Page 307 of Of Empires and Dust

Dahlen looked into his eyes. It had always been Aeson’s belief that a man’s soul lived in his eyes. Dahlen was inclined to agree. “Brigands?”

Owen nodded.

“What did they say to you?”

Owen looked at the ground, then back up. “They said to ride east. Said not to stop till we reached the city. Said we needed to bring you here or they’d kill my family.”

Dahlen nodded slowly. He had suspected as much. The brigands in the region had grown increasingly restless. Food was scarce, safety and shelter even more so. Captured soldiers of Salme could be traded for quite a bit of meat and bread.

“I appreciate your honesty. But if you lie to me again, I will end your life. Do you understand?” When the man nodded, Dahlen carried on. “They will spring this trap as soon as they believe we are at our most vulnerable. When I shout your name, I want you to get as many of your people inside the wagons as you can, understand?”

“Yes. But… I can fight.”

“Have you killed many men, Owen?” Dahlen ran his finger though his horse’s mane as he spoke, savouring the soft touch.

“No… none.”

“I have.” And their blood stained his dreams. “You’re a farmer, yes?”

“Fur trader, my lord.”

“A good profession,” Dahlen said with a half-smile. “This is mine. You get your people inside the wagons. I will keep them alive. And you can use those furs to help keep the people of Salme warm, agreed?”

Owen nodded.

Dahlen kept one hand held in the air as he patted his horse on the neck and whispered loud enough for the others to hear. “We are walking into an ambush. These people are the bait. Stay tight. Use the wagons and the trees for cover, and do not get isolated. I do not intend to rescue these people, only to lose more of our own.”

“What are we waiting for?” one of the men from Salme whispered.

Dahlen didn’t answer, not until he heard a sharp ‘hoot hoot’ pierce the natural sounds of the forest.

“That,” he whispered, gesturing for the others to follow him.

“Who goes there?” one of the men around the wagons called out, pointing a ragged-looking pitchfork at Dahlen.

“Dahlen Virandr of Salme. We were told you were in need of some assistance.” As Dahlen spoke, he scanned the forest around them, seeing shadows shift behind bushes and trees. “Thirty or so,” he whispered to Nimara, who pulled her horse beside his. “No more.”

“Aye,” she replied, her gaze never meeting his. “Swords, axes, and bows. I saw two wearing steel, the rest in leathers. Definitely brigands. Ill organised. Tired.”

“What do you think they want?” Thannon whispered.

“Our gear and our coin, and trade us back to Salme for food and supplies, most likely. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.” He inclined his head to Owen.

The man pushed his horse forwards. “Jackan, it’s me. We made it!”

“Owen?” The man – Jackan – lowered his pitchfork, eyes widening. “Lana? Hakon?”

“Lana is with a healer. Hakon is all right.”

As the two spoke, Dahlen slid from his horse, Nimara, Thannon, Camwyn, and Ulrich doing the same, the warriors of Salme not far behind. Dahlen had instructed them to do so. When springing a trap, it was important to make the bait as tempting as possible.

Owen looked to Dahlen, but Dahlen gave a gentle shake of his head, whispering the word ‘wait’.

The man leaned into Jackan, whispering something in his ear.

This was the part Dahlen hated: the waiting. Fortunately, the brigands proved impatient. A branch snapped, followed by rustling leaves, over-eager feet and hands betraying their owners.

“Owen, now!” As Dahlen shouted, an arrow whistled past his head and buried itself in the side of a wagon, screams and shouts rising from the woods around them. Men and women in rough-worn leathers burst from hiding places, swords and axes in hand.

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