Dawn crept through the forest in bloodless shades of grey, revealing the frost-bitten clearing in harsh, silent clarity. The huntsman crouched beside the porch, his cloak blending with the shadow of the cabin's eaves. His breath misted in the cold air as he scanned the treeline, ears straining for the faintest sound.
The silence was no longer empty. It pulsed with intent. The forest held its breath, waiting for violence.
Then he saw them.
Six riders emerged from the trees, moving in a tight formation. Their horses were cloaked in dark leather barding to muffle hoofbeats. Each assassin wore layered black armour over grey tunics, their faces hidden behind veils that left only their eyes exposed. The foremost rider dismounted with fluid ease, torchlight flickering across his bone-handled knife and crimson rune glowing upon his left gauntlet.
Crowshade.
The huntsman's eyes narrowed. He recognised the Blooded Wolves' master tracker from whispered reports within royal corridors. Vaelith had sent his best.
Crowshade gestured sharply. Two assassins broke off to circle the cabin's rear while the others approached the front steps. Snow crunched softly beneath their boots. One carried a short-hafted war axe, another a barbed spear. All moved with trained precision.
Inside the cabin, the huntsman heard the faint whimpers of his children. Sila sobbed quietly into Lira's chest while Aryn clutched his wooden practice sword with trembling hands. Lira rocked them back and forth on the floor beside the hearth, whispering prayers to gods who no longer listened.
The huntsman's grip tightened around his hunting knife. He shifted his weight, readying himself.
The first assassin stepped onto the porch, testing the door with a gloved hand. Finding it barred, he turned to Crowshade and nodded once.
Crowshade raised his fist and snapped it forward.
The assassin slammed his boot against the door.
Wood splintered with a deafening crack. The force rattled through the frame, sending fine dust drifting from the ceiling beams. Another kick, and the hinges groaned. A third, and the door burst inward, crashing against the wall with a shattering boom.
Sila screamed. Aryn cried out in fear. Lira pulled them tighter against her body, shielding them with her cloak.
The assassins surged through the doorway, blades drawn and eyes gleaming with cold intent.
But the huntsman was already moving.
He lunged from the porch shadows, his knife flashing in a brutal arc. The blade plunged into the first assassin's throat, slicing through flesh and cartilage with ease. Hot blood sprayed across the huntsman's forearm as the man crumpled without a sound.
The second assassin turned, raising his spear, but the huntsman was upon him before the weapon cleared his side. He drove his shoulder into the man's chest, knocking him back against the cabin wall. His knife plunged up beneath the assassin's chin, ripping through soft tissue into the brain. The man convulsed and went limp, sliding down the timber slats, dark blood smearing the wood.
Inside, Crowshade barked a harsh command. The remaining assassins spread out, surrounding the huntsman in a half-circle. Their veiled faces revealed no emotion, only cold focus as they advanced with blades ready.
The huntsman stepped back into the doorway, blocking their path to his family. His chest heaved with controlled breaths, his knife held low and reversed in his grip. Blood dripped from the curved iron, pattering onto the straw-strewn floor.
One of the assassins lunged forward, thrusting with a short sword. The huntsman twisted sideways, letting the blade slide past his ribs, then slammed his fist into the man's elbow, snapping it backward with a sickening crack. The sword clattered to the floor. The huntsman reversed his grip on the knife and drove it up under the assassin's jaw, ripping through tongue and palate. The man gurgled and fell, twitching.
Another came from his blind side, swinging an axe in a low arc aimed at his knees. He leapt back, the blade grazing his shin guard with a screech of iron on iron. Before the attacker could recover, the huntsman kicked forward, boot slamming into the man's chest. Ribs crunched under the force, and the assassin was hurled back into the table, snapping it in half.
The huntsman pressed forward, aiming to finish him, but Crowshade moved between them with predatory grace. His bone-handled knife flicked out, forcing the huntsman to pivot away to avoid the lethal arc.
For a moment, the two men faced each other across the ruined cabin. Behind the huntsman, Lira sobbed quietly, clutching their children against her chest. Aryn clung to her tunic, eyes wide with terror. Sila buried her face in her mother's hair, trembling.
Crowshade tilted his head slightly, studying the huntsman with dark, calculating eyes. "Impressive," he rasped. "Even unarmoured, you are as they say. The king's silent blade."
The huntsman said nothing. His chest rose and fell steadily, knife held in perfect balance. Blood dripped from the blade onto the broken floorboards.
Crowshade's thin lips curled beneath his veil. "But even wolves fall when the pack surrounds them."
At his signal, the remaining assassins closed in from all sides. The huntsman moved like a striking adder, knife flashing in brutal arcs, but there were too many. A spear jabbed at his thigh; he twisted away, but a sword slashed across his ribs, opening a deep gash. Pain flared hot and bright, but he ignored it, slamming his knife hilt-first into the attacker's temple with a dull crunch.
He ducked under another sword stroke, spinning to stab the wielder in the kidney. The assassin screamed and fell, but before the huntsman could withdraw his blade fully, Crowshade was there.
His curved knife slashed across the huntsman's forearm, slicing through leather bracer into muscle. The huntsman grunted, staggered back a step, but kept his grip. He lashed out with his elbow, catching Crowshade in the chest and forcing him back.
But pain burned now with each movement. Blood streamed down his side from the gash in his ribs. His knife felt heavier in his grip.
Another attacker came from behind, wrapping a garrote around his throat. The huntsman slammed his head backward into the man's face, shattering his nose with a wet crunch. The garrote loosened. The huntsman seized the attacker's wrist and twisted violently, breaking it at the joint before ripping the garrote free.
But in that moment of distraction, Crowshade struck.
His knife stabbed into the huntsman's side, puncturing deep between the lower ribs. The huntsman gasped, knees buckling as agony exploded through his torso. He staggered, his vision flickering. Cold sweat burst across his brow.
The assassins closed in, surrounding him with blades poised for the kill.
Behind him, he heard Sila's sobbing wail, high and broken. Lira's voice, low and trembling, whispered prayers. Aryn whimpered softly, too afraid to cry out.
The huntsman's gaze blurred. He tightened his grip on the knife, forcing his shaking legs to hold him upright. Blood pooled beneath his boots, soaking into the straw-strewn floor. His breath came ragged, each exhale wet with pain.
Crowshade stepped forward, knife held low.
"Even wolves fall," he whispered again.
And with that, the assassins lunged forward as one, blades flashing in the dim dawn light, surrounding the huntsman in a whirling storm of steel and shadow.