Dismas pointed to a location on the map. "This one. It's the closest to the Wolf Pack's camp. If they were to make a move, this would be their first target."
"That group has at least twenty men," Barristan said, shaking his head slowly, his one good eye steady in the firelight. "It would be difficult for us to take them on with our current strength. If the fight drags on, we will certainly alert the Wolf Pack. And if even one or two escape, our entire plan will be exposed."
His words were a reminder to Lance. The first step had to be flawless. A single escapee could ruin everything.
"This one, then," Lance said, pointing to another spot. "It is the closest to us, but far from the other brigand strongholds. And with only thirteen men, it will be an easier prize. Once we have taken them, we will begin the plan."
We will strike the weakest target first. The squad tidied up their gear, extinguished the bonfire, and vanished into the darkness.
Dismas walked at the head of the column. He had been here once before and was more familiar with the wilderness, so he took the point. Barristan was second, responsible for guarding the flanks against any potential threats, and also for protecting Lance, who walked third. If they encountered an enemy, a single step forward from the veteran would bring Dismas under the protection of his shield. Reynauld brought up the rear, guarding against any threats from behind, his strength more than enough to mount a counter-attack. Lance was in the center of the formation, responsible for command, healing, and refreshing their state. As long as he was not compromised, the combat effectiveness of the squad was assured.
It is difficult to move silently at night, but as a small squad, they were able to keep the noise to a minimum. Soon, Dismas, at the front, stopped and, pointing to the side, motioned for the others to halt.
Lance moved up a few steps and looked. It was the half-collapsed ruin of a building. In the darkness of the night, he could see the flicker of a fire through a gap in the wall, illuminating the vines that crawled over its surface.
The locations of these brigand strongholds were not chosen at random. The stronger the band, the better the location they could occupy. Along both sides of the Old Road, besides the graves, there were many ruined buildings, abandoned for reasons unknown. Once this was all over, Lance planned to systematically investigate these ruins. His identity as an archaeologist was not a fake, after all.
But for now, it was time to work.
He observed the terrain. The surrounding area was flat. Though there were no sentries, he could see tripwire bells hung around the camp to warn against wild beasts. This showed a greater level of preparation than the groups they had dealt with before, which meant they would be harder to take down. The building was made of brick and stone. If the enemy used it as a fortification, their crossbows would be of little use. And a direct assault would be too risky; the long, open approach would give them more than enough time to react, and who knew what was waiting inside.
The information Dismas had provided could only be used as a reference. He could not possibly have scouted every detail in his short time here. Therefore, Lance had to be exceedingly cautious.
Seeing no good opportunity, Lance waved a hand, and the squad carefully retreated. Only when they were a safe distance away did he speak. "We will wait until the latter half of the night, when they are sound asleep, and then make our move. For now, let's find a place to rest."
No one had any objections. The trek from the last location had already consumed a good deal of their stamina. They certainly could not light a fire, so they found a spot beneath a tree, concealed by a thicket of bushes. Lance took out food and water for them—meat that had been steamed, then dried and cured. In this age, there were few methods of preservation, or at least, few that were available to commoners. Any excess meat had to be properly treated. The methods were much the same the world over, which was why cured and smoked meats could be found everywhere.
"I will take the first watch. The rest of you, get some sleep."
His main fighting force had to be well-rested to face the enemy in peak condition. As for himself, it did not matter. He could always refresh his state. No one objected; this had all been discussed beforehand.
"I'll set up the tripwire," Dismas said, taking a coil of rope from his pouch, to which were tied a number of small bells. It was a common piece of outdoor gear; any sellsword with a bit of experience would have one. It was not meant to guard against men, but against beasts, though sometimes a person might stumble into it.
After setting it up, he removed the small strips of cloth that had been stuffed inside the bells. The trap was now set. Anything that touched the rope would cause it to ring, and might even trip the intruder.
The others lay down to rest. Lance sat in silence, waiting, thinking through all the potential problems and how to solve them. When should we strike? He remembered dealing with a similar problem before. The answer was in the deep of the night, around four or five in the morning, when people are at their most relaxed, their most drowsy. Psychologically, too, if the first half of the night passed without incident, their guard would naturally lower. Three or four in the morning was the peak of the night's darkness. Just a little while longer, and the sky would begin to lighten. The promise of dawn brings a sense of security, and with it, a lowering of one's guard.
A hunter must have sufficient patience...
Jingle.
The sound was very faint. Lance spun around, his dagger already in his hand. He saw, in the darkness, a pair of faintly glowing eyes, staring at him. The others were also awake in an instant, quickly getting to their feet. They were all veterans. To truly fall asleep in such an environment was impossible. They had only been dozing to recover their strength and spirit.
"Wolves," Lance said, reminding the others. He tightened his grip on his dagger, his eyes fixed on the darkness before him. It was his mistake, he realized. They had gotten behind him without him noticing. If not for the alarm Dismas had set, they likely would have been ambushed.
The noise of the men stirring had stopped the wolves' advance, but they continued to circle the perimeter, clearly unwilling to give up their prey.
"Six of them. The scent of blood must have drawn them here."
"The bodies at the last camp were all cleared away. Nothing to eat there, so they followed us."
"Are we having wolf meat? My teeth might not be up to it."
Dismas and the others reacted to the wolf pack with a calm professionalism, even analyzing the reason for their arrival. And they were right to be calm. Reynauld's plate armor was impervious to their bites; he alone could likely slaughter the entire pack.
But as Lance looked at the wolves, a new idea came to him.
"Can we drive these wolves... toward the camp?"
At his words, the others understood what he meant, but they all thought it was a bit too far-fetched.
"You want to make the wolves attack the camp? But they won't listen to us."
"A wolf can run faster than a man in the wilds. We can't keep up with them."
"What," Lance said with a small smile, "do you think this dried meat is for?"
He tossed a piece of the cured meat. The wolves scattered, startled, but were quickly drawn back by the scent.
A leader wolf, its frame larger and more powerful than the others, stepped out from the darkness.