Dem sat back on his hind legs, studying the four ships. Ideally, he'd set all of them ablaze. But time, distance, and the presence of an overwhelming force meant narrowing his targets. Two ships rode much deeper in the water than the others — weighed down with supplies. They chose themselves.
He slipped into the waves. Saltwater was a new sensation, fascinating in taste and texture, though he knew better than to try drinking it. His sleek black rat form left almost no profile, blending perfectly with the dark water.
He approached the first ship and sensed the rats aboard — a few dozen hiding in the hold. He filed the awareness away and headed for the easiest boarding route: the anchor line.
Once aboard, he sank his claws into the wood. Ship planks parted under him like soft clay, and he worked slowly, carving only enough space to squeeze through. Inside, the ship was noisier than he'd anticipated. To his heightened senses, every creak of wood, stretch of rope, flap of sail, and slap of waves demanded attention. He cataloged each sound so none would mask anything dangerous.
He moved unseen, mapping corridors and compartments. Most of the sailors and soldiers were ashore, leaving only a skeleton crew. Satisfied, he selected a spot deep in the stern hold.
Dem shed his rat form and remained naked — quicker than dressing again. He pulled a small cloth from his storage ring, dipped it into a container of lamp oil, and used it sparingly. A heavy application might be detectable; this amount wouldn't be noticed by any ordinary human.
He coated the doorway first, then moved deeper and wiped a narrow strip of wall from floor to ceiling. Sailors reacted fast to fire; it meant death at sea. If the doorway burned, they'd be delayed reaching the second fire.
He'd intended to use the explosives, but fire would accomplish the same outcome without wasting precious material.
Dem measured out two equal lengths of fuse, tied their ends together, and positioned the free ends under the oiled rag he had torn in half.
When the fuses burned down, the oil and dry wood would take over.
He left the fuses unlit and clawed a small escape hole above the waterline. Then he slipped out and swam to the second ship.
They were identical vessels, so he repeated the process. Then he waited.
A few hours after midnight was ideal — guards at their most fatigued. He'd participated in enough Thaigmaal heists to know many guards slept standing, leaning against the nearest wall.
When he judged the moment right, he struck a flint, lit the first fuse, shifted into rat form, and fled through the tiny opening into the sea. He swam hard to the second ship, lit its fuse — slightly shorter so both fires would ignite close together — and slipped back into the dark water.
Dem reached shore, shaking saltwater from his coat before climbing up to his overlook. There he shifted and dressed quickly, crouching behind the rocks.
He listened.
The silence stretched longer than expected.
Then the shouting began — frantic voices, boots pounding, the panic of men yelling for buckets. Torches flared, sailors scrambled, and the two lighter ships snapped awake in alarm. But it was already too late. Both heavier ships burned out of control, the flames racing along their sterns faster than any bucket line could handle.
Dem waited until he was certain the ships were lost, then slipped into the night.
Back at camp, Dem roused Telo and asked for a quick meeting.
Once the sub-chiefs gathered, Dem began, "Two of our enemy's ships unexpectedly burned to the keel and sank during the night."
Telo raised an eyebrow. "Unexpectedly?"
"Well… I'm sure they weren't expecting it." Dem replied dryly. "Now they're short on supplies. What do they do next?"
"Depends what they lost," Toman said. "But they'll need fresh water and food."
"Right," Telo agreed. "If they use the river we're expecting, we should serve them some sage tea."
Dem chuckled. "Toman, how deep and fast is that river?"
"Shallow and slow," Toman answered. "We're in year three of a drought."
"Perfect," Dem said. "We'll seed the river with sage upstream of their camp."
He straightened. "Then we break into oduns and begin stage one. Telo will create a roster. Two oduns are active each night; the rest hide and rest. Active groups will burn tents, take potshots from the dark at men or horses, and fade away."
Dem pointed at the map. "Only Toman and I will track each odun's hiding place. Telo stays with me — we'll hit any pursuit teams and create chaos when needed."
He studied the atlas. "If they decide to make a push at Stonefall, they'd have to come through here, yes?"
"That pass is the only direct route," Toman confirmed. "They could go around either side, but it adds a full day."
"We set the charges Tori got us at the pass. Ideally, we won't use them, but if needed, we collapse the route and buy another day." Dem looked around the table. "Anyone have experience setting charges?"
Reyka raised her hand, smiling. "I haven't done it myself, but I've watched the miners do it dozens of times."
"You're with me, then," Dem decided. "We'll set the charges at dawn and meet the Sentry force upstream of where we expect them to camp. Anything else?"
Sark raised a hand. "Let's fill every canteen and container we have before we make the sage tea."
"Good point," Dem said. "I have a couple empty barrels in my storage ring. I'll fill them and any spare containers we scrounged. Everyone else top off your canteens."
He stood, stretching. "That's it. Get some rest. I need a few hours."
**
Dem smiled and rolled over. "Just come in."
Reyka peeked inside, smiling sheepishly. "I didn't want to be late."
"You're early," Dem chuckled, closing his eyes. "We've got another hour."
Two hours later, Dem and Reyka had the charges set and the fuses concealed.
Reyka studied the placement. "These rock walls have solid natural support. Ideally, we'd drill into them, but this should drop enough stone to block the pass."
"With the fuse length, we'll have about twenty minutes after lighting," Dem said. He climbed the steep trail, turning to offer Reyka a hand up.
"No need to cut it close," she agreed. "If they break camp, we set it off."
They rode in silence toward a bend in the river a few hundred meters upstream of the suspected camp.
Every Sentry wore the same expression — amused anticipation. The sage tea plan had quickly become a favorite.
Reyka dismounted and followed Dem to where the Sentries waited.
As Dem began dumping sage branches from his storage ring, Telo gave instructions.
"Tie them in bundles and weigh them with big stones. River's slow here — they should stay put."
The water was waist-deep with a long sandbar, but there were plenty of head-sized rocks along the bank.
Afterward, Dem spoke to each odun individually, offering advice and encouragement before sending them to their hiding spots. This was their test — for the sub-chiefs especially. They would choose when to strike and when to disappear.
His final instruction to each:
"Not one death for one death. Even a hundred enemies aren't worth a single Sentry. Kill and flee. If retreat looks risky, stay hidden."
Once the oduns dispersed, Dem and Telo rode toward the coast for updates.
Halfway there, Dem pulled up sharply. "Two scouts. Take the ridge. I'll handle this."
The approaching horses were chargers — big, muscled, and too heavy for tribal terrain. Strong, but not built for endurance. Easy to outmatch with a tribal pony… but also dangerous in close quarters.
Dem's posture shifted. His shoulders slumped, eyes widened, expression softened. He slowed his horse deliberately, letting it look like he was debating whether to run.
"Hold right there!" one of the men barked, spurring his charger into a full gallop until he yanked the reins hard at the last second.
Dem felt the horse's fury at the rough treatment. If the rider ever fell, the beast would stamp him flat.
Dem raised both hands. "I'm not looking for trouble."
Both soldiers wore light chain under white vests bearing a black crow. Shortbows, curved swords, metal-reinforced boots. One was bulkier, with hard, mean eyes.
"Who are you? What are you doing out here?" he demanded.
"D-Devon Duscan," Dem stammered. "I'm hunting."
"Hunting?" the mean one sneered. "Without a weapon?"
"Weapon?" Dem let his voice crack. "I run a trap line. Seven snares and two wooden live traps."
"Easy, Bron," the second man said. "He's just a kid."
Dem marked him as the nicer one.
Then the man added casually, "Besides… if we kill him, we have to hunt down his family and kill them too."
Dem immediately revised his assessment.
"My family runs a farm," he said quickly.
Bron eased his grip on his sword and gave what he believed was a friendly smile. "Where's this farm, kid? We haven't eaten all day. Could use a hot meal."
"You look like soldiers… and you talk different," Dem said, letting fear jump into his voice.
The second man scowled. "Just kill him, Bron. I'll track him back to his far—"
His words dissolved into a wet choke as an arrow punched cleanly through his throat.
"HEY!" Bron swung toward the ridge, missing the blur behind him.
Dem landed on the charger's back, blade flashing. A clean slash across Bron's throat, and blood sprayed across the horse's neck. Dem shoved the dying mercenary off the saddle.
Telo slid down the ridge, bow still in hand. "Did I wait too long?"
Dem suddenly kicked the man Telo had shot with an arrow — the merc had grabbed a hidden blade, which clattered harmlessly onto the stones.
"Damn… he wasn't dead," Telo muttered as the man gurgled once and went still.
"Don't drop your guard," Dem said. "Search him. Anything useful."
He checked Bron's body and saddlebags. "A few gold. Orders from the Black Crow Company."
Telo retrieved his arrow, checking its straightness before sliding it back into his quiver. "This guy has the same orders. Signed by a Captain 'Lord' Feran of Telto."
He grinned, lifting a purse. "Ten gold!"
"It's yours." Dem slapped the charger's flank, sending it bolting toward the coast.
"Setting it loose?" Telo asked.
"Hopefully the Black Crows find two riderless horses," Dem said, storing both bodies in his ring. "Let them start worrying."