The road did not stay quiet.
Alaric had not gone far when the change became obvious. The forest ahead looked the same—dense trees, slanted light, drifting dust where wagons had passed—but the air carried a different texture. Not colder. Not heavier. Just… active.
He slowed slightly, letting the sensation resolve.
Magic residue.
Not from the creatures he had killed. That had already begun to dissipate, crude and unfocused as it was. This was cleaner. Directed.
Someone had been here recently.
Alaric stepped off the road and moved along the treeline, boots sinking slightly into damp soil. He followed the trail without hurry, eyes scanning ground and branches alike. Broken twigs pointed inward. Footprints overlapped where several people had stopped and turned back.
Mercenaries.
They had come up the road after he left.
Alaric exhaled once and continued.
The sound of steel rang out ahead—brief, sharp, followed by a shout. He adjusted course and picked up speed, staff already in hand.
---
Roland Kestrel was having a very bad day.
They had gone no more than half a mile past the crossroads before things went wrong. At first, it had seemed quiet enough. Too quiet, maybe, but quiet nonetheless. No movement in the trees. No sign of the creatures they'd been warned about.
Then the spell hit.
A ripple in the air, visible only for an instant, had slammed into the lead pair of mercenaries and thrown them backward like rag dolls. One hit a tree hard enough to crack bark. The other didn't get up.
Roland shouted orders immediately, men spreading out, shields raised. A second wave of force struck from the right this time, tearing through brush and knocking two more off their feet.
"Caster!" someone yelled. "Right side!"
A shape moved among the trees—humanoid, armored in dark leather reinforced with metal plates. Runes glimmered faintly along its arms as it gestured, sending another pulse of force across the road.
Roland brought his shield up just in time. The impact rattled his arm, numbing it to the elbow, but he held.
"Archers!" he barked. "Mark the—"
Something slammed into the ground between them.
One of the creatures Alaric had killed earlier lay where it had fallen—but this one moved. Plates cracked, limbs twisted, but alive. Barely.
The caster gestured again.
The creature surged forward, propelled by magic rather than muscle, jaws snapping uselessly as it skidded across stone.
"Fall back!" Roland shouted.
Too late.
The thing crashed into their line, knocking men aside with dead weight and thrashing claws. One mercenary screamed as a claw tore through his thigh. Another went down hard, shield shattered.
Roland raised his sword and moved to engage—
The creature collapsed.
Not gradually. Instantly. As if something had simply removed the force holding it upright.
Roland blinked.
A figure stepped out of the trees behind the creature, staff held low.
Alaric.
The caster reacted first, spinning and hurling a condensed blast of force toward him.
Alaric did not dodge.
He lifted his hand and twisted his wrist.
The spell unraveled mid-flight, dispersing into harmless pressure that rippled outward and faded into the air. Leaves fluttered. Dust settled.
The caster froze.
Alaric closed the distance in three steps.
He struck once, driving the butt of the staff into the caster's midsection. The runes flared, then went dark as the man doubled over, gasping. Alaric followed with a second blow to the shoulder that sent him crashing into a tree.
The man did not get up.
Silence fell over the road, broken only by labored breathing and the soft crackle of dissipating magic.
Roland stared.
"You," he said finally.
Alaric glanced at him. "You followed."
Roland grimaced. "Thought we should make sure."
Alaric nodded once, as if that explained everything.
He walked over to the caster and nudged him with his boot. The man groaned faintly.
"Alive," Alaric said. "For now."
Roland lowered his sword slowly. "He was controlling them."
"Yes."
"Can you stop—"
"He was the last," Alaric said. "The others were beasts. This one was opportunistic."
Roland looked at the fallen creature. "Using monsters as weapons."
"Not uncommon."
Roland let out a sharp laugh. "Easy for you to say."
Alaric turned toward the trees. "You lost one."
Roland's expression hardened. "Two," he corrected. "One died earlier."
Alaric inclined his head. "Then you shouldn't stay."
"You're going to walk off again," Roland said flatly.
"Yes."
Roland hesitated. "You didn't have to come back."
Alaric shrugged. "The road wasn't finished."
Roland studied him, then nodded. "All right," he said. "We'll pull back."
Alaric turned away.
"Alaric," Roland called.
He paused.
"You do this kind of thing often?"
Alaric considered the question. "Often enough."
Roland exhaled slowly. "Figures."
---
The caster woke up minutes later with a blade at his throat and four mercenaries watching him from a cautious distance.
Alaric stood apart, eyes on the forest.
"Who sent you?" Roland demanded.
The man laughed weakly. "Sent? No one sends me."
"Then why?" Roland pressed.
The man coughed. "Road was empty. Creatures were already here. I just… organized."
Roland grimaced. "You got people killed."
The man sneered. "That's business."
Alaric turned back. "You weren't strong enough to control them long-term."
The caster froze. "What?"
"They would've turned on you," Alaric continued. "Within a week."
The man swallowed. "How would you—"
Alaric didn't answer.
Roland looked between them. "We turning him over to the towns?"
Alaric shook his head. "He won't make it that far."
The caster struggled. "Wait—"
Roland's blade flashed once.
When it was over, Roland wiped the sword clean and looked away.
No one argued.
---
By the time Alaric returned to the crossroads again, night was settling in. Torches had been lit. The wagons were nearly ready to move.
Roland reported briefly, omitting details he didn't feel like explaining. The merchants listened closely, faces pale.
"A mage," one whispered. "On top of the beasts."
"Not anymore," Roland said.
Eyes turned to Alaric.
"What kind of mage?" someone asked.
Alaric didn't answer.
Roland stepped in. "The kind you don't want as an enemy."
That ended the questions.
The caravan rolled out shortly after, moving faster now, eager to put distance between themselves and the hills. Alaric walked ahead, as he had before, staff resting across his shoulders.
Behind him, Roland watched until the darkness swallowed his silhouette.
One of the mercenaries leaned closer. "Captain… who do you think he really is?"
Roland shook his head. "Doesn't matter."
"It matters if he comes back."
Roland considered that. "If he does," he said, "it won't be for us."
The road stretched on, empty and open once more.
And far behind them, in the hills where beasts and men alike had tried to take advantage of fear, nothing stirred at all.