The rift opened in a narrow gulley at the edge of the foothills, marking the beginning of a dense, forested region. Elohan dismounted, tying his horse to a nearby sapling.
Cane accessed his storage ring and pulled out the small 'pet pouch' where he'd temporarily stashed Pudding.
HOOOACH.
Pudding burst out with a furious flap of wings, hopping angrily onto Cane's shoulder.
"Calm down," Cane said, stroking the bird's head and feeding him a strip of dried meat. "It was necessary to keep you in there until we arrived. Roam close."
The falcon-owl hybrid shot into the sky with a sharp screech.
Elohan sat on a boulder, scanning the terrain. "We should be within ten miles of the enemy camp. Root them out. Return here once it's done."
"Understood." Cane turned to the others. "Has everyone swapped out their heartguard soul gem?"
They all nodded.
Cane tapped his falconer rune. His eyes flared with brilliant amber starlight.
North of their position sprawled a makeshift encampment: six large tents, a ramshackle corral, and a fast-moving river that twisted west of the site. Two entrances to the camp were blockaded, each manned by a single guard, while two more patrolled the perimeter. Behind them, a second line of defense featured barriers and weapon placements. Inside the camp, two more sentries stood watch.
Cane's eyes dimmed, fading back to soft starlight. "Security's tight. Way more than a typical bandit camp."
He knelt and began drawing the layout in the dirt with a metal rod.
Fergis studied the sketch. "X's are guards? That's a lot of people watching."
Dhalia pointed to the river. "Only weak point is here."
Cane nodded. "High water, fast current."
"Sneaking in would be easy," Clara said, "but they'd have us flanked from all sides."
Fergis grunted. "This is a tough nut to crack."
"First, we eliminate the outer guards. Then we advance to this position here." Cane tapped the sketch. "Clara, use the blunderbuss to create noise and take out the sentry."
Clara grinned. "They've built a choke point—but that works both ways. Once we control it, the advantage flips."
"Okay, we take the guards, move up, hold the choke… then what?" Fergis asked.
"Dhalia locks the choke with an ice wall. Fergis, you go wild with Azar—burn anything that moves. Clara backs you with the blunderbuss. Watch for flanking."
Dhalia raised an eyebrow. "And you?"
Cane stood. "I'm going for a swim. I'll enter from the river. While you're causing a scene, I'll scout the interior and assess their numbers."
She frowned. "Didn't you say the river was high and fast?"
Cane grinned. "Don't worry. I've got a fish-suit. They gave it to me after the Defiant broke the Scorpion Strait blockade."
Cane slipped down to the riverbank, crouching between two large boulders. He stored his raid gear and pulled on the skintight fish suit, tugging the hood into place.
"Three enchantment stones," he muttered. "Underwater breathing, improved vision, and depth adaptation. Don't need that last one today."
He touched his falconer rune. His eyes flared brilliant amber.
"Follow me."
With the river's speed and its murky brown current, Cane knew he'd likely overshoot the camp without a guide—but with Pudding's vision overhead, everything changed.
Cane:I'm going into the water. Keep me updated on your progress.
From above, the top of Cane's head zoomed into focus. He watched himself descend the slope with careful steps, then slip into the water with a clean dive.
The current seized him instantly. He didn't need to swim—just steer. His arms and legs adjusted his course while his body stayed pointed downstream.
He stayed close to the surface, using Pudding's aerial view to correct his path. His scaled suit shimmered faintly when too near the air.
The sensation—moving with speed and precision through the water—made him wonder how fast Neri might be in a current like this.
As the river bent toward the enemy camp, Cane angled for the far bank. "Thanks, Pudding."
He dropped the link and slid from the water like a spawning fish. Low-crawling up the bank, he reached the position he'd scouted earlier and swapped the fish suit for black raid gear and his heartguard.
Cane:I'm in the camp.
Fergis: Already? We're still a few miles out—leaving the horses and heading in on foot.
Cane:Understood. Let me know when you're in position.
His form shimmered and vanished. Even invisible, he kept low. Stealth wasn't perfect—eye-enhancing abilities could still catch him.
The nearest tent was one of the largest. Its flaps were open, and a quick glance inside showed it was the mess tent—currently empty. No cook. No movement.
He moved to the next. The flaps were down but untied. Cane slipped in sideways, barely disturbing the cloth.
The smell of blood hit instantly.
Weapons and armor were stacked in a heap beside each cot. Six men slept, limbs sprawled in exhaustion. The brownish stains on their armor were unmistakable.
Cane's stomach clenched. A recent raid.
He bent, scraped a fingernail over a patch of dried blood. Coagulated—but not fully dry. Last night.
He moved quietly, stowing the visible weapons into his ring. No starlight—too risky in the dark.
The third tent held six more men. This group was organized—armor wiped down and folded at the foot of each cot, weapons neatly hung at the head of the bed. He left the weapons and took the armor, vanishing into the shadows.
The fourth tent was smaller. Sealed tight.
Cane slipped in carefully—and froze.
The scent of perfume mixed with blood.
Two cots. On one, a naked woman lay tied and beaten, her body marked with whip scars. Her breath came in shallow wheezes.
On the other, an immense man slept in underclothes, his muscles knotted with violence. Even unconscious, he radiated cruelty.
Cane didn't think.
Starstrike appeared in his hand. One stroke—and the man's head was severed cleanly. The frost edge sealed the wound in an instant.
A peaceful death for someone who deserved much worse.
The woman stirred. "Who's there?"
One of her eyes was swollen shut, but the other held something fierce. Hope. She hadn't broken.
"Can you help me?"
Cane froze again—not because she'd spoken, but because he recognized her. He immediately dropped stealth.
"Rita…"
The woman's eye sharpened. "You know me?"
"Kinda," Cane said softly. "You were the teamster on that gold shipment. Sarona Company. My team escorted the wagon."
Her hope faltered. He remembered her well—she and her crew had tried to rob the shipment. They'd been discovered and fled.
"Are you going to kill me?" she asked quietly.
"No."
The last time he'd seen her, she'd been riding hard out of the capital.
"How did you end up here?"
"I'm not robbing anyone," she said quickly. "I joined another crew—we were guarding a warehouse not far from here. We were attacked, captured, and dragged here. I think a few of my people are still alive. I heard them being tortured… a few hours ago."
Cane tapped his rune.
Cane:Complications have arisen. Let me know when everyone is in position.
"Shit…" Cane whispered, slipping out a dagger to cut the bindings. He found her clothes in a crate and tossed them toward her.
"You could turn around," Rita muttered.
"I only turn my back on people I trust. Besides, you were already naked when I came in. Other than checking your condition, I didn't look."
"Fair…" She sat on the cot, folding her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry for trying to rob you."
Cane let it go. He sensed her sincerity—and there were bigger problems now. "My team's close. Our mission is this camp. You can lay low, but once the fighting starts, someone might check this tent."
Rita nodded toward the headless body. "Thank you for killing him. He is second in command… well, was."
"What do you want to do?"
"If it comes down to it, I'll try to run—but not without my people." She hesitated. "You've no reason to help us, but I promise—I won't do anything to endanger your mission."
Cane pulled a sword and leather armor from his ring, handing them over. "Keep your word, and we're square. Wait here."
He activated his heartguard, vanishing from view. "You said there's a warehouse nearby? Seems like an odd place to store goods."
Rita nodded. "Agreed. The commander's still there, I think. She didn't look like she was in any rush when I was dragged away."
Cane moved to the last few tents. One was loaded with supplies. The other was occupied.
Inside, one man sat in a chair facing three prisoners bound and hanging by their wrists. A second man slept nearby, snoring lightly.
The seated man raised a bottle of cheap whiskey, toasting his captives silently before taking a long swig.
His neck snapped with a loud crack, his body going limp. Cane caught the bottle mid-fall and gently lowered it—and the corpse—to the ground.
The sleeping man died without waking. His head rolled to the floor, eyes still closed, the frost edge of Cane's blade sealing the wound instantly.
Cane cut the prisoners down and quickly assessed them. One was badly injured—blood at his mouth suggesting internal damage. Another had both feet broken, a bloody hammer nearby. The third had bruising but stirred faintly.
Cane knelt, splashing water on the third man's face while holding a hand over his mouth.
The man blinked awake—fear, then confusion, then cautious hope.
"You're a friend of Rita?" Cane asked.
The man nodded. "Is she okay?"
"Yes. In better shape than you—physically, at least."
"I'm Holland."
"Can you fight?"
"I'm a fair archer. My gear's over there."
Cane eyed the weapons pile, calculating. "We need to take out the sentries. Can you drop one?"
"One shot's all I need."
"That's all I'm asking. Take your shot, then fall back to the Commander's tent."
"Is Rita there?"
Cane nodded. "She'll be waiting."
Leaving stealth off, Cane crouched low and led Holland toward the supply tent. From there, both sentries were visible, facing outward, unaware.
"Can you get one from here?"
Holland nodded, already notching an arrow.
"Count to fifty. Then fire."
Cane shimmered and vanished, sprinting silently toward the second sentry.