Lord Feran of Telto had surrendered his noble title to chase glory as a mercenary captain in the Khomane military. It wasn't much of a sacrifice — he was the youngest of six sons, destined to work under one of his older brothers regardless. His father approved; the mercenary route was becoming popular among young nobles too far down the inheritance ladder to matter. His family had fronted him four ships and enough gold to hire a sizeable force.
Captain Feran swirled the dark liquor in his glass, one hand pressed to his cramping stomach. "How are they getting through our perimeter? Do we have a spy?"
Lieutenant Mullen Cross — the iron-clad behemoth serving as the Black Crow Executive Officer — grunted. So far, the deployment had been a mess. Two ships sunk, fresh water supply destroyed, a dozen dead, several missing, and most of the camp poisoned — including the mounts. "Perhaps the rivers here are contaminated," Mullen offered. "Or something in them we're not used to."
A healer entered — Yolta, an obnoxious bald-headed youth, one of the few immune to most poisons. His expression of inborn superiority was made worse by the misery around him. He carried a waterlogged branch.
"This is the culprit," Yolta said. "A sage branch. When soaked in water, it causes digestive distress in humans and animals."
Feran's scowl deepened. "This grows in the rivers here?"
The healer shook his head. "Hundreds of cut branches were weighted with rocks just around the bend from our camp."
Feran slammed his hand onto the table. "Under our noses?"
Yolta didn't flinch. "Judging by saturation and leaf breakdown, and the toxicity of the samples — I'd estimate the sabotage was done shortly before our arrival."
Feran's gaze sharpened. "Could they have a seer?"
"No," Mullen said. "They're herding us. The burned ships, the destroyed water — all of it meant to funnel us here."
"Fuck…" Feran muttered. "And we just followed along like a bull on a rope."
He looked down at the map tacked to his table — a map of the Four Kingdoms with a half-dozen vulnerable towns marked for raiding. "Who is doing this?"
"It could be the Beast Empire," Mullen said quietly.
"Here?" Feran swore again. "Those sneaky beast bastards could slip into any camp, sure — but they were pushed out of the Four Kingdoms fifteen years ago."
"The night the healer was killed," Mullen said, "I felt something in the darkness."
Feran didn't question it. "You've fought enough of them to know. But why here? Could they be doing the same as us? Raiding and tempering?"
"That would be my guess," Mullen agreed. "Most likely a small force — otherwise they wouldn't be relying on hit-and-run."
Feran turned to Yolta. "Do we need to relocate?"
Yolta shook his head. "The river is clear. It will be safe to drink in a few hours. The men and horses should recover overnight."
Feran dismissed him with a flick of his fingers. When the healer left, he exhaled slowly. "If you sensed him… we're dealing with what? Mid-tier?"
Beastkin hierarchy was initially based on strength — the more powerful your beast, the higher your rank. That had changed over the decades, as royal houses diluted… but someone comparable to an Odun Chief from the Beast Empire was a nightmare.
Mullen shook his head. "I could be wrong… but we might be dealing with something much higher. Perhaps a rogue duke."
"Fuck."
Feran rubbed his face. "Alright. Starting tomorrow, we change tactics. Priority one — we kill this beastkin."
**
Telo and Dem returned to their oceanside lair, making sure Erlec knew the ambush counted as that night's raid and that his odun was to disappear back into hiding.
Telo scratched the black hound guarding the cave. "Did you see how disappointed they were?"
Dem chuckled. "I'm going back to scout the camp. They'll have to respond."
"Okay… what should I do, Commander?"
"We're next to the water. Go fishing."
"Fishing?"
"I'm tired of trail rations, and those two need to eat." Dem nodded toward the dogs.
Telo accepted that with a sigh. "Then what?"
Dem scanned the shoreline, eyes lingering on the two surviving ships. "When I come back, we'll sink one of those."
Telo grinned. "Why not both?"
"Think it through, Chief."
"I'll consider it while I work."
Telo checked his storage ring — he had several live traps, his arrows, and a few spears. "I can modify one of these traps to catch fish."
The black rat slipped back into the mercenary camp, noticing the huge stack of waterlogged sage branches dragged from the river. The prank hadn't lasted long… but the memory of it wouldn't fade soon.
Dem crept toward the main entry point, where three guards stood in a loose triangle, chatting instead of watching.
"The mages are drawing up the wards now!" the middle guard boasted. "I even got one of the stones they're giving the scouts."
"Bullshit," the one on his right scoffed. "Why would you get one?"
"Who do you think discovered the river was full of sage branches?" He thumped his chest. "Me."
The third guard snorted. "You went down there to wash your backside because you shit yourself. Pure luck you tripped over one."
"Doesn't matter," the middle guard insisted. "They still gave me the stone. Probably get promoted when we return to Khomane."
"Well, let's see it," the third guard demanded.
The middle guard produced a white stone and held it on his palm. "Treasure, this is. If there was a beastkin within a mile of us, it'd start pulsing."
Rat Dem inched closer — hidden less than a meter away.
The stone remained inert.
He climbed the tarped wagon serving as a blockade. Its wheels had been removed, and the bed filled with rocks — an effective barrier against any force trying to charge through.
The third guard stared in envy. "We're your sworn brothers. You'll stick with us, right?"
"Course," the bragging guard said. "When I get my own squad, you two come with me. Now stay put — I gotta piss."
He walked around the far side of the wagon, bracing one hand on the wood rail, he leaned against it, relieving himself.
A minute passed. Then another.
Finally, the third guard circled around. "What's taking so long, Dune?"
He touched the man's shoulder.
The body folded instantly. Knees buckled, torso slumped against the wagon, then rolled onto the ground.
His throat was slit to the bone.
His eyes were wide and glassy, frozen in shock.
Rat Dem slipped away from the mercenary camp, using every scrap of cover until he reached a large boulder. There he dropped the white stone from his mouth, placed it on the ground, and shifted.
Dem picked it up, turning it over in his hand, even smelling it. Runes were carved into the surface — faint, inert.
"Troubling," he murmured.
Telo was dragging an arm-sized fish out of the surf when he spotted Dem. "Ocean fish must be stupid. I put some corn in the trap, and they were fighting each other to get at it."
He gestured at the pile of fish on the rocks. "I could get more, but I'm out of corn."
Dem laughed and began cleaning the fish. Both dogs sat nearby, ears forward.
Telo slit a fish open and tossed its guts into the ocean. "If they were camp dogs, they'd be crawling all over us begging shamelessly."
"These are probably trained to eat only what they're given," Dem guessed.
Telo paused mid-scaling. "Why would anyone do that?"
Dem lifted an eyebrow. "Think it through, Chief."
"That again?" Telo groaned, brows furrowed as he worked. After a moment, he nodded. "Okay, I got it."
"Yeah? Let's hear it." Dem handed a fish to each dog. "Eat up."
"Well… if you had a guard dog watching something important, it wouldn't be very effective if someone could distract it with a chunk of meat."
"Good job," Dem said, mock-applauding with fingers dripping fish guts.
Telo puffed up a bit. "I figured out your other riddle, too. Why we're only sinking one ship."
"This should be good," Dem said, amused.
Telo ignored the tone. "No matter what we do, we can't kill all six hundred mercenaries. If we sink all the ships, they'll be stranded. But leaving one gives them a way out — keeps retreat possible."
"Well done, Chief."
Dem gathered the cleaned fish and dragged them closer to the face of the crag. "Let's start a fire and cook these. We'll go in when it's dark."