For the first time since his cookshop had been robbed, Atgar felt as though the company was no longer chasing shadows.
Buck had kept his word.
The tracker returned to Bree with news gathered from days spent watching the southern roads and speaking little. His report was concise but promising. The Greenway Knives were active near an abandoned ruin not far from Pickdean, using it as a place to gather before striking passing merchants.
It was not the lair they sought.
But it was enough.
The plan was simple. A merchant caravan would leave Bree and travel south carrying what appeared to be valuable cargo. Buck would follow at a distance, watching the roads while the company played the part of unsuspecting traders.
If fortune favoured them, the Greenway Knives would take the bait.
The journey south was uneventful, save for an odd encounter beneath the Yellow Tree, where a curious traveller crossed their path. Though strange, the meeting proved little more than a reminder that the roads held all manner of folk.
Before long, Buck returned.
He had found what he was looking for.
Rather than wait for the bandits to spring their own ambush, he had discovered a nearby camp where several members of the Greenway Knives had gathered. The opportunity was too valuable to ignore.
Leaving the road behind, the company moved quietly through the countryside until the ruin came into view.
Steel remained sheathed.
Voices were hushed.
Every step was measured.
The trap, it seemed, had changed.
Now they would become the hunters.
Rompli proved instrumental in the assault, drawing the brigands' attention long enough for the company to strike. The fighting was swift and fierce. Several brigands fell before they fully understood they had become the prey rather than the predators.
When the last cries faded, the search began.
Every crate was opened.
Every bundle examined.
Every corner of the camp inspected.
Yet Durin's Folk Trading Company's crate was nowhere to be found.
Disappointment settled heavily upon Atgar's shoulders, but not for long.
Buck had anticipated that at least one bandit might attempt to flee the battle. True to his instincts, he returned with a captive in tow, battered, frightened, and no longer eager to protect his comrades' secrets.
Faced with the choice between loyalty and the gallows, the brigand chose to speak.
He revealed that the camp was merely an outpost, little more than a gathering place for raiding parties. Their true stronghold lay farther south, hidden among older ruins beyond the reach of most travellers. A crude map was taken from him, its markings rough but sufficient for a skilled tracker.
Without delay, Buck departed once more.
The map would guide his search.
If fortune held, the next report would reveal the Greenway Knives' true refuge.
As for the prisoner, Atgar refused to see him slain where he stood.
Instead, the brigand's forehead was marked with the very symbol his company had used to spread fear across the roads, and with his hands bound, he was marched back to Bree to answer for his crimes before the town's Guard.
There, another surprise awaited.
The man was wanted already.
A bounty had been posted in his name, and the reward passed into the hands of those who had brought him to justice.
It was an unexpected ending to a long day's work.
Later, gathered within the Prancing Pony, tankards were raised not in celebration of victory—for the stolen crate still lay beyond their reach—but in recognition that the tide had finally begun to turn.
The Greenway Knives had lost men.
They had lost an outpost.
They had lost one of their own to the law.
And most importantly of all...
They had lost the comfort of believing no one was hunting them.
The trail now led south.
If Buck's search proved successful, the days of whispered rumours and careful bargains would soon be at an end. The time for questions had passed.
Now it was time for Dwarven steel to speak.
