Chapter 172: Eyes in the Shadows
The caravan made steady progress along the main road, carving its way through the dense undergrowth of the southern territory. The reinforced wooden wheels creaked against the dry dirt as Caelen and Varis kept a rigid posture atop their wagons, scanning the surroundings with caution and relief at having left the tribe’s main center behind.
Hours later, the procession reached the Red Forest outpost. The air in this stretch was thicker, permeated by the distinct scent of resin and crimson foliage. Emerging from the dense tree trunks were the heavy timber structures of the local garrison.
As they approached, Brak, the commander in charge of the post, stepped forward alongside his men. Grok paused for a brief moment and locked eyes with Brak; a tacit understanding passed between both warriors without the need to articulate a single word. Brak gave a firm nod and made a subtle gesture toward the rear.
Twenty-five additional elite soldiers emerged from the shadows of the fortifications to join the march. They deployed along the caravan’s flanks, adjusting their rifles and maintaining a formation that encased the merchants in a human corridor of iron and muscle.
Varis observed the deployment closely, pressing his lips together while hiding his tension. Caelen glanced sideways at the warriors’ methodical posture, noticing that the escort no longer felt like protection, but like a ring of containment.
As the sun reached its zenith, the group arrived at the Mountain Fortress, the defensive stronghold guarding the pass toward the northern lands.
There, the thirty-five guards marching with the caravan and the five posted at the fortress went about their routine tasks. Some wiped down their spearheads, others inspected cargo tackle or adjusted the walls of the ramparts; yet not a single one took their eyes off the merchants.
Grok waited atop the stone rampart until the last shape of the caravan faded into the mist covering the pass to the north. Once the merchants were out of range, the giant turned toward Brak and Helga, who had descended from the watchtowers to join them.
"The Great Shaman does not trust those men," Grok spoke in his deep, raspy voice. "He knows that next time they will not come with just wagons. If they discover how to replicate our weapons, or if they decide it is cheaper to take the village by force, the next time they cross that pass they will bring an army."
Brak tightened his grip around the shaft of his axe, while Helga narrowed her eyes with cold focus.
"What are the Great Shaman’s orders?" asked Helga.
"We must prepare for war," Grok announced. "All available soldiers will be transferred to this fortress without delay. We are going to clear this front area and seed the entire terrain with explosive traps and underground mines. The expansion toward the Red Forest and the river areas is frozen for now. We will only maintain occasional patrols in the south to prevent wild beast overpopulation. The full strength of the tribe will focus on fortifying this pass."
Brak and Helga nodded without hesitation. The resolve on their faces was absolute; there was no room for doubt when the tribe’s survival was at stake.
"We will begin the excavations right away," said Brak, turning to issue commands to his men.
Meanwhile, several kilometers away, the Golden Rose Company caravan left behind the mountainous stretch and the view of the tribe’s fortress. No longer feeling the glare of the forty guards or Grok’s looming shadow, the tension suffocating the merchants dissipated.
Caelen slumped his shoulders onto his wagon seat, his face flushed with intense rage. He slammed his closed fist against the wooden trim.
"This was an absolute humiliation, Varis!" said Caelen through gritted teeth, no longer bothering to lower his voice. "We yielded on every single point! He demanded five hundred slaves, tons of pure metals, tons of our finest medicinal herbs... and he didn’t even allow us to take a single sample rifle for our armorers! We lost at every step of this negotiation!"
Varis adjusted his robe, looking at Caelen with patience, maintaining the composure of someone who sees the bigger picture.
"Calm yourself, boy," Varis replied with a crooked smirk. "You are looking at the leaves and missing the forest."
"I am in no mood for your sayings, Varis!" shouted Caelen, slamming the wood once again in frustration. "Tell me once and for all what on earth is so good about returning empty-handed!"
Varis sighed, adjusting his cloak over his shoulders.
"We were in foreign territory, Caelen," explained Varis in a firm voice. "Surrounded by hundreds of their warriors, inside a fortified village, and facing weapons we do not understand. While I do not doubt that our company guards could have killed several of them, we would have paid a very high price... our own lives. It was wiser to walk out of that place untouched, yield to his demands on paper, and plan our return with a clear head."
Caelen gritted his teeth, listening despite his anger.
"What we paid in that negotiation was a small price for discovering such precious things," continued Varis, leaning forward with a calculating look. "We now know that a weapon exists capable of piercing any armor from a distance, along with underground traps that can obliterate entire regiments in the blink of an eye. Those savages have no idea of the scale of what they possess."
"And what good does knowing that do us if we aren’t even bringing back a single sample?" protested Caelen.
"We will report everything to His Majesty, your father, as soon as we reach the capital," said Varis with a thin smile. "He will evaluate the information and make the final decision. If your father authorizes mobilizing the imperial army and marching upon this valley, what then will this settlement mean against the full might of the crown?"
Caelen remained silent. The rage on his face slowly dissipated, replaced by a smirk of satisfaction as he envisioned the imperial banners trampling the village of the Bear God.