"Not talking about the wolves."
The carter's face goes through several expressions before settling on resigned honesty. "I'm moving salvage. Pre-Blazing artifacts. There's good money in the border settlements for items that survived the magical fires."
That makes sense. The fire elementals that destroyed Ember Hollow left behind a strange aftermath, some magical items were demolished, while the experience transformed or enhanced others. Collectors in the safer settlements pay premium prices for such artifacts.
But it also means this carter has been looting Ironspine burial grounds and sacred sites.
"Where did you acquire these items?"
"Various sources. Estate sales. Private collectors. All legitimate."
Another lie. I can see several pieces in his cart that I recognize, ceremonial weapons from the warrior's quarter, ritual implements from the clan shrines. They should have buried these items with their owners or destroyed them during the evacuation.
My hand moves toward the knife at my belt before I remember I threw them all. The carter notices the gesture and takes a step back.
"Easy." He raises his hands. "We can work something out. I'm a reasonable man."
Reasonable men don't desecrate graveyards.
But before I can respond, the world tilts sideways. My wounded leg gives out completely, and I hit the ground hard enough to see stars. The gash on my thigh has opened wider than I realized, and I'm bleeding out faster than my body can compensate.
"Sir!" Thane drops beside me, already pulling field dressings from his pack. "Mira! Get over here!"
I try to sit up, but the movement sends fresh waves of pain through my leg and shoulder. The carter is backing away, probably hoping to disappear while we're distracted.
"Secure the trader," I manage through gritted teeth. "Don't let him... leave."
Jorik moves to block the carter's retreat while Thane works on my thigh. The pressure bandage helps slow the bleeding, but I can feel the weakness spreading through my limbs. Too much blood loss, too fast.
Stupid. Should have been more careful with that last wolf.
But even as consciousness frays around the edges, I'm mapping the encounter in my mind. Pack behavior. Territory markers. The magical artifacts drew them to this specific location. All useful intelligence for future operations.
Kaven would have been proud of the tactical analysis.
Maybe that's enough.
The thought follows me down into darkness, where the ghosts of Ember Hollow wait with their endless questions about duty and failure and the price of surviving when better warriors don't.
The arrows whistle past my ear with mathematical precision, three shafts finding their marks in their heartbeats. The ember wolf that was circling for another pass at the carter drops mid-stride, its fire-eyes dimming to ordinary amber before going dark entirely.
Professional archery. The kind that costs real coin.
Through the haze of blood loss, I spot the pennons first, crimson and gold, snapping in the wind above the ruined marketplace. Vaelmark colors. My vision sharpens despite the weakness spreading through my limbs, survival instincts cutting through the fog of pain.
What the hell are Vaelmark mercenaries doing in Ironspine territory?
"Formation delta! Secure the perimeter!" The voice cuts across the square with military authority, crisp consonants that speak of officer training and battlefield command. Female. Confident. Used to being obeyed without question.
I force myself up on one elbow, ignoring Thane's protests and the fresh wave of dizziness that threatens to drag me back down. Six mounted archers in Vaelmark livery have taken positions around the market square, their recurved bows still strung and ready. Professional soldiers, not the usual border raiders or treasure hunters we encounter in the ruins.
The woman giving orders sits on her horse as if she were born to it, tall and imposing in a burnished plate that's seen real combat. She pushed her helmet back, revealing sharp features and pale hair bound in a severe braid. Everything about her posture screams command authority, from the way she holds her reins to the casual confidence with which she surveys the scattered wolf corpses.
"Clean shots, all of you." She dismounts with fluid grace, boots hitting the ash-covered stone without a sound. "Varrick, check the perimeter for additional hostiles. Donnel, secure that cart. The rest of you maintain overwatch."
Her soldiers move to comply without hesitation. Whatever rank she holds, it's high enough to command immediate respect from seasoned mercenaries. That makes her dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with the sword at her hip.
She approaches our position with measured steps, taking in the tactical situation with a professional eye. The dead wolves. My bleeding form. The terrified carter was still struggling with his damaged cargo. Thane and my warriors arranged in defensive positions around their wounded commander.
