Chapter 18 | Part 2

Eldric’s hand shot up. The command was silent: a fist raised, fingers tight. Everyone understood. They stopped.

“What is it?” Balin whispered.

“Quiet.”

The old soldier dropped to one knee, examining the ground with an intensity that made Balin’s skin prickle. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the sudden stillness, the way even the birds had gone quiet.

“Tracks,” Eldric said finally. “Recent. Within the last few hours.”

“Travelers?” Dulint moved closer, peering at the disturbed earth.

“Not travelers.” Eldric traced something with his finger—a pattern Balin couldn’t see.

“Grukmar. Six, maybe eight of them. Moving parallel to our route.” He looked up, jaw tight. “They’re not following us. They’re flanking us.”

Balin’s stomach dropped. “Flanking? You mean—”

“I mean they know where we’re going. They’ve positioned themselves ahead and to the side.” Eldric stood, hand resting on his sword. “We’re being herded.”

Maris spoke, her voice flat: “They’re alongside us. Not ahead. I can feel them—pressure to the east. Moving when we move. Stopping when we stop.”

“How long?” Xandor asked.

“I don’t know. Days, maybe. Since we left Riverhold.”

The artifact. Balin looked at his uncle’s pack, at the weight that Dulint carried everywhere. It’s calling to them. Leading them right to us.

“I was right.” Eldric’s voice was strange—not triumphant. Hollow. “Years ago, I told command the Grukmar were organizing. Coordinating. Moving with purpose instead of scattered raiding. They dismissed me. Said I was seeing patterns in chaos.”

“You were right,” Xandor said quietly.

“Yes. And Varian and Garrick died because no one listened.” Eldric’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. “Being right doesn’t matter if no one believes you until it’s too late.”

Balin thought of his list of firsts. First time understanding that being right could be worse than being wrong.

“What do we do?” Dulint asked. His face had gone pale.

“We can’t outrun them. We can’t go around; they’ll adjust. Can’t hide…” Eldric glanced at the pack. “That thing won’t stop broadcasting our position.”

“Then what?”

“We prepare. Find defensible ground. Wait for them to make their move.” Eldric’s eyes swept the terrain. “There’s a rocky outcrop about a league north. High ground, limited approaches. If they want us, they’ll have to come through a bottleneck.”

“You’re talking about a fight,” Balin said. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. Younger than he felt.

“I’m talking about survival.” Eldric met his eyes. “You wanted adventure, boy. This is what adventure looks like. Not glory. Not songs. Just doing whatever it takes to see tomorrow.”

They moved north.

Balin kept looking over his shoulder, trying to see the hunters in the trees. He couldn’t. That was somehow worse than seeing them.

First time being prey, he thought. First time understanding what that means.

They weren’t being followed.

They were being positioned.

End of Chapter 18.2 —> 18.3: Northbound: The Ambush