The squad watched in relief as the mounted column of guardsmen rallied from the nearby town of Kingspool disappeared into the treeline. It had taken multiple hours of tense and frustrating negotiations to reach this point. The commander of the local garrison was none too impressed when the strange men claiming to wield the authority of the territorial lord marched into his office. An offense doubled by the horrifying amount of mud they had carried in with them. With their somewhat dishevelled first impression already scoring negative points, an uphill battle to convince him to help ensued. From firm but polite, to fists clenched beneath the table, to full blown sabre-rattling and the mentioning of the word ‘gallows’. Finally, with a slow and deliberate motion Alter had revealed the wax-sealed letter containing his penned Authority of Control, his steely gaze never leaving the commander’s defiant pupils. Fortunately, the sight of the Masserlind coat of arms stamped into the wax was enough to dislodge his reluctance. The seal remained unbroken, the true nature of the document left only to the imaginations of those who were not there for its bestowment.

  Unfortunately, acceptance of the order did not equal immediate compliance. Further precious time was lost ensuring that action was actually taken. By the time men and horses were prepared, briefed, and dispatched, the question of whether any further travel was worth it today held considerable weight. Eagerness to complete the job managed to overcome the longing for proper accommodation and so the decision to continue was made. With the sight of the guard’s departure, and the subsequent loss of the heavy blanket of guilt that had settled over his shoulders, Alter turned Tarikell westward and resumed their pursuit. The horses had been treated to an unexpected break, there was still a good couple of hours available for travel.

  The town of Kingspool marked the end of the dense forest as the land grew increasingly rocky, sparse and wind-swept. Sharp inclines spoke of a once highly volcanic landscape, worn away over centuries of exposure to fast flowing rivers and nightly freezes. Still though, a good number of resolute igneous rock formations stood proud, silhouetting on the horizon line like mighty stone trees. A scattering of smaller patches of woodland could be seen, but they were smaller, hardier species that seemingly held no great desire for conquest. The road snaked between these features, the thinner topsoil reducing the amount of mud to be avoided. Instead, the rockier substrate caused gravel-bottomed channels and gullies up to a foot deep that would suddenly lunge across their path as the water that created them followed the gravitational path of least resistance. As they once again left civilisation in their wake, the increasing wildness of the terrain reminded them of the Adderbite Badlands minus the heat and desolation.

  Two hours of cantering later, a tall line of hills hosted a large rock bluff which emerged from their side like a barnacle attached to a whale. Its slopes were sheer but a small river had managed to carve a navigable canyon which plant life was slowly but diligently expanding upon. Taking it as a sign to find shelter from the rising wind and cooling temperature, the squad dismounted and led the horses into the gap. Eventually finding a wider, almost circular area deeper within the confines of the bluff.

  “This is some Lord of the Rings shit. Hey, does anybody see any suspicious doors carved into the rock?” Pavejack asked as he looked around.

  Alter chuckled and rolled his eyes as the conversation quickly dissolved into people claiming to be various characters and all the good-natured arguing that ensues from such discussion. Fortunately, Farfield was too absorbed in his evening duties to pay much mind to the strange names and bizarre references. A three-man party was sent to acquire some firewood as the others made camp, once they returned a large fire was coaxed to life. Their ostler had split from the group at Kingspool and had used the time to restock their provisions, tonight's meal would be a step up in quality all the more sweetened by their recent success.

  “We’re being watched.” Whim reported causally between mouthfuls of hot stew.

  “What?” Alter asked quickly, his bowl clattering to the floor as he hurriedly set it down and reached for his sidearm.

  “Look up.” Whim smiled, head craning back to take in the darkening sky.

  Confused, the other men also turned their eyes upward to the surrounding cliffs. For a few seconds Alter saw nothing before subconscious pattern recognition picked out a dozen gently shifting shapes poking out from the many small ledges that perforated the bluff. A moment later he registered the two dozen softly glowing yellow eyes that observed the group keenly. Hungrily.

  “Birds?” Walross asked as he squinted up at them.

  “Northern Flaybeaks.” Farfield answered after a moment’s thoughtful chewing. “It’s not surprising to find small colonies in places like this. They can grow pretty big but they’re primarily scavengers so you shouldn’t worry too much. The worst they’ll do is make a lot of noise fighting for any leftovers.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  That last statement was all the instruction Whim needed. Within a heartbeat two respectably large chunks of stewed rabbit went sailing through the air to land at the edge of the firelight with a wet thud. In response a series of warbling cackles filled the air, a noise akin to a magpie if it was trained in classical opera. A few of the more adventurous birds began hopping their way downward from perch to perch, stopping frequently to regard the sitting men with fresh suspicion.

  “So much for a peaceful night's sleep. They’ll be pestering us until sunrise.” Riptide bemoaned.

  “A price I am willing to pay for a new best friend bird.” Whim responded with a wide, boyish grin.

  “What, is a horse not good enough for you?” Alter teased.

  “Glorious Steve is more of a business partner though. I need someone I can get up to shenanigans with.” Whim’s eyes sparkled mischievously.

  “Your horse is not called ‘Glorious Steve’.” Pavejack groaned, a despairing palm covering his eyes.

  “I have renamed him thus.” Was the smug reply.

  Further conversation was drowned out by the sudden din of a burgeoning squabble. Three flaybeaks had built up the courage to go for the rabbit, their grey and green feathered forms dancing in and out of the light. Large, pointed beaks with serrated, almost spiked, edges fought for the warm morsels. Two of the birds were larger, and soon claimed their prizes and flew back to their lofty perches for a mid-evening snack. The third, smaller in size, hopped and skipped around the outskirts of the group, bright eyes hopeful of a fresh offering. Whim was more than happy to oblige and another lump of meat was fished out of the pot and slung in its direction.

  “That’s the one. You shall be Roberto.” Whim smiled affectionately as it devoured its meal.

  “Humans will pack-bond with anything I guess.” Walross laughed.

  “I’m not sure if…” Farfield spoke up with uncertainty.

  “It’s too late, lad. He’s already named it.” Alter sighed.

  While Whim and the newly titled Roberto continued working on their new found friendship, the others finished their meals and settled down for the night. Boats and Vangroover made the noble sacrifice of guarding the entrance to their concealed campsite with a small contingent of the opportunistic flaybeaks scurrying after them.

  Morning came silently and with a distinct chill. With the rocks blocking the dawn sunrise, a good hour was lost before the dim light brought the first few men to consciousness. Alter was greeted by the sight of his own breath as he stomped his way over to last night’s fireplace.

  “Doesn’t look like we’re going to get any more rain after all. Our targets will be able to travel at a faster pace going forward.” Riptide grumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  “So will we.” Alter reminded him. “All going well today will be our last full day of travel before we reach the border. If they got as bogged down as yesterday’s bunch then they won’t be too far ahead.”

  “Then we should talk about the possible encounter now. I’d wager at least three internal organs that whoever they’ve got transporting weapons will be a lot more aggressive.” Riptide signalled the others to gather around.

  “A fair assessment. However, the world has decided to give us a wonderful palette of terrains to operate in. We have hilltops and blind spots aplenty to work with.”

  “We’re going for a proper ambush this time?” Boats asked.

  Alter nodded. “Providing we have the opportunity to set one up, yes. Come on, get yourselves and your horses fuelled up and ready to move.”

  Each man attended to his own duties as they prepared to leave once more. They were getting more practised, the amount of advice Farfield needed to dispense lessened by the day. One by one they began leading their mounts out of the rocks before climbing aboard once safely out. Alter was the last to step out of the cleft and into the morning sunlight before swinging himself onto Tarikell’s back.

  “Alright, are we all ready?” He asked as he double checked his saddlebags.

  He was met with a chorus of affirmatives and one determined squawk. He blinked once, twice, before turning around and glaring at Whim in disbelief.

  “Are you serious?” He asked.

  “What?” Whim replied innocently as he tilted his head to one side, a gesture matched perfectly by the bird perched snugly on his shoulder.

  “I … Just.” Alter stammered before surrendering to his friend’s inescapable ability to achieve the unnecessary. “Just make sure it doesn’t give us away or anything.”

  Ignoring the snarky chuckling that bubbled from the throats of several of the men behind him, he prodded Tarikell into motion. It was going to be another long day in the saddle.