The group of four saddled up at the front gate and walked their mounts to the forge, where Rita was waiting.
Clara:Almost didn't recognize her.
Rita looked completely different from the day before. Her clothes were freshly laundered, her hair damp and combed back—clear signs of a recent bath. The grimy, pale cast to her skin had been replaced with something clean, even youthful.
Fergis:She looks better…
Cane:Probably drank virgin blood… Be careful.
Fergis:Why should I be careful?
Cane:You know why.
"Morning, Rita," Cane called as they approached.
She had just finished inspecting the wagon and was climbing into the seat. "Whoever worked on this really knows their stuff. Doesn't even feel like the same wagon."
Cane smiled, accepting the compliment. Once again, the masked blacksmith had done his job.
"I'll let Jonas know you were impressed," he said, climbing into his saddle. "Next time I see him."
With the repaired suspension and frame, Rita didn't have to fight the wagon through every slope and dip. The team made excellent time, arriving at the Sarona goldmine right on schedule.
Jova emerged from the office as the wagon rolled to a stop. Half a dozen locked chests sat in neat rows beside the door.
"I'll have my people load the wagon," he said. "Come inside to sign the paperwork."
Clara:Paperwork?
Fergis:We're signing for the gold. If something happens, we're liable.
Cane:And the mission would fail.
Fergis:That too.
Cane:Watch them load it. Make sure the wagon stays balanced. I'll handle the paperwork.
Fergis:Maybe I should sign… I don't even know what a balanced load looks like.
Cane: Fine.
Cane watched closely as the chests were loaded, making the workers shift the first two forward and keeping the rest centered directly over the reinforced axle. Balance mattered—especially in the terrain ahead.
Rita disappeared into the office briefly and reemerged carrying a blunderbuss.
Clara:She has a firearm?
Cane:This isn't part of the war. Firearms are allowed. Keep an eye on her—remember what we said.
Cane took his place at the front of the wagon. Clara and Dhalia moved to either side, with Fergis bringing up the rear.
"Move out," Cane said, turning uptrail.
He swiped the falconer rune, eyes glowing amber as Pudding's vision snapped into focus. The area where the ambushers had been the day before was crystal clear—even down to footprints and a poorly buried fuse line.
Two men waited just before a sharp curve in the road. Two more lingered a few dozen meters past it.
Cane:Looks like the plan is to let us pass, then blow the trail ahead and behind. Even if we survive the blasts, we'd be completely exposed.
Clara:Rita's rune just lit up. Behind her ear. I saw it glow.
Dhalia: Might not mean anything…
Cane:We're taking the harder trail to the left. It bypasses the ambush site.
He turned his mount crosswise to the trail, blocking the wagon's path until Rita brought it to a halt.
"We're going to take the fork here," he said evenly.
Rita shook her head. "I've ridden that trail. The wagon won't make it."
"I think it will."
"Sorry, Cane, but I'm going to insist. As a representative of the Sarona Gold Company, it's my decision—"
THWWWP.
Clara raised a hand. Vines shot up, wrapping around the blunderbuss in Rita's lap. With a snap and a yank, it flew into Clara's grip. She caught it smoothly and leveled it in one motion.
"The farce is up," she said coldly. "Use that psi rune again, and I'll shoot it off—along with your entire face."
Rita paled, eyes darting. Fergis's hands were glowing, Dhalia stood ready, and Cane had a trident resting casually across his saddle.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she started. "But like I said—"
"That's enough," Cane cut in, his tone flat. "I know about the four men on the trail with explosives. If you don't comply, we leave your corpse here, and I drive the wagon."
"Say the word, and she's ashes. She was going to kill us."
"No," Rita blurted. "It was just robbery. We're not stupid enough to kill cadets from the Magi Academy."
"Disable her rune," Cane said.
"You got it." Fergis dismounted and climbed up beside her. "Don't twitch or I'll light your hair on fire."
He moved his hands in practiced signals, focusing. A few seconds later, the rune flickered and dimmed.
"It's unusable," Fergis said. "Only I can reactivate it."
"Good work." Cane nodded as Fergis returned to his position. "So… what's it going to be?"
"I'll follow." Rita's voice was tight. She wasn't sure about the two girls, but the boys? They'd absolutely kill her.
"The way you snatched that blunderbuss…" Fergis turned to Clara. "That was slick."
Clara's freckled cheeks turned bright red. Her smile practically took over her face. "It was? I've been practicing. Oh—and I'm keeping this."
"Fine with me," Cane said. "If she so much as twitches, blast her out of that seat."
Clara gave a cheerful thumbs up and pointed the weapon at Rita. "You got it."
"We're picking up the pace," Cane said flatly. "Any accidents or attempts to slow us down, and I'm going to be very unhappy with you. If you'd like to know what that means, just do something stupid."
"I don't want to know what that means," Rita said solemnly. "I really don't."
With the increased speed and rougher terrain, the wagon bounced and rocked with every turn. True to her word, Rita kept it mostly centered, and the team steadily put daylight between them and the ambush site.
Clara:Think they'll follow us?
Cane:Yes. It'll take time, though. Once they realize we're not coming, they'll have to backtrack and figure out where we turned off.
Cane swiped the falconer's rune. His eyes glowed bright amber.
"Range far. South."
Through Pudding's vision, he saw the ambushers still in place—no movement yet. The bird rose higher, scanning.
A few moments later, his vision returned to normal.
Cane:They're not on to us yet. Probably think we left camp late.
Clara:Good thing you repaired the wagon.
They stopped around midday, pulling off beside a shallow river. The sun was high, the water clear and cool.
Cane dismounted. "Let your horses drink. I'll handle the team."
"I can water them," Rita offered.
"Don't move from that seat," Cane replied, his voice sharp enough that she dropped it immediately.
As the others rested, Cane used the falconer rune again. A half-dozen riders were now trailing behind—moving fast.
After watering the team, he hitched them back up and led them through the river. The crossing was shallow—only about knee deep.
Once across, he drew his trident and dragged its ends along the far bank, carving long scuffs in the soil—marks that could pass for banded wagon wheels.
"We're turning downriver," Cane said as he remounted. "Hopefully, that'll throw them off."
Dhalia's hand glowed brightly, her water-based focal activating. The river's surface dipped, the current slowing.
"I can hold it at ankle depth for a short while," she said.
"Perfect." Cane nodded. "There's another ford about five miles downstream. Let's move fast."
Cane let his horse run. The riverbed was smooth, and the wagon held pace surprisingly well. He swiped his falconer rune, amber light filling his eyes as Pudding's vision took hold.
The pursuers had crossed the river—but they were heading the wrong way. At least for now.
"Up here," Cane called, turning off onto a narrow road. He pulled to the side, letting the wagon climb the steep grade ahead. "How you holding up, Dhalia?"
Dhalia was pale, her brow glistening with sweat. "Once I let this go, the river's going to rise hard—for at least a day."
"Perfect. Release it. And great job."
Dhalia lowered her hand, smiling faintly as the water surged. The current grew angry, swelling fast.
"Thanks," she said softly.
They paused for a light meal a few hours later, but with their pursuit uncertain, Cane pushed them onward—deep into the night. It was close to midnight when he finally called a halt.
"Coldfare only," Cane said as he dismounted, stripping the saddle from his horse. "No campfires."
He turned to Rita. "Feed the horses. If any of them turn up lame, you'll be meeting your ancestors."
Rita blinked. "You don't have to threaten me every time we stop."
"That's not a threat," Cane replied. "It's a promise."
From his storage ring, he pulled two tents, several dried food packs, and full canteens.
"Let's get some rest."
A brown blur dropped from the sky and landed lightly on Cane's shoulder.
"Good job, Pudding," he murmured.
The bird fluttered to the wagon's edge, tucked its wings, and promptly dozed off, its eyes disappearing beneath puffy lids.
"You two are in there," Cane said, pointing Clara and Dhalia toward the closest tent. "We're resting for five hours."
Rita watched them vanish into the tent. "Where am I sleeping?"
Cane smiled. "Between me and Fergis. I sleep light, and he sets things on fire in his sleep."
Fergis frowned. "One time. Why do you keep bringing that up?"
Cane chuckled and tossed Rita a blanket and pillow from his ring. "Or I can tie you to the wagon and leave you there 'til morning."
**
"Range close," Cane whispered.
Pudding gave a proud little fluff of feathers before launching into the sky—silent as ever. It was still too dark to call it predawn.
Cane returned the tent and supplies to his storage ring, then pulled out a broom. He motioned for the wagon to move out, then swept away any obvious traces of their stop. Dust, hoofprints, wheel grooves—anything that might give them away.
Through Pudding's enhanced night vision, he studied the backtrail. No sign of pursuit yet. But the bandits, traveling light, could cover ground faster than they could—and longer.
Cane:No sign of pursuit… but stay ready, just in case.
A few hours after dawn, the wagon passed through a series of narrow ravines and finally rejoined what appeared to be a main road.
Dhalia:We finally back on the road?
Cane:Looks that way.
Fergis:Hold up a moment.
Cane reined in and turned back. Fergis had stopped, his horse now facing the way they'd come.
"Something wrong?" Cane asked.
Fergis shook his head. "Those ravines behind us. I can collapse them—melt the whole thing into one big fused slab."
"With balefire?" Cane frowned. "That'll wipe you out. How long to recover?"
"If I lie down in the back of the wagon… maybe three hours."
Cane narrowed his eyes. "This your way of sneaking a nap?"
"Yes," Fergis admitted. "That woman snores."
"Hey!" Rita snapped from the wagon seat, clearly offended. "I do not snore, bastard."
"Yes, you do," Cane replied without missing a beat. "Alright, Fergis. Collapse the ravine."
Once back on the main road, the group kept a steady, moderate pace—pushing, but not enough to risk tiring the team or, worse, having one of the horses pull up lame.
Cane swiped his falconer rune, eyes glowing amber as Pudding's vision filled his mind. The road beneath the bird was smooth, wide, and familiar. This was definitely one of the main routes to the capital. They'd taken the long way around—but rejoined the main road nearly a full day ahead of where their original route would've brought them.
The next few hours passed without incident. Cane checked the backtrail regularly. Still no sign of pursuit.
But he didn't relax.
A wagon full of gold wasn't something bandits gave up on. More likely, they'd tried to outflank and get ahead.
He caught a glint of dust on the horizon and swiped the rune again. Through Pudding's eyes, he whistled softly.
A large caravan moved steadily down the road—a full convoy of at least thirty wagons, flanked by an escort of thirty or so riders. They flew the Olivara merchant flag, one Cane recognized from the capital's high-end auction house.
"Pull up," Cane ordered. He reined in and waited for the wagon to stop.
Cane:There's a big caravan ahead. Let's try to catch up and blend in.
Fergis sat up from the back of the wagon, blinking against the bright sun. He hopped down and stretched, clearly recovered. "I'm good to go."
Cane reached into his storage ring and pulled out a large tarp.
"Let's cover the cargo. If anyone asks, we're hauling high-carbon steel to the capital."