The Sunken Vale was aptly named. It was a scar in the earth, a deep canyon choked with grey fog and twisted cypress trees. The road down was narrow, a ribbon of mud that hugged the cliffside.
The Vanguard positioned themselves on the ridge.
"Here they come," Jax whispered.
Below, the caravan emerged from the mist. Two heavy wagons drawn by oxen. Six mounted guards.
Four walking. Black Banner colors flying openly. They were arrogant. They thought the border was theirs.
Karn lay prone next to Kael, his ear pressed to the ground. "Heavy load. The wheels are cutting deep."
"Weapons?" Kael asked.
"Or gold," Horg grunted, hefting his hammer.
"No," Karn said. "It doesn't rattle like steel. It doesn't clink like gold."
Vane had given the order: Take the supplies. Leave no witnesses.
"Drop the rocks," Karn signaled.
Two Vanguard soldiers pushed a massive boulder from the lip of the canyon. It fell silently for a second, then crashed into the lead wagon with the force of a thunderclap. Wood splintered. Oxen screamed. The lead wagon flipped, blocking the road.
"Now!" Karn roared.
The Vanguard descended like a landslide.
Kael slid down the shale slope, his new sword in hand. The remaining guards were shouting, trying to form a line. But the ambush was too close, too violent.
Horg smashed a guard's shield—and the arm behind it—with a single swing. Jax was already on the second wagon, cutting the driver's throat.
Kael landed in the mud. A guard rushed him, spear leveled.
The air shifts.
Kael didn't panic. He sidestepped, letting the spear point hiss past his ear. He stepped in, driving his knee into the guard's groin, then brought his sword pommel down on the back of the man's neck.
The guard crumpled.
It was chaotic, bloody, and fast. In minutes, the Black Banner soldiers were dead or dying.
"Check the loot!" Jax yelled, prying open the back of the second wagon.
He froze.
"Karn," Jax said, his voice dropping. "You need to hear this."
Karn walked over, stepping on a dead body without hesitation. "What is it?"
"It's not weapons," Jax said.
Kael moved closer. He looked inside the wagon.
It was packed tight. Not with crates, but with people.
Men and women, gagged and bound in chains. They were piled on top of each other like firewood.
Their eyes were wide with terror. They weren't soldiers. They were peasants. Lowborn.
"Fodder," Karn said, his voice flat.
"What?" Kael asked, his stomach turning.
"The Crypts have traps," Karn explained. "Magical wards. Pressure plates. The Black Banner... they don't waste their own men disarming them. They use cattle."
He meant the people.
"We can't leave them," Kael said.
"They're dead weight," Jax argued. "We can't feed them. We can't drag them. And if we let them go, they'll wander into the patrols."
"Vane wants the supplies," Karn said. "He didn't say what to do if the supplies were breathing."
Kael looked at the prisoners. A girl, no older than him, stared back. She wasn't begging. She was resigned. She expected to die.
"We use them," Kael said.
The Vanguard turned to look at him.
"What?" Jax asked.
"We need a distraction to get past the main camp at the Crypt entrance," Kael said, his mind racing.
"We release them. Stampede them toward the camp. The Black Banner will be too busy rounding them up to see us slip in."
"That's cold, Rat," Jax whistled. "Even for me."
"It gives them a chance," Kael said, hardening his heart. "Better a slim chance than being used as trap fodder."
Karn considered it. He listened to the breathing of the prisoners.
"Do it," Karn said. "Cut the chains. But tell them... run or die."
Kael climbed into the wagon. He drew his knife. The girl flinched.
"Run," Kael whispered, cutting her bonds. "Don't look back."
As the prisoners spilled out into the fog, running for their lives, Kael watched them go. He had saved them, yes. But he had also used them as bait.
He wiped his blade. It was clean of blood, but it felt dirty.
"Let's move," Karn ordered. "The wolves will be busy."