A young Xia soldier, coming back from relieving himself behind a pile of timbers, had rounded the wrong corner at the wrong moment and seen the wrong silhouette.
"Alarm!" he cried, voice cracking.
Chen Rui's curse cracked with it. "Too late."
"Light them all," Ziyan snapped.
Shuye flung his torch. Feiyan kicked another jar down the slope and slashed its fuse as it rolled. Wei, roaring, heaved a barrel sideways to block a sudden arrow, then threw his spear directly into the chest of the unfortunate boy who'd shouted.
Flame took greedily. Pitch and oil adored chaos. Fire ran down the hill like a thought finally spoken. Wagons whooshed into blazing existence. Horses screamed and bolted. Men tumbled from bedrolls, silhouettes suddenly lit from below, faces painted demon-red in the sudden flare.
"Back!" Li Qiang barked, positioning himself between Ziyan and the first knot of rushing Xia who'd reacted faster than panic.
They clashed, brief and brutal. A spear slid along Ziyan's arm, biting old bandage, making heat bloom under cold. She turned with the pain, let it guide her blade, caught her attacker behind the knee. Wei laughed, wild and delighted, as he used the shaft of his ruined spear like a staff. Chen Rui's sword work was efficient and ugly, born of roadside skirmishes, not drilled parade-ground forms.
"Time!" Feiyan shouted. "We've lit the hammer. Now we leave before the anvil closes."
They fell back in a scrabbling, controlled retreat, using the slope's folds to vanish when they could, fighting when they couldn't. From the main Xia camp, horns blared, confused—attack? fire? which side?
On his command hill, Ren Kanyu snatched up his spyglass and swore softly.
For a long moment, all he saw was flame—orange tongues licking at the night, wagons blooming into torches, silhouettes running, stumbling. Then, at the edge of that chaos, he caught a glimpse of something small but distinct.
Blue silk, tied around a wrist, catching firelight for a heartbeat.
He focused, breath caught.
She was smaller than rumor made her, wrapped in plain cloak and soot. She cut down a man with clean efficiency, then grabbed Shuye's arm and yanked him toward shadow. Someone—Li Qiang, he guessed—took a spear meant for her shoulder, turning it with his own blade. Feiyan moved like a shadow that had decided to take offense.
For three heartbeats, through glass, Ren Kanyu and Li Ziyan looked at each other.
He saw her eyes register the reflected glint of his spyglass. Her chin tipped the faintest fraction, not quite a bow, not quite defiance.
He lowered the glass.
"Sound withdrawal from the supply slope," he said. "Send in the bucket lines. No pursuit past the second ditch. They want us chasing. We'll not oblige."
His adjutant stared. "General, they—"
"—have made their point," Ren said. "They can bleed us out here as easily as we can bleed them in there. We keep our men. We lose wagons. We can build more wagons. Men take longer."
The horns changed pitch.
On the slope, Ziyan heard the note and felt her chest loosen. No cavalry crash. No overwhelming, wave-breaking pursuit.
"Now," Feiyan grated. "Before he changes his mind."
They ran.
By the time they slid back through the postern, lungs burning, cloaks singed, Shuye blistered and delighted, the slope behind them was an inferno. Smoke smeared the clouds. From the wall, cheers rose—raw, incredulous.
Han met them in the inner yard, eyes sweeping, counting. "You're all insane," he said.
"Yes," Wei panted. "But now we smell better. Less fever, more victory."
Ren the scribe stared at Ziyan's soot-smeared face, at the torn sleeve, at the flicker in her eyes that was not just reflected fire.
"I'll add it," he said quietly. "To the Oath tablets. 'Those who order risk will share it.'"
"Do," Ziyan said. "Else it's only talk."
Feiyan tugged open Ziyan's cloak as if checking armor. Her fingers brushed the little scrap of cloth sewn inside. "Xu Min would be smug," she said. "If he knew his stubbornness helped light those wagons."
"He can be smug in whatever altar room Ren builds for his name," Ziyan said. Her fingers shook once, then steadied. "We're not the only ones keeping ledgers."
Outside, beyond sight, Ren Kanyu watched the burning slope and felt something cold and sharp settle in his chest.
She'd chosen her hammer blow.
So had he.
In the morning, the siege would not go back to pressing at the walls.
In the morning, the wolves would come for the heart.