Volume One: The Knight of the Forest Chapter 48: Peril Within Peril

With a sharp whistle, an arrow shot forth, pinning a plump wild hare—fattened on the bounty of summer—firmly to the ground. The marksman was met with a chorus of praise from his companions.

The one who felled the hare was none other than Berrion, Lord of Norlandburg. For the past two days, he and two hundred militiamen had been hunting in the forest. The autumn harvest was complete, but it would be some time yet before the wheat could be sown. It was the lull between seasons, and Berrion seized the opportunity, both to train his men and to rid his lands of wolves, boars, and other beasts that threatened his people and their fields.

He ordered Barrett and Dock to lead two hundred militiamen—each with a longbow and a battle-axe and at least three months’ training—into the woods for a five-day hunt.

Now, on the third day, Berrion and his men had swept from the eastern side of the woodland lake to the west, beyond the boundaries of Norlandburg’s domain. But with the rank of Inspector, Berrion had the right to hunt in these unclaimed woods, and none would object to his presence.

That morning, Berrion had brought down two large hares and a red fox. The others had also made good kills. Most of the game, except for what was kept for the hunters’ meals, was loaded onto carts and sent back to Norlandburg. The meat would be dried or smoked; scraps made into sausages. The pelts would be tanned by the craftsmen—animal furs were precious in any era, and when the merchant caravans arrived, they could fetch a fine price. It would be a respectable income.

Barrett’s group had taken two wild boars that morning, the largest weighing over six hundred pounds, the smaller at least four hundred. Berrion patted the massive boar, delighted, and ordered it roasted for their midday meal. He had several barrels of beer opened, urging everyone to rest and enjoy themselves.

This decision was met with raucous cheers; after days of sleeping rough and braving the elements, the Norlandburg militiamen were only too happy to feast on roast meat and beer—a rare pleasure after arduous hunting.

As they ate and drank, Barynn hurried over. Barynn, captain of Norlandburg’s scouts, commanded twenty-five men, responsible for reconnaissance and covert missions. Though this was meant to be a hunting expedition, Barynn had brought his men along. He was a hunter by birth, and saw in this foray a chance to hone skills vital for scouting and assassination.

Dock, seeing Barynn’s anxious approach, laughed, “What is it, Barynn? Have you stumbled upon a bear? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Barynn shook his head, grinning wryly. “If it were a bear, I’d have brought it back for a winter cloak. No, I stumbled upon a band of brigands attacking a merchant caravan. I hurried here to bring word.”

Berrion, gnawing on a roasted pig’s foot, instantly dropped it, wiping his greasy hands on his clothes without a thought for decorum. “Barynn, tell me exactly what you saw.”

“Just south of here, on the Knight’s Road, there are more than sixty bandits attacking a caravan. The merchants number thirty or so, with about twenty armed guards. When I passed, the bandits had just surrounded them—by now, they’re likely fighting.”

Berrion frowned and stood up. “Leave twenty men to guard the camp and the game. The rest, assemble at once—we are going to rescue those merchants.”

Seeing the surprise in his companions’ eyes, Berrion explained, “If such a large band of brigands dares to attack a caravan near Norlandburg, next time they may target us directly. The damage they could inflict is far worse than any wolves or boars. We cannot stand idly by!

“And besides, few major merchant caravans come to Norlandburg these days. This one, able to afford twenty guards, is no small trader. If we save them, we forge a valuable connection and may attract future business—furs, woven goods, wooden wares sold, necessities brought in. Norlandburg can only thrive if we seize such opportunities.”

Barrett, Barynn, and Dock all nodded in agreement. When the militia and scouts had formed ranks, one hundred eighty militiamen and twenty-five scouts, led by Barrett, hurried toward the site of the attack.

Gamgee, vice-president of the Amondine Trading Company, was having a dreadful day. He had just returned from selling autumn grain in Janvikshor, making a handsome profit, and spent much of it on precious imported goods—olive oil, wine, black truffles—hoping to sell them at a premium in Amondine. The region’s lords, flush with cash after the harvest, loved luxury and would pay dearly for such wares. This trip had been arduous, but worth every hardship.

Since the complete destruction of the Bloodwolf Band in Stagwood, the road between Janvikshor and Amondine had seen few robberies. With over twenty elite guards, Gamgee felt secure. Yet, as fate would have it, disaster struck—they had barely begun to eat, drink, and sing when bandits attacked.

The outlaws opened with a volley of arrows, felling three or four men. Then, whooping and hollering, they charged. Fortunately, Grima, captain of the guards, was experienced. He ordered the drivers to form the wagons into a circle, men and horses inside, using the wagons as cover to shoot back with bows and crossbows.

Most of the bandits had neither proper armor nor decent weapons—just filthy, tattered furs, axes for chopping wood, and rusty iron spears. They rushed forward, only to fall in heaps before the wagons—seven or eight dead in moments.

Seeing this, the bandit leader called off the attack, ordering his men out of crossbow range. He shouted for Gamgee to surrender his goods and money, promising to let them go; otherwise, he threatened to burn them all with flaming arrows.

Gamgee and Grima saw through this ruse. If they handed over their cargo, they’d be pursued and either killed outright or taken for ransom or slavery. As for the threat of burning everything, that was preposterous—bandits coveted loot, and would not destroy it for nothing, especially after losing so many men.

They resolved to hold out, hoping for rescue by a patrol or another caravan.

Meanwhile, the bandit chief fretted. He had fought for this chance to lead; if the raid failed, he might not be punished harshly, but his standing in the gang would plummet—his rivals would never let him forget it. Gritting his teeth, he decided, “We can’t wait. The longer we delay, the worse it gets. Fire a few flaming arrows—scare them.”

At his command, a dozen bowmen nocked special fire arrows, lit them at the brazier, and loosed them in an arc. Their hunting bows were weak; only half the arrows struck the wagons. One, however, set a tarpaulin alight—unluckily, this wagon was half-filled with olive oil. In an instant, it exploded in flames, burning a guard alive on the spot. The sudden burst of fire left Gamgee shaken to his core.

Grima was at a loss—was this truly their end? Gamgee, on the verge of tears, thought of his young children, his shrewd and domineering in-laws, and the hard-earned business that would all go to them if he died. He even thought of the widow he’d recently taken as a mistress in Amondine—she’d received over five hundred dinars in gifts from him for a single night. To die now would be a galling loss indeed.

The bandit leader, seeing the guards’ growing desperation, grew smug. He knew it was just a matter of time before their will collapsed—then his superior numbers would carry the day. As for the lost goods, he could explain it away—battle losses were always expected; a few broken jars and bottles meant nothing.

Just as Gamgee was at his wits’ end, and the bandit chief was preparing for victory, nearly two hundred powerful arrows suddenly flew from the forest on both sides of the road. The bandits, unprepared for an attack from behind, were decimated in an instant.

Seeing the disaster, the bandit chief tried to flee, but by then, Norlandburg’s two hundred soldiers had surrounded them. Barrett and his crack archers cut down five or six more; realizing the hopelessness of resistance, the leader threw down his weapon and knelt in surrender. With their chief yielded, the rest quickly followed suit. Barynn and his men bound the captives, stringing them together for easy transport.

As Barynn dealt with the prisoners, Berrion sent Blane, bearing his banner, to inform the besieged merchants that the lord of Norlandburg and Inspector of the Lower County had come to their aid.

Gamgee and Grima emerged from the wagon circle, anxious and deferential, to offer their thanks.

“Honored Sir Berrion, Gamgee will never forget your kindness. Had you not come, I would already be one more corpse beneath the bandits’ blades,” Gamgee said with heartfelt gratitude.

Berrion smiled. “No need for thanks. I am deputy sheriff of the Lower County, charged with patrolling the southern banks of the Karl River and Stagwood. It is my duty to aid travelers in peril.” As he spoke, he sized up the merchant.

Gamgee, though plump, was sturdy—not the sort of merchant ruined by indulgence. His eyes were sharp with the cunning of business. Though still shaken, he had largely recovered his composure and did not display the elation of one saved from certain death. Rather, he seemed guarded, wary that Berrion might simply seize his goods and kill them all, blaming the bandits—stories of such treachery were not uncommon, and Gamgee had seen it before.

Noting this, Berrion laughed and said, “Gamgee, you’ve lost goods and men. For now, come to Norlandburg and rest—you need to recover.”

Gamgee’s brow furrowed. “Sir Berrion, we can continue our journey today. We wouldn’t dare trouble you further.”

Berrion snorted. “You needn’t worry—I have no interest in your goods. But with the roads uncertain, it’s my responsibility not to let you risk another ambush.”

Realizing Berrion had seen through his concerns, Gamgee’s round face flushed. “My lord, I meant no offense—please let me explain—”

“That’s enough, Gamgee. We must clear the battlefield; who knows if more bandits will come? I’ll have soldiers escort you to Norlandburg. When things settle, we’ll talk again.” Berrion gave him no chance to protest.

He ordered Barrett and Dock to take a hundred militiamen and escort Gamgee, his caravan, guards, and staff to Norlandburg.

Berrion understood that no explanation could allay a man’s fears in such a moment—only time and experience could convince him of what was truly right. Gamgee’s suspicion would not be dispelled by words; better to let him stay in Norlandburg for a few days, and when he saw Berrion’s integrity for himself, all would be well.

Though this approach was somewhat forceful and impolite, it accorded perfectly with the principle Berrion had always held: when it was time to be ruthless, hesitate not; when it was time for restraint, show not the slightest carelessness.