The bandit camp was a festering sore on the twilight landscape, a chaotic smear of stolen goods and unwashed bodies. A greasy haze from a sputtering campfire hung in the air, carrying the stench of scorched meat, stale ale, and something sourly human. Rough, laughter echoed from the dozen or so men lounging on crates and furs. They were brutes, their eyes holding the casual cruelty of men who take what they want, their desires the only law they followed.
And in the center of their circle, illuminated and utterly alone, was the prize they had stolen.
A little girl, no older than seven, was tied to a crude wooden post. A dirty gag was stuffed in her mouth, but it couldn't stop the heartbreaking sounds that escaped her, muffled sobs that were drowned out by the bandits' harsh laughter. Her small body trembled violently, a tiny leaf in a vicious storm.
Leonotis felt his heart hammer against his ribs, each beat a frantic, sickening thud. All the air seemed to have been punched from his lungs. Every boastful word he had ever spoken, every fantasy of being hailed as a hero, turned to ash in his mouth. There was no glory here. There was no adoring crowd. There was only a terrified child and the monsters who had put her there. The world of songs and legends felt like a child's foolish dream. This was real.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched. Jacqueline was beside him, her face a grim mask. "Leonotis, breathe," she whispered, her voice tight. "Charging in blindly will get us all killed, and her along with us."
Low was a coiled spring of violence beside them, her knuckles white where she gripped a heavy stone. A low growl rumbled in her chest, a sound that was more beast than human. "Just point me at them," she hissed. "I'll tear them apart."
Normally, Leonotis would have puffed out his chest and agreed, eager to lead the charge. But the boyish bravado had been scoured out of him. In its place was a cold, sharp fear that, to his surprise, didn't paralyze him. It focused him. His gaze swept over the camp, not as a stage for his heroics, but as a battlefield. His mind, usually buzzing with self-aggrandizing chatter, fell silent and began to work.
He saw it all. The dozen men, drunk and complacent. The single campfire as their main source of light. He saw the piles of dry brush and discarded supplies—perfect tinder. He saw the hard, rocky ground on Low's side of the ridge. And his eyes, attuned to the life in the earth, followed a line of dark, damp soil that led away from the camp toward a barely visible stream.
The pieces began to click into place.
"No," Leonotis said, his voice quiet but firm, startling the others. He held up a hand, forestalling Low's protest. "A frontal assault is what they'd expect. We'd be surrounded. We have to be smarter."
Low stared at him, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You? Smarter?"
Leonotis ignored the jibe, his eyes still locked on the scene below. "Their confidence is their weakness. They don't expect a real threat." He turned to them, his expression one they had never seen before—not boastful, not goofy, but intensely serious. "Here's what we do."
He pointed a steady finger. "Low, you see those loose rocks on the ledge above them? When I give the signal, I don't want you to throw one. I want you to bring the whole ledge down. Not on them, but behind them. Block their escape route and cause a massive distraction. Make them think the mountain itself is coming down."
Low's skeptical look slowly morphed into a predatory grin. It was a plan that appealed to her sense of overwhelming force.
He then turned to Zombiel. "Zombiel, all that dry brush and their supply wagons? The moment they're distracted, you light it up. All of it. Create a wall of fire. Panic them. Make them feel trapped between the rockslide and the flames."
Zombiel gave a single, sharp nod, his red eyes glowing faintly in the deepening gloom.
Leonotis's gaze found Jacqueline. "That damp ground I saw leads to a stream. While they're blinded by the fire and deafened by the rockslide, they won't see you coming. That's your opening. You go straight for the girl. Use the steam and smoke from the fire for cover."
Finally, he looked at his own hands. "The ground here is soft. Rich. While they're scrambling, disoriented, and trying to figure out where to run, I'll let the earth take care of them. I'll bind them."
They all stared at him. The plan was simple, brutal, and it used every one of their unique skills in perfect concert. It was… a good plan. A leader's plan.
Jacqueline looked at him, a flicker of surprise and pride in her eyes. She gave a firm nod. "It'll work."
Low grunted, which from her was the highest form of praise. "Just tell me when."
Leonotis took a deep breath, the cold air settling his racing heart. He looked back at the camp, at the small, trembling girl tied to the post. The fear was still there, a cold knot in his stomach, but now it was joined by a fierce, burning resolve. He wasn't playing a hero anymore. He was about to become one.
He gave them a final, determined look. "Get into position. On my signal."
The four of them melted into the shadows, silent predators circling their prey. The bandits below laughed and drank, blissfully unaware that their world was about to be torn apart.