Morning in the forest had quietly slipped toward midday.

  The light had changed: the cold gray of early morning softened into warmer tones, shadows grew shorter but did not vanish. The forest was fully waking, and with it, danger.

  The squad was already preparing to move on.

  Rianes and Feren climbed onto a large rock that rose above roots and brush and carefully scanned their surroundings. From there, the view was limited but useful: treetops, uneven terrain, patches of color in the foliage that betrayed subtle changes in the landscape.

  Below, among the trees, the others were erasing all traces of the camp. The ground was smoothed with branches, boot prints pressed down, and the fire put out so it looked old and accidental. No food scraps, no crushed grass. Nothing was allowed to shout that people had been here.

  Cross lay beneath a tree, half in shadow, half in light. From a distance, he might have seemed asleep, but his breathing was too even and his body too tense for real rest.

  Feren was the first to break the silence.

  “We need to move that way,” he said, pointing deeper into the forest.

  His finger marked the direction precisely.

  “See it? Over there, to the right, a band of greener trees. Looks like a river. Moisture lingers longer, so the trees feel autumn later.”

  Rianes looked in the same direction without a word. His gaze never settled on one point. It slid across the terrain, as if assembling the picture from separate fragments.

  “I think we should move along the river,” Feren continued. “That way we’ll reach the Pale Ones’ camp. If they set it up anywhere around here, it’ll be near access to fresh water.”

  Rianes did not answer immediately. Slowly, he shifted his gaze aside, toward the mountain range on the opposite edge of the forest. There, the trees were thinner, and rock cut through the ground in sharp lines.

  “I don’t want to walk into an ambush without cover,” he said at last. “If they decide to take us by the river, we won’t have a chance.”

  He gestured toward the rocks.

  “I think we should move there. Along the stone. We may have to make a detour, but

  First, the enemy can only appear from one side.

  Second, we can absorb the initial push among the rocks.

  Third, either way, retreat won’t be an option, so I’d choose the rocks.”

  Feren fell silent.

  He had studied tactics under Rianes for a long time, listening, remembering, analyzing. Even now, the difference between them was sharp. Not in knowledge, but in vision. Rianes’s decision was logical, clean, and obvious. Feren could have reached it himself. He just hadn’t.

  “Yeah, Ri, you’re right,” he said after a short pause. “We’ll have a chance there, if it comes to that.”

  Rianes barely reacted. Moments like this were routine for him. He saw the world differently, not as events, but as elevations and distances, color gradients, shadows, wind directions, and the precise places where space itself could kill.

  Below, the rest of the squad finished covering their tracks. The column formed quietly and moved on, without conversation, without wasted motion.

  Cross rose last and followed at a distance from the others, keeping his own line of movement, as if the forest around him were not an obstacle, but part of his territory.

  The forest accepted them once more.

  The day was slowly drawing to a close.

  The light was losing its sharpness, growing deeper and heavier, as if it were settling between the stones.

  The squad moved along the mountain ridge, keeping close to the rocks. They walked so that the stone would break up their silhouettes, fracture the outlines of their bodies, and hide their movement. Here, above the forest, the space opened much farther, and the eye could slide hundreds of meters ahead.

  From this height, everything happening below was visible.

  And at the same time, they themselves were far harder to notice.

  Cross was barely visible at all. He moved on all fours, pressed low to the ground, often staying below the level of the rocks. At times, it seemed as if he simply dissolved into the shadows of the stone, only to reappear a few steps ahead moments later.

  At last, they reached the point where the mountains grew too high and too sharp. Beyond it, the ridge lost its convenient paths, and continuing upward no longer made sense.

  They would have to sink back into the depths of the forest.

  Before the descent began, Skeld raised his hand, stopping the squad.

  “Listen,” he said. “It’s getting dark. I don’t want to set up camp in the forest again. Let’s stop here, in the rocks.”

  He turned and pointed back, slightly higher up the slope.

  “There’s a cave there. It’s sheltered from the wind. We’ll bring moss, brushwood, a bit of timber from the forest, and spend the night there.”

  He looked over the others, gauging their reactions.

  “Good idea,” Yahim nodded. “Sleeping in a cave is calmer. And observation is easier.”

  “And the wind won’t carry Skeld’s snoring through the whole forest,” Philip added.

  Skeld snorted.

  “Fine. Then I’ll go gather moss. I’ll take a shield, load it up, and bring it back. Who’s with me?”

  “I am,” Yahim answered immediately.

  Rianes quickly assessed the situation.

  “Good. Kesh and Philip, go to the cave and wait for us. We’ll take a look around and join you shortly.”

  Skeld took his shield in hand and, together with Yahim, began descending. The forest lay slightly below the ridge, and dense crowns completely covered the ground, forming a dark, almost solid mass.

  The others split off in their directions without a sound, each knowing his sector.

  Skeld went first. He carried the shield on one arm, holding it at an angle, ready to cover himself at any moment. Yahim stayed two meters behind, watching the flanks.

  Skeld reached the edge of the rock and jumped down.

  He landed on the damp, cold grass of the forest floor; his knees absorbed the impact, and the shield instinctively swung forward. The smell of earth and rotting leaves hit his nose.

  Without stopping for even a moment, Skeld immediately pushed aside the dense bushes. Branches resisted, tore, scraped against his armor. He slashed sharply with his short sword, clearing space without looking. The motion was mechanical, drilled into him.

  And in that exact moment, as the bushes parted, a Pale One appeared almost point-blank in front of him, turning away from the blow at the very last second.

  Not a silhouette.

  Not movement in the shadows.

  A living body, pale, unnaturally thin, with a gaze already fixed on him from below, looking up.

  There was almost no distance left to react.

  Despite the white, nearly dead skin and the dark, deep-set eyes, the Pale One did not look like a farmer driven from his field the day before.

  There was no chaos in him.

  His armor was light and practical, fitted for movement between trees. His weapon was short and narrow, ideal for close combat. No excess length, no decorative elements. His face and eyes were partially protected from branches; gloves covered his hands so he could fall onto stone or earth without fear.

  This was a fighter.

  Trained.

  Alive.

  For a brief moment, Skeld and the Pale One simply stared at each other. No shout. No movement. The moment lasted exactly as long as it took for both of them to understand that retreat was no longer an option.

  The pale one struck back. A sharp, fast thrust toward the torso.

  Skeld reacted instantly. The blow slammed into the shield and slid aside with a harsh metallic screech.

  “Enemy!” Skeld shouted.

  He rammed the Pale One with his shield, putting his weight and momentum into the strike, then immediately sprang backward, scrambling sharply up onto the rock.

  Arrows burst out of the bushes almost at the same time.

  Two struck Skeld’s shield. He was already ready, had raised it in advance. Wood and metal held.

  The third flew toward Yahim. It passed far too close, slicing the air beside his shoulder.

  Yahim fell from the shock, knocked off balance.

  Skeld grabbed him with one hand. Covering both of them with the shield, he began retreating uphill, toward the rocks, toward the rest of the squad. Step by step, without panic, but right at the edge of what was possible.

  Meanwhile, Philip was highest point. He had almost reached the cave. Seeing the movement, he immediately began firing his bow into the bushes from which arrows were raining down on Skeld. No shouting. No hesitation. Just work.

  Skeld withdrew effectively. He had already taken several arrows on the shield, not allowing a single one to reach Yahim.

  The volume of fire increased.

  Bushes and trees seemed to come alive. Arrows flew from different directions, yet the Pale Ones themselves were almost invisible. Only motion, the sound of drawn bowstrings, and quick shadows between the trunks.

  It became clear: there were many of them.

  The squad took cover behind the rocks. There was no way to lean out, but the stone held. Arrows shattered, stuck fast, or ricocheted away.

  The Pale Ones understood this.

  And the volume of fire began to drop.

  They were waiting. Because the squad was trapped.

  “Looks like they’ve been watching us for a long time,” Feren said. “And there are quite a few of them.”

  “They didn’t expect Skeld to jump straight down onto one of theirs,” Yahim added, still not fully recovered.

  “Actually, I was looking for a place to take a piss,” Skeld threw in dryly.

  Cross was positioned slightly off to the side. Apparently, he hadn’t been noticed. Not a single arrow had flown his way.

  The shooting stopped completely.

  But the movement of the Pale Ones could still be heard. Careful. Coordinated. The faint sound of metal brushing against stone.

  They were preparing an assault.

  Feren glanced back. They could retreat upward for now, take a more advantageous defensive position, and buy some time.

  He caught Rianes’s eye.

  Silent agreement.

  “Alright, I get it,” Skeld said. “On my command, fall back.”

  Feren was already about to pass the order to the rest of the squad.

  But Cross cut him off.

  “I feel it. He’s alone,” Cross said dully, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the rocks.

  He raised his hand and pointed toward the forest, far to the left of the place from which the arrows had come. There was no movement there, no sound. Only a shadow between the trees, too still to be accidental.

  Skeld understood at once.

  “What, you felt the leader?” he asked. “Can you get around him from above, over the rocks?”

  In Pale warbands, there was always one Suggestor. Only one for a large force. The only one with true resistance and the ability to keep the others under control. That was who Cross had sensed.

  The Pale valued their Suggestors more than any weapon. They helped restrain the craving for Lugu, direct it, and find carriers of the right blood. Without them, a unit turned into a pack.

  If such a one was taken alive, negotiation became possible.

  Cross gave a short nod. He could.

  “Good,” Skeld said. “Circle and wait. Don’t jump into the forest until I signal. You need to get through unnoticed. I’ll draw them off. That will be the sign for you and for everyone else.”

  Cross moved left without a sound, slipping away among the rocks. His silhouette broke against the stone and then vanished completely.

  At the same time, the Pale began to gather. Scattered shadows merged into dense groups. An assault unit was forming. Archers moved higher, into the trees, preparing new positions.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The Compact squad was ready to withdraw upward and take defensive ground.

  Cross had already circled the rocks and froze, ready to leap into the forest at any moment in search of the Suggestor.

  Skeld stepped forward.

  He set his shield before him, took a deep breath, shouted ahead, and burst onto the narrow path that led straight toward the Pale formation.

  Several arrows struck the shield. Some ricocheted, some stuck fast, but none stopped him.

  The Pale assault infantry had not expected this. Their formation broke. The narrow trail prevented them from advancing together, and they hesitated, approaching one by one, unwilling to close with Skeld, who stood blocking the passage.

  Meanwhile, the squad moved higher into the mountains, taking up positions. They were ready to cover Skeld’s retreat at any moment.

  When the Pale infantry finally regained their senses and began to regroup for a coordinated assault, a scream rang out from deep within the forest.

  Sharp. Inhuman.

  The scream of the Suggestor. And Cross.

  Cross had found him.

  And taken him alive.

  The Pale froze.

  They understood who stood before them. The assault stopped. Arrows no longer flew. The forest grew quiet again, but it was a different silence. Tense. Expectant.

  It was time for dialogue.

  Skeld was the closest to the Pale Ones. Rocks at his back, forest ahead, a narrow path. The space had collapsed into just a few steps.

  Rianes began to approach him from the side, calmly, without sudden movements, keeping slightly off to one flank.

  The Pale formation stood five meters away.

  Not attacking.

  Not retreating.

  Just waiting.

  “So?” Skeld shouted. “Changed your minds about attacking, have you?!”

  The Pale Ones turned their heads at the same time toward the one standing closest to Skeld. Toward the one who had managed to pull the assault group back together at the very moment it had almost fallen apart.

  It was their commander.

  He stepped half a pace forward.

  “We never planned an attack,” he replied harshly. “It was you who lunged at our fighter during observation.”

  “What?!” Skeld snapped, whipping his head around. “I was just trying to—”

  He stopped short.

  And fell silent for a moment.

  Because suddenly he understood: from the position of that Pale One on the other side of the bushes, everything looked different.

  No ambush.

  No maneuver.

  Just a foreigner who jumped down from above and went straight into an attack.

  Rianes stepped forward, taking control of the conversation.

  “That’s irrelevant now,” he said calmly. “We didn’t come here for that. You have one person from Hariv. We need to return them to the city.”

  The commander turned sharply and shouted something toward the forest, looking in the direction where Cross had vanished. The language was harsh, clipped, and incomprehensible to humans.

  Several words came back in response from the depths. The voice of the Suggestor.

  Alive. Conscious.

  That eased the commander slightly.

  “Names first,” the commander said, more restrained now. “Who are you?”

  “We are members of The Compact,” Skeld replied. “My name is Skeld.”

  He briefly indicated Rianes.

  “And this is our commander. Rianes.”

  Then he nodded back over his shoulder.

  “Behind us are Feren, Yahim from Korosten, and Kesh. You might know him.

  And up there,” he added, pointing higher, “is our archer, Philip.”

  The commander studied each of them carefully.

  The other Pale Ones began to murmur among themselves, glancing upward toward Philip. Some pointed at him, clearly recognizing him as the one who had wounded their people.

  “I don’t know any of you,” the commander said. “But you mentioned a man from the city. Why do you need him?”

  “He serviced Hariv’s defensive structures,” Rianes answered. “After the Scavenger attack on the mine, they need to be recalibrated. And he is the best engineer the city has.”

  At that moment, something shifted in the forest.

  The Pale Ones stirred, stepping aside as if someone were moving between them. The commander didn’t see it. His back was turned toward the motion.

  From the darkness between the trees, Cross emerged.

  On two legs.

  He carried the Suggestor over his shoulder. The man was alive and conscious, with no visible injuries.

  The Pale Ones were so startled that they didn’t even manage to warn their commander.

  He turned and jumped back sharply, instinctively reaching for his weapon.

  The balance of power became obvious in that instant.

  Cross walked past the commander without even looking at him. His movements were calm, almost indifferent, as if everything around him had already ceased to be a threat. He approached the rest of Rianes’s squad, carefully lowered the Suggestor to the ground, and then dropped back down onto all fours.

  The Suggestor didn’t even try to run.

  There was nowhere to go.

  Fighters stood all around him.

  And behind him was Cross.

  The commander addressed the Suggestor in his own language. Short phrases. Sharp intonation. The Suggestor replied just as restrained. After that, the commander turned back to Rianes.

  “I can’t decide for the entire settlement,” he said. “That requires speaking with the leaders. I’ll propose an exchange to them and return with your man. You will keep our man unharmed. The exchange will take place here. But I won’t be able to return until tomorrow.”

  Rianes didn’t hesitate.

  “There’s no need for such a complicated arrangement,” he said. “We’ll go with you.”

  Members of Rianes’s squad exchanged glances.

  Why go to a Pale settlement when the terms already seemed acceptable?

  And more importantly, how to stay alive after the exchange is over?

  The commander didn’t immediately grasp what he had heard either.

  “You seriously think we’ll bring you into our settlement?” he snapped. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to put the entire city at risk.”

  There was offense in his voice. Not fear. Outrage at such audacity.

  His protest was interrupted by the Suggestor.

  “Take them to the city,” he said calmly. “This is the Blue Cohort clan. They have never been our enemies. Besides, their ranks include many of the Crossed. The same kind of outcasts as us.”

  The commander clenched his jaw.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean they should be allowed to see our settlement.”

  “You’ll convene the council,” the Suggestor continued, “and it will start asking you questions you won’t have answers to. You won’t be able to keep running back and forth between the city and this place for every clarification.

  And don’t worry about security. No one can memorize the path through the forest in the evening.”

  The commander looked at the other members of his squad.

  A few glances. Short words that sounded like orders, not discussion.

  Then he turned back to Skeld and Rianes.

  “Fine. We’re moving. My people will go in front and behind. You’ll be in the middle. Your beast and our man will be in the middle as well. I hope there won’t be any trouble.”

  The group moved off between the trees of the dense forest.

  The forest changed quickly. It grew thicker, heavier. The canopy completely sealed off the sky, and even the last rays of sunlight failed to break through the leaves. The world sank into a green-gray half-darkness.

  They forced their way through dense brush, shielding their faces with hands and shields. Branches scraped armor, snagged on gear. It was clear that people rarely passed through here. The path existed only nominally, more as a chain of memory than as a road.

  Then the bushes ended abruptly.

  The forest became something else.

  Tall pines rose upward, their needles gathered high beneath the crowns. The ground underfoot was dark and layered, carpeted with old needles. Only here and there did grass push through.

  It was quiet here.

  And far too ordered for a wild place.

  They went deeper.

  The group reached a narrow, fast-flowing river.

  The water was cold and clear, running between stones in a tight channel, murmuring softly but constantly, like the background breath of this place.

  They moved upstream, toward the rocks.

  Progress was difficult. The damp ground was slick, stones hid beneath the water, and in places the banks vanished entirely, forcing them to cross along slippery ledges.

  Several times, the group noticed observation posts.

  Platforms in the trees.

  Carefully concealed walkways.

  Structures woven into the canopy, visible only if you knew where to look.

  There was no chaos here.

  This was a system.

  If someone decided to hunt the Pale Ones, it would take an entire army just to find them.

  And another one to clear this forest.

  And even then, success would be uncertain.

  At some point, the group emerged again toward the rocks and stopped.

  The Pale commander froze, lost in thought.

  He wasn’t looking at Rianes’s people or at the surrounding terrain. His gaze was turned inward, where he weighed a decision.

  One by one, his subordinates shifted their eyes from him to the Suggestor.

  Eyes tense.

  Bodies ready.

  Rianes’s squad felt the change as well. The fighters exchanged glances, subtly moved their hands closer to their weapons, judged angles, stones, distances. The space around them could easily become a battlefield, and everyone knew it.

  The silence was broken by the Suggestor’s voice.

  “Do not forget,” he said calmly, but firmly, “that I give you orders.

  Do not forget that I sense what you cannot.

  So continue your task.”

  The commander lowered his gaze.

  For several seconds, he looked down at the stones and the water. Then he raised his eyes, looked ahead, and moved on.

  The entire group followed without a word.

  They reached an unremarkable passage in the rocks. From the outside, it looked like an ordinary crack, a shadow between stone. Only up close did it become clear that this was an entrance.

  They descended into the cave.

  After several meters of darkness, light appeared. Torches burned evenly along the walls, without smoke, illuminating smooth, worked stone. This was no natural cave. It had been prepared, widened, and maintained.

  And after only a few more steps, they emerged again.

  Into a space that clearly was never meant to be found.

  A vast cavern opened before them.

  Its center was flooded with direct sunlight pouring down from above through a wide natural fissure in the rock. The beam broke in the air, touched stone and water, spread into a soft glow, creating a sense of open sky even though they were still underground.

  In the middle of the cavern lay a small lake. The water was calm and dark, with a faint sheen on its surface. Trees grew along the shore. Real ones. Living. With roots in soil, not random brush. Among them stood dwellings. Some free-standing, others literally carved into the rock walls. Several farms were visible. Garden beds. Terraces where someone had been working just minutes ago.

  Two large structures rose apart from the rest. They were different. More massive, more clearly defined. As if they were the center of control and power of this place.

  Everything was carved, embedded, woven into the stone.

  This was not a camp.

  And not a temporary refuge.

  There were many Pale Ones here. Very many.

  Not dozens. Not hundreds.

  Thousands.

  This was not a village.

  It was a fully functioning small city, with its own infrastructure, production, farming, and internal order. A city that had existed here for a long time and had no intention of disappearing.

  The commander turned to Rianes.

  “Everyone, wait here,” he said. “Keep the beast aside. I’ll go to the leaders and speak with them.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than Pale guards and archers began converging on the guests. The movement came in waves. From rooftops. From passages. From shadows between buildings. Residents hurriedly vanished into their homes, slamming doors, pulling children by the hand.

  The commander started shouting orders at the guards rushing in from all sides. His voice tried to impose order, but the space was too vast, the tension too high.

  The Suggestor joined him.

  His voice was lower, calmer, but his words were swallowed by the noise.

  The guards argued. Loudly. Aggressively.

  Officers ran in, trying to gather units, but the crowd already had weapons in hand. Spears. Bows. Short blades. Everything appeared far too quickly.

  The situation escalated fast.

  The commander could no longer shout people down, while the suggestor stood silently and looked around.

  It became clear that coming here had been a bad idea and that this would all end very badly for the guests.

  Rianes’s squad began to retreat slowly, without turning their backs, holding formation. But the Pale Ones were all around them. On every side. The distance was shrinking.

  Rianes and Skeld watched the crowd closely, tracking movements, searching for breakout points, judging how many seconds remained before the first strike.

  When the crowd began to press closer, a trumpet sounded.

  Piercing. Sharp.

  Not just a sound that struck the ears. One that shut off thought itself.

  The blast rolled through the entire cavern, echoed off the stone, dissolved into the water of the lake, and came back again.

  Everything froze.

  The crowd began to part.

  Slowly. Reluctantly. But obediently. People stepped aside, lowering their weapons, opening a corridor. Five Pale Ones moved within it.

  Four were large warriors in heavy, expensive armor. Not ostentatious, but perfectly fitted. Armor not worn by the rank and file. They walked evenly, keeping distance, controlling the space, ready to close around the center at any moment.

  In the middle walked her.

  A Pale woman.

  Unexpectedly beautiful for her kind.

  Her skin was just as pale, but clean and smooth. Her hair was light, almost silver, gathered simply, without ornament. She wore an elegant sky-blue garment that sharply contrasted with the stone and weapons around her. Not practical. Not military. Commanding.

  There was no doubt.

  She was a queen.

  Or someone whose authority required no proof.

  She raised her hand, and the guards stopped.

  No shouting. No commands. They simply stopped.

  The queen stepped right up to the commander.

  “Explain to me,” she said calmly, “where you encountered these guests.”

  “They came to us themselves,” the commander replied and bowed to the queen. “Said they were looking for someone from the city.”

  The queen’s gaze shifted past him to Cross, who stood behind, still holding the Suggestor. Her eyes lingered on him a little longer than on the others.

  “Thank you for keeping him intact,” she said. “Now be so kind as to release him.”

  Cross did not release the Suggestor immediately.

  But he did not object either.

  He made no sound at all.

  Rianes stepped into the exchange.

  “Cross, you can let him go.”

  Cross didn’t move.

  “Cross,” Rianes added in an even tone, “that is the first option, in case you didn’t understand.”

  This time, Cross released the Suggestor.

  The man stepped away calmly, approached the queen, bowed, and took his place beside the commander, as if he had belonged there from the very beginning.

  The queen looked at the guests again.

  “Rianes. Skeld,” she said with a faint smile. “You look terrible. And Velm has clearly been overindulging in Luga.”

  Her gaze paused on Cross for a brief moment.

  “But that’s not—” Feren began.

  “I know,” the queen cut him off. “It was a joke.”

  She turned to the crowd.

  “These people are from the east. From our old home. Once, they helped us. Now we must help them and receive them as guests.”

  She paused briefly.

  “And those who came with them.”

  The crowd began to murmur. The tension did not vanish instantly, but it broke. Weapons slowly lowered.

  “Skeld?..” a voice came from the crowd. “That can’t be.”

  Someone ran forward. Then two more. One in military armor. Two in civilian clothing. They hurried up to Skeld and Rianes.

  Recognition was immediate.

  Handshakes. Short words. Smiles no one had expected to see here.

  They turned back to the queen and said they would help the guests clean themselves up and find a place to stay for the night.

  The queen nodded, then addressed one of them.

  “When they’ve rested, bring Rianes to me. Even if he doesn’t want to come. We need to talk.”

  The crowd began to disperse slowly.

  The city returned to life.

  The squad was led to the water to wash. Cooks were already rushing to prepare food. The smell of something hot and real, for the first time in a long while, drowned out the scent of stone and tension.

  They were safe.

  For now.