"Go bring them here—and inform Sir Rowan," I ordered. The soldier saluted sharply and left.
"Henry," I called, and a brown-haired boy stepped inside. My attendant since my wardship under Count Ludwin, he still carried a boy's face, though responsibility had aged his eyes.
"Milord, do you require something?" he asked.
"Fetch Roderic at once."
Before Henry could leave, Rowan entered, bowing slightly. Weariness lined his face, the weight of drilling farmers into soldiers evident in his every step.
"My lord," he said, "the men have been trained as ordered. From the three villages, nearly a hundred show promise."
I nodded, though the number soured my mood. A hundred—barely enough to defend one hamlet. Still, it was a beginning.
"Good. Keep pressing them, Rowan. Discipline will win us battles, not brute strength."
A sharp knock rattled the oak door. A servant slipped in, flushed and out of breath. "My lord—the scouts have returned."
The words tightened something in my chest. "Send them in."
Two mud-caked men entered, cloaks heavy with the damp forest air. They dropped to one knee.
"My lord," the elder began, voice rough, "we did as commanded. We followed the eastern road past the burned farms. It is worse than we feared."
Roderic stepped into the study just then, silent as he closed the door behind him.
"Speak plainly," I urged.
The scout swallowed. "These are no common brigands. They are led by one called Veynar. He commands like a knight—trained, disciplined. He has three lieutenants, each ruling a village like a petty lord, squeezing the people dry."
Rowan's jaw clenched, but he kept silent.
The younger scout, Jarek, spoke next, his voice trembling. "The fourth village, my lord—the one nearest the forest—it is gone. Burned to the ground. The people… they were not slain."
My eyes narrowed. "Not slain? Then where?"
The elder's face hardened. "Taken. Forced into labor at a coal mine hidden in the forest. A mine that should not exist."
The words struck like a blade. "A coal mine? In Ashenvale?" I turned sharply to Roderic.
Grimly, he answered, "Yes, my lord. Discovered only a year ago."
I leaned back slowly, mind racing. A mine here… untapped wealth that could restore the barony—or destroy it in the wrong hands.
"If we have such a resource, why is Ashenvale still in ruin?" I pressed.
"Because, my lord, before we could even begin mining, the bandits appeared from nowhere," Roderic replied.
I exhaled, eyes narrowing. "Do any lords beyond our borders know of this? Is there dispute?"
"Some know, but none care," he admitted after a pause. "None, save Viscount Vancefort. He shows interest, though he has taken no action."
Viscount Vancefort. I etched the name into memory.
Rowan's voice cut through the silence, sharp with urgency. "My lord, if left unchecked, these bandits will bleed Ashenvale dry before winter. With a mine feeding them, they'll only grow stronger."
The fire popped in the hearth, the only sound as the weight of his words settled. A ruined barony. Empty coffers. A levy of farmers with sticks. And beyond the trees—a knight-turned-wolf with lieutenants, villages under his heel, and a mine as his heart.
At last, I spoke, voice firm as steel.
"Then we act. But not with reckless charges. Ashenvale cannot afford a single wasted move. We must outthink them." My gaze locked on the scouts. "You've done well. Rest now. Tomorrow, you will guide me to this mine."
"Rowan," I added, "prepare the men at once."
The scouts and Rowan bowed and withdrew, leaving only Roderic and I in the study.
For a moment he studied me, then asked, "You have a plan, don't you?"
I traced the map spread across the table, finger following rivers, forests, and narrow trails known only to locals.
"Not yet," I admitted softly. "But I will. Because if I do not, Ashenvale will not survive the year."
I looked up, eyes hard. "Tell me, Roderic—what do you know of Viscount Vancefort?"