The two captured bandits hung suspended in Mark's thorny embrace, their faces pale with a mixture of pain and terror. Blood seeped through torn leather where the vines had tightened, dark stains spreading across the trampled snow beneath them. One man—lean and scarred, with the hollow-eyed look of a career criminal—kept his mouth clamped shut, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the trees. The other, younger and softer around the edges, couldn't stop his eyes from darting between his captors' faces.
Ben planted himself directly in front of the silent one, his tower shield still strapped to his arm, its steel surface bearing fresh scratches from the brief but brutal encounter. He studied the man's weathered features with the cold assessment of a professional soldier.
"Your friends ran," Ben stated, his voice carrying no emotion. "Left you here to face the consequences alone."
The scarred bandit's jaw tightened, but he offered no response.
Mark approached the younger prisoner, his druidic robes still faintly glowing with residual magic. Unlike Ben's direct confrontation, the druid's manner remained almost conversational, as if they were discussing the weather rather than matters of life and death.
"Those vines are uncomfortable, I'm sure," Mark said, his tone gentle. "The thorns have a way of working deeper the more you struggle. But I can ease that pain if you're willing to talk."
The younger bandit's eyes widened at Mark's words, and he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "I—I don't know anything important," he stammered, his voice cracking. "We were just told to watch the road, make some noise if anyone came through."
Celeste stepped forward, her elegant robes a stark contrast to the blood-stained snow around them. Her wand remained in her hand, its tip still faintly crackling with residual energy. "Just told by whom?" she asked, her voice sharp as winter wind. "Speak quickly. My patience for bandits grows thin, and my next spell won't be as... survivable as the last."
The young man's gaze flicked between Mark's gentle expression and Celeste's cold threat, panic clearly warring with whatever loyalty he might have felt to his companions. Behind him, the scarred veteran remained stone-faced, though his eyes had narrowed as he watched his younger companion waver.
Torsten stood slightly apart from the group, his knuckles white as he gripped his horse's reins. He kept glancing between the prisoners and the forest beyond, as if expecting more attackers to emerge at any moment. When he finally spoke, his voice came out rougher than intended.
"These men nearly killed us all," he said, the words directed more at the ground than at anyone in particular. He cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders with visible effort. "If there are more like them between here and Oakhaven..."
The sentence hung unfinished in the cold air. His horse shifted restlessly beneath his tight grip, sensing his tension.
The younger bandit flinched as another thorn bit deeper into his shoulder. "Koros!" he blurted out, the name escaping like a held breath. "Our chief, Koros. He said—he said there was a fat merchant coming up the mountain road. Fresh from a profitable trade in the lowlands."
Mark's expression remained patient, encouraging. "And what were your orders exactly?"
"Just... just to watch for travelers. Make some trouble, rob them if we could." The young man's words tumbled out faster now, desperation bleeding through. "Koros said the merchant would have coin, goods. Easy pickings on the narrow path."
Ben's jaw tightened as he processed this. Koros. A name, but nothing more. He studied the scarred veteran, who still maintained his stony silence despite his companion's confession. These weren't the masterminds—they were foot soldiers, probably recruited from taverns and back alleys with promises of easy coin.
The older bandit finally spoke, his voice a gravelly rasp. "You talk too much, boy." He turned his cold gaze to Ben. "Kill us or let us go. We've told you what little we know."
He's right, Ben thought grimly. They're expendable. Whoever's really behind this wouldn't trust bottom-feeders like these with operational details. His hand drifted toward his sword hilt. In the field, loose ends like this were typically... severed.
Ben stepped closer to the younger bandit, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "This Koros—how many men does he command?"
The young man's eyes darted nervously. "I—maybe fifteen? Twenty? We weren't all together, he split us up into groups."
"Where's his main camp?" Celeste interjected, her wand still crackling with residual energy.
"South of here, maybe two miles off the main path. Hidden in a rocky outcrop near a stream." The words spilled out faster now. "But he moves around! Never stays in one place too long."
Mark leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "How did he know we were coming? This ambush was positioned perfectly."
The younger bandit glanced at his scarred companion, who shot him a warning glare. "He... he talks to birds. Ravens, mostly. They come when he calls, fly off when he tells them to. It ain't natural."
"Scouting," Ben muttered, pieces clicking together. Could be a Beast Master, or maybe a Druid with animal affinity. Hell, even some Rangers develop those skills.
The scarred veteran finally spoke, his voice heavy with resignation. "Koros sees everything in these woods. Birds tell him who's coming, where they're going. That's how we knew about you."
Ben's jaw tightened. Professional training, animal communication, tactical deployment of men. This wasn't some desperate brigand—this was someone with real skills.
The interrogation continued for several more minutes, but yielded little additional information. The bandits knew only fragments—Koros had recruited them from taverns in distant towns, promised easy coin for highway work, and kept operational details to himself. They were expendable muscle, nothing more. When it became clear they had extracted everything useful, Ben stepped back and gestured for his companions to follow him out of earshot.
"We can't let them go," Celeste said without preamble, her voice low but firm. "They'll rejoin Koros the moment we're gone. That's two more swords pointed at our backs when we reach Oakhaven."
Mark's brow furrowed, his gaze drifting back to the two suspended figures. "They're beaten, defenseless. Surely we can—"
"Can what?" Ben interrupted, though his tone remained measured. "Tie them up and hope for the best? Mark, we're less than a day from Oakhaven. We can't afford to leave hostile forces behind us—not when we don't know what we're walking into ahead."
Mark's shoulders sagged slightly. The gentle druid understood the logic, even if his nature rebelled against it.
"Torsten's village is depending on us," Ben continued quietly. "These men made their choice when they tried to kill us."
Mark gave a reluctant nod, his expression heavy with distaste but acceptance.
Ben drew his sword and walked back toward the prisoners.
The younger bandit's eyes widened in terror as Ben approached, sword gleaming in the pale mountain light. "Wait! Please! I told you everything I know!" His voice cracked, rising to a near shriek.
The scarred veteran remained silent, but his jaw worked furiously, as if grinding his teeth could somehow change his fate. His gaze never left Ben's face, hard and defiant to the end.
Torsten turned away, his face pale as parchment. The merchant's hands shook as he busied himself checking his horse's tack, the leather straps suddenly requiring intense examination. The wet sounds that followed were mercifully brief.
When it was done, Ben wiped his blade clean on the snow before sheathing it. His expression remained impassive, professional. "Mark, if you would..."
The druid nodded grimly, stepping forward with obvious reluctance. He knelt and pressed both palms to the blood-stained earth, his eyes closing in concentration. "Earth's Embrace," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
The ground beneath the bodies began to soften, dark soil churning upward like gentle waves. Within moments, the forest floor had reclaimed its dead, leaving only disturbed earth that would be covered by the next snowfall.
Mark rose slowly, brushing dirt from his robes. "It's done."
Ben adjusted his shield on his back. "We move hard for Oakhaven. No more delays."
The party set off up the mountain path, Ben once again taking point on foot while the others followed on horseback, leaving behind only the whisper of wind through the pines and the fading warmth of spilled blood in the snow.