Chapter 113

Chapter 113
The early morning sun cast long shadows across the northern camp as Alaric stood in his command tent, scanning reports from the night’s scouts. A faint shimmer in the air caught his attention—a magical message taking form before him. The glowing parchment unfolded in his hands, the runes pulsing softly as he read its contents.

"Hunters," he murmured to himself, his golden brows furrowing as his eyes traced the report. The message spoke of a small group moving cautiously through the northern passes, right in the center of Duskmere’s concealed traps. Though the specifics of their intent were unclear, their placement was undeniable—these hunters had stumbled into the perfect position for an ambush.

Alaric straightened and immediately summoned Peytons’s father to his tent. The Councilor arrived promptly, his imposing figure exuding its usual confidence as he stepped inside.

"We’ve received intelligence," Alaric began, spreading the map of the twin passes on the table. He pointed to a marked area—a narrow path bordered by steep cliffs and treacherous sands. "A group of hunters has been spotted here. Given their location, they could pose a risk to our forces." Peyton’s father leaned over the map, his sharp gaze assessing the marked area. "Then we deal with them," he said bluntly.

Aleric nodded. "I can send a detachment of my men to eliminate the threat. They’re trained to handle situations like this quickly and efficiently."

The older man’s hand slammed against the table, cutting him off. "No," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I’ll handle this personally. The Council needs to see what happens when someone dares to challenge us." Aleric inclined his head, feigning deference as he rolled the map. "Very well. I’ll leave it in your hands."

As Peyton’s father exited the tent to gather his forces, Aleric’s expression hardened. The bait had been taken. Wasting no time, he retrieved a fresh piece of enchanted parchment and wrote a hurried message:

"To Chieftain Orin,
Peyton’s father is leading a force toward the hunters spotted in the twin passes. Their path will take them directly through the traps you’ve outlined. Be ready.

Aleric, Prince of Havencrest"

He sealed the message with a flick of his hand, the magic carrying it swiftly through the ether to its destination.

As the glow of the parchment faded, Aleric allowed himself a small, grim smile. The Councilor’s arrogance had sealed his fate, and the alliance’s plan moved one step closer to fruition.

In the heart of Duskmere’s hidden encampment, Chieftain Orin stood amidst his gathered warriors. The early dawn painted the sky in muted shades of orange and gray, the dense forest around them alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves. Despite the tranquil surroundings, the air buzzed with tension.

As the magical message materialized before him, Orin caught it deftly, his weathered hands breaking the faint glow of the seal. His sharp eyes scanned the words Aleric had sent, and a faint, grim smile crossed his face.

"The time has come," he murmured, folding the parchment and tucking it into his leather belt. Turning to his assembled warriors, he raised his voice, commanding their attention. "The message we’ve been waiting for has arrived. The final piece is moving into place."

The warriors listened intently, their faces a mix of determination and readiness. Orin pointed to a marked spot on the map before them—a narrow stretch of terrain, bordered by steep cliffs and treacherous sands.

"This path is where we will strike," he said firmly. "The Councilor and his forces will tread into the traps that nature herself has provided. We will not stop until this is done—until the last piece falls and the Council’s grip begins to shatter."

The warriors exchanged nods of understanding, their resolve matching their leader’s. Orin’s voice dropped slightly, carrying weight beyond the immediate mission. "This is not just for Duskmere, but for the alliance and for the balance we all seek to restore. Remember that."

They moved with precision, splitting into smaller groups to take their positions along the narrow stretch of the twin passes. Every motion was quiet, calculated, as they blended seamlessly into the terrain that would become their ally.

Orin stood for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He knew the risks—they all did. But this was the path they had chosen, the stand they had agreed to take.

"This ends today," he murmured to himself, before turning and following his warriors into the shadows.

The Councilor’s forces advanced steadily along the narrow path, their heavy boots crunching against loose stones. The twin passes loomed on either side, their towering cliffs casting long shadows that seemed to swallow the group whole. Peyton’s father rode at the helm, his expression one of grim determination. His goal was clear: eliminate the hunters and send a message to anyone foolish enough to challenge the Council’s authority. No one shall deny the power of the council, ever again.

But as they pushed deeper into the pass, an unsettling stillness settled over the group. The usual sounds of wildlife were absent, the air heavy with an eerie quiet. Some of the soldiers exchanged wary glances, their hands tightening on their weapons.

"Something’s not right," one of them muttered under his breath. Before the Councilor could respond, the attack began.

A sudden, ear-splitting crack echoed through the pass as the first trap was sprung—a rockslide cascading from the cliffs above. Boulders crashed down, cutting off their rear escape and scattering the soldiers into disarray.

"Hold your ground!" Alistair shouted, his voice rising above the chaos. But even as he barked orders, arrows whistled through the air, striking down several men before they could find cover.

Duskmere’s warriors emerged from the shadows like ghosts, their movements swift and precise. They used the terrain to their advantage, striking hard and retreating before the Councilor’s forces could regroup.

The soldiers tried to counterattack, but the shifting sands of the pass betrayed their footing. Men stumbled, fell, and were quickly overtaken by the relentless assault.

Peyton’s father fought fiercely, his blade flashing as he cut down two attackers in quick succession. But even he couldn’t deny the truth that was rapidly becoming clear: they had been led into a trap.