The wind howled as it shook the upper branches of the trees around them. The sound of rustling leaves was accompanied by the neighing horses. Even these usually gentle animals had become unruly. They shook their heads erratically.

  “Your Highness?” The Castor Brother in black asked.

  “Quite unfortunate.” Midhir repeated himself in a lower voice. How far did the wind carry his words? Or was its howl loud enough to shield them from eavesdroppers? It was difficult to judge.

  “Pardon?” The enforcer asked louder, leaning in closer to hear him.

  Midhir let out an exaggerated sigh, visibly rolled his eyes, then covered both sides of his mouth with his hands as if he was trying to amplify his voice. “Ambush, we’re watched.” He whispered.

  The Castor Brother nodded. “Indeed,” he loudly exclaimed. “It’s quite unfortunate, your highness.” His hand rested on his sword, while his gaze darted around for a split second. He made a grand gesture towards the fallen trees blocking the road, then shook his head as he marched towards his brother.

  He pointed at the fallen trees repeatedly as they spoke, shaking their heads and barking orders at the troops around them loudly.

  Midhir clenched his jaw. What were they waiting for? Why hadn’t the attack begun yet? They were sitting ducks here, trapped between two steep mountains and a blocked off road. It would be trivial for even a small force to attack them from behind, thus blocking their only escape route. It would force them to either route into the overgrowth or take a stand and risk death.

  So why? What were they waiting for? He paused and scowled as he pulled his hood over his head. His gaze lingered on the shadows beneath the tall trees on either side of the road. To properly assault a force of this size, the cultists would need at least fifty men, if not more – and that was without accounting for the three enforcers accompanying them.

  He drew a sharp breath. They were waiting for their own to arrive.

  “Lords Castor.” He called out. Both of them stopped their theatrics and hurried to his side with stern expressions. Their hands rested on the hilts of their weapons, and their shoulders were visibly tense. “Accompany me,” he said as he turned towards the overgrowth on the left side of the road.

  The biting wind blew against his back, tugging his cloak, pushing him forward, and howling in his ear. It was difficult to hear anything in the direction he was facing, but the murmurs of the guardsmen were carried by the wind quite clearly.

  He marched towards the overgrowth with the two enforcers in tow, only stopping for a moment to point at Cait’s carriage. “Inform her, she’s to guard the convoy.”

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  The Castor in white nodded. He rushed towards her carriage and lightly knocked on the door.

  He would catch up in a few moments. Midhir continued to march towards the treeline. As soon as he stepped beneath the forest canopy, the air grew heavier, and the howling wind seemed to calm. It wasn’t pushing him forward with such force anymore – it had become a gentle breeze, barely penetrating the heavy, thick air underneath the forest canopy.

  Snow hadn’t been able to pass through the thick canopy of large, still green leaves and thick, twisting branches, so while the ground was moist, it was covered in a layer of fallen leaves and broken branches. He could see with the corner of his eye the overturned earth where they had clearly torn the roots of the fallen trees – it was so clearly made by men, and not nature. Did they consider the Empire’s army fools, or had they simply run out of time, he couldn’t help but wonder.

  He could still clearly hear the sounds coming from the convoy as he walked deeper into the overgrowth. Dead leaves crumbled beneath his boots, and fallen branches and twigs threatened to reveal his location. He waited for the enforcer to catch up with him before moving forward.

  Once they were an adequate distance away from the caravan, he glanced around. The ground was even, and there weren’t too many bushes and shrubbery around. He lifted his foot and stomped on a broken branch.

  The sound of the snapping branch echoed.

  Was that movement he caught with the corner of his eye? Or was it just branches swaying with the wind? It was difficult to tell as it was so dark – no sunlight could penetrate a forest canopy so thick and layered. Instead, their light source was the glowing vines, the flowers and such – just like in the Old Growth surrounding Bareon.

  Leaves rustled behind them. As the Castor brothers whirled around to face the new threat, Midhir stared forward. That man loved his theatrics – wasn’t going to step out from behind them.

  “Drop your weapons!” Someone shouted. One of the Castor brothers scoffed at the mere suggestion.

  “I know you’re there.” Midhir glared at the shadows. “Stop hiding behind your flock.”

  A moment passed in silence. Was he wrong? Had the man with the helmet, the leader of this despicable cult not come here himself?

  Branches snapped, and the sound of footsteps approached before the man stepped out from behind a large tree. His comically ornate helmet seemed too heavy for his neck. “I can’t refuse a prince’s summons, I suppose.” He leaned against the tree. “Though I must say, you’ve ruined our surprise.” He gestured broadly around them as more people stepped out of the shadows.

  They all wore the same dark clothes and black cloaks, with the mark of the twelve-part serpent embroidered over their cloaks, right above their hearts.

  “You did that by yourselves.” Midhir raised his chin. “Stacking trees so neatly over one and another? Did you take us for fools?” He had counted about three dozen people. Now the question was whether this man had yet another trick up his sleeve.

  The man shrugged. “No, not at all. I took you for slow – yet you travelled quite fast.”

  Lack of time it was, then.

  “But perhaps I was wrong – you are a fool, prince. Coming out here into the Old Growth, with nothing but two knights to protect you?” He laughed.

  “Why even bother with the caravan?” Midhir scowled. “Since when are you attacking the Imperial Army?”

  The man raised his chin. “It was carrying something that belongs to us.” His voice grew deeper. “My lady died for this – I will not let her sacrifice be in vain.” He pointed at Midhir and the Castor brothers. “Kill the knights,” he ordered. “and bring him.”

  A shiver ran down his spine as he realised what the man meant.

  “Your orders, highness?” The Castor brother in white asked.

  “Capture that man alive.” He hissed. “And only him.”