Twenty Miles Southwest of Fort Ravensgate
Kael Thyssen was going to rescue a man she barely knew, abandon five hundred gold, and probably die in the process.
She'd made better decisions in her life.
But here she was anyway, crouched in the underbrush with four deserters, planning an assault on a military fortress because apparently she'd developed a conscience at the worst possible time.
"This is insane," Thomas whispered for the fifth time. "We can't attack a fort. We're not an army. We're five people with hunting bows and desperation."
"Six people," Kael corrected, though Stumper—who'd followed them through two days of forced march—probably didn't count as a combatant.
"Five and a half people," Willem said. His first contribution to the planning session.
"The point stands," Garrett—the deserter, not the captain—said quietly. "Fort Ravensgate is designed to withstand siege. We don't have the numbers, the equipment, or the training for a frontal assault."
"So we don't assault frontally," Kael said. "We use stealth. Infiltration. Get in, get the doctor, get out."
"Through what, the front gate? It's a fortress. They don't exactly leave back doors unlocked."
"Every fortress has weaknesses. Supply deliveries. Guard changes. Shift rotations. We find the weak point and exploit it."
Young Petyr, who'd been quiet this whole time, spoke up: "Why are we doing this? The doctor... Marcus... Cadarn... whatever his name is. He's not our responsibility. We don't owe him anything."
Kael had been asking herself the same question for two days.
"Because he traded his life for ours," she said finally. "He could have run, could have fought, could have done anything but walk out into the snow and surrender. But he gave himself up so we could escape."
"So? That was his choice. Stupid choice, but his."
"And this is my choice. Equally stupid, but mine." She looked at each of them. "I'm going. With or without you. If you want to walk away—find a village, disappear, live quiet lives away from wars and conscription—I won't judge you. You've earned that."
"But?" Thomas prompted.
"But if you help me, maybe we save a man who knows something that could end this war. Maybe we stop thousands of soldiers from dying for a lie. Maybe we do something that actually matters for once instead of just surviving." She shrugged. "Or maybe we die trying. Like I said—your choice."
Silence.
Then Garrett sighed. "I'm in. Already deserted once. Might as well commit to the lifestyle."
"I'm in," Willem said. Two words. But absolute.
Thomas looked at Young Petyr. "We shouldn't. This is suicide."
"Probably," Petyr agreed. "But my brother died for nothing. Died for a pointless charge ordered by idiots who never saw the battlefield. If this doctor knows something that could prevent more brothers from dying..." He picked up his bow. "I'm in."
Thomas threw up his hands. "Fine. We're all in. We're all insane. Let's go die storming a fortress."
"That's the spirit," Kael said dryly. "Now here's what I know about Fort Ravensgate..."
She'd been there once, three years ago. Different contract. Different target. But the fortress hadn't changed—military installations rarely did.
The fort sat on a rocky hill with clear sightlines in all directions. Surrounded by a dry moat filled with spikes. One main gate, heavily guarded. Three-story central building. Guard towers at each corner.
But.
There was a drainage tunnel. Cut into the hillside on the eastern slope, designed to channel rainwater away from the foundation. Too small for soldiers to use as an attack route—which meant it probably wasn't guarded.
Probably.
"You're talking about crawling through a sewer," Thomas said.
"I'm talking about crawling through a drainage tunnel. There's a difference."
"What difference?"
"Drainage tunnels have water. Sewers have shit."
"Comforting."
"It should be. Means we're only soaking wet and freezing instead of soaking wet and covered in excrement." Kael drew a rough map in the dirt. "Tunnel opens into a cistern beneath the fortress. From there, we access the lower levels—probably storage or dungeon."
"Where they'd keep a high-value prisoner," Garrett noted.
"Exactly. We find him, extract him, escape the same way we came in."
"What about guards? Locks? The fact that we have no idea which cell he's in?"
"We improvise."
"That's not a plan. That's hoping really hard while winging it."
"You have a better idea?"
Silence.
"Didn't think so." Kael stood. "We move at midnight. Guard change is at twelve-thirty—gives us a window when they're distracted and reorganizing. Questions?"
"About a hundred," Thomas muttered. "But I don't think answers would help at this point."
"Smart man."
They spent the rest of the day preparing. Checking weapons. Rationing food. Trying to rest, though none of them could sleep.
As night fell, Kael found herself thinking about Cadarn.
The broken drunk who'd somehow found the courage to walk into enemy hands to save strangers.
The doctor who carried a secret worth kingdoms and just wanted to tell the truth.
The man who'd spent twenty years running and finally decided to stop.
He'd better be worth it.
She checked her bow for the tenth time and settled in to wait for midnight.