The caravan did not speak much after leaving the bridge.
The wheels turned steadily beneath the wagons, the horses settled into a cautious rhythm, and the road stretched west between low hills covered in scrub and dark pine. The silence was not peaceful. It was the silence of people listening for another attack.
Aric walked beside the lead wagon with one hand resting lightly on the spear.
His side hurt when he breathed too deeply.
The cut was not severe, but the claws had opened the fabric and left a shallow line beneath it. He had cleaned the wound with water from his flask and wrapped it tightly enough to keep the bleeding under control. It would not stop him from fighting.
That did not mean he should ignore it.
The System appeared at the edge of his vision.
[Condition: Stable]
[Minor laceration detected.]
[HP: 272 / 280]
[MP: 95 / 95]
Aric kept his eyes on the road.
"You could at least tell me whether it's getting worse."
[No significant deterioration detected.]
"Your bedside manner is improving."
[Your expectations are declining.]
Aric almost smiled.
Behind him, one of the drivers muttered a prayer under his breath. The man had not stopped looking toward the trees since the bridge.
Garran rode at the front of the first wagon, shoulders tense beneath his dark coat. Lysa had moved from the rear to the middle of the formation, keeping the wounded horses in sight and watching the slope to the south.
The change was sensible.
The attack had been organized enough to exploit a weak point. Neither of them intended to give the pack a second opportunity.
After nearly an hour, Garran slowed the wagon until Aric came alongside.
"How bad?" he asked.
"Not bad."
"That's not an answer."
"It's enough of one."
Garran glanced at the torn sleeve. "You're bleeding through the wrap."
Aric looked down.
A thin line of red had indeed reached the edge of the cloth.
"Then it needs tightening."
Garran reached beneath the driver's bench and pulled out a small leather roll. "Stop at the next rise. I've got salve."
Aric looked at him. "You carry medical supplies?"
"I lead caravans. People get hurt."
"People also get lost."
"Which is why I carry a map."
"People get robbed."
"Which is why I carry guards."
"People lie."
Garran's mouth tightened. "And which is why I carry a ledger."
Aric gave him a sideways glance.
"That answer took too long."
"It was still better than yours."
At the next rise, the caravan stopped.
The hills opened enough to reveal the western road winding toward a cluster of buildings in the distance. The waystation sat inside a low wooden palisade, with a watchtower at each corner and a stable yard packed with carts.
No smoke rose from the chimneys.
Aric noticed that immediately.
"Is it abandoned?" he asked.
Garran shaded his eyes.
"No. The station is used every day."
"Then why is there no smoke?"
Before Garran could answer, Lysa pointed toward the road ahead.
"Look."
A horse stood just beyond the next bend.
It was saddled, riderless, and trembling.
The caravan fell silent.
One of the drivers crossed himself.
Garran climbed down from the wagon. "Stay here."
Aric stepped off the road.
"You're not going alone."
"I wasn't asking permission."
Lysa joined them, bow in hand.
Garran looked between the two of them. "You're both determined to make my morning worse."
"Your morning was already worse," Lysa said. "We just arrived late."
They approached the horse together.
It had a dark coat flecked with foam. The reins dragged in the dirt, and one stirrup hung loose. There was no blood on the saddle, but a strap had been cut cleanly through.
Aric crouched near the road.
The ground showed signs of a struggle.
Boot marks.
A knee impression.
Deep grooves where something had dragged across the dirt.
The System appeared.
[Recent disturbance detected.]
[Human presence: Confirmed.]
[Additional movement: Multiple entities.]
[Estimated time since disturbance: Less than one hour.]
Garran's face hardened. "Bandits?"
"Possibly," Aric said.
Lysa looked toward the waystation. "Or something worse."
Aric studied the tracks.
The human prints led toward the palisade.
The other tracks did not.
They curved off the road and disappeared into the grass.
"Someone reached the waystation," Aric said. "Something followed."
"Then why is the gate open?" Garran asked.
"Because whoever opened it expected to return."
No one answered.
Aric stood and looked at the caravan.
"The wagons stay here."
Garran frowned. "The station is less than a minute away."
"Which is why anyone watching us would expect us to rush there."
Lysa nodded slowly. "You think this is bait."
"I think the road is offering us too much."
Garran glanced at the riderless horse. "We can't remain in the open forever."
"We don't need forever. We need a better position."
Aric turned to the drivers.
"Move the wagons off the road and form a half-circle. Keep the horses together. No one goes toward the station alone."
The drivers looked to Garran.
He hesitated only a moment before giving a sharp nod.
"Do it."
The caravan shifted.
The lead wagons angled across the road while the rear carts closed the gap behind them. The arrangement was not perfect, but it narrowed the approach and gave the guards something solid to work around.
Aric walked the perimeter.
There were no immediate signs of movement.
That worried him more than visible enemies would have.
A bird burst from the grass to the east.
Every hand went to a weapon.
Nothing followed.
Lysa released the breath she had been holding.
"You've made everyone jumpy," she said.
"I didn't make them jumpy."
"You keep finding reasons to be suspicious."
"Because the reasons are there."
She studied him for a moment.
"You always act like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like every quiet place is hiding a knife."
Aric looked toward the waystation.
"Not every quiet place."
A bell rang from inside the palisade.
Once.
Then twice.
Garran swore.
"What does that mean?" one of the drivers asked.
"No idea," Lysa said.
Aric watched the watchtower.
The bell rope moved again.
But no figure appeared beside it.
"Someone is pulling it from inside," he said.
"Then someone is alive," Garran replied.
"Or someone wants us to think so."
Garran looked at him sharply. "You're beginning to become difficult."
"I was difficult before."
"That is not reassuring."
Aric scanned the palisade, the open gate, and the dark gap beneath the nearest wagon.
Then he saw it.
A hand hanging from the gatehouse doorway.
Still.
Garran followed his gaze.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Lysa whispered, "There's a body."
Aric's grip tightened around the spear.
The System appeared again.
[Hostile activity remains unconfirmed.]
[Recommendation: Advance only after establishing a withdrawal route.]
That was not a command.
It was not a warning of immediate danger.
It was simply the same advice Aric had been following since he first learned that survival depended less on courage than on refusing bad choices.
He pointed toward a shallow drainage ditch running along the eastern side of the road.
"If we go in, we use that route to withdraw. Garran, keep the wagons ready to move. Lysa, cover the gatehouse and watch the roofs."
"And you?" Garran asked.
"I'm going to see whether the dead man is actually dead."
Garran caught his arm before he could move.
"You're thirteen."
Aric looked down at the hand around his sleeve, then back at Garran.
"That has been true all morning."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the one I have."
Garran released him, though reluctantly.
"Do not go inside."
"I won't."
Aric crossed the road alone.
The horse watched him with wide, frightened eyes.
The wind moved through the grass.
The waystation gate stood open beneath the pale afternoon sky.
Aric reached the gatehouse and crouched beside the fallen guard.
The man was alive.
Barely.
Blood darkened the side of his tunic, and his breathing came in thin, uneven pulls. There were three deep cuts across his chest, but the wounds did not look like claws.
Aric pressed two fingers to the man's neck.
The guard's eyes opened.
"Inside," he whispered.
"What happened?"
The man tried to speak again, but blood touched his lips.
"Inside... they took..."
His gaze shifted past Aric toward the gate.
Then his body went slack.
Aric looked over his shoulder.
Nothing moved on the road.
Inside the waystation, something struck wood.
A heavy impact.
Then another.
From one of the buildings came the sound of a woman screaming.
The caravan horses reared.
Garran shouted for the drivers.
Lysa drew her bow.
Aric stood, spear in hand, as the open gate swallowed the sound.
The waystation was not abandoned.
Something inside was still alive.
And whatever had happened there had not finished.