A wild charga answered his call. The beast had been very fond of the old hunter since the day he saved her from the snare. Back then old Crogan’s thugs were still bold enough to enter Sasler’s territory from time to time and even put their snares there. Sasler hated snares with passion. He never used them himself. He also never hunted the hunters, other predators, that is. He rescued the little charga that day and nursed her back to health. Since then, whenever he needed a ride, she had been willing to help.

Holding onto the thick fur of the unharnessed beast Sasler rode down the hill, right into the milky fog. He very well understood how hard it would be to find the kids there and keep up with them, yet he had to try.

Old Crogan planned the ambush very carefully to provide the best possible example for his heir.

The river, Fervida, was fast yet shallow there, on the wide rocky bed, barely knee-deep. The strangers took their boots off before fording the river. They shivered as they entered the icy cold water leading their chargas behind. The poor beasts hated every step of the way by the looks of them.

Here they went, all four, two people and two animals, right into the trap. Crogan waited until they had reached the middle of the river before passing the signalling horn to his son. Blowing it proved to be hard for the young lungs, but the lad did his best. He managed to produce a weak, but distinguishable sound. The team, following the order, let the hyenas loose.

The fastest of the hyenas died first, it got an arrow between the eyes. Kan was quick. The second-best runner got an arrow to the side and yelped, spinning in circles and biting at the arrow shaft in a desperate attempt to get rid of it. Kan had drawn the third arrow, ready to bring another snappy monster down, but lowered his bow as he saw the bandits emerging from the fog at both sides of the river. Every single one of them had a gun.

The trap had closed. Here they stood in the middle of the river, with hyenas raging on both shores, anxiously awaiting a command to tear them apart, and the silent bandits standing behind the beasts, guns ready. The chargas hissed, baring their teeth, bristling their fur. Kangassk, not knowing what else to do, tried to shield Vlada with his body.

“Drop your weapons!” somebody cried to them from the western shore. The voice was young, impudent, and boyish.

“Do as he says, Kan,” said Vlada in a chilly tone.

They threw their swords, bow, and arrows into the river. The swords sank to the bottom, but the bow and arrows were carried away by the bubbling water.

Thanks to his wild friend’s acute sense of smell, Sasler had finally found the kids after a couple of hours. He climbed a lofty rock to rise above the fog a bit and took a closer look at them through the scope. That was when he had realized he came too late.

Two black figures stood barefooted in the middle of the river, their hands in the air, their weapons at their feet. Crogan’s thugs watched them from the both sides of Fervida.

Sasler’s heart began to race as he zoomed in to examine the bandits’ faces: both Crogans, father and son, had been there! The boy looked so much like his sire there could be no mistake.

“My revenge will be terrible, Crogan,” he thought, aiming at the little bandit’s leg…

Young Crogan uttered a shrill scream and fell to the ground, clutching at his leg. All the thuggish insolence he had been so proud of washed away in an instant, he cried like a child he was. His pants were soaked with blood and the stain was growing wider and wider.

“The ghost shooter! The Wood Ghost is here!” the bandits around him shouted, their fear quickly turning into panic. A moment later they broke the formation and started shooting in all directions in a desperate attempt to reach the unseen hunter in the fog.

The second bullet bit the young Crogan in the palm, adding to his agony. Then it was the thugs’ turn. The ones who had carelessly removed their kevlar cowls in the heat got shot in their heads and died instantly. The others weren’t so lucky and shared the young Crogan’s fate: the Ghost shot them in the legs.

Vlada and Kan froze where they stood, with their hands still up. Both were afraid to move at first but soon realized the ghost shooter was after the bandits, not them. They, on the other hand, had a new problem to deal with: the hyenas. The beasts, maddened by their masters’ panic, decided to go for the kill and charged.

“Kan, pick up your sword!” Vlada came to her senses first, just in time for the spotted monsters were already advancing from both sides.

The chargas took the first two hyenas and were busy ripping them apart, rolling and splashing in the reddened water. The rest of the pack targeted Vlada and Kan. Whoever that “ghost shooter” was, his attention had obviously been somewhere else at the moment, so they were on their own.