The Third Mile Cache

The guarded road runs straight between two towns through low grass and thorn scrub, watched by a gatehouse and a pair of bored spearmen. Beside the packed earth stand three squat cairns and one taller survey marker, all weathered gray except for fresh chalk traces on their edges. When the wind shifts, the stones click softly like loose teeth, and every few minutes a patrol horn echoes from the walls beyond, reminding the party that the road is not empty and that someone here is expecting the cache to be found by the right hands.