The Shadowhand's regional base was a heavily fortified compound, nestled deep within a network of canyons and ravines. The group's leader, a hooded figure known only as the Nightmaster, stood before a large map of Penthoria, his eyes fixed on the route that the Crown Prince's carriage had taken.
"Fools," the Nightmaster spat, his voice dripping with venom. "They think they can stop us? We have the upper hand, and soon we will bring Penthoria to its knees."
One of his lieutenants, a burly man named Grimgold, approached him. "My lord, the Crown Prince's carriage was indeed attacked, but it seems the king is not taking the bait. He's sending his knights after us, but he's not leading the charge himself."
The Nightmaster's eyes narrowed. "That changes nothing. We will continue with our plan. The prince's attack was just a test, a warning. Next time, we won't fail."
Grimgold nodded. "Yes, my lord. What's the next step?"
The Nightmaster's smile was cold and calculating. "We will strike at the heart of Penthoria's economy. The merchant guilds are already on edge; now we'll give them a push. Prepare the men. We leave at dawn."
As the Nightmaster turned to leave, Grimgold spoke up. "My lord, what about the prince? He's still recovering. Shouldn't we...?"
The Nightmaster's laughter was low and menacing. "Oh, the prince will be dealt with. But for now, let's focus on bringing Penthoria to its knees. The prince will be a bonus, a cherry on top of our victory."
The Shadowhand's members dispersed, their faces set with determination. They knew what lay ahead, and they were ready to see their plan through to its bloody conclusion.