It was summer, and the wooded mountains near Bolas Fortress were lush and sweltering. Cicadas called loudly from the treetops, their cries rising and falling as though defying the scorching sun.
Heat shimmered in the air. Leaves swayed gently in the breeze, casting dappled light and shadow, and even breathing seemed to grow laborious.
The distant mountains wavered in the heat like an oil painting soaked in water. Occasionally, a few birds swept over the treetops, their clear calls breaking the mountain forest's silence.
Panting heavily, Lake led a donkey along the road. Behind it rolled a two-wheeled cart loaded with salt, dyes, leather, and medicinal herbs.
These were all everyday necessities, yet none were so valuable that a noble might take a fancy to them and simply confiscate them.
Five fellow merchants traveled around Lake. Some drove donkey carts like his, others pushed handcarts, and some even carried baskets suspended from shoulder poles, keeping pace with brisk strides.
Besides the itinerant merchants, there were a dozen or so men carrying no merchandise. They wore simple leather armor or rusty mail. Most carried swords and wooden shields, while a few held crossbows, moving warily between the front and rear of the group.
These men formed a mercenary squad the merchants had pooled their money to hire, providing protection on the journey to Bolas Fortress.
After all, the country was in the midst of civil war. Besides regular troops, the most dangerous threat, there were deserters and starving refugees turned bandits roaming the countryside. Without some protection, the merchants would never have dared set out.
The greater the chaos, the more valuable their goods became. That was why Lake and the others were willing to spend good money hiring mercenaries who lived by the sword.
Of course, the more important reason