Chương 62: Chapter 39: The Nest - Part I

I make my way back toward the fallen cedar by a wider route, taking care not to leave an obvious trail between the hidden bodies and the nest. The forest has already begun reclaiming the brief struggle. Birds return cautiously to the branches overhead while a squirrel darts across one of the moss-covered logs as though nothing unusual has disturbed the morning. Nature rarely lingers upon death. It simply continues.

When I reach the cedar once more, I lower myself behind its weathered trunk and allow my breathing to settle before looking across the hollow again. The colony continues much as it had before. Smoke drifts lazily upward through gaps in the canopy while Rask move between the burrows carrying bundles of firewood, sharpening bone tools or sorting through the remains of the morning's hunt.

The juveniles continue their rough games, darting recklessly between the shelters until one of the older females drives them away with a sharp bark that sends them scattering in every direction. Upon the mound overlooking the nest, the scarred leader remains exactly where I left it, watching everything with the same patient vigilance. Nothing has changed. Three hunters have disappeared. The nest has not yet noticed. I count again, more from habit than necessity. Twenty adults remain within the hollow.

Perhaps another hunting party somewhere beyond the forest, though I doubt many. The deer brought back earlier still lies half butchered beside the central fire. They have no immediate need to hunt again. That leaves me with a choice. I could remain here until nightfall, drawing out another hunter, then another after that. With enough patience I might cut their numbers in half before they understood what was happening. The thought survives only a moment. It would never work.

Sooner or later, someone would notice an empty sentry post, an overdue hunting party or a companion who never returned from the stream. Once that happened, every adult in the colony would retreat beneath the burrows where their numbers would become far more difficult to overcome. The advantage belongs to me only while they believe themselves safe. I intend to keep it that way for as long as possible. My gaze drifts slowly across the hollow, no longer counting Rask but studying the ground itself.

Every nest, no matter the creature that built it, revolves around certain necessities. Food, water, shelter and ease of movement. Interrupt one, and the others begin to suffer. Interrupt all of them, and the colony tears itself apart. The cooking fires occupy the center of the hollow. Most of the food passes through them before being carried toward the burrows. The eastern path appears to lead toward the stream, while the western trail serves the hunters returning from the forest.

The southern side remains almost untouched, protected by a tangle of thorn bushes and exposed roots thick enough to discourage anything larger than a fox. The northern edge interests me most. There, the ground rises gradually toward a ridge overlooking the hollow. Several old pines cling stubbornly to the slope, their roots exposed by years of rain-washing soil downhill. Fallen trunks lie scattered among them, forcing anyone climbing that way to weave constantly between narrow gaps. Poor ground for a group.

Excellent ground for one man. I find myself remembering another lesson Vael had repeated often enough to become instinct.

"Never fight a pack where the pack chooses to stand. Make them come to you." The words settle comfortably into place. I rise silently, adjusting the staff across my shoulder before checking the sword resting at my hip. The leather wrapping around the hilt feels familiar beneath my hand, worn smooth by years of travel. It has served me faithfully through more contracts than I care to remember. Today would simply become another. I take one last look toward the scarred leader standing watch over its colony.

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"You've chosen good ground," I murmur too quietly for anyone but myself to hear. Then I shake my head.

"But not good enough." Keeping to the thickest cover, I begin circling toward the northern ridge. If the Rask wanted a battle. They would fight it where I decided. I move carefully between the trees until I find a shallow depression overlooking the nearest approach to the nest. From here I can watch the northern burrows without exposing myself to the hollow below. More importantly, anyone climbing the ridge will be forced to come through a gap scarcely wider than a wagon. Exactly as Vael would have wanted.

I kneel, pressing my palm lightly against the forest floor. The earth is cool beneath my fingers. For several moments, nothing happens. I simply breathe. The scent of damp pine needles fills my lungs while the quiet rhythm of the woodland settles around me once again. Somewhere beyond the ridge, water continues its endless journey through the stream. Birds call cautiously overhead, no longer disturbed by the brief violence hidden among the trees. Mana answers slowly. It always does when asked politely.

The familiar warmth spreads from the ground into my hand before flowing gently through my arm. There is no surge of overwhelming power, no brilliant display of light, only recognition. Like greeting an old friend after a long journey.

"I'll need your help." The words barely rise above a whisper. The forest answers in its own way. Roots resting beneath the loose soil shift almost imperceptibly. Vines no thicker than a finger stir beneath patches of fern before becoming still once more. Nothing dramatic, only readiness. I smile faintly.

"That will do." Rising once more, I retrieve several fist-sized stones scattered along the ridge and place them deliberately between the exposed roots. Then I drag one of the smaller fallen branches across the narrow approach until it rests naturally against a moss-covered trunk. To most eyes, the path remains unchanged. To someone forced to fight upon it, every step has become uncertain. I return to the edge of the ridge and wait. Patience has become the morning's constant companion. It rewards me once again.

A sharp whistle echoes from somewhere within the hollow below, summons. Another answers. The nest has finally noticed something missing. Movement spreads quickly through the colony. Several Rasks abandon whatever task had occupied them only moments earlier. Two hunters emerge from one of the larger burrows carrying spears while another retrieves a stone axe from beside the central fire.

Their leader descends from its perch without haste, exchanging a rapid series of clicks with the others before pointing toward the trail. The missing hunters. Their absence has finally been counted, good. Confusion remains my ally. Four Rasks leave the hollow together, searching. One pauses repeatedly to study the ground while another sniffs at the air much like the scouts I watched earlier. They spread apart instinctively, though never far enough to lose sight of one another, disciplined.

More disciplined than goblins ever manage. I remain perfectly still until they disappear among the trees before circling quietly along the ridge to meet them. The forest muffles any sound I make. The searching party moves below, closer. One Rask suddenly stops. Its broad nose lifts. It has found something. I am sure it hasn't sniffed me. A druid rarely smells different from the forest. It must have smelled the blood from the hidden bodies.

The others gather immediately around the brambles where I concealed the dead hunters. Low growls replace the usual clicking conversation while one kneels to inspect the ground. The leader of the search points uphill. Toward the ridge where I am hiding. It has reached the only conclusion left. Whatever killed them, must still be nearby and they must secure a high-vantage point. They begin climbing. Exactly where I wanted them.

The first Rask reaches the narrow approach and immediately stumbles as its foot catches one of the exposed roots hidden beneath the pine needles. Before it can recover, the staff crashes into its chest with enough force to throw it backward into the two climbing behind it. All three tumble together. The fourth attempts to circle around the fallen trunk. I press my hand briefly against the earth and the waiting vines answer.

They burst through the loose soil beside its ankle, winding around the leg just tightly enough to steal its balance. It snarls, hacking wildly with its axe as it tears free, but the moment has already passed. My sword is there first. Steel flashes as the creature falls. Behind it, the remaining three scramble back to their feet. This time, they come together, fury unleashed. Three opponents and one path. The ridge has already began doing half of my work for me.