The refugee camp was surprisingly well hidden. Despite lying within Lord Rodger’s area of operations, where his most expert trackers spent the last few days scouring every inch of the woods looking for animal tracks, none of them had found even the tiniest sign of the elves’ presence. If Sofia wasn’t leading the group to the exact destination right now, Varre doubted his men could have ever stumbled upon the bivouac.

  The elves clearly must have had a lot of experience with camouflaging their communities from potential foes. Even though it must have been large enough to house around forty people, not a single structure, or any other sign of presence could be seen from a distance.

  A line of thick bushes obscured the entire area, hiding anything beyond them. It looked completely natural. Varre couldn’t be sure if they somehow managed to find the ideal spot to rest at, or if they were able to manufacture it, by cleverly cutting down other plants and positioning them here. It was almost too perfect.

  He was no botanist, but none of the plants grew berries or anything else edible. There was no reason to approach them. Yet even if some curious person or animal decided to do so anyway, thick brambles and thorny plants were spread out throughout the area, disincentivizing anyone curious from getting closer.

  Fortunately Sofia knew the correct path. A small, hidden track was cleared through the minefield of spikes that allowed everyone to pass through. Carefully. The riders had to dismount and lead their horses by the reins, to make sure they followed the path closely enough. There were far too many traps otherwise.

  Eventually though, the group made it through the line of bushes. Pushing away the thick foliage and leaves of the trees above them revealed the real extent of the camp.

  The temporary settlement looked almost pitiful. The travelers only had a couple of tents, with most people forced to live in simple, primitive shacks instead. They used thick branches and sticks as the support frames and covered them with leaves from above to protect the inhabitants from rain and cold nights. Many were triangular, to minimize the amount of material needed. The ground too was covered with leaves and moss, giving at least a semblance of a comfortable spot to sleep at.

  The camp was densely packed to ensure it was well hidden within the limited space. If it was too large and spread out, the sheer amount of bushes necessary to surround it with an impenetrable wall would stand out.

  The largest shack was set up in the center, in a small depression in the ground, while the ones surrounding it were smaller. Most were only fit for a few people at a time, with some only barely big enough for one. Only the tents looked more impressive, made of sturdy, well maintained cloth and hide. They looked similar to what human soldiers used back during the rebellion.

  They were likely intended for the warriors and leaders, such as Sofia, Carlos, and his archers. Though with how many of them perished during the wyvern’s attack, perhaps some of the empty ones were given to the civilians.

  There were also a couple of tools and devices stationed through the area. There were some drying racks, currently used to cure fresh meat for storage and transportation, with a couple deer pelts hanging from them too. The elves had clearly already stayed here for a few days if they managed to achieve this much progress.

  Despite that, a single firepit had to suffice for the entire camp. It was small and covered with a makeshift roof, likely to try and distribute the smoke throughout the area, rather than send out a dark plume straight up. Varre wasn’t sure how effective it was, but he understood that smoke could easily point any dedicated enough hunter to this location. Or at least alert them to the elves’ presence. Whatever they did, it must have worked.

  “It’s not much, but we needed a place to rest,” Sofia explained as she led the group towards the largest shack in the center, “make yourselves at home.”

  The other elves stared at the humans. Some were shocked, taking cover behind their shacks or desperately looking for weapons to defend themselves with. If it wasn’t for the confidence displayed by their leaders and warriors, many would likely turn and run. Or worse, throw their lives away in a pointless attack at the armored knights. The Royal Guards would not forgive such a slight easily.

  Others were fully resigned to their fates. The road was tough and many lives had been lost. Perhaps they saw this entire venture as a failure. Many likely regretted their choice to leave in the first place. It might have been better to die fighting the goblins, then to be eaten by monsters in the woods. Or killed by humans.

  Some were simply too wounded to care. Many of the elves wore bandages or displayed other signs of injuries. Broken limbs, bruises, and small cuts were common, with the most seriously hurt people confined to their bedrolls.

  “How long have you been staying here,” the king asked, as he glanced around.

  “Close to a week now,” Sofia replied, “massive boars attacked our group and injured a couple of the warriors. Then they ran through our camp, hurting many of the others. If it wasn’t for Carlos…”

  “Don’t,” the archer cut-in, “I don’t deserve gratitude. It was my failure in the first place. I should have sensed them earlier and sounded the alarm before.”

  “You were helping me with the wounded,” the woman said as she gently touched his arm, “no one can fault you for that. You can’t be everywhere at once.”

  Carlos looked off to the distance. He did not respond.

  “Did those boars attack you here?” Varre glanced towards Rodger. He wasn’t informed of the existence of such threats, and while he saw some of the animal skulls back in the Ashbourne manor, he wasn’t sure just how massive these animals would get.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “No. Not here,” Sofia pointed towards the North, “a few days away. We managed to drive them away, but we couldn’t stay. It was too dangerous.”

  “We were on their territory,” Carlos added, “I couldn’t leave the camp alone and go after them, but we knew they’d return sooner or later. We spent a few hours patching up the wounded as best we could and got back on the road.

  “Then, we traveled South. As you now know, we were traveling towards our brethren, close to your Kingdom of Langogne. It turned out we were more East than we expected,” he huffed, “but no matter. Leaving was the only choice.”

  “It took us a few days to find another good spot for a camp,” Sofia continued, “but our people couldn’t take much of the walking. They needed to rest.”

  “Gomeran boars need miles of territory to feed their massive sizes, and they like to hold grudges,” Carlos said, as if trying to justify his decision to his companion, “we had to move at least two, three days away to make sure they wouldn’t come after us again. And that’s not all. We needed access to fresh water, we needed enough foliage and food to feed ourselves,” he counted off on his fingers.

  “I know,” the woman stopped him, “we survived. That’s all that matters.”

  “The road was hard on you,” Varre said, “I can see that many of your people are injured, but you’ve done the best you could. They’re all bandaged up and they’re recovering.”

  “Thank you,” Sofia replied, “but it’s not good. We’re missing cloth. We had to destroy one of the tents just to find more. And many of the herbs here are different from what I know from my home. Still, we managed to help with their pain.”

  The king put his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “Shall I have my own people help?”

  Immediately, the three mages got to work. The elf woman led them to the most injured people first. They all lay in the shacks closest to the large one in the center. Many were unconscious, and those that weren’t were grimacing in pain.

  Though Varre was no expert in medicine, even he could see that the camp was lacking in resources. The bandages were clearly reused often. Some were fraying slightly on the ends, and a couple of the healthier civilians were busying themselves with washing the bloody cloth in bowls of water. Cold water, naturally, since the campfire was out.

  While the hunting group did not carry enough bandages for everyone, any scrap of clean cloth would be invaluable. The servants started to unload the bags and pouches attached to their saddles and taking out the material, while the three girls, together with Sofia, dressed the elves’ injuries.

  Captain Hakon meanwhile left the camp together with Carlos. He had already used his horn to inform the remaining Royal Guards that the group had moved on, but someone needed to direct them through the forest of brambles.

  The soldiers were taught several different ways to communicate. While the trumpet could be used to immediately call them in, in case of an attack, that was reserved for emergencies only. Depending on the sound, they could be asked to send a messenger back for reinforcements, or as it was done in this case, join the rest of the hunting group without hostile intentions.

  After a brief explanation, Hakon brought the rest of the troops up to speed quickly. They were certainly hesitant of working together with these mysterious strangers, especially after the event that started this meeting in the first place, but they were trained enough to follow orders. If the monarch commanded them to help the elves, they would do so.

  As experienced soldiers, many of them brought additional medical supplies for themselves. They understood just how important first aid could be, even when used by laypeople. A few of them were led inside to deliver the material to Elvira and her assistants. Most stayed just outside of the camp, as crowding the area wouldn’t do much good.

  While there were now enough bandages to take care of all of the wounded, there weren’t enough poultices or other medicinal herbs to prevent infections. The mages brought enough to medicate a couple people at most, but for most serious accidents the intention had always been to deliver the affected people back to Ashbourne. There, in the safety of the manor, the women could use all of the resources brought on the dozens of wagons along with the royal entourage.

  As he watched the healers at work, Varre knew what had to be done. But before that, he had one more issue to take care of. He approached Carlos, who too chose to keep his distance rather than interrupt the doctors.

  “How are your food supplies?” he asked.

  “We’ll manage,” the archer replied curtly.

  “You sure?” the king pointed to the several drying racks built in the limited space of the camp, “is that really enough to feed everyone?”

  “As long as we’re staying in one place, we can hunt,” Carlos nodded towards a pile of animal bones. Clearly the elves made sure to use up as much of the animal’s meat, organs, and skin as they could, “we also look for berries, and mushrooms. The forest provides.”

  “And when you’re on the move?” Varre insisted.

  The archer sighed. “Fine, I admit it. It can be… difficult. But this is why we are drying the meat. It should keep us fed for a day. Maybe two. We won’t stay long enough to make it properly, so its hard to tell.”

  “And after that?”

  “If we’re lucky, we’ll find good targets on the move. For hunting. If we won’t?” he shrugged, “we’re tough people. We can go hungry for a couple of days. And if it goes on for too long, we’ll just need to make camp again and rest and recover for a few days.”

  “Just like now?”

  “Just like now.”

  The king nodded to himself. Pushing the wounded to travel, especially on empty stomachs, certainly won’t do them any good. But he understood the necessity. Still, at least he was now certain that they really did not have any issues with eating meat. It was only the method of hunting that enraged Sofia so much before.

  But Varre also understood that Carlos was likely too proud to accept help. Perhaps he’d be willing to do so to help his exhausted people, but that would still be a difficult discussion. It was best to talk to Sofia instead.

  He stepped away from the archer and waited until the mages took care of the most wounded people. Slowly, the supplies were starting to run low and the field medicine was starting to reach its natural limit.

  “How are you doing?” the king asked the healers, as they leaned back to wash their bloodied hands in one of the water bowls.

  “It’s good that we got here in time,” Elvira replied with a reassuring smile, then leaned towards him to whisper, “some of those people wouldn’t have survived without us. And some are still on the brink of death. I need my lab. And we need our own healers there to help us.”

  Varre nodded. “Very well. In that case,” he raised his voice to ensure the elves could hear, “shall we move to the manor? Sofia, I’d like to cordially invite you, and your people to Ashbourne. Stay there a few days, and recuperate. We want to help you.”

  The woman stopped to contemplate it for a moment, but she knew there was only one decision she could make. “Thank you. You are a kind ruler. I know that I offended you at first, when I interrupted your hunt and… charmed your people. I’d like to apologize for that,” she bowed.

  The king accepted the gesture and smiled back. “We started off on the wrong foot. But I hope it won’t be too presumptuous of me to share the aurochs with your people? I hope the sustenance will help. And technically, you did deliver the final blow.”

  Sofia’s expression slightly lowered at that reminder, but she hid it quickly. “Yes. We do not want the animal’s bounty to go to waste. We graciously accept your help,” she said loudly, then leaned in closer, “thank you. We will not forget this.”