed, his men joining in.
"Did you say fowl?" he wheezed. "You brought a chicken?"
Cane smiled, feeding Pudding a few strips of meat. "Don't listen to the jealous man, Pudding."
"Pudding?" More laughter. "Don't tell me you paid money for that thing!"
Pudding slowly turned his head a full three hundred sixty degrees, eyeing each laughing face. He blinked once. Then twice. Then accepted another strip of meat.
"Fowl as in falcon-owl hybrid," Cane said casually.
Pudding remained perched for a few minutes, ignoring the whispers and chuckles until he grew bored and glided silently into the night sky.
"Please," Kamaroo said, holding up his hands. "Don't be offended, friend. We laughed a bit too much."
Cane shrugged. "I did the same thing when I first saw him."
HOOACH.
The dreadful screech shattered the night. Cane's eyes flared amber as he sprang to his feet.
"AMBUSH!"
He sprinted toward the wagon, several steps ahead of the others.
Cane:Summon an Icewall. Get on the wagon.
Fergis caught up fast, leaping aboard as fire flared to life in his hands.
"FLARE!"
A dozen fireballs erupted outward, arching high before exploding across the perimeter—illuminating black-armored figures closing in.
ICEWALL!
Dhalia and Clara worked in tandem, forming a thick wall of Glacial Ice that was two meters high and several feet long. Then they climbed aboard beside Fergis.
Cane raised his shield, trident in hand, eyes sweeping the chaos. A glowing, hissing orb arced toward him. Without thinking, he smacked it into the sky just before it detonated in a brilliant orange flash.
The enemy hit the line like a hammer—black mail glinting in the firelight. Cane fought with practiced brutality, stabbing and slashing with his trident, battering enemies with his shield. Each foe he froze was shattered moments later by Fergis's pinpoint blasts.
Clara snared every attacker she could see, tangling legs, slowing charges.
Kamaroo and his men fought shoulder-to-shoulder, but one of the enemy arrows struck the woman beside him in the throat. His voice cracked with grief.
"SALA!"
Pressed on both sides, Kamaroo could only defend as blood gushed from his comrade's neck.
Then—like a flash—Dhalia appeared beside her, glowing hands staunching the blood and pulling out the arrow as blades clashed overhead.
Another hissing orb landed in front of them.
ICESHIELD!
Dhalia threw up a shimmering barrier just in time. The blast sent her flying with the wounded woman, while Kamaroo was hit by a glancing blow that spun him to the ground.
Arrows pinged off Cane's armor. He impaled a charging man and used his body as cover to retreat to the wagon.
Then another orb fell—this one coming straight for the group.
Time slowed.
A flash of brown streaked in—Pudding. Talons outstretched, he seized the orb mid-air, banking away before releasing it into the enemy ranks.
HOOOACH.
Kamaroo stared in disbelief at the retreating bird.
Cane grabbed him and hauled him to his feet.
As suddenly as it started, the battle ended.
The enemy melted into the night, dragging their dead with them. They left no traces, no names, no mercy.
Cane:Anyone hurt?
Fergis:We're good.
Dhalia:I'll make rounds. Heal whoever I can.
Clara:Who were those guys?
Cane shook his head and pulled bandages from his ring.
"Let's help whoever we can while Dhalia works."
"Obviously, I'm very sorry," Kamaroo mumbled, his dark eyes fixed on the ugly bird perched proudly on Cane's shoulder.
Pudding blinked once, slowly. Then turned his head away with regal indifference.
"Pudding forgives you," Cane said without hesitation—lying shamelessly.
Kamaroo's eyes shifted to Sala. She sat nearby, pale from blood loss, but fully healed. Her life saved thanks to Dhalia's timely intervention.
"Pudding can see in the dark?" Kamaroo asked, still watching the bird with reluctant awe.
Cane nodded. "When I bond with him, anyone moving at night might as well be carrying a lantern."
"I'll give you a thousand platinum for the bird," Kamaroo offered seriously.
His statement was met immediately with a smack to the chest from Sala.
"You can't buy everything, Kam," she snapped, her dark eyes locking onto Cane. "My brother tries to solve every problem with gold."
Kamaroo cleared his throat and stood abruptly, gesturing to one of his men.
"We were too complacent because of our size," he admitted. "I want roving guards posted along the perimeter until dawn."
He paused, then turned back toward the cadets.
"Well done tonight. You were calm under pressure, and you fought with precision." His expression softened. "I hope you'll be our honored guests when we reach the capital."
Cane inclined his head. "We'd be glad to."