The morning fog clung to the ground like a lover unwilling to let go, thick tendrils of mist snaking between the boots of the assembled rangers. Val leaned against the rough stone of Oakspire''s outer wall, fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against his sword hilt. His eyes tracked the east horizon where the rising sun struggled to burn through the haze, painting the world in muted gold and gray.


    Four hours of sleep had done little to ease the bone-deep weariness that had settled into him. The healing tincture, while not as strong as a full potion, had worked its magic on his wounds, transforming angry red gashes into pink lines of newly formed scar tissue, but nothing could fully restore what days of constant vigilance and combat had taken from him. Still, he stood straighter than he had yesterday, his mind clearer and his sword arm steady.


    Around him, twenty rangers from Company Five checked gear, adjusted saddles, and performed last-minute equipment inspections. Their movements were efficient and purposeful, the product of years of training and discipline. These weren''t fresh-faced recruits but seasoned veterans, men and women who had patrolled the borders of Yelden Valley for years. They knew the land, knew the enemy, and understood the stakes.


    Beyond the rangers, the army company was assembling in neat ranks, their armor catching the early light. The 4th Company of Oakspire''s army stood five hundred soldiers strong, with supply wagons and a medical corps. They would follow the rangers at a more deliberate pace, bringing the reinforcements and supplies that Willow Creek so desperately needed.


    Val''s gaze drifted northward, along the road that would take them back to Willow Creek. Back to Jorin, Elara, and the others if they still lived. The thought sent a cold spike through his chest that had nothing to do with the morning chill.


    "Oakspire, shelter us in your shade," he murmured, the familiar prayer falling from his lips unbidden.


    "Amen to that," said a gruff voice beside him.


    Val turned to find a weather-beaten ranger adjusting his bow string, his lined face testament to years spent under open skies. "Morning, Toren," Val replied, recognizing one of Company Five''s senior scouts.


    "Heard you had quite the journey," Toren remarked, testing the bow''s tension with practiced fingers. "Ghouls organized like an army, is it true?"


    "True enough," Val confirmed, his mind flashing back to the coordinated waves of undead that had crashed against Willow Creek''s walls. "Someone''s pulling their strings. Someone smart."


    Toren grunted, slipping the bow into its case with smooth efficiency. "Prefer my undead mindless and scattered. Makes ''em easier to kill."


    "Don''t we all," Val agreed with a soft chuckle, watching as more rangers gathered their gear, preparing for the call to move out.


    A sharp whistle cut through the morning air, drawing all eyes to a rangy, black-haired man standing at the head of the assembled rangers. Captain Alfen of Company Five, known throughout the ranger corps for his uncanny tracking ability and unforgiving training standards. His weathered face bore the marks of decades on the frontier, including a jagged scar that pulled his left eye into a permanent squint.


    "Rangers!" Alfen called, his voice carrying easily across the assembly area. "Form up!"


    The rangers moved with practiced discipline, forming two neat lines before their captain. Val took his place among them, standing at attention despite the protests of his still-healing body. Captain Alfen paced before them, his keen eyes assessing each ranger in turn.


    "Our mission is clear," Alfen began, his voice pitched to carry without shouting. "We are to proceed with all haste to Willow Creek, scout the situation, and secure the road for the army company that follows. Intelligence suggests coordinated undead activity throughout the northern valley. This is not a routine patrol, but a combat operation in potentially hostile territory."


    He paused, letting his words sink in. "We will travel in extended formation, two squads, with scouts ranging ahead and to the flanks. Our objective is speed combined with security. The 4th Company needs reliable intelligence on what they''ll face at Willow Creek, and the villagers need the supplies they''re bringing."


    Alfen''s eyes swept the assembled rangers again, his gaze lingering briefly on Val. "Ranger Hearne will be attached to First Squad as our liaison with the Willow Creek defense force. He knows the ground and the situation firsthand. Listen to him."


    Val nodded acknowledgment, feeling the eyes of the other rangers upon him. He recognized the responsibility Alfen was placing on his shoulders and the trust implied in the assignment.


    "Questions?" Alfen asked, looking from face to face.


    A ranger near the end of the line raised her hand. "Sir, what''s our response if we encounter significant undead forces on the road?"


    "Assess and report," Alfen replied promptly. "Small groups, we eliminate quietly. Larger forces, we bypass and mark for the army company. Our priority is reaching Willow Creek intact and gathering intelligence, not engaging in pitched battles along the way."


    The ranger nodded, satisfied with the answer. Alfen waited a moment longer, then straightened. "We leave in five minutes."


    A familiar voice called his name. Val turned to see a petite figure running toward him, her fiery red hair streaming behind her like a battle standard. She wore the distinctive attire of the mage corps; a fitted leather jerkin over a shirt of fine, fireproof cloth, with reinforced leggings and boots designed for both protection and mobility. A combat mage''s outfit, practical yet allowing the freedom of movement necessary for spellcasting.


    "Alea," Val said, a smile breaking through his grim demeanor for the first time that morning.


    Alea Faet skidded to a halt before him, her green eyes bright with a mixture of concern and excitement. Though only in her mid twenties, she had already earned a reputation as one of Oakspire''s most promising fire mages, her raw talent setting her apart from her peers. She was also one of Val''s oldest friends, their bond forged in the streets of Oakspire''s outer city where they had grown up together.


    "Thought you could sneak off without saying goodbye?" she demanded, hands planted on her hips in mock outrage.


    "Wouldn''t dream of it," Val replied, his smile widening despite the gravity of the mission ahead. "Just figured you''d still be abed, lazy mage that you are."


    Alea snorted, punching his arm lightly. "Some of us were up all night preparing while you rangers got your beauty sleep. Not that it helped in your case."


    Then her expression sobered, the humor fading from her eyes. "Is it really as bad as they say?"


    Val nodded, his own smile fading. "Worse, probably. Someone''s directing them, Alea. Someone who knows strategy and tactics."


    "Well, they haven''t met me yet," Alea declared, a dangerous glint in her eye. A tiny flame danced momentarily between her fingers, a reflexive manifestation of her power when her emotions ran high. "I''m marching with the 4th. Captain Harrick requested mage support, and they got stuck with me."


    "Always did have a knack for being where the action is," Val observed, remembering the countless scrapes they''d gotten into as children, usually at Alea''s instigation.


    "You know me," she agreed with a flash of her old mischievous grin. Then she stepped forward suddenly, wrapping him in a fierce hug. "Be careful out there, Val," she whispered against his chest. "I mean it. Those things already got one shot at you."


    He returned the embrace, surprised by the intensity of her concern. "I''ll be fine," he assured her. "We''re just scouting ahead, not looking for a fight."


    She pulled back, fixing him with a skeptical look. "When have you ever not found trouble?"


    "Fair point," he conceded with a chuckle.


    "Just leave some ghouls for me," Alea said, her grin returning. "I''ve been bored to death at that mage tower. All theory and no practice makes for a very dull fire mage."


    "I''ll try to save you a few," Val promised, the banter familiar and comforting despite the dire circumstances.


    A sharp whistle cut through their conversation, Alfen''s signal to move out.


    "See you in Willow Creek," Alea said, stepping back from him. "Try not to get eaten before I get there."


    "Wouldn''t dream of it," Val replied. "The ghouls would probably get indigestion anyway."


    "First and Second Squads, form up!" Alfen called. "Scouts, take your positions. We make for Willow Creek!"


    The city fell away behind them as they picked up the pace, a slow jog that ate up the miles without exhausting them. The morning fog was beginning to lift, revealing the rolling landscape of Yelden Valley spread before them. Fields of grain rippled in the gentle breeze, farmsteads dotted the countryside, and in the distance, the dark line of the forest marked their path northward.


    Under normal circumstances, it would have been a peaceful, even idyllic scene. But Val''s experienced eyes caught the subtle signs of wrongness. Abandoned fields with tools left where they had fallen, farmhouses with doors left ajar, a cart overturned on the side of the road with no one in sight to claim it. The civilians were fleeing toward Oakspire, driven by the news of the undead menace advancing from the north.


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    The rangers spread out as they cleared the more densely populated areas near the city, adopting the extended formation that Alfen had ordered. Scouts ranged ahead and to the flanks, alert for any sign of enemy movement, while the main body maintained a steady pace along the road.


    Val found himself riding beside Toren, the veteran scout''s eyes constantly scanning the terrain as they moved. "Quiet," Toren observed after several miles had passed without incident. "Too quiet."


    Val nodded, the observation matching his own thoughts. The usual sounds of a valley in summer; birdsong, the distant lowing of cattle, the calls of farmers tending their fields, were noticeably absent. Instead, a heavy silence hung over the land, broken only by the rhythmic beat of their boots on dirt.


    "Animals know when death walks," Val replied softly, remembering the eerie silence that had preceded the attack on Willow Creek. "They flee or hide long before the ghouls arrive."


    "Cheerful thought," Toren grunted, adjusting his bow case for easier access. "How far to Willow Creek from here?"


    "Twenty miles to the village proper," Val answered, mentally tracing the route ahead. "But we''ll reach the outer farms in about fifteen. If the undead have pushed beyond the village, that''s where we''ll first encounter them."


    Toren nodded, his weathered face grim. "Let''s hope your friends have held the line."


    Val said, as much to reassure himself as his companion. "They know their business."


    The conversation lapsed as they rode on, each man lost in his own thoughts. The sun climbed higher, burning away the last of the morning fog and revealing the full expanse of the valley around them. It was beautiful country, Val reflected, some of the most fertile land in all of Atilea. The thought of it falling to the undead, of the ancient forests being scorched and the rich fields left to rot, filled him with a cold anger that settled beside the fear in his gut.


    After several hours of steady jogging, Alfen called a brief halt to rest the horses and allow the rangers to eat a quick meal. They stopped near a small stream, drinking gratefully from the cool mountain runoff.


    Val found a flat rock by the stream and sat, stretching his legs and wincing as his healing wounds protested the movement. He took a strip of dried meat from his pack and chewed it methodically, aware that his body needed the sustenance even if his appetite was nonexistent.


    "How''re those wounds holding up?" asked a lean, dark-haired woman as she approached, the insignia on her collar marking her as the squad''s medic.


    "Well enough," Val replied, recognizing Dara, Company Five''s senior healer. "Tessa''s work at headquarters, plus a healing tincture. I''ll manage."


    Dara crouched beside him, her experienced eyes assessing him with professional detachment. "Mind if I take a look? Rather not have you falling off your horse halfway to Willow Creek."


    Val hesitated, then nodded and pulled up his shirt to reveal the bandaged wounds beneath. Dara carefully unwrapped the largest one, her touch gentle but firm.


    "Clean edges, good color," she pronounced after a careful examination. "The medicine did its work. But you''re pushing it, heading back out so soon."


    "Not much choice," Val said, pulling his shirt back down as she reapplied the bandage. "Time matters."


    "Always does," Dara agreed, rising to her feet. "Just don''t tear those open again. I''ve got enough to worry about without you bleeding all over my clean bandages."


    Val managed a smile at that. "I''ll do my best."


    "See that you do," she replied, her stern tone belied by the understanding in her eyes. She moved on to check other rangers, her practiced gaze missing nothing.


    The rest period lasted only fifteen minutes before Alfen called them back to their mounts. The pace he set was brisk but sustainable, balancing the need for speed against the necessity of keeping the horses fresh for a potential combat situation. The scouts continued to range ahead, vigilant for any sign of the enemy.


    Ahead, the landscape was beginning to change. The open farmland gave way to scattered copses of trees, the northern forest extending its influence southward along the road. It was cooler here, the sun''s heat mitigated by patches of shade. It was also more dangerous, the trees offering potential hiding places for ambushes.


    "First Squad, tighten up," called Sergeant Maren, the weathered woman who commanded Val''s unit. "Eyes sharp, weapons ready."


    The rangers complied instantly, closing ranks slightly and checking their weapons. Bows were unslung and arrows nocked but not drawn, ready for instant use if needed. Swords and axes hung at their sides, within easy reach. They moved with the practiced vigilance of veterans, aware that in these woods, death might lurk behind any tree.


    A scout appeared ahead, moving fast toward them. He stopped before Alfen, his face grim. "Tracks, sir," he reported. "Fresh. Multiple ghouls, moving south along the road. They passed through less than an hour ago."


    Alfen nodded, unsurprised. "Numbers?"


    "At least a dozen, possibly more," the scout replied. "They''re not trying to hide their passage."


    "Or they don''t care if we know they''re coming," Maren suggested, her hand resting on her sword hilt. "Confident in their numbers, maybe."


    "Or setting a trap," Val added, remembering the ambush that had nearly claimed him and his companions days earlier. "The wight we encountered used the ghouls as bait to draw us in."


    Alfen considered this, his scarred face thoughtful. "We proceed with caution," he decided. "First Squad will take point. Second Squad will follow at fifty yards, providing cover if needed. Scouts, range wider, look for signs of flanking movement or ambush positions."


    The rangers adjusted their formation according to Alfen''s instructions, First Squad moving to the front while Second Squad dropped back to provide support. The scouts disappeared into the trees on either side of the road, alert for any sign of enemy movement.


    "Ranger Hearne," Alfen called, gesturing Val forward. "What should we be watching for?"


    Val urged his horse alongside the captain''s, considering the question carefully. "They''re using basic military tactics like ambushes, flanking maneuvers, coordinated attacks. The ghouls themselves aren''t smart, but something''s directing them. We encountered a wight acting as a field commander, and there may be others."


    "Weaknesses?" Alfen prompted, his eyes scanning the forest ahead.


    "They''re still undead," Val replied. "Slower than the living, vulnerable to fire, decapitation stops them. But they don''t feel pain or fear, and they won''t break ranks or retreat unless ordered to. And they''re stronger than they look."


    "A concerning development," Alfen observed grimly. "We haven''t seen this level of organization from the undead in generations."


    "Not since the Fall of the Atilean Empire," Val agreed, remembering the histories he had studied during his training. "When the Last Emperor''s necromancer turned against him and raised an army of the dead."


    "Let''s hope history isn''t repeating itself," Alfen said, his expression darkening. "The Deadlands were created in that conflict. We can ill afford another such cataclysm."


    They rode in silence for a time, each man lost in his thoughts. The forest grew denser around them, the road now running through a corridor of ancient trees whose branches interlaced overhead, creating a canopy that filtered the sunlight into dappled patterns on the ground below. It would have been beautiful under other circumstances, but now the shadows seemed to hide potential threats, and every rustle of leaves brought hands to weapons.


    A scout materialized from the trees ahead, approaching at a controlled pace. He stopped before Alfen, his expression urgent. "Undead ahead, sir," he reported. "A large group, moving south along the road. At least thirty ghouls, plus what looks like a wight."


    Alfen''s face hardened. "Distance?"


    "Half a mile, sir," the scout replied. "In the clearing where the old mill used to stand. They appear to be resting, if undead can be said to rest."


    "Waiting for nightfall, perhaps," Val suggested. "They prefer to attack in darkness."


    Alfen considered this, then turned to Sergeant Maren. "We need to assess without alerting them to our presence. Send three scouts to tail them. I want to know exactly what we''re facing."


    Maren nodded and selected three rangers from her squad, giving them quiet instructions before they disappeared into the forest, moving parallel to the road to avoid detection. The main body of rangers halted, maintaining silence as they awaited the scouts'' return.


    Val used the opportunity to stretch, easing the strain on his healing wounds. The forest was quiet around them, too quiet, the normal sounds of wildlife notably absent. Even the birds had fallen silent, aware perhaps of the unnatural presence ahead.


    "You think they''re setting up another ambush?" Maren asked in a low voice, moving her horse alongside Val''s.


    Val shook his head slightly. "Possible, but not likely. If they knew we were coming, they''d have positioned themselves better. This seems more like a forward patrol or scouting party."


    "Scouting what?" Maren wondered. "There''s nothing of value in this direction except—"


    "Oakspire," Val finished grimly. "They''re probing southward, testing defenses, looking for weaknesses."


    Before Maren could respond, one of the scouts returned, moving swiftly but silently through the underbrush. He approached Alfen, his expression confirming Val''s suspicions.


    "Thirty-seven ghouls, sir," he reported in a hushed voice. "Plus one wight acting as their commander. They''re arranged in a defensive formation around the clearing, with sentries posted. They''re not just resting—they''re waiting for something."


    "Or someone," Val suggested, a cold feeling settling in his gut. "Reinforcements, perhaps."


    Alfen''s face was grim as he processed this information. "Where are the other scouts?"


    "Still observing, sir," the scout replied. "Soren spotted movement in the forest to the east of the clearing. He''s investigating."


    As if summoned by his name, another scout appeared, his approach so silent that several rangers started in surprise. "Sir," he said, addressing Alfen directly, "there''s another group approaching from the east. Larger than the first, at least fifty ghouls, plus several wights."


    Alfen processed this information for a moment, his scarred face unreadable. Then he turned to Sergeant Maren. "Send a ranger back to the army company. They need to know what we''re facing."


    Maren nodded and selected a ranger, giving him quick, precise instructions before he turend and moved back the way they had come, keeping to the trees alongside the road to minimize detection.


    "The rest of us will continue north," Alfen decided, his voice firm. "We''ll bypass this group using the old logging trail that runs parallel to the main road. It will slow us slightly, but it''s better than engaging a force of this size."


    Val nodded in agreement. Their mission was to reach Willow Creek and assess the situation, not to engage in pitched battles along the way. The information they had gathered would be valuable to the army company following behind, allowing them to prepare for the encounter.


    Under Alfen''s direction, the rangers moved off the road and into the forest, filing onto a narrow trail that wound through the trees parallel to their original route. It was an old logging path, overgrown in places but still passable. It would add time to their journey, but it offered the best chance of avoiding detection by the undead forces ahead.


    They proceeded in single file, moving as quietly as possible through the dense undergrowth. Val found himself in the middle of the column, his senses alert for any sign of threat. The forest seemed to close in around them, the trees pressing closer, the shadows deepening despite the midday sun somewhere above the canopy.


    For an hour they traveled this way, the only sounds the soft footfalls of their horses and the occasional snap of a twig beneath hooves. The path wound deeper into the forest before curving back toward the main road, bypassing the clearing where the undead had gathered.


    As they approached the point where the trail would rejoin the road, Alfen called a halt with a raised hand. The scouts moved ahead, checking for signs of enemy presence before signaling the all-clear. The rangers emerged from the forest onto the main road, reforming into their previous formation as they continued northward.


    "That was too easy," Maren muttered as they rode. "If these undead are as organized as you say, they should have had patrols watching the alternative routes."


    "Maybe they did," Val replied grimly. "Maybe they just let us pass."


    "Why would they do that?" Maren asked, her brow furrowing.


    "To follow us back to Willow Creek," Val suggested. "To gauge our strength. Or simply because their orders are to march south, not engage small ranger patrols."


    Maren considered this, her expression troubled. "None of those options are particularly comforting."


    "No," Val agreed. "They''re not."