Telo rested. They'd found a deep crack in one of the crags facing the ocean near the Black Crow company's original landfall. The narrow space fit the two tribals perfectly, sheltering them from wind and prying eyes, with just enough room for two bedrolls.
Dem returned to the Black Crow camp a few hours before dawn. It had changed since the first attack. Torches now lit the interior; four stationary guards faced outward, and two roving pairs, man and dog, patrolled the perimeter.
"Our archers are going to have a great time with this," Dem murmured. "Thank you for lighting everything up so nicely."
He slipped into the shadows just outside the torchlight, shadow daggers held low, his armor making the darkness curl around him.
The first guard passed without a clue. He barely registered movement before twin blades slid into the back of his skull. Dem eased the body down, the leash slackening.
The monstrous dog — bristling with muscle — whimpered, belly pressed to the rocks, urine leaking beneath it.
Dem regarded the creature, then knelt, gesturing. He nearly laughed when it belly-crawled to him. "Wait here. I'll be back."
Keeping to the perimeter, Dem followed the roving route, quick and silent. Soon, he spotted the second pair.
"What's wrong with you?" the guard muttered, struggling as the dog pulled away, whining. It smelled the beastkin — terrified — half-dragging its handler.
Dem leaned against the rock wall, still as stone, letting them walk within a single stride of him.
He struck.
One blade to the base of the spine; his free hand clamped over the man's mouth. Three quick plunges, then he eased the corpse into the rocks.
The leash hung loose again. The dog shrank from him, trembling.
"Doesn't make sense you'd be this scared," Dem said quietly. He picked up the leash and melted back into the darkness.
From a distance, Dem sat with both hounds beside him, watching the camp below. His senses told him Toman and Second Odun were close.
Two perimeter guards dropped — arrows striking fatal points. The other two dove for cover, wounded but screaming the alarm. A second volley arced in, flaming arrows igniting the mess tent and half a dozen others.
Dem waited, calm, switching his daggers for a bow.
The two dogs sat beside him, tongues lolling, waiting quietly. Every so often, one nudged a wet nose toward him, and Dem would rest a hand on its head before pulling away. He stayed to watch, to learn. How quickly did the Black Crows react when attacked?
The answer came fast.
Nearly a quarter of their force rushed to man the perimeter, taking whatever scraps of cover they could find. From first shout to full defensive posture, Dem counted to three hundred. Not terrible, considering they'd been asleep — and half that time was likely spent scrambling into armor.
Another three hundred counts passed before two patrol groups of twenty-five rode out to search the area.
A hundred more counts, and six men approached the downed guards. One of the two who'd raised the alarm had bled out. The other still lived, though struck in the leg and shoulder.
Dem watched as a healer removed the arrows, hands glowing with light.
He smiled faintly.
The group of six included all four healers… the Crow Commander… and a full-plated behemoth nearly the size of Rodric Bearclaw.
The Commander was a lean man with silver hair and twin scimitars sheathed over his shoulders. His voice carried — crisp, confident.
Dem pushed two arrows into the soft ground and notched the first.
In truth, it was a shot beyond his skill. Maybe Tam or Reyka could make it consistently — but for him, anything short of blind luck would miss.
He waited until the second healer knelt, opening a clear line toward the Commander.
He released.
The arrow whistled through the air — and punched deep into a throat with a wet gurgle.
Dem exhaled through his nose, shrugging.
The healer toppled face-first.
A clean miss on the Commander… but a healer dead.
He'd learned something, though. The behemoth had razor-sharp reflexes. He sensed the arrow before it struck and yanked the Commander behind him, using his own body as a shield.
Dem notched the second arrow — shielding the spark as he struck flint and lit the black-shafted incendiary designed to burn. He aimed not at men, but the latrine tent, and loosed it before slipping into the darkness with both canines in tow.
Telo's eyes flew open when a wet nose shoved against his face. He scrambled for a weapon, making Dem laugh.
"What is that thing?"
"You were snuggling with it until about three seconds ago," Dem snorted.
The hound tilted its head, staring at Telo while the second dog stood guard at the narrow entrance of their hideaway.
"It's as big as a bear," Telo muttered. "Where'd it come from?"
Dem raised an eyebrow. "Where do you think?"
"Right," Telo said, standing and patting the dog's head as he passed. "Keeping it?"
Dem shook his head. "Probably give one to Yena."
Telo froze at the mention of his dasai. "When are we going to see her?"
"When we're done here. Only a two-day ride. Might as well take the long route back and visit."
Dem noted the way Telo's face warmed — he missed his family. "We should consider some sort of family visitation for the Sentries. Swiftwind, Frostridge, and Stonefall have been able to spend time with family, but the others haven't been home in months."
"That's a great idea," Telo said. Then he squinted. "Hey. You like my dasai?"
Dem nodded without hesitation.
"Alright then," Telo said, smiling widely. "How'd it go last night?"
"Second Odun dropped three guards and five tents — plus the mess tent. I took out two more guards, the latrine tent… and picked up these two dogs. Oh — and I had a clean shot at the Crow Commander and missed."
Telo shrugged. Even as a newer archer, Dem was already matching him. If Dem missed, chances were good that anyone outside the Archery Odun would've missed. "Clean miss?"
"Well…" Dem laughed. "Hit a healer right in the throat."
Telo rolled his eyes. "If I told that story, I'd say the Commander didn't give me a clean shot, so I took a healer instead."
"No doubt," Dem agreed. Telo's Massat stories were legendary.
"What's our plan today?" Telo asked.
"We'll change and scout, see what's happening."
Dem undressed, stowing his clothes and gear in his storage ring.
A few minutes later, a sleek black rat scurried from the crack in the rocks, followed by a red fox. Anyone watching might've assumed one was hunting the other.
They expected the Black Crows to be sending out large patrols — searching, tracking, tightening their perimeter.
Instead, they walked straight into chaos.
Men and women ran hunched over, clutching their stomachs, squatting behind rocks, bushes, or anything resembling privacy since the latrine tent was now ash. The rat and fox made a full circle of the camp, then slipped toward the stables — where the horses were running wild. Some bucked or reared, refusing saddles; others relieved themselves explosively without any regard for the humans nearby.
Rat and Fox traded an amused glance.
No wonder the Gathering banned the sage tea prank.
One group alone remained unaffected — six scouts, who'd been out all night with their horses. Neither they nor their mounts had touched the river.
The unaffected scouts left camp.
Dem and Telo followed, silent shadows in fur and whiskers.
The scouts rode a wide loop, finding scattered signs of raids from both First and Second Oduns. But the maze of ravines, spurs, and gullies made visual tracking nearly impossible.
Eventually, they stopped in a dead-end pass, dismounting to eat and compare notes.
Dem shed his beastkin form and pulled on his clothes with practiced efficiency. "Third Odun is close. Rouse them — they'll help us deal with these scouts."
Telo nodded, tugging on his boots. "What's the plan?"
"Take position on the ridge. I'll go in and distract them."
Dem moved toward the entrance of the pass and went still, his senses flaring. When he felt Telo and Third Odun's sub-chief, Erlec Brightsun, in position, he advanced.
Weapons stowed, Dem limped into the ravine, gasping in pain and collapsing to one knee just as the scouts spotted him and drew steel.
"Thank the saints!" he wheezed. "Take cover — those tribal bastards are chasing me!"
He staggered forward, putting all his weight into the limp.
"Hold up!" a scout barked, drawing an arrow. "What fucking tribals—"
An arrow whispered through the air and took him in the ear. He toppled, three of his comrades falling with him.
Dem blurred forward, a shadow dagger forming in his hand as his armor wrapped him in darkness. He slipped past a desperate thrust, his blade opening a throat in a single clean cut.
Grabbing the corpse's shoulder, he spun it as a close-range arrow thudded into its torso.
The bowman who fired gasped — then six arrows hit him nearly at once, lifting him off his feet before he dropped face-first into the dirt.
"Those tribals," Dem said, glancing up the ridge and giving a casual wave.
"I did tell you to take cover."
Day Two Score:
Sentry Force: seven tents burned, eleven Black Crow mercenaries killed, two dogs acquired.
Black Crows: lots of squatting.