by RG Long
Whether renewed by the thought of reaching their destination or realizing that rest could soon be had if they only made it within the doors, the horses seemed to reach into wells of unused energy and sprinted for the castle. The crowds split as they made it closer to the castle. They didn’t want to be trampled by the great carts. Olma couldn’t blame them. Having come so close to being trampled by a horse herself, she knew how terrifying it must be to see a line of them thundering forward.
A huge stone bridge led up to the immense gate. It was wide enough for their horses and the cart, but not wide enough for more than three horses to ride side by side. The Prince went first. Ever since they had begun to fly from their jungle cover, one of his guards had unfurled a banner and let it wave behind them. It was a black banner with a crown of silver. Olma had never seen it before.
Trumpets and other commotion came from the castle’s walls. Olma could only assume they saw the army that was coming. And the banner that flew in the wind was the standard of the Prince. Followed closely behind Farnus was the cart they had thrown several strange people into. Behind that, was Olma and her uncle and the others who were riding on horses or on the other carts.
And behind them, Olma saw the army marching. The Isolians, or whoever they were, coming at them with their vast numbers.
As soon as they passed under the heavy arched gate, a great sense of dread came over Olma. They were safe inside the giant walls and protected by soldiers who lined the streets as they came running forward.
But how many soldiers and temple guards were in this fortress?
The giant metal gate slammed down and Olma’s feeling of dread increased. Not everyone had made it inside the gate. Guards were now shoving people into the city and away from the gate. People clasped hands together as giant wooden doors were pushed towards the metal. Wooden doors that were taller than the cart Olma rode on. Taller than two carts put on top of each other. They slammed shut with a final thud and a cloud of dust.
People wept as the ones they had been clasping hands with just a moment ago were shut out of the fortress. Olma looked around at the distressed faces.
They were locked inside.
Would they ever be able to come out again?
28: Crafty
The cool night breeze wafted through the air and rustled the trees of the jungle. Most of the army had already set up tents just outside the tree line. They kept them in lines of ten. No more than that went out from the trees, though it seemed like they kept going for as far as the eye could see. Small fires cropped up in between the tents as soldiers cooked their rations over them and warmed their hands against the coolness.
Blue and white banners flew at the front of the rows, the ones furthest from the jungle flew them proudly. It was as if there was no more hiding what was going on. The invasion was happening and the Isol army were going to make their intentions clear. They had been defeated once thirty years ago. Now they were going to make the adherents of Ladism pay for their defeat and their religion of hate.
Anyone could look at a map and see the brilliance of landing here. Grellis was a fortress castle and was the bastion of Ladis control and access to the south. The Imperial Road ran right by it. No one going north could chance passing the castle without being questioned about their intentions, and no one could go south without first restocking at the castle. It’s closest neighbor north was a full three weeks away.
Which, if a country was going to start an invasion, made it the perfect place to start. Cut off the resources from the north to the south and divide the great Theocracy in half.
She knew this was their plan. There could be no doubting it.
No one saw the woman who flitted from tree to tree, though guards stood along the ends of every row of tents. Their attention was more focused on the castle ahead of them. Ever since they landed, the fortress had been pressing on their minds. This she knew. It would be the first very real test of their strength. The first battle in a long line of challenges ahead.
Silverwolf slunk from shadow to shadow in a way that only time spent in her line of work could prepare her to. Though she much rather preferred the cityscapes of Beaton or the snowy mountains of Ruyn, she understood that she was now back where she had once dreaded to come.
She had returned to Ladis.
No time to dwell on past demons, she thought to herself. Time to pester new ones.
She hated the thought of getting caught up in a war again. It had been the echoes of the last rebellion that had sent her away. A small part of her had hoped that this land would never grace her eyes again. If she had known that chasing after some gold and a temple, she would have never sought out the treasure on that island.
I’ll have to repay my informant with a knife in the back, she thought.
The idea comforted her.
For now, however, there was work to be done. The fools had gotten themselves recaptured and were actually reliant on her this time. Not the little magic breather. But there would need to be certain items reclaimed before they could move on.
Like a weapon, for example.
Silverwolf wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of carrying around all of their weight. But, then again, she really liked her current sword.
It had served her well.
Her back to a tent, she made a decision that she knew would be costly, but still she couldn’t go into a fight empty handed. A guard had just walked into the tree line. Silverwolf had stalked up to within a good range of him when she heard the telltale sign of a man relieving himself.
She rolled her eyes as she picked up a rock.
Men, she thought.
One quick motion and the rock sailed through the semidarkness. A thud and a groan were the only signs that anything was amiss.
Padding lightly to the spot, Silverwolf removed the smallest blade he had on him: a knife no longer than her hand. As soon as she had her weapon, she kept moving. She didn’t want to be seen or heard. Hopefully the guard would wake up and think he had tripped or passed out.
Hopefully he’d be that dull and the knife would go unnoticed.
At any rate, one guard knocked out meant that Silverwolf had a clock ticking against her. Anymore soldiers dropped would raise suspicion in the camp. She didn’t need any more heightened tension.
A deep breath steadied her as she eyed the tent she needed. Yada’s.
They had moved her from the beach to this location. Her palanquin was prominently displayed in the center of camp and, unfortunately, well defended.
She’d have to overcome that particular hurdle at some point. But first, she needed to know where she could retrieve an old friend: her blade.
Scanning the area, a few tents began to look different to her eyes than the others. Some of the tents had two guards posted at the entrances.
Officers, she thought to herself. Or else skilled Speakers.
Still others had no one going in or out of them, but occasionally a guard would poke their head inside for a moment, before continuing their patrol.
Supplies? She thought with a raised eyebrow. Or else weapons or some other thing.
Then something strange caught her eye. Speakers were moving large objects from one place to another. Their arms outstretched, they walked carefully from one end of the camp, the one facing the jungle’s trees, to the side closer to Grellis. Whatever they were, they were wrapped in ropes and cloth, so Silverwolf couldn’t make out what they might be. They had to be precious in order to exhaust the magic of a Speaker before a large battle. An army that relied on magic would normally have their best resource well rested before assaulting a huge fortress.
Silverwolf shrugged.
She was no general.
Whatever they had planned was of no concern to her. She was going to get their things. Well, at least her swords, and then get out of Ladis as soon as she could.
There was really nothing keeping her other than a promise of a ship off the continent as soon as physically able. She could manage i
t, for sure. But why deny someone else the enjoyment of doing all the hard work for her?
She looked once more over the tents and soldiers, Speakers and rows, crates and supplies.
If she was a power-hungry invader who had just had her surprise invasion ruined by a former general and his buddies, where would she want to hide her friend’s stuff?
She sighed deeply, knowing the answer before she even looked at the place.
Yada’s tent.
“YOU SEE THAT LITTLE girl nearly blow Her Holiness up?” a guard said to his friend standing outside the entrance to Yada’s tent.
“Shush!” came the nervous reply. “You really want to get latrine duty and go in first charge tomorrow, don’t you?”
Silverwolf listened in on the conversation from in between a barrel and the fabric of a nearby tent. She could just make out the two soldiers. They both held spears and shields and guarded the entrance of Yada’s tent, but they were no elite guard.
She huffed as she thought about it.
The best guards wouldn’t be outside the tent, they’d be inside next to Yada. They would also be the ones most likely to be standing near her sword.
“Do you really think it was Bravestead they found?” the first guard said. He was slightly taller than his companion and perhaps slightly older. He had a shadow of a beard and darting eyes. His friend, or at least the guard he had been stationed with, was shorter and broader, but also lacked the face of experience. He was clean shaven and narrow eyed.
“Not a chance,” he said. “More like someone who knew Bravestead. It’s been three decades since the first wars. Old Holve’s probably dead somewhere.”
“Dervon swears he saw him,” the first said, looking up at them.
“Yeah, well, Dervon’s an idiot,” the broad one replied. “Didn’t he say he also saw Holve fly out of Yada’s tent and make his way towards Grellis on a set of wings?”
“I don’t know if he said that exactly,” the taller one said, kicking the dirt at his feet and looking unsure of himself.
“Hey,” he said, recovering his look. “They say Her Holiness has a new amulet. Some powerful Rimstone she took from a traitor Speaker.”
“You listen to gossip too much,” the broad one said.
“No, really!” the first replied. “Do you think that’ll help us defeat Ladis this time?”
“Shush! You don’t talk about last time. That’s a surefire way to get pushed to the front. We didn’t lose last time, we just waited for the right time to strike back.”
“I don’t know, Cas,” the taller one said. “My dad was there during the old wars. He said we lost pretty bad there at the end.”
“Shut it, Tret,” the soldier who was called ‘Cas’ said. “My dad was there, too, and he said nothing of the sort. Besides, when we take out ole High Priest Humpy, it’ll be because of them right there.”
Cas pointed at a team of Speakers, moving one of the large objects Silverwolf had seen them moving earlier. She would have spent a little more time studying them if a pair of boots hadn’t trampled up so close to her that she could have reached out and touched them.
“What are you two gabbing about?” a stern voice said.
The two soldiers immediately turned themselves into rigid statues, spears and shields in a tight formation around themselves.
“Didn’t I tell you to wait here and not make a sound? If you’ve woken Her Holiness...”
“No, sir, General Cern,” Tret said, faltering. “I mean, yes, sir, General Cern!”
The stern voice made a disproving grunt and then began walking, speaking over his shoulder.
“Follow me, you two worthless meat shields,” he said. “You’re going back to your posts on outer guard. Her Holiness has enough people inside to keep her safe until the morning.”
The sounds of their footsteps masked the quiet shuffling of Silverwolf’s as she broke from her hiding spot and disappeared into Yada’s tent.
OLD LADY HAS A TON of junk, Silverwolf thought as she entered through the flap and saw a statue and a table holding what looked like several rocks.
No guards pounced on her, like she anticipated. Still, she kept her newfound knife out and ready. The tent had several rooms and a hall, like it had the last time she had been inside of it. Taking a deep breath, she walked quickly over to the first room and walked in quietly.
She found herself turning around just as quickly and exiting the room. Several bunks, all of which seemed to be occupied, held sleeping guards, blissfully unaware that an assassin had just entered their quarters.
No hidden weapons or treasures in there, Silverwolf thought. And no reason to slit all of their throats and wake the whole camp with an alarm.
She would have to eventually make her way out of camp undetected as well. Making up her mind, she went to the room on the opposite side of the tent. No soldiers were resting in here, and she took a deep breath. What she did see, however, was several crates and barrels and other supplies.
Does the woman take everything with her when she travels? And use Speakers to move it? Silverwolf thought.
That was the only way she could figure out that the leader of the Isol army could transport so much. There was even a bookcase at the far end of the space. It took her six steps to get there, but she had seen her quarry as soon as she laid eyes on the shelves.
The halfling’s books.
Grabbing a sack from one of the many shelves, Silverwolf put the books into it, along with a few packages of what she hoped was dried meat and flatbread.
An assassin had to eat.
Looking around the area, she took in the rest of the storage room. Shelves with food and other books, parchments, maps, a collection of spare bits of paper. This she looked at with passing interest. Some of them looked like plans, while others were longer, written out pieces of text.
Never wanting to miss an opportunity to cause some chaos without getting killed, she swiped four of these papers and stuffed them into the pages of Jurrin’s books.
Just beyond the table was a weapons rack. Silverwolf found it crazy that she had missed that coming in, but the table and bookshelves had blocked it from her view. Preparing to leave, she saw spears and a few shields lined up neatly.
And her trusty blade.
Tucked behind a table with various jars and glass bottles laid out on top of it was their stash of weapons, all put together and leaned up against the wooden table. She made her way over to the spot in a breath and grabbed her blade, hiding the knife in a hidden sheath in her boot.
As far as she was concerned, a piece of clothing that didn’t conceal a blade was cloth wasted.
She grabbed her sword and felt its familiar grip in her hands. There was nothing like an assassin separated from her blade. The reunion felt like the return of an old friend. Savoring the moment, Silverwolf saw that the dwarf’s axe, the elf’s twin blades, and Ealrin’s sword were all here.
But where was the old man’s spear?
That item was a piece of work and, as much as Silverwolf hated to admit that any weapon exceeded her own, she knew that she needed to find that spear. She put the ax on her belt, the twin swords on her back and even pocketed the strip of leather the halfling called a sling. Taking one final look around the room, she made her way back to the flap that would lead into the hall.
The sound of voices stopped her hand at the moment she reached out to grab the fabric.
“Immature idiots,” she heard a man say under his breath, as if he was talking to himself.
Silverwolf took her sword in her hand, then backed away slowly from the flap. If whoever it was took a left and entered the storage room, she’d be seen right away. Moving as quickly as she dared, she edged over to the bookcase and did her best to slide next to it, laden down with blades as she was.
“Wake up you three,” she heard him say. She let go of the breath she was holding. He was in the other side of the tent, waking up some soldiers. She was safe for the time being.
“Her Holiness wanted us to look over the final plans for the morning’s assault. Meet me in the other room.”
Silverwolf looked at the table with the maps and parchments and books.
She was not safe for long.
Taking her sword, she made a careful tear in the fabric behind her, large enough for her to step through and, hopefully, be hidden for now by the edge of the bookcase.
Just as the she saw the flap move on the other side of the tent, she stepped through the passage she had made.
And found herself looking directly at Yada on her couch.
She held her breath as she looked quickly around the room.
No guards were inside with Yada. Her Holiness, or whatever they cared to call her, appeared to be asleep on her couch. Silverwolf let out her breath again as she caught sight of another object she had come looking for.
Clutched in the old woman’s hand was the girl’s necklace.
Stupid piece of jewelry, Silverwolf thought.
How she hated having to retrieve the thing and have it guide their journey. Then again, the girl could pull off some pretty spectacular magic. Not that Silverwolf would ever tell her she thought so. But that blast back at Arranus was something wild to see from the outside.
As quietly as she could, Silverwolf tiptoed towards Yada, making sure that every blade she held on her stayed put and didn’t clink against its companion.
One quick swipe and she’d be free to escape the tents and find Ealrin and the rest.
Just one quick...
“Stop!” came a voice from her right.
“Dammit,” Silverwolf let out. She jumped forward just as a blast hit the spot she was just standing. Yada had opened her eyes. The assassin was sure the old woman caught the look on her face just as she snatched the jewel from her hand and dove for the bottom of the tent’s fabric, praying it wasn’t tacked down.
It wasn’t.
She slid under the cloth and jumped to her feet, grasping her sword tight in one hand and the necklace in the other. Her feet hit the ground in steady, rhythmic patterns that betrayed both her need for haste and the complete lack of stealth.