Dragonworld: The Drive For Power

Prequel 4: The Ambush

The ambush

The gravel road cut through the valley floor. Wide, uneven, it was hemmed in on both sides by sloping hills that rose steeply and thickened with brush. Tall trees provided a shade, covering much of the path in shifting patches of shadow. Sunlight filtered down in thin bands, but never quite touched the center of the road.

Half a dozen mercenaries lay scattered among the trees and bushes above, stretched low against the earth. Camouflage cloaks dulled their outlines. A few nestled beneath ferns, others crouched behind dry boulders, watching the path below.

On the western slope, Matlo knelt behind a moss-covered stump, fingers resting on the hilt of his sword. He could see most of the valley from where he was, including the bend in the road to the south, the stretch of dirt where wagons would slow.

The commander had chosen him to lead this group of men, rag-tag mercenaries coming from all corners of the Western Lands. The road below was empty. It was still time before the wagons would reach them, but he'd ordered the men into place early. There wouldn't be a second chance to get it right.

The plan was simple. Tylo, the lookout, would give the call when he spotted the prey heading towards him.

Bram, posted further down on the opposite ridge, would then signal once the wagons passed between the two boulders by the split pine. That meant the whole column was in the kill zone.

That's when the show would begin.

Matlo shifted his weight, trying to ease the ache in his knee from too much stillness. His gaze remained fixed on the road below, but he could hear the young mercenary behind him. The kid's breath was uneven, too quick, betraying his nerves. Matlo knew the signs.

"Relax," Matlo murmured, not looking back. "You're breathing like a rabbit on the run."

There was a slight pause, then the young mercenary cleared his throat, as if trying to steady himself. "I'm fine," he said, though his voice was a little too tight.

Matlo said nothing more. The kid would get used to it, or he wouldn't. War had a way of forming a man's character, for the better or worse. Some, rose to the occasion. Others ended up drowning. 

For now, they all had to wait.

On all sides, the mercenaries stayed in their positions.

They waited, as they'd been trained to do. Sharp, alert, and ready to spring to action at a moment's notice. 

That was when Jol's voice cut through the stillness, sharp as ever.

"Horny, stop masturbating," whispered Jol.

"I am not," replied Orny.

"Well, stop thinking about it," said Jol.

"That's a different matter," chuckled Orny.

Matlo raised his head. "Guys, keep quiet. You can discuss your boners after the work is done."

The two men shut up, at least for a bit.

"Chief," another man whispered to Matlo. "What's the number of wagons we are expecting?"

"Orny said two, plus some armed men walking alongside," replied Matlo.

"Wait, Orny?"

Matlo nodded.

"You sent Orny out on a reconnaissance mission?" Jol shook his head, smiling. "The man has the grace of a pig in porcelain. It's a wonder he wasn't discovered."

"I happen to be a good scout," Orny muttered back.

"Guys, calm down and concentrate," Matlo snapped, tapping two fingers to his lips, trying to remind them of the mission.