The horn's echo haunted the tower. Naiah tightened her gauntlet. On a rough pallet beneath the window, Captain Limbé lay wrapped in a torn cloak, armor buckled and dark with stain. His breath rasped faintly, his face pale and still.
Commander Joan stepped forward, cloak shoved back to reveal broad shoulders beneath ash-smeared mail. "What news from the northern tower?" he asked.
Naiah drew in a sharp breath. "Their siege lines stretch from the ridge to the river. The banners are fixed, Boyar has the city ringed tight. The fog hides their archers, but not their fires. We will not hold another night if the gates fall."
Joan's eyes hardened. "Then we must make them believe the walls will not break."
Naiah nodded. "I await your orders, commander, but I have a proposal. The beacon at Nagi's bend stands still. If it burns, Asteria will send riders by dawn. I can reach it."
Joan turned slowly toward her. "The river is theirs, Naiah. You would never make the crossing."
"There is a way," she said quietly. "Under the water. If we bind animal hides for air, two can pass unseen. The current is swift, but I know its pull."
Joan frowned. "You'd go under the river, beneath their soldiers?"
"I would rather drown than see Riversdale kneel," Naiah answered. "Give the word, and I'll take one man to carry the flame."
For a moment, the commander said nothing. The tower's torches cracked. The groan of the city below pressed through the stones like a dying breath.
At last Joan spoke, voice low but steady. "Then you will have my leave. Take the sergeant, he knows the river like the back of his palm. We'll send volleys from the western towers. That will draw their eyes."
Naiah gave a sharp nod. "When the beacon burns, its light will tell Asteria what's coming."
Joan looked at Limbé's still body on the pallet, then back at her. "You ride his duty tonight."
"I will not fail him," Naiah said.
"Then go," Joan ordered. "The hour will not wait."
Naiah bent briefly over Limbé, her hand brushing his cold knuckles. "Rest, captain. I'll finish what you began."
Joan stepped aside as she passed, the weight of his command settling over the room. "May the gods favor the quiet ones," he murmured.
Naiah fastened her helm, eyes steeled. "They favor those who do not wait for favor," she said.
Outside, from the river's edge, a single Varcian horn rose low and grim, curling through the mist like a herald of doom. The tower stones trembled with its sound.
The river whispered like a living thing, dark, wide, and cold as iron. Moonlight slanted through the mist, glimmering faintly across its rippling skin. Naiah crouched by the water's edge, her armor dulled with mud, breath ghosting through the night. Beside her, Sergeant Taren bound the last of the animal hides, the cords wet and slick in his trembling hands.
"Keep it tight," she murmured. "If it leaks, we drown before Varcia finds us."
He nodded, his jaw stiff. "Aye, Captain. But if they've scouts near the ridge, "
"They'll hear nothing but frogs," she said, lowering her voice. Her gaze cut to the eastern bank where faint orange glows trembled, campfires behind the Varcian siege line. Shadows moved between them like slow beasts, shifting armor glinting under clouded light.
Taren swallowed hard. "The current's heavy tonight."
"I've swum heavier," Naiah replied, fastening the hide to her shoulder. "Follow my lead. If the current drags you under, release the tether. Breathe through the hide, not panic."
He managed a faint grin. "You make drowning sound like a lesson."
Her eyes softened, just a moment. "In war, it is."
The mist thickened. From the city behind them came the faint echo of horns, a false alarm from Joan's towers to cover their escape. The Varcian lines stirred, distant shouts scattering through the fog. Naiah drew one long breath and slipped soundlessly into the water.
The cold hit like steel. The river seized her legs, pulling, twisting. She gritted her teeth and dove deeper, pressing the inflated hide to her mouth. The world turned black and muffled, only the muffled rush of the current and the slow throb of her own heart.
Beside her, Taren's pale outline moved with the rhythm she had taught him: glide, breathe, kick, silence. Overhead, faint shadows crossed, the watchfires on the ridge, a patrol perhaps, or worse.
The river spat them out like wreckage, Naiah first, gasping, drenched, dragging herself up the muddy bank. The reeds trembled around her as Taren followed, his armor clattering faintly. The mist hung thick as smoke, moonlight bleeding silver through the haze.
"Saints, we made it," Taren rasped, coughing river water.
Naiah's gaze sharpened. "Quiet."
The reeds parted. Shadows moved, Varcian scouts, lean and ghostly, blades already drawn.
"Down!" Naiah hissed.
But too late. A shout split the stillness, and steel flashed. The first arrow grazed Taren's shoulder, spinning him sideways. Naiah rose like a whip, her sword catching moonlight.
Arrows hissed past her ear. She ducked, rolled through the mud, and came up inside a Varcian guard's reach. One swift strike, steel through bone. The man fell without sound.
Taren staggered beside her, parrying a blow. "There's too many!"
"Then stop counting!" Naiah snapped. Her blade carved an arc through the mist, sparks flying where metal met metal. Another scout lunged; she twisted, caught his wrist, and drove her pommel into his throat. He dropped, choking.
Horses screamed nearby, startled, tethered close. Naiah's head snapped toward the sound. She saw them, a handful of Varcian mounts half-hidden behind a low rise, stamping in alarm.
"Taren!" she barked. "The horses!"
He followed her gaze, eyes wide. "You're mad."
"Then keep up!"
Naiah sprinted, arrows chasing her heels. Mud splashed high as she vaulted a fallen scout and threw herself at the nearest horse. The beast reared, hooves flashing, but she caught its reins, slashing the tether loose.
"Mount up!" she shouted.
Taren scrambled after her, clutching his side. Another scout lunged from the fog, Naiah swung her sword in a low, brutal cut that silenced him mid-step.
They mounted fast, the leather reins slick with rain and blood. Naiah dug her heels into the horse's flank, and it leapt forward, crashing through the reeds.
Behind them, the Varcians gave chase, yells, hooves pounding, arrows slicing through the air. The riverbank erupted in chaos, mist torn apart by the thunder of pursuit.
"Ride!" Naiah roared, her voice raw.
Taren's horse stumbled, recovered. The wind tore at them, the trees streaking past in gray blurs. Naiah's heart hammered against her ribs, the river's roar fading behind them.
Then came the sound, the growing drumbeat of more riders approaching from the ridge.
Taren looked back, terror sparking in his eyes. "They're gaining!"
Naiah twisted in her saddle, saw the line of torches flaring in the dark, dozens of Varcian riders pouring after them, dust and fog swirling beneath hooves.
Her jaw tightened. "Then we make them follow the wrong trail."
The night shuddered with thunder as they vanished into the hills, Varcian riders close behind, dust rising like ghosts in the moonlight.
More riders give chase, dust rising behind them.
The hills unfolded in shadows, veiled in mist and moonlight. The pounding of hooves echoed like thunder rolling through a hollow sky. Naiah's horse skidded to a halt at the fork of two dirt paths, one climbing toward the old beacon ridge, the other plunging toward the river below.
Taren pulled beside her, chest heaving. "They're too close! Which way?"
Naiah's eyes narrowed toward the ridge. The beacon tower stood there, half-crumbled but still upright, a perfect lure. She swung off her horse, her boots sinking into wet grass.
"Give me your torch," she said.
Taren hesitated. "Captain?"
"Do it."
He handed it over. The fire flared weakly in the wind. Naiah pressed her hand against her horse's muzzle, her voice low, steady. "You've done your part, old friend." Then she slapped its flank hard.
The beast neighed and bolted up the ridge, torchlight glinting off its wet mane.
Taren blinked. "You're sending it alone?"
She didn't answer, just watched as the animal vanished between the rocks, its hooves thundering toward the tower.
Naiah turned sharply. "Downhill. Now."
They plunged into the lower path, mud flying underfoot, branches tearing at their cloaks. The roar of the river returned, louder now, nearer.
Moments later, the echo of pursuit split the air, Varcian riders veering toward the beacon's path, fooled by the flash of movement and light.
"Captain, " Taren stumbled. "We'll be trapped against the water."
"Not if we set the world alight first," she said grimly.
They reached the bank, lungs burning. Naiah yanked an arrow from her quiver and wrapped a strip of cloth around its tip. Taren struck flint, and flame bloomed in his shaking hands.
She met his eyes briefly, then nocked the arrow and raised her bow toward the ridge.
The string hummed. The arrow soared, trailing a comet's fire through the mist. It struck the tower's base. For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then the beacon roared to life.
Flames licked skyward, devouring the dry stone, and the darkness shattered in orange light.
Taren shielded his eyes. "By the Saints, "
Naiah stared up at the blaze, the fire reflecting in her eyes. "They'll come for us now," she murmured. "But all of Asteria knows they're he
re."
Far across the valley, Varcian commanders turned in their saddles, the glow cutting through the night like a blade.
They have lost the advantage of stealth.