Gruffy was leaning against a workbench that was about the size of a wagon bed. Zillions of heavy tools had scarred the wood over the decades. Gruffy scratched with his thick fingers along his jaws's coarse hair and squinted at me with that same stare of suspicion mixed with amusement he always seemed to wear.
"You want me to work for you, little man?" Gruffy's voice was low, each word rumbling like a stone dropping into a pond. "Then I will name my price."
I crossed my arms to keep my voice stable. "Go on."
"There is a group of mercenaries that have been sniffing around this area for about a month," Gruffy's tone flattened out slightly into something more guarded, less conversational. "Sometimes they get too close around here. I think they're looking for my home. And if they find my home..." He shook his head very slowly and deliberately, as if he were imagining right before his eyes in detail the outcome. "Well, I can't have that."
The lair smelled of oil, but also of moss; the forest's earthy dampness was creeping through the root walls.
I cocked my head to the side slightly. "Mercenaries? How many?"
"No clue," he said, grabbing a battered flask from the bench and taking a mouthful. "They're not close enough for me to get a look at them. They're smart enough, I can tell you that; my traps aren't sprung. And they have patience, there just hanging around."
Hunter, who was resting against a thick rope, looked at me with one eyebrow raised. "If they find his lair," he said quietly, yet there was an edge to his voice, "you could kiss your little deal goodbye".
I turned back to Gruffy. "What about them?"
The giant of a man reached for a chunk of charcoal that seemed ridiculously small in his massive hand, even though it was as thick as my wrist. He pulled it across a scrap of parchment, making heavy, rough sketches drawn in blocks.
"Five of 'em," he said, as he drew. "Three men, two women, one has a bow, I'm pretty sure it is a long bow, by the way he moves. One fights with two axes. The woman with the short hair is a rune worker, it's possible that she could sense my wards from half a field away. The other is a water mage."
I frowned. "And the leader?"
"Older man," Gruffy said without hesitation. "Carries himself like a knight, but not the noble kind. Seen his type before—been around long enough to know when a man's wearing honor like a mask."
I tapped the table beside his sketch. "We'll deal with them. Once they're gone, you'll have what you want, and I'll have what I want."
Gruffy's chuckle was low and gravelly, the kind that never sounded entirely friendly. "For the right price, sure."
We departed the lair shortly thereafter, the root-lined ramp creaking as it closed behind us, a deep moan of shifting earth. In seconds it was gone - just a patch of moss and some gnarly old roots where the entrance had been. And if you didn't know otherwise, you could stomp over it a hundred times, never seeing it.
The outside air felt… different. Thicker somehow. The kind of stillness you catch when someone is watching you from beyond the edge of sight.
Hunter moved beside me, flicking his eyes from tree to tree. "If Gruffy's right, they will be looking for the concentrations of mana. The same way you found the entrance."
"Then you can find them," I replied.
He smirked slightly. "Already trying."
______
Well outside the forest's quietude, Telmar kept low behind the hedgerow bordering Baron Palmero's estate. Before him, the manor loomed, pale stone and dark shutters, its windows sealed fast with the midday sun bearing down.
One last scan of the grounds, and he was over the wall, boots finding silent purchase on gravel. The gardens, once clipped into tidy shapes, were beginning to lose their definition. Grass was coming up the path, and weeds were bosom buddies with the fountain edges.
Inside, the servant's hall was warm and pungent with the scents of antibacterials and boiled cabbages. Two maids knelt in the hall, brushing the floor and using the same brush strokes day after day. They were deep into a conversation and practically whispered like they were covering state secrets.
"But he never leaves his room anymore," one said conspiratorially, eyeing the stairs. "Sometimes not even to eat. Meals get brought, but I swear they come back untouched."
"I know. It's just not like him," the other maid continued. "I mean, he used to walk the gardens every morning. He would talk to absolutely everyone he came across. Now? Nothing."
Telmar hung in the shadows of an alcove, frowning. That was not behavior of a healthy noble, or honest.
He slipped a sending crystal from his belt, its surface dull until it warmed under his touch. Holding it close, he whispered, "Telmar to Thalanar. Need reinforcements. Palmero's movements are… irregular. Could be our lead."
The stone dimmed again. Pocketing it, he moved deeper into the manor, eyes sharp for patterns—or the absence of them.
------
Hunter halted abruptly, raising a hand. His voice was low. "Five signatures. Moving slow. A distance apart, in a long line. They're searching."
We continued closing distance until we could start to see shapes in between the trees.
Five men. Just like Gruffy said.
The leader was a man with broad shoulders, wearing weathered plate armor. The metal was dull but well-maintained. His helmet hung from his hip, revealing a scar through his left brow. He had a calm, watchful expression. Calm that comes from too many fights.
On his left was a thin, wiry man, tall with a longbow, scanning the trees as he moved. His bow was strung, and though his fingers rested near the string, they were relaxed, but ready. On the leaders right was a brute. His arms were lumber, and he carried two axes that reflected the small light in speckled patches.
One of the women every few steps would crouch low and place her hand on the ground. Her black hair was short and looked like it was woven together tightly. Her fingers were rubbing the ground and tracing soft, curling lines. Runes. Subtle runes, but deliberate. she was hunting wards.
And there was the other woman.
A small, tattered poncho covered her shoulders, but underneath was little more than scraps of leather and cloth that could barely be considered clothing. Her skin was bare and glinting in the light and she moved with the ease of someone oblivious to their naked flesh. She must have felt secure enough in avoiding blows or else not cared about a few scars.
"Do people really fight in that?" I muttered.
Hunter did not look away from her. "Some do. Usually the ones who don't think they will get hit."
I remained fixated on the rune worker. "That one is the problem. If she gets any closer to sniffing Gruffy's wards, she will map the door."
"Then, we will make sure she doesn't," Hunter said, his tone flat.
"They all go," I said quietly. "If they're alive, they take the chance of coming back here; and this forest becomes a liability if there's even a breath left in them."
Hunter's eyes flicked toward me, unreadable. "Logistically, that's efficient."
"More like necessary."
We walked out from around the trees and stepped into an opening where the shadows parted to reveal a an area washed in light.
The leader spotted us first. His eyes narrowed, mirroring his heightened awareness. He brought his hand to the grip of his sword but didn't draw it. Not yet.
"Lost, are you?" he shouted across the opening. His voice showed quite a bit of bravado that only someone used to being in control would exude. "Not the place for children to be lost in civilization."
Hunter said nothing. While he appeared to be in a relaxed stance, almost lethargic, he continued to glare at the man.
The leader shifted his attention back toward Hunter, moving his gaze dismissively over me like I was an afterthought. "What's this? The boy is with a chaperone?"
My fingers brushed the grip of my own knife, wondering how long I would have to endure the man's glibness. I was keeping my face impassive.
Hunter smiled just the tiniest bit. "Something like that."