Chapter 42 Decoy for decoy

Words : 720 Updated : Sep 20th, 2025

The dying flames cast long shadows across the forest clearing where twenty knights had made their camp. The air hung thick with the metallic scent of blood and the earthy dampness of the autumn night. Five tents formed a rough circle around the central campfire, with the largest—Lady Maena's command tent—set slightly apart from the others. The captured bandits' muffled screams occasionally pierced the otherwise quiet night, making even the most hardened knights shift uncomfortably at their posts. Inside the command tent, illuminated by several oil lamps that cast a warm but unsettling glow, Lady Maena worked. She was tall for a woman, with silver-black hair pulled back in a severe braid that emphasised her sharp cheekbones and steel-grey eyes. Her armour, though removed for the interrogation, sat on a stand in the corner, still bearing dried blood from the earlier skirmish. She had rolled up the sleeves of her white linen shirt, now spattered with fresh crimson stains. Jolthar stood near the tent's entrance, his broad shoulders tense as he watched the scene unfold. At eighteen summers, he was younger than most of the other knights, but his prowess in the day's battle had proven his worth. His hand rested instinctively on his sword pommel as he observed Lady Maena's methods with a mixture of respect and unease. "I'll ask again." Maena's voice was impossibly soft, almost gentle—a stark contrast to her actions. She held a thin, curved blade delicately between her fingers, its edge glowing orange from the nearby brazier. "Who sent you?" With her experience, she could easily tell that these were just lackeys. And that man admitted that they were acting on orders. The bandit—a scrawny man with matted brown hair—writhed against his bonds, the rope cutting into his wrists. His two companions lay unconscious nearby, having already endured their share of questioning. "Please," he whimpered again, "we're just hired swords!" Eran, Maena's second-in-command, stepped forward. His weather-beaten face remained impassive as he handed Maena a small vial. "The potion you requested, my lady." His voice carried the distinctive accent of the northern provinces. "Hold him," Maena commanded. Two knights moved to comply, their armour clinking softly as they secured the prisoner's head. A mercy killing, quick and clean. "Eran," she turned to her second, "prepare the men to ride. We return to the barony tonight." Then, catching Jolthar's eye, she paused. "You disapprove of my methods, young man?" Jolthar met her gaze steadily. "It's not my place to judge, my lady." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Yet judge you do. Come walk with me." Outside the tent, in the cool night air, Maena's demeanour softened slightly. "Cruelty for cruelty's sake is abhorrent," she said quietly. "But sometimes, to protect those we serve, we must be willing to dirty our hands. Better my soul bears this burden than the Baron's lands run red with innocent blood." She placed a hand on Jolthar's armoured shoulder. "Remember this lesson, young man: True leadership often means making the harsh choices others cannot." The camp quickly transformed into a flurry of activity as the knights broke down their tents and prepared for the ride back. The bodies of the bandits were burnt—Lady Maena insisted on proper disposal, even for enemies. As Jolthar mounted his warhorse, he watched her direct the men with calm efficiency. The same hands that had dealt such pain now gently adjusted her saddle strap, her voice carrying clear instructions across the clearing. The company rode out under the cover of darkness, twenty knights in formation around their commander. Lady Maena led from the front, her pose regal despite the night's grim work. Beside her, Eran kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, while Jolthar found himself studying his commander with new understanding. The moonlight caught the silver streaks in her hair—earned in service to the clan, each one probably carrying its own dark story. The forest seemed to close in around them as they rode, the darkness holding secrets yet to be unveiled. The easy victory over the decoy bandits now felt hollow, a false triumph masking a deeper danger. Their horses' hooves thundered through the night, the sound echoing ominously in the silent woods.

Chapter 42 Decoy for decoy

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