Blood of the Forgotten Gods

Chapter 18 - The Ambush

The storm had finally passed, leaving the forest soaked and treacherous. Captain Corvin led his squad through the Bracken Hills, the ground beneath them a thick, sucking mud, and the air still damp with mist. The forest seemed to breathe, the occasional drop of water falling from the branches, adding to the low, eerie soundscape that surrounded them. Iron Hollow, an infamous area west of Westwatch, loomed ahead.

Corvin's eyes scanned the terrain. The intelligence report they'd received before the mission had been grim—disappearances had been rising near the hollow. Too many travelers, scouts, and even soldiers had gone missing for it to be dismissed as typical banditry. The mission was simple on paper: investigate, capture any bandits, and root out whatever was causing the trouble. But out here, in the soaking aftermath of the storm, everything felt more dangerous than it should.

The forest was wrong. Too quiet. Too still.

His second-in-command, Sergeant Varro, marched beside him, his eyes sharp despite the weariness that hung over the squad. "Not a fan of this silence, Captain," Varro muttered, wiping the rain from his brow. "Feels like the forest is waiting for something."

Corvin couldn't disagree. They had been split from Sergeant Vale's squad earlier in the day, each taking a different route toward Iron Hollow. The plan had been to regroup and investigate reports of bandit activity in the area, but now, the deeper they ventured into the hills, the heavier the air became.

"Stay sharp," Corvin said, his voice low but firm. "We're close to the Hollow. Bandits or worse, we'll be ready."

The mud beneath their boots made every step feel heavier, and Corvin could sense the fatigue creeping into his men. They had marched through the storm, their pace slowed by the rugged terrain and constant vigilance. Despite the discomfort, the squad stayed focused, weapons at the ready as they pushed westward. Corvin knew his men were battle-tested, but he could feel it in the air—something more than just the remnants of the storm was hanging over them.

The mission had felt off from the beginning. Bandits typically raided on the outskirts, picking off easy targets—travelers, small caravans. But the disappearances around Iron Hollow? Too many, too organized. Something wasn't adding up, and Corvin had a feeling they were walking into more than just a bandit hideout.

"Captain," Varro said quietly, breaking Corvin's thoughts. "We should pull back soon, regroup with Vale."

Corvin hesitated. His instincts were telling him something was wrong, but they hadn't found anything yet. They couldn't return empty-handed—not with the recent string of disappearances. Too many lives were at stake.

"Just a bit further," Corvin said, glancing up at the darkened sky, where the last remnants of the storm clung like a blanket. "Let's see if we can get eyes on Iron Hollow."

Varro nodded but remained tense. "Understood, sir."

They continued, the path narrowing as the trees thickened around them. The mist clung to their legs, and the low-hanging branches scraped at their armor, making every sound feel amplified. The Hollow was close now, but the quiet was suffocating. Corvin's grip tightened on his sword hilt. Something was waiting for them.

Then, it came.

A faint whistle.

Corvin's instincts screamed just as the first arrow shot through the fog.

"Take cover!" he bellowed, diving behind a fallen tree as the volley of arrows rained down on them.

The squad scattered, moving for whatever cover they could find—trees, rocks, anything to shield them from the incoming fire. Arrows thudded into the mud, into bark, and into bodies. A cry of pain rang out, followed by the sickening sound of a man hitting the ground.

Corvin's pulse raced. This wasn't a random attack. The precision of the arrows, the timing—it was too coordinated. They were dealing with mercenaries, not just bandits.

"Mercenaries!" Corvin shouted, rallying his men. "Ironfang Company—hold the line!"

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The Ironfangs were here. The notorious mercenary group was infamous across Elyndor for their brutal efficiency and tactical prowess. This wasn't a typical bandit raid—this was an ambush, meticulously planned and executed.

"Fall back to the ridge!" Corvin ordered, pointing to a higher patch of ground just ahead. "We're too exposed here!"

Varro was already pulling the men together, forming a defensive line as they retreated up the ridge, but the mercenaries were relentless. They surged out of the trees, emerging from the fog like shadows made flesh, their armor dark and worn, each movement precise and deadly. Their swords gleamed in the mist, cutting through the air with brutal efficiency as they closed in on Corvin's men.

Corvin swung his sword, catching one mercenary under the arm, sending him sprawling into the mud. But there were too many. The mercenaries pressed the attack, forcing the squad back with every step. Corvin's heart pounded as he cut down another, his muscles straining against the fatigue that was creeping into his limbs.

"We're being outmaneuvered," Varro shouted, his voice barely audible over the clash of steel and the hiss of arrows.

Corvin's eyes darted around the battlefield. They were being boxed in, slowly but surely. The Ironfangs knew the terrain well—they were driving Corvin's squad into a kill zone.

"Captain!" one of the militants called out, his voice filled with panic. "We need to—"

The man's words were cut off as an arrow buried itself in his chest, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Corvin gritted his teeth, fury and frustration gnawing at him. They had been led into a trap, and now his men were dying for it. Where's Vale's squad? They were supposed to regroup by now, but there had been no sign of them. The fog and distance must have kept the battle hidden from Vale, leaving Corvin and his men to fend for themselves.

"We have to break through!" Corvin shouted, his voice raw from the effort. "Push forward—don't let them trap us!"

But before they could regroup, a heavy blow struck Corvin from the side. He stumbled, his boots slipping in the mud as he crashed to the ground. Pain exploded in his ribs, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.

His vision swam as he tried to rise, but before he could get to his feet, a boot came down hard on his back, pinning him to the ground. He struggled, but the mud made it impossible to gain any leverage. His sword slipped from his grasp, disappearing into the muck.

Through the fog and the chaos, Corvin felt his wrists being bound, rough rope biting into his skin. He fought to free himself, but the mercenaries were too strong. The Ironfangs moved with practiced precision, binding his arms and hauling him to his feet before he could react.

"Looks like we got the captain," one of the mercenaries sneered, his grip tightening on Corvin's arm. "Our employer will be pleased."

Corvin's blood ran cold, but he kept his expression blank. Employer? Someone had hired the Ironfangs to target him specifically. This wasn't just an ambush—it was a kidnapping.

The mercenaries dragged him back through the trees, leaving his squad behind, still fighting desperately. His heart ached as he saw his men struggling, cut off, outnumbered. I'm sorry, he thought, but there was nothing he could do now.

As they hauled him through the fog, Corvin's mind raced. Whoever had orchestrated this attack wanted him alive, and that meant they had plans. Dark ones, no doubt. He was no stranger to the politics of Elyndor, but this felt different. More dangerous.

They were heading west, away from the battle, deeper into the wilds near the old ruins beyond Iron Hollow. The ruins were a known hideout for criminals and mercenaries alike—dangerous territory, but perfect for hiding a prisoner.

Corvin's chest tightened as they marched him further into the unknown, the fog swirling around them like a cloak. His captors were silent now, their movements purposeful. The Ironfangs were ruthless, but they were also professionals. They knew exactly what they were doing.

As they disappeared deeper into the forest, leaving the battlefield behind, Corvin's mind filled with a single, chilling thought: Who had the power to hire the Ironfang Company—and why did they want him alive?