The morning crept slowly into the thick pines surrounding the winter cabin, snow muffling the world in a quiet hush. Smoke curled lazily from the stone chimney, blending into the pale sky like a ghost reluctant to rise. Inside the three-room lodge, the party gathered in the central chamber where a large fire crackled. It had been a tense and bitter night.
Krashina sat sharpening her newly acquired blade on the edge of a wooden bench, her eyes darting to the half closed door of the guest bedroom, where the lodge's owners were bound and gagged under Nixor's watchful eye. Grey leaned near the hearth, feeding in pine branches while mumbling over a small kettle of snowmelt. Cairvish paced near the unshuttered window, watching for signs of movement in the woods.
"They've been quiet for hours," Nixor said from the doorway, flipping a throwing knife lazily between his fingers. He had taken a full brace of the blades from the lodge's stores the night before, along with a set of warmer clothes and a bag of boar meat.
Cairvish turned, his face tight with concern. "We need to speak with them. If more of their company is coming, we need to be gone soon."
Grey gave a small nod, eyes flicking to Krashina. "Then let's find out what we're dealing with."
The group gathered as Nixor entered the room, knife still in hand. They released the three captives from their restraints, though they kept their weapons and the red-haired woman's mouth gagged until the last moment.
She glared at them as the cloth was pulled away. "Cowards," she spat, her breath fogging in the cold room. "You invade our retreat, steal our gear, assault us—"
Krashina stepped forward, eyes flaring. "We needed shelter. You threw the first blow with your magic."
The redhead's jaw clenched. "You broke into our home."
The shorter of the two men raised a calming hand. "Easy, Vell," he said. "We were just as surprised. Let's talk before we draw more blood." He turned to Cairvish. "I'm Theren, this is Brakk. We're Stormblades—mercenaries sanctioned by the Adventurers' Guild in Saerlyn and the capital. This lodge is our retreat, nothing more."
Cairvish nodded, trying to settle the tension. "We're not bandits. We're... in the middle of something complicated. Something that affects the entire province. Ereny is under martial rule, possibly worse. There's unrest, sorcery, and worse."
Theren and Brakk exchanged glances. "We've heard rumors," Brakk said. "Monster movements increasing. Shadows stirring in the north."
"The church says it's because of languages," Grey murmured. "Creatures that don't speak the tongue of the Bathel Stone are considered monsters. Makes for easy classification."
"And easy justification for slaughter," Nixor muttered.
Krashina folded her arms. "Do you believe in what the guild stands for?"
Theren answered first. "We follow the coin. But we also follow the code. The guild is meant to keep civilization intact—such as it is."
Vell sneered. "You're not guild. And you're not heroes."
Grey stepped forward, his voice calm. "We don't claim to be. But the Baron is mad, his court filled with shadows and sorcerers. We were imprisoned on false charges. We have a duty to see the truth made known, or at least survive the attempt."
Krashina added, "We're heading to Morin's Stand. We need supplies. We'll repay the guild in Saerlyn if it comes to that."
Theren sighed and glanced toward the window. "Fine. Take what you need. But don't be here when the others arrive."
Brakk nodded in agreement. "They're not as friendly as we are. They're hunting something out here—ogres, possibly worse."
"You'll want to stay off the main road," Theren added. "The northern patrols have gotten more aggressive lately. Church-backed and fanatical."
The party quickly packed: dried meat, flint, two heavy cloaks, and a waterskin lined in waxed leather. Grey wrapped several vials of melted snow in thick cloth and added them to his satchel. Cairvish examined a map pinned to the lodge's main room wall, noting their route northward.
Vell leaned against the doorframe, still bitter. "You'll die before reaching the Black Spore. If the beasts don't eat you, the cold will."
Nixor winked at her. "Appreciate the encouragement."
By midday, the party departed the lodge, stepping into a forest newly layered with snow, ice crusting the pines like crystal netting. Cairvish led, eyes scanning the hills, his thin sword occasionally scraping the underbrush. Morin's Stand lay upriver, past the forest's edge, beyond the shallow cliffs and gullies scarred by the battle fought there half a century before.
The group stayed off the road, moving through the underbrush, the sound of their boots muffled by snow and dead pine needles. A bitter wind howled through the trees.
Krashina paused, her breath misting before her. "Do you think the Stormblades will report us?"
"They'll think on it," Grey said. "But I suspect Theren meant what he said. They've got bigger prey in their sights."
"What do you know of Morin's Stand?" Nixor asked, eyeing the snowy horizon.
Cairvish answered. "A minor village. Site of a rebellion skirmish when the Tremharin Empire fell. They say the ghost of the imperial commander still lingers in the woods. Nonsense, probably, but the place has seen its share of blood."
Grey grunted. "Places of death draw attention. Even to things not bound by flesh."
Silence settled again as they pressed onward, the river glinting dully to their right, its banks choked with ice. The shadows lengthened as they crested a ridge, the sloped roofs of Morin's Stand visible in the distance, nestled in a narrow vale beside the river.
Behind them, smoke rose faintly from the Stormblades' lodge, vanishing into the pale blue sky. They would not be welcome there again.
The journey northward had begun, with no certainty ahead—only the road, a dozen tangled questions, and the whisper of wind through the bones of old trees.