Tragedy can strike at any time. It can be loud, as a car accident is loud, a horrifying moment of twisted inevitability. But it can also be quiet. Silent and prolonged. Weeks of sombre visits watching a beloved family member lose their sparks of self within the cold and sterile confines of hospital walls. Like it or not, whether it’s in the forefront of your mind or hidden in the dustiest corner of memory, the great clock of tragedy is always ticking. Today, not even an hour into their day’s travel, did this loathsome beast raise its sadistic head. In a move that everybody but one predicted, Roberto did not hang around for long. The bird realised that more food was not immediately forthcoming and home was rapidly approaching the horizon. With a dismissive squawk and a flutter, the hypothesis that a handful of lumps of cooked rabbit and half a carrot is enough to fully tame a wild animal was proven incorrect. Whim was understandably devastated, abandoned, betrayed, distraught, depressed and overall not having the best of mornings. The squad was quick to give their sympathy and commiserations, however there was more than a little hidden relief sitting beneath the surface. Birdless and forlorn, the men pressed on.

  The land became more extreme as they moved, a gentle incline sending them ever higher above sea level. The dark rock outcroppings became larger and more pronounced. Ancient mountains, worn away to almost nothing over countless centuries of weathering. The plants grew smaller and hardier, and while grasses still held dominion across the areas of flat ground the overall diversity of species plummeted. Through all this the trade road snaked, navigating past cracked boulders and tumbling scree. As they moved, they searched. As they searched, they found. The trail grew hot once more, hoof prints dug into the dusty soil and recently compacted gravel betrayed the passage of heavy wheels. A campsite tucked in a shady, sheltered corner held ashes that looked older than the previous caravan’s. A fact backed up by the dryness of the small piles of horse manure. This group was still a good day or two ahead.

  It was mid afternoon when the tracks suddenly veered off the road, with a preliminary investigation showing that they were not the only ones to do so. A freshly trampled path led away from the beaten track, mostly footprints but with evidence of other horses and wagons alongside. A route which quickly twisted its way out of view into what appeared to be a particularly dense tract of outcroppings and narrow canyons. Perfect for a concealed base of operations.

  “This place has got an ambush written all over it.” Alter remarked cynically as they pondered their next move.

  “That works just as well for us as it does for them.” Riptide reminded him.

  “True, but they’re the ones already set up with knowledge of the terrain.” Alter countered.

  “Doesn’t change the fact that we’re going in there regardless.”

  Alter took a quiet moment to rue the fact that he wasn’t allowed to complain anymore before sighing.

  “Yeah, I know. Alright gents, we proceed on horseback for now. I want two pairs of eyes on every ridgeline we pass, and keep a weapon ready should you spy a sentry. Once we’re confident that we’ve sufficiently closed the distance then we look for a hidden dismount point before continuing on foot. From there, high ground is king.”

  A soft chorus of affirmatives met his instructions as the men brought their horses into a single file line. Alter kept only one loose hand on the reins, trusting in Tarikell to recognise and follow this new trail. His free hand rested on the top of his thigh, a position within easy reach of his hip-holstered pistol. His eyes roved the skyline, scouring the ragged contours for anything resembling the shape of a human. There was a certain wild west feeling as they began to round the first corner into the great unknown, all they needed was a suitable soundtrack and some ridiculous hats.

  Into the wilderness they plunged. The trail flowed between obstacles like a river, at times squeezing itself through gaps that would’ve left a wagon with only a few centimetres of clearance on either side. No blockade was encountered, nor were they suddenly engaged by a guarding archer or other hidden force. As they passed through one of these tight passages, a hint of paranoia was beginning to eat away at the corners of Alter’s mind when Farfield suddenly started waving his arms and pointing down the path. A thin wisp of smoke, barely visible against a distant bank of grey clouds emerged from the next outcropping. The source was well hidden, and doubtless the path would pass by in easy view of whoever was in attendance. The squad quickly came to a halt, the command group dismounting and moving a short distance closer.

  “Doesn’t look too big. A campfire?” Boozehound whispered.

  “I think so, should be a nice and easy roll up.” Riptide answered eagerly.

  “That’s assuming these are in fact the people we’re looking for.” Alter reminded them. “No one is getting taken out without good reason. That said, I think I saw a useful gap a short distance back. Take Boats and one of the rifles and see if you can’t get eyes on what’s going on back there. The rest of us will hold here.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Understood.” Riptide began backtracking, motioning Boats and Vangroover to accompany him.

  Alter and Boozehound returned to the rest of the group who had collectively decided to dismount in order to stretch their legs a little. Five minutes passed before the radio crackled into life.

  “Getting eyes on the fire now, standby.” Riptide reported.

  As one the men shifted their attention to the distant plume, as if focussing their mind on it would somehow make it easier for their spotters to observe.

  “Eyes on a small fire. Two men, armed, simple leathers and drab green cloaks. Bows and short swords, but not the type we’re looking for. They’re pretty relaxed, you’re unspotted for now. Looks like one of the men has a flag on the ground next to him, could be their means of signalling intruders. Got shots prepared on both. Awaiting further instructions.”

  “Acknowledged, keep eyes on for now.” Alter responded a moment later before turning to the other. “It sounds like we’ve hit their outer perimeter, that means it's time for a walk. Farfield, take the horses and find a suitable bolthole. Will you need any help?”

  “I should be alright on my own.” The ostler answered confidently.

  “That’s what I like to hear. Everyone else, we’re going to go and have a nice chat with these watchmen. Watch your footing as you go.”

  The remaining squad members readied their weapons and began to pick their way up the gentle slope that led towards their target. There was no straight line, as loose ground and gravel with a crunch worthy of any breakfast cereal threatened to give away their approach. Eventually they were able to make it to the nearest rocks, the faint murmuring of voices on the air only just entering audible range. Alter flashed a series of hand signals, sending Boozehound and the machine gun team to circle around to the left while he and Whim went right. Their creeping led them to what he assumed to be the main entrance to the secret camp, a set of wide cracks filled with a thin layer of compacted soil with plentiful footprints on offer. Satisfied, he took a knee and sent a pair of blips over the radio. His signal of readiness was matched by the other team shortly after.

  “Both targets appear unaware. You’re green to move.” Riptide reported.

  Putting on his most winning smile, Alter stood and together they strode casually up the natural staircase. Their arrival coincided beautifully with the others as the pair of armed men found themselves immediately surrounded. Alter regarded them with curiosity, these were no young ne’er-do-wells, no brash, fresh-faced rebels. They were more mature, weathered, as if they’d lived their whole lives amidst the crags. The first was rooted to his seat as he stared blankly at their sudden visitors. But the second swore and reached for his sword.

  “Touch that and you die.” Alter spoke flatly and with authority. He wanted to establish the danger they were in as soon as possible, therefore the usual niceties were unrequired.

  “Wh…What’s going on here?” The first man asked in a thick, unrecognisable accent. Their wide and imploring eyes turned to Alter in alarm.

  “We’ve got a couple of questions for you to answer, gentlemen. Stay seated, and surrender any ideas of fighting. Nobody gets hurt unless absolutely necessary.” Boozehound purred from the opposite direction.

  HIs words struck a nerve and the man who had reacted settled back onto his rocky seat. The two of them looked at each other, their faces steely and grim, and said nothing. Alter sighed inwardly, at least their immediate anti-interrogation stance solidified the fact that they had something to hide.

  “What are you two doing out here?” He asked.

  No response beyond the gentle whistling of the breeze.

  “Where does the trail lead?” He continued.

  Nothing, not even a twitch.

  “We were tracking a trading caravan which we believed passed this way recently. Perhaps you saw it?” Was his final question before things got a little less peaceful.

  They had successfully got the jump on these two, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone else nearby. Their go to trick of shooting the ground next to an unwilling local ran the risk of calling reinforcements to their position. He looked at Whim and tapped the sheath of his knife. Surprisingly willing to draw steel, Whim stepped up behind the second man and placed the flat of the blade against the side of his neck, ensuring the other man could plainly see what was happening.

  “Why are you doing this to us? We’re just hunters from Kingspool.” The second man uttered, a hefty dose of nervousness turning his voice hollow.

  “We’re doing this because we didn’t feel like you understood the situation properly.” Whim reported grimly. “Answer the questions, or we find out how much windpipe I can remove before you faint from blood loss.”

  The threat hung in the air, its implications rattled and ricocheted through the minds of all that heard it. Alter kept his features passive but his glare fierce, and prayed their new captives would fold before Whim was forced to follow through. Thankfully, the defiant veil cracked, and the first man slumped forwards gently.

  “Alright, blessed Four, alright. I’ll tell you all I know, just don’t kill him.”

  Alter’s glare turned into a relieved smile.

  “Excellent choice. Now, let’s start from the beginning.”