"Press the lid, three rotations counterclockwise. I remember the protocol, Raymond. We both graduated from the Military Academy—and my marks exceeded yours," Ivan Northes replied, securing the wooden cylinder in his pouch. "I suspect all three letters contain identical information."

  Old Mackenzie's face registered alarm. "How could you possibly know that?"

  "Elementary," Raymond smirked. "Raveirmom's exact words were: 'Guard these dispatches with your lives, but should mortal peril arise, destroy them precisely as instructed.'"

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "It's the latter clause that reveals his intent," Ivan elaborated. "'Should mortal peril arise'—when he spoke those words, both his inflection and countenance shifted markedly. He emphasized 'destroy' with unusual intensity. This suggests he anticipated we would encounter significant danger. Hence two elite knights accompany you, each carrying identical messages."

  The old courier absorbed this reasoning, his weathered mind processing the implications. "Raveirmom's cunning runs deep," Raymond observed. "But if we're discussing threats, I'd prefer common bandits to whatever creature punctured that poor bastard's throat."

  "Your assessment errs, young man," Old Mackenzie cautioned. "Throughout my courier career, humans have proven far more terrible than any beast. You'd be wiser to hope for animal encounters... or better still, no encounters whatsoever."

  "You misunderstand, old timer." Raymond's palm caressed his sword hilt with practiced familiarity. "Humans are easier to kill, right, Papa Northes?"

  "Maintain vigilance regardless," Ivan replied, his gaze scanning the darkened forest. "Borna Plain remains distant. At our current pace, dawn will find us still beneath these boughs."

  "That presents no disadvantage," Old Mackenzie countered. "Forest encampment offers superior concealment compared to open plains. Come morning, we'll accelerate across the exposed terrain, minimizing ambush vulnerability. The strategy is sound."

  "Presuming we survive until daybreak," Ivan added soberly.

  "Hypothetically," the old courier ventured, "should beast aggression materialize, what tactics would you employ? Has your training covered such contingencies?"

  "The response varies with the predator," Raymond replied, drawing his steel blade with a distinctive whisper of metal against leather. Ivan observed the motion with peripheral awareness. "For feline threats like our earlier visitor, steel suffices," he demonstrated with a controlled arc of his sword. "Against ghouls or an awakened dragon, strategic withdrawal becomes imperative. Ultimately though, I trust she'll intervene if necessary."

  "She?" the others inquired simultaneously.

  Raymond's blade pointed skyward. "That big bird, Raveirmom's pet."

  High above, she maintained her vigil, circling through night currents. Her vision rivaled any owl's, emerald irises tracking every movement below. The densest canopy provided no concealment from her predatory gaze. She adjusted her flight path fractionally, maintaining perfect alignment with the couriers' progress. Occasionally, she voiced her impatience—sharp, staccato cries betraying frustration at her quarry's absence.

  Or perhaps, at prey rightfully hers.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "I found them," Lannord announced, eyes opening to find Stellan pacing agitatedly before him. "Their scent trail is distinct. Shall we coordinate our assault?"

  "I—I can't achieve proper concentration," Stellan groaned, clutching his temples. "That accursed raptor scattered them. I'm struggling to maintain control."

  "Most inconvenient," Lannord sighed. "Very well, I shall proceed alone. Should you regain your focus, provide immediate support. That bird's capabilities remain an unknown variable."

  "Yes, yes, I understand," Stellan gestured dismissively. "Make haste—don't allow them to extend their lead."

  Lannord assumed a cross-legged position, spine aligned precisely against rough bark. His hands crossed naturally, resting between his thighs. After one measured inhalation, his eyelids descended.

  (He's initiating the link connection.) Stellan observed silently. "Damn these creatures!" he cursed aloud. "Let me in your heads!"

  The previously dormant forest stirred to wakefulness. Underbrush swayed with unnatural rhythm, expressing silent displeasure at unwelcome intrusion.

  "Movement approaching," Ivan signaled immediate halt. "Audio indicates multiple entities."

  Old Mackenzie acted without hesitation. "Blindfold the horses—quickly."

  "A brigand troop would be welcome," Raymond Noytra muttered, sword sliding free with practiced efficiency. "Old man," he instructed Mackenzie, "maintain weapon readiness and position yourself between us. Remain passive unless engagement becomes unavoidable."

  The veteran courier extracted a gold-hilted dagger, his grip betraying years of experience.

  Their adversaries materialized from shadow. Distant amber pinpoints flickered into existence among the trees. Closer, emerging from foliage and woodland margin, yellow-eyed predators advanced into visibility. "Wolf pack," Raymond identified softly.

  The canine predators converged from all directions, each step deliberate and synchronized. The alpha specimen exceeded its packmates in size, issuing intermittent low-frequency growls that the subordinates echoed in haunting harmony.

  "Dire wolves," Ivan Northes confirmed, his bowstring taut, arrow aligned with the alpha's vital organs. "I'm uncertain whether this improves or worsens our predicament."

  "What ambiguity exists?" Old Mackenzie hissed. "These beasts dwarf ordinary gray wolves! How could this possibly constitute improvement?"

  "Their anatomical structure—shorter limbs relative to body mass—inhibits sustained pursuit," Raymond explained clinically.

  (Two, four, six...) Ivan calculated methodically. "By the gods, no fewer than twenty-three specimens..." His voice reflected controlled disbelief. "Raymond, neutralize the eastern flank and ensure Mackenzie's protection. I'll attempt alpha elimination. Any perimeter breach becomes our immediate exfiltration point."

  "Acknowledged," Raymond raised his blade to guard position.

  Another growl. The circle contracted further.

  "Don't miss, Papa Northes," Raymond flexed his sword hand.

  "When have I ever failed?" Ivan replied, drawing his bowstring to full tension.

  From her aerial vantage, she perceived every detail with crystalline clarity—no forest activity eluded her hunter's gaze. Aethelwing observed the wolves' encirclement maneuver with detached interest, withholding intervention. The couriers' predicament warranted no assistance; they possessed sufficient resources for survival. Moreover, her attention had shifted to a more significant concern.

  She maintained her circling pattern, scanning for movement patterns that broke the forest's natural rhythm. Abruptly, she executed a sharp aerial pivot, wings locking into stationary hover. Aethelwing unleashed a piercing battle cry that shattered the night's silence. Her anticipated opponent had finally manifested, instantly dispelling the frustration of prolonged vigilance.

  Far eastward, emerging from forest depths, dark silhouettes launched upward in unnatural formation.

  Aethelwing's pupils contracted to predatory focus, her nictitating membrane flickering rapidly to maintain optimal visual acuity.

  Crimson-Eyed Bats surged skyward in uncountable multitudes, an undulating wave of darkness that threatened to engulf everything in its path.

  Lothar conducted his routine perimeter assessment with growing resignation. The reinforcements requisitioned from Lord Grand Pip had dwindled to insignificance—half sacrificed in legitimate combat, the remainder evaporating during successive strategic withdrawals. (Fucking deserters.) He expelled saliva contemptuously, his silent curse carried away by the night wind.