Not yet.
He thought he heard shouting coming from inside the barracks, but the large tent set up in the inner ward had just caught fire, so it was hard to tell with all the noise echoing off the stone walls. Tim Stiller stood up to heave the bellows through the window and his partner tossed in the half-empty cask.
Casseck raised his arm higher and Archer drew back his bowstring, aiming for the open window.
Both pairs raced away from the barracks, diving under the first solid shelter they could find. The door to the barracks burst open, and guards stumbled out, rubbing their eyes and coughing. One tripped over the leaking barrel, and it spilled open.
Casseck dropped his arm.
Archer loosed the arrow, and the barracks exploded before either could duck behind the wall.
79
SAGE, DELL, STEPHEN, and Ash were within a mile of Tegann Fortress when red smoke began billowing from the top of the keep. A few minutes later, one of the flags was pulled down, and the smoke began rising in a pattern of puffs. They couldn’t see the person responsible.
Ash grinned. “Looks like the party started early.” He pointed to Sage. “You, find somewhere to lie low. We’ll take out the sentries as they come back.”
Sage looked around. “How about a tree? I can get a better look at what’s going on inside as well.” She gestured to a large evergreen. Most of the other trees hadn’t fully grown back their leaves.
“Good idea. We’ll come back and find you when we’re done. Need a boost?” he offered.
The walk had loosened her sore muscles and adrenaline flowed through her veins. Sage jumped up to catch the limb she wanted and hooked her legs over the next one. Then she pulled herself up and disappeared in a shower of pine needles.
“I guess that’s a no.” Ash signaled to his companions and they moved out, weapons ready.
*
From her vantage in the tree, Sage saw movement on the inner and outer walls of the fortress. With the rain it was difficult to distinguish the colors of the livery. Black smoke poured from the inner ward. Must be the tents. Soon after, flames licked up the walls of the eastern armory. The rain would put out the fires eventually, but they’d been started with oil that was staged in slowly leaking barrels to soak into their surroundings.
The plan was to create panic that made everyone easy to herd into one place, take out as many of the posted guards as possible within the first few minutes, and secure the inner walls. Gaining the entire fortress was ideal, but the soldiers were prepared to fall back to the inner bailey or the keep itself if necessary.
Before making the decision, however, they’d wreck the outer ward as much as possible. The soldier on the top of the keep was barely visible as he swung a sodden flag. Sage caught a glimpse of him through the smoke and realized he wasn’t crouched over—the soldier was only as tall as the fire bowl itself. Charlie. Her gut twisted, but Alex must’ve had no choice. The boy was probably safer up there anyway.
As Sage squinted to see if the plan for the barracks had worked, it abruptly went up in one large, expanding flash, though the sound didn’t reach her for several seconds. The success gave her morbid satisfaction, and she wondered how many she’d just killed with her idea. A man on the outer bailey was blown off his feet and over the side of the stone wall. His arms flailed uselessly as he fell to his death, and she turned away, feeling sick.
Movement nearby caught her eye. Several birds had lifted from their perches when the explosion echoed through the valley, a large hawk settling back down on a tree a few dozen yards away. With a chill she recognized it as a tame bird. Maybe even the one she’d seen several days ago, though there was no way to be sure. Perhaps the Kimisar weren’t gone after all.
Sage pulled herself to a higher branch, wincing as the needles scraped her tender face. From her new position she had a clear view of the hawk, but saw no sign of anyone in the trees or on the ground below. Possibly the bird carried a message from someone far away and belonged to them, but she wasn’t searching. She was waiting. Her master was near.
If the hawk was a messenger for their enemies, killing her could be critical. Sage reached a shaking hand into her pocket for her sling and a stone.
She was so nervous her first throw went wide by several feet. The hawk’s head swiveled around to follow the stone’s path, but she remained on her perch. Definitely trained. Sage pushed herself to a precarious stand on a limb and leaned out to give her arm more room. Anyone on the ground would be able to see her.
She snapped her wrist and let the stone fly. The bird turned back and started to lift off too late. The missile hit the hawk in the shoulder and she screeched and tumbled backward. Sage yanked herself back into the tree and hugged the trunk, listening for indications of the hawk’s owner.
She heard nothing, but she felt his eyes.
After several minutes of barely breathing, Sage turned her head to look out into the forest and saw him almost instantly. He stood motionless in an open area on a nearby slope, a dark cloak hanging around him almost to the ground and a hood shadowing his face. One step backward into the foliage, and he would be invisible. His elaborately tattooed arms were crossed as he watched her. Like he was waiting for her to see him.
He carried a crossbow, and she was well in range.
Almost lazily, he swung the weapon from his back but made no effort to aim it. Was he taunting her or debating whether to shoot her? Sage trembled all over. She should move lower, to where the branches and the trunk were thicker, but fear paralyzed her.
“Fowler!” called a voice in the distance. The scouts were coming back for her. She turned her head toward the sound and tried to answer, but her voice came out as a weak croak on the first two tries. When she looked back to the man on the hillside, he was gone.
She scrambled down the tree, breaking half the branches she touched and falling several feet twice. She hit the ground running and never looked back.
80
THE LOWER STOREHOUSE was deserted, except for a few scurrying rats. In the dungeon, one more level down, Alex killed three guards, two of whom were too sick to put up much of a fight. The last managed to open a cut on the side of Alex’s leg before falling to his sword. A glance told him the wound was nothing of immediate concern, and he stepped over the guard’s body to the foul-smelling cells beyond.
He found one of his father’s couriers, broken and unconscious, but the man could be better tended once they were in full control of the fortress, so Alex left him. The other cells were empty.