Thrush gazed down from their branches, down and solemn. Again, no one knows why they gazed down, and why, sometimes, upon the starry sky. They saw strangers. The ten riders rode for the light with certainty, and Lyle led them. The nocturne scenery of the forest felt serene as the moonlight pierced through the forest. The trees create shadows which danced on the ground. It was the mist. But sometimes, they also hear the howling wolves or the cooing owls. "Hold. Slow down," Lyle ordered. The men followed the order. Everyone pulled their own mount's reins gently. As always, it was Lyle first who get down from his mount. He has drawn his sword and again, led the men, there's no time for arguing as they didn't have the leisure. They walked through the forest, passing the ridge and bushes. And they got their answer. "It seems Sir Galwerth was right," Lyle said to the men. He saw it, and they too saw. Along with the forest path was another elevated open land. Within the forests, open land could serve as a camping ground. It was just by the road, and they saw the fire, burning the woods, crackling. Someone was here. Although it was dark, a bit far from the fire was a wagon, with two horses pulling it, tied to a dead tree. "Someone's here. That's certain," he told the men, encouraging them. "One wagon. Six men at most, sir?" "Better they are the marauders we're looking for, or we're going home. But whoever they are we outnumbered them," Lyle declared. "But again, should we attack immediately, we'll give ourselves out. Two of you stand here." "Yes, sir." "Mikhail! See if there are any stragglers. No doubt you will found them if they're really here." "Yes, sir." "Rest of you, come with me." And so they walked, quiet as spectres in the middle of the night, and like the wraiths, they had their own weapons in hand. Two men behind Lyle had their swords, and the rest is with the crossbows. They mightn't know if their fingers accidentally gripped the lever, and release the bolts. From the far distance, Mikhail signalled them. No one is hiding there, Lyle thought. And Mikhail is ready with his longbow. "Joey," he called. Joey nodded. He heard Lyle and began to approach the wagon, step by step. He's afraid of being struck and drop dead. Lyle knows, but he still has to move forward. He can't be brave if he's not afraid first. Men have their own trials while he lives. And after Joey, the rest follow. "Go," the others encouraged him. There were just a few steps left. They all could hear the up-down breathing and almost snoring-like sounds. It was nothing else asides the crackling fire. "Are they sleeping?" One of the men asked. "Are they?" "Sounds like that to me." one replied. But Lyle wanted to be sure. He called, "Joey," and ordered him to take a look inside the wagon first. He shivered. At first glance, he saw hanging tools and herbs over the wagon's structure. He saw taters in a sack, aside from the flour. There were sausages, tomatoes, garlic, and more herbs for cooking hanged. He didn't miss the tools, hammers, and pliers. And he smelled a tinge of coal. Amazed he was, but more he shivered, more he sweats, cold as he saw what awaits him inside the wagon's cover. "Help," he said, weakly. Cold steel slips through his gambeson and mail. He didn't know how that could possibly happen but he felt the blade, right under his neck, the tip. And his fellow soldiers couldn't help but feel helpless and eager to save their comrade. "Release him, vagabonds!" The men draw their melee weapons high. And the crossbows are ready to back them. But a voice stops them. It was Lyle. "Stop," Lyle commanded. "Name yourselves, travellers! And I inquire what matters or businesses bring you here, in the name of the Lord Sieg of Northfrey, Watcher of the North." "Lower your weapons first as we will reply your questions with manners. We're just your simple vagabonds, good sir. Only that our businesses is our own." The sound was a man, and there's strength there. But Lyle could tell that the man was angered. "Very well." Lyle gave up to the man's voice. "Drop your weapons." Every man obeyed his words. And Joey's neck was saved. Lyle exhaled. Everyone at the place finally exhaled with gladness. "Now won't you name yourselves, travellers?" Lyle sheathed his sword. "State your matters too, horse masters. We gave you ours. Now, you must be certain that we obviously wanted no bloodshed in this forest. Be at ease. We definitely meant you no harm," said another voice. A sound of an old man, and full of wisdom. It easily made it's way to everyone's ears. Lyle found the sound was very hard to resist. "We're on the pursuit of marauders." There's nothing more he could tell them. "What do you wanted to ask next?" "Then we assume you are from Northwind. Answer me," the man pushed. "Are you from Northwind?" "Yes." There's no reason to lie. "Now name yourselves. Or maybe it's better for you to show yourselves." "Yes," the man answered. And they came out; a muscled dwarf, a boy, and an old man in grey-bluish linen robe with a pointy hat, and walking with a staff. He could've brought his men to battle fighting with the dwarf alone. Most of the men would think that the boy and the old man could give the men a decent fight and nothing else. But Lyle knew that they will be in grave danger should they fought with the old man. The old man is a wizard. He was certain. Not because of the staff and pointy hat. And definitely, it's not because of the long grey beard. "Knights of Northwind, at your service." All of them looked at Lyle. But Lyle paid no heed. "I am Rayhar." He introduced himself. He also introduced the boy and the dwarf. But Lyle wandered far from that place. There's a thing or two in this world that may directly prove the existence of the gods. One was faith. Faith is the cornerstone of kingdoms, empires and the doctrines of the church itself, instilled in every heart and hearth. Faith was the delight of the gods. But the other one was magic. Mage, wizards, charmers, diviners, and priests wield them. There were wizards at the first of the time that served the great powers, some called it the Balance or the Path of Twilight. One, the oldest and now lost, was the Way. They are the keeper of secrets and forgotten history, or else, forgotten powers. Nothing will come good when you take a deal with a wizard. The path is perilous. Their tasks are arduous to bear. But alas, whatever ramblings came out of their mouths, people never listen. But not until they've seen the peril, and catastrophe which fate had stored for the time. Hence, what possibly the wizard do here certainly won't amuse him. And he didn't listen to any words he had spoken after he said his name..