Chapter 61 — The Approach
The journey to the Northern Timber Camp took the better part of two days, considerably further than any of Arlen’s previous quests had carried him, the terrain shifting gradually from the familiar outer forest into denser, older woodland he hadn’t personally explored before.
"Different growth pattern out here," Wren observed on the first afternoon, studying the increasingly massive trees around them with a scout’s practiced eye. "Consortium’s been logging this stretch for maybe two years now. Iron-Bark Treants don’t usually settle this close to human activity — territory’s normally deeper in, past where any logging operation would reasonably reach."
"Why would one relocate, then?" Arlen asked.
"Could be a lot of reasons," Halvard said, adjusting the pack across his shoulders without breaking stride. "Displaced by something else deeper in the forest. Following a food source. Or simply an old, solitary creature that’s outlived whatever territory it used to hold, settling somewhere quieter."
Cass, the mage Halvard had recruited, glanced up from the small notebook she’d been sketching terrain notes into. "Or it’s guarding something. Treants are old creatures, some of them older than any written record in this region. Wouldn’t be the first time one settled somewhere specifically because of what’s buried nearby."
Arlen thought of Eldrin’s ruin, of Vessa’s lingering unease about the residue left behind at Millbrook, and found the observation settling into him with more weight than it probably deserved given how little evidence supported it. "Anything in the guild records suggesting ruins or old sites near the timber camp?"
"Nothing formal," Cass said. "Doesn’t mean nothing’s there. Just means nobody’s properly surveyed it yet."
They made camp that first evening in a small clearing well short of the actual logging operation, and Arlen found himself, once the ordinary business of setting up camp concluded, falling naturally into the role he’d occupied on every expedition since Reya’s boundary crossing — preparing a proper meal rather than simply distributing rations, the small ritual settling him into the unfamiliar terrain with a comfort that felt earned rather than merely habitual.
He’d brought dried provisions supplemented by fresh game caught along the trail, and found Wren, watching him work with open curiosity, more interested in the process than the usual polite indifference most companions showed.
"You actually enjoy this," she said, not quite a question.
"More than most parts of the job, some days," Arlen admitted. "Feels like it matters, doing it properly instead of just getting calories into everyone."
"Consortium cooks I’ve traveled with treat meals like an afterthought," Wren said. "This is different. Good different."
The meal that evening — a simple stew built around the last of his fresh game and a handful of wild herbs gathered along the trail — drew genuine appreciation from the whole party, Halvard in particular remarking that it beat anything he’d managed on his own solo contracts by a considerable margin.
"You ever think about the culinary postings?" Cass asked, between mouthfuls. "Guild’s got that old cuisine archive. Barely anyone contributes to it these days."
"Been considering it," Arlen said, thinking of Ysolde’s own encouragement weeks earlier. "Haven’t found the time to properly organize what I’ve already gathered, let alone add to it formally."
"Should make the time," Wren said. "This is good work, Arlen. The kind people remember."
They reached the timber camp itself by midday on the second day, a modest operation of perhaps thirty workers, the sound of axes and saws carrying through the surrounding forest alongside the particular smell of freshly cut wood and sawdust. The camp’s foreman, a stocky, weathered man named Tobias, met them with visible relief once word spread that guild adventurers had finally arrived.
"Three weeks we’ve been dealing with this," Tobias said, leading them toward the operation’s edge where several felled trees lay abandoned, their trunks marked with deep, ineffective gouges from what had clearly been repeated, failed attempts at harming the creature. "Lost two men to injuries trying to drive it off ourselves before we finally sent word to the guild properly. Axes barely scratch it. Even our strongest man’s best swing just glances off."
"When does it typically appear?" Halvard asked.
"No real pattern we’ve found. Sometimes days pass with nothing. Other times it shows twice in one day, always when we’re working the northeastern stretch of the camp’s boundary. We’ve stopped logging that section entirely, but it’s cost us badly — that’s our best remaining timber."
Arlen studied the gouged, abandoned trunks with careful attention, noting the shallow, ineffective quality of the damage exactly as Tobias described. "Has anyone actually seen it clearly? Full description?"
"Big. Bark-covered, obviously, near enough that it looks like a walking tree until it moves. Slow, from what the men say, but strong enough that nobody wants to test that directly a second time."
They spent the remainder of the afternoon surveying the northeastern boundary Tobias had described, Wren’s scouting skills proving invaluable as she identified likely approach patterns and probable resting areas based on the pattern of disturbed undergrowth and broken branches scattered through the denser section of forest.
"There," she said finally, pointing toward a particularly ancient, moss-covered section of woodland bordering the logging camp’s northeastern edge. "If it’s denning anywhere close, that’s the most likely spot. Old growth, minimal recent disturbance beyond whatever the treant itself has caused."
Cass knelt beside a section of disturbed earth near the boundary, running her fingers thoughtfully through the soil. "Mana density’s noticeably higher here than the rest of the camp. Not dramatically so, but enough to suggest something’s been settled in this specific area for a while."
Arlen crouched beside her, curious despite himself, and found the observation echoing uncomfortably in his mind alongside Cass’s earlier comment about treants guarding old sites. He didn’t mention it further, not wanting to chase unfounded speculation before they had anything concrete to act on, but he filed the detail away regardless, alongside every other careful observation he’d gathered since their arrival.
They returned to camp as evening settled over the forest, and Tobias offered them use of a modest, empty logging shelter for the night rather than requiring them to make camp separately.
"Whatever you need from us, you’ll have it," he said, gratitude plain in his weathered face. "Just end this properly, if you can. We’re losing coin every day that section stays closed."
"We’ll do our reconnaissance properly first," Halvard said, firm but not unkind. "Rushing this gets people hurt. We’ll move on it once we understand exactly what we’re facing."
That evening, gathered around a small fire inside the shelter, the party worked through their gathered observations with careful, methodical attention — the treant’s slow but powerful movement, its apparent territorial fixation on this specific section of forest, the unusual bark density that had shrugged off every conventional weapon tried against it so far.
"Aura should manage what steel hasn’t," Halvard said, echoing Lyra’s earlier assessment. "Channeled properly, it passes through material resistance differently than raw physical force. That’s likely why this posting specifically required confirmed Awakened adventurers rather than simply stronger fighters."
"I’ve got two named techniques that channel directly through my blade," Arlen said. "Untested against anything this resistant, but the theory should hold."
"We’ll find out tomorrow," Wren said. "I say we approach at first light, catch it before its usual pattern of appearing later in the day. Better odds with the advantage of surprise, given how slow Tobias described its movement."
The party settled into an uneasy but purposeful rest that night, the weight of tomorrow’s engagement settling over each of them in their own private way. Arlen wrote briefly in his journal before sleep finally claimed him, the entry short but focused.
Iron-Bark Treant, confirmed territorial, likely denning near the northeastern boundary Tobias described. Bark resistance has defeated every conventional weapon tried so far. Aura should manage what steel hasn’t — that’s the working theory, at least, and tomorrow we’ll test it properly.
Cass noted elevated mana density near the suspected den site. Might mean nothing. Might mean something worth investigating further, if we survive tomorrow’s engagement with time and reason to look deeper.
First light. That’s the plan. I intend to be ready for it.
He closed the journal, the shelter’s modest fire burning low, and found sleep slower to arrive than usual, his mind turning over every careful detail of the coming fight, the familiar weight of genuine anticipation settling alongside a caution that Millbrook had taught him, permanently, never to fully set aside.