Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 260

Chapter 260: Searching for fire Chapter 260: Searching for fire Fenn sat uncomfortably atop the horse, its steady clop against the dirt road doing little to ease his frustration.

He squinted at the vast expanse of countryside stretching in every direction-rolling fields, sparse clusters of trees, and the occasional ruined farmhouse.

Damn him for this madness.

The old man’s insistence that Fenn be the one to deliver the letter made sense in theory,but who knew it would be such a drag?

“Why me?

Why not someone who knows where they’re going?” Fenn muttered, nudging the horse into a faster trot.

The horse snorted, and Fenn found himself glancing around nervously.

He scanned the horizon for signs of the burnt villages the old man had mentioned, but nothing was on sight.

Then, as he urged the horse forward again, a cold realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was lost.

Fenn pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a halt.

He turned in every direction, his stomach twisting.

“Great.

Just great.

Lost in the middle of nowhere between two armies.

Perfect.” The horse shook its head as if in agreement, and Fenn groaned.

He needed to think fast or risk wandering aimlessly until he stumbled into the wrong kind of company.

Fenn’s gaze darted to his right as he suddenly caught sight of movement far off in the distance.

Squinting against the midday sun, he made out the faint shapes of three figures walking along the edge of a field.

Relief surged through him-finally, someone who might tell him where he was.

He adjusted the belt holding the scabbard of his short sword, pulling it tight across his waist.

Just in case, he thought, though he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

With a quick nudge of his heels, he spurred the horse forward, its hooves pounding against the dirt as he closed the distance between himself and the figures.

As he drew closer, Fenn saw that it was a middle-aged man accompanied by a teenage boy and a younger girl.

The man’s shoulders tensed as the sound of hooves reached him, and he quickly stepped in front of his children, shielding them with his body.

His weathered face was a mixture of fear and defiance as Fenn slowed his approach.

“We’ve got nothing worth taking, stranger,” the man said firmly, his voice steady despite the quaver of his hands.

Fenn shifted in his saddle, trying to appear non-threatening.

“I’m not here to take anything,” he said, his tone steady but firm.

“I just need information.

Where are you from?” The middle-aged man hesitated before replying, his voice wary.

“We’re from Rellan’s Hollow, just north of here.” Fenn nodded thoughtfully, running the name through his mind, though it meant little to him.

“When did the raiders come through your village?” Before the man could answer, the boy behind him spoke up, his voice thin but hopeful.

“Did the prince send you?

Is he going to help us?” Fenn paused, the question catching him off guard.

He wasn’t sure what to say “Yes,” he said with a curt nod.

“An army has been sent by the prince.” The boy’s eyes brightened, but his father’s skeptical gaze lingered on Fenn.

“They came yesterday,” the man finally said, his voice carrying a grim weight.

“Took what they wanted and burned the rest.” Fenn’s heart quickened as he realized how close he must be to the raiding party.

He leaned forward slightly.

“How far is the nearest village if I head left from here?” The man raised a calloused hand and pointed northwest.

“Three days’ walk in that direction,” he said, his voice resigned.

“Maybe less since you are on horse.” Fenn did a quick calculation, realizing that with his horse, it would only take a day’s ride.

He adjusted his grip on the reins, his mind racing with what he needed to do next.

He gave the man and his family a final glance.

“Carry on,” he said, spurring his horse into motion.

The villagers watched silently as he rode away, the sound of hooves fading into the distance.

Once Fenn disappeared beyond the horizon, the three villagers exchanged wary glances.

The father ushered his children forward.

“Let’s move,” he said quietly, his tone urgent.

They began walking in the opposite direction, heads low and steps hurried, leaving behind the encounter with the stranger.

—————- Fenn urged his horse northwest, following the direction the man had indicated.

The countryside rolled by in a patchwork of browning fields and sparse woodland.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves on dirt accompanied him, and the occasional breeze rustled through the distant trees.

His mind wandered, replaying the conversation with the villagers.

He hoped the directions were accurate.

After several hours of steady riding, the sun began to dip lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

He slowed his horse as he came across a small river winding lazily through the landscape.

The clear water shimmered in the fading light, and Fenn decided it was time to rest.

He dismounted, letting the reins fall loosely over his arm as he led his horse to the water’s edge.

The animal eagerly bent its head, drinking deeply from the cool stream.

Fenn crouched by the bank, taking off his canteen and dipping it into the river.

The water was refreshing, and he took a few sips, feeling the fatigue of the ride ease slightly.

As the horse drank, Fenn gazed around, noting the quiet stillness of the surroundings.

The faint chirping of crickets began to fill the air as twilight settled in.

Sighing, he leaned back on his heels, momentarily appreciating the calm.

Fenn’s moment of calm was shattered by the distinct sound of hooves approaching from behind.

He tensed, spinning around to see two riders closing in on him, their figures silhouetted against the fading daylight.  Heart pounding, he quickly raised his arms in a gesture of surrender.

He remained by his horse, still and compliant, as the riders reined in their mounts a few paces away.  One of the men, a wiry fellow with a thick beard, let his eyes sweep over Fenn before nodding toward the horse.

“That’s a fine animal you’ve got there,” he said with a smirk.

Without waiting for a response, he nudged his own horse forward and casually seized the reins of Fenn’s mount, pulling it closer.

Fenn fought to steady his nerves.

He had no way of knowing whose side these men were on-whether they were Alpheo’s scouts or of the other Prince’s forces.

Logic told him it would make more sense for them to belong to Alpheo’s army this far north, but logic wasn’t always reliable in war.

He took a cautious breath and ventured a question.

“What prince do you serve?” he asked, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, as he believed that beating around the bush served no use, as he knew that after he had been robbed, the two men would probably kill him.

The two riders exchanged a glance, their expressions hardening.

The second man, broader and with a scar cutting across his cheek, rested a hand deliberately on the hilt of his sword.

He leaned slightly forward in his saddle, his eyes narrowing.

“Why does that matter to you?” he asked, his voice low and edged with suspicion.

Fenn licked his dry lips and forced himself to stay calm, though his heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest.

He raised his voice enough to be heard but kept his tone steady.

“I have a letter,” he said, carefully, “for the commander leading the army of His Grace, Prince Alpheo.” Inwardly, he prayed fervently to any gods who might be listening that his hunch had been right.

He dared not think about what would happen if he’d guessed wrong; death would be much better than being captured.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then the man with the scar relaxed, a smile breaking across his weathered face.

He took his hand off the hilt of his sword and leaned back slightly in his saddle.

“You’re in luck,” the man said with a chuckle.

“You gave the name of the right one.We can bring you to him ” Relief flooded Fenn, but he kept his expression neutral.

Nodding slowly, he raised his hands to show no resistance and began disarming himself.

He removed his belt and scabbard, handing them over without complaint.

The riders accepted them, their suspicion easing as they watched him comply.

“Thank the gods,” Fenn muttered under his breath, almost light-headed with relief as he was led on horseback by the two men.

—————————- As they approached the camp, Fenn surveyed the scene with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

The camp was simple, lacking the defensive walls or trenches he had imagined.

Instead, rows of basic tents were arranged with little apparent order, their canvas flapping gently in the evening breeze, there were as many horses as there were people.  Soldiers moved freely about, some polishing their weapons or tending to their steeds, while others sat in groups, laughing and drinking.

Here and there, Fenn noticed women among them, mostly looking down trying not to make eye contact.

Fenn’s horse was taken from him as the riders led him on foot through the camp.

He was flanked closely by his escorts, their presence a clear warning not to wander.

Finally, they stopped in front of a larger tent, its entrance marked by two banners bearing a coat of arms he didn’t recognize.

One of the riders gestured for him to enter, parting the tent flap.

Fenn took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and stepped inside.