Chương 54: Chapter 35: False Alarm

The western end of the southern trench line looked ready to fail. That alone should have made me suspicious. The section sat lower than the surrounding earthworks where repeated rain had softened the banks into sliding slopes of mud and collapsed timber. Half the drainage stakes leaned visibly sideways beneath flood pressure while water pooled black and stagnant between broken reinforcement walls. Even from a distance the position carried the shape of weakness too obvious to ignore.

The line guarded the western lip of the broad opening beside the ridge, where firm ground cut through Dunmere's winter marsh and gave any large offensive room to reach the plains. Farther east, the smaller road kept close to the Greywash and passed through a narrower gap beneath the town's outer walls. That route could be held by fewer bodies. Here, the reeds opened around old runoff channels wide enough for a pack to vanish, turn, and return from another angle without ever crossing dry ground.

Men noticed obvious weakness. So did predators.

"Talvek wants bodies there before dusk," Bren said while the patrol moved downslope through the rain-dark reeds.

"Scouts reported movement all morning."

"Movement where?" Wade asked.

"Western approach channels."

"That's half the bloody marsh."

"It's the half currently trying to kill us." Jory walked near the rear carrying a shield almost too large for his frame while muttering steadily beneath his breath.

"I hate this end. The Greywash road at least keeps a wall in sight. Out here there's only philosophy and drowning."

"You already used the philosophy line once," Wade said.

"It remains accurate." Halden ignored them entirely. The half-dwarf moved beside Bren studying the drainage gradients rather than the horizon itself, his attention drifting toward runoff channels, collapsed spillways, and partially buried marker stones protruding from the mud beneath layers of marsh grass. I had seen enough of Halden now to know when the engineer was thinking about the land beneath the land, the hidden lines that made water obey until neglect or stupidity taught it otherwise.

Finally Halden stopped beside one of the old flood markers.

"This trench shouldn't be failing." Wade looked up from adjusting his grip on the hatchet.

"Looks failed to me."

"No." Halden crouched beside the marker stone and brushed mud from a series of faded chisel lines.

"This section sits above the lower runoff grade. Water should drain eastward from here naturally." Bren frowned slightly.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning somebody blocked the southern channels intentionally." Silence followed briefly beneath the rain. I felt Hunter's Eye stir. Not alarm. Attention. Halden stood again while staring west across the reeds.

"These routes aren't obvious unless you know the old drainage layout. Most people in Dunmere don't even remember half these channels exist anymore." Wade folded his arms.

"You think raiders are studying flood engineering now?"

"I think something keeps hitting the right places."

"That could still be luck."

"No," Halden replied quietly.

"Not this many times." The rain thickened while we pushed farther west through flooded reeds and shallow channels slick with black mud. Hunter's Eye kept pulling my attention sideways toward details the others ignored automatically. Broken reeds bent inward instead of outward. Mud displaced too recently beneath standing water. Birds circling farther north while avoiding the trench approach entirely. Each detail was small enough to dismiss alone. Together, they formed a hand closing slowly around the patrol.

The western line itself looked abandoned at first. No defenders. No movement. Only damaged barricades sagging beneath rainwater and scattered corpses half-submerged in the trench channels where earlier fighting had left them buried slowly beneath mud. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The ridge behind us should have carried noise from the reserve position: boots on gravel, brace hammers, men complaining as they shifted wet shields.

Instead the broad opening returned only rain. Whoever had emptied the trench had also pulled the nearest workers out of hearing, leaving the most passable ground south of Dunmere without enough ordinary sound to hide one frightened breath. Jory swallowed visibly.

"That's encouraging." Bren raised one hand. The patrol stopped. I looked slowly across the trench line while Hunter's Eye organised the scene piece by piece. Bodies clogged the channels again, but fewer than expected. Barricades damaged, but not broken badly enough to explain full abandonment. Spears scattered carelessly near the trench edge. Too carelessly.

"Don't like it," I said quietly. Bren glanced toward me immediately.

"Why?"

"The damage feels arranged." Wade snorted softly.

"Now the mud's conspiring." I shook my head.

"No. Look." I pointed toward the trench mouth where several scavenger corpses lay piled awkwardly against the runoff stakes.

"Those bodies were moved after death."

"How can you tell?"

"The legs." I stepped closer carefully.

"No drag grooves beneath them. Whoever stacked them carried them." Halden's expression darkened instantly.

"Why would beasts stack bodies?" Jory asked. No one answered. Hunter's Eye kept pressing harder. The weakness looked real. That was the problem. Real enough to pull defenders toward it naturally. Real enough to make men hurry. Real enough to make them grateful for any position that looked like it could still be saved. Bren studied the trench line for several long moments before speaking.

"We split." Jory blinked.

"That sounds dangerous."

"It is." The older guard pointed toward a higher marsh ridge partially hidden behind dead reeds farther south.

"Wade, Halden, two scouts with me. We flank wide and check the runoff channels." His eyes shifted toward me.

"You stay here with Jory and watch the trench." Jory looked deeply offended.

"Why do I become attached to danger every time?"

"Because you complain loudly enough that we'll hear if something eats you."

"That is not leadership." Bren ignored him and moved southward with the others into the reeds. Rain hissed softly across the empty trench line afterward. I crouched near the flooded barricades while Jory paced nervously behind me, shield held too high, eyes fixed on too many things at once.

"I preferred when fighting meant visible things trying to stab us." I did not answer immediately. Hunter's Eye organised the trench slowly. The bodies mattered less than the spacing between them. The broken barricades mattered less than which sections remained untouched. Every path through the trench funnelled movement toward the same narrow choke point near the collapsed western runoff gate.

"Jory."

"What?"

"Move back."

"Why?"

"Just do it." Jory obeyed reluctantly. I stepped closer toward the choke point while rainwater slid around my boots through shallow channels clogged with mud and blood. One of the scavenger corpses near the runoff gate shifted slightly beneath the current. No, not current. Pressure. And with that, Hunter's Eye sharpened. The body was not lodged naturally. A rope line disappeared beneath the trench water, tied around the creature's rear legs. Trap.

"Back!" I shouted. The trench exploded. Three hidden scavengers burst upward from beneath the flooded runoff channel while another pack crashed through the reeds behind them almost simultaneously. The corpse pile tore sideways as concealed rope lines snapped free beneath the pressure, dropping an entire barricade section inward toward the choke point exactly where defenders would have gathered. Jory swore loudly enough to impress professionals. I met the first scavenger before it fully cleared the trench lip.

Ember Blade flashed once through the rain. Heat burst from the evolved axe as the creature's skull split apart mid-leap, steam erupting instantly from blood striking the heated edge. Another scavenger lunged low toward my knee while two more raced past me toward Jory. Hunter's Eye caught the sequence immediately. Not random. The beasts moved to herd. Push. And separate.

I pivoted sharply instead of chasing the nearest target and slammed Ember Blade sideways through the trench water toward the creature angling for Jory's flank. The strike hit hard enough to spin the scavenger completely around before it collapsed twitching into the mud.

"Left side!" I shouted. Jory reacted barely in time, raising his shield before another beast crashed into him hard enough to throw both backward into the trench wall. Then the second attack wave arrived. Not from the front. From behind. Shapes burst upward through the southern reeds where Bren's patrol had disappeared minutes earlier. Wade's voice roared through the rain.

"Ambush!" I understood instantly. The western trench had never been the target. It had been bait. The real kill zone sat farther south near the runoff channels where the terrain narrowed into flooded mud corridors impossible to retreat through cleanly once surrounded. The trench attack existed only to pin defenders in place while the southern pack closed behind them.

"Jory, move!" I shouted. I abandoned the trench and sprinted south through waist-deep reeds while Ember Blade heated violently in my hands. The flooded ground exploded beneath my boots as I crossed toward Bren's group. The ambush had nearly closed fully by the time I reached them. Scavengers poured through the runoff channels while larger marsh predators circled wide through the reeds, forcing Bren's patrol inward toward a collapsing mud basin where footing disappeared beneath floodwater.

Halden stood knee-deep in black water trying to drag one militia scout free after the man slipped into submerged trench debris. Wade fought beside them with his hatchet while Bren held the northern approach almost alone. And the beasts kept driving inward. Not charging wildly. Compressing. I saw the shape immediately.