The forest was quiet in the dark.
The night had thinned, but dawn had not yet broken.
Rannon, raising his lantern higher, slowed his horse to a walk. His eyes swept the narrowing pathway that curved in the dark.
They were fifteen at first. As the trail narrowed and grew harder to follow, they split into pairs to ease the search.
His partner, Drek, nudged his own horse beside him. Bigger, broader, with a scar down one cheek.
"You see it?" Rannon murmured.
Drek grunted as he asked. "See what?"
Rannon pointed with a tilt of his chin. "That."
Drek squinted ahead, frowning. Just off the bend in the path, something hanging low from a branch. Swaying slightly.
Curiosity got the best of them as they slowly nudged their horses forward.
The route curved left around a gentle hill, banked on one side by a small ridge, the other sloping into a wooded hollow. Trees loomed high.
At the bend, the cloak came fully into view. It was scraped, yet still unmistakably fine, hanging as if it had snagged on the branch during a run.
"Cloak." Drek mumbled as he inspected it.
"Not just any cloak. Vicorra crest."
That made Drek sit straighter.
"Looks like he panicked," Drek muttered.''
"You really think so?" Rannon shot back. "It's Vencian Vicorra we're talking about. True or not, the lad already has such big reputation not in just the marquesate but in the whole kingdom." He continued as he dismounted.
Stepped carefully through the snow, eyes tracking boot marks leading further ahead.
Drek stayed mounted but leaned down, eyes narrowing. "Trail keeps going. That way."
Rannon crouched, his face tightened. "Still fresh. We're close."
Drek gave a short whistle and clicked his tongue. "Let's finish this. Before the tracks vanish for good."
He kicked his horse into a trot.
Rannon followed on foot, moving quickly.
Neither noticed the glint of thin cord, snow-dusted and tight between two saplings just past the cloak.
The first horse hit it hard.
It shrieked and pitched, front legs tangling, chest folding mid-step. Drek was thrown sideways with a grunt, the air ripped from his lungs as he slammed into the snow.
His horse screamed again, its rear legs kicking, then collided with the log barrier just past the tripwire and crashed to its knees.
Rannon cursed and dove left, just ahead of the barricade. He turned toward Drek, but then he saw movement above.
A blur of white fell from the ridge.
Snow. A heavy branch. Something thudded hard into Drek's shoulder, knocking him flat again.
"Trap!" Rannon snarled, drawing his short sword and spinning uphill.
Nothing.
Then, just a shimmer, a ripple of light in the snow above them.
"Behind you."
It came sharp and close. A girl's voice. Just above his right shoulder.
Rannon spun around fast.
No one there.
Nothing but trees and snow.
Then something shoved him hard from behind. His boots lost grip. He dropped.
His sword was gone from his hand.
A branch snapped under him. His shoulder hit first. His head bounced once on frozen ground.
By the time he scrambled to his knees, a blade was pointed at his chest.
The man holding it didn't say anything right away.
It was Vencian.
He stepped in fast and struck with the pommel. Not a killing blow, but clean, right to the temple.
Darkness burst across Rannon's vision. He dropped.
---
The forest grew still again.
Vencian stood over Rannon's fallen body with the sword still in his hand. His breathing had slowed, and there was no longer any need to rush. He knelt and checked for weapons. The belt knife was missing. There was no crossbow. After a quick pat-down, he found a set of coins and took them.
From the ridge above, Quenya drifted down like mist. She didn't speak, only watched him bind Rannon's hands with strips cut from the man's own saddle rig. Tight.
"Well, that was easier than I'd expected," Vencian said. It wasn't enough to make him proud, but it proved the effort hadn't been wasted.
Guess all those hours watching survival traps and LARP fails weren't a total waste. Somewhere out there, a dozen niche YouTubers are probably proud.
The second one was still unconscious. Drek.
He lay tangled under the ruined horse, pinned between its flank and the snow-packed barrier. Vencian had to drag him out by the shoulders.
The man groaned once. Not awake, but alive. A knot swelling near his temple. Blood at the lip.
His head turned slightly but his eyes didn't follow. No sign he was waking up.
Vencian set him beside Rannon after restraining his limbs. Then backed off. To secure the horse.
He recalled when the plan first took shape—before the initial hoofprint touched the hill.
He'd Quenya scout ahead to check if someone was following his trail in this direction.
He'd hoped they would be stupid enough to split up completely. But they weren't that reckless.
Quickly a plan shaped in his mind.
The cloak came first. Hung just past the curve of the trail, half-visible from the ridge. It had to look like panic. He rubbed dirt across the hem.
Next, the tripwire. He used the restrained rope he got from the horse he used while escaping to make a makeshift tripwire. Thin, nearly invisible, drawn taut between two saplings.
Then the log. Dragged from the brush and wedged across the path, snow dusted over to mask the shape. A low jump, just high enough to spook a rider.
Higher up, he prepared the deadfall. It was a compact wedge of snow and branches secured in a fork, with a single rope ready to pull. He made sure it wouldn't be lethal; it was meant only to stun.
The rest was patience. Waiting with hope. Feeling the cold in his bones.
Then they came.
Two riders. Just as he had anticipated from Quenya's word. They took the bait.
And now, here they were.
Quenya finally spoke, low. "They'll be awake before long. You should be ready."
"I want them afraid," he said. "Before they speak."
She nodded, faintly.
With that, Vencian turned and threw them on the horse one after another and started dragging somewhere else.
---
The fog clung thick to the edge of the cliffs.
Dawn had not arrived yet, but the sky was beginning to pale. Soft light filtered through the mist. From this height, everything seemed far away, beyond reach. Even sound felt distant.
The wind came in slow pulses. Cold enough to bite. Vencian stood near the edge, arms folded, eyes down on the world below.
Behind him, the two men lay where he left them.
Rannon, still facedown in the dirt. Drek on his side, legs bent awkward from the drag. Both were tied. Both had bled.
He hadn't spoken since they arrived.
Quenya hovered a few paces back, quiet and pale in the fog. She didn't need to ask what he planned.
The first to stir was Rannon.
A groan. A shift of the shoulder. Then a cough as he lifted his head and tasted blood in his mouth.
He blinked into the fog. Then flinched when he saw the drop.
Then he heard the voice of the young man they were trying to hunt.
"Start with who sent you. Then we'll decide if you leave this cliff alive."