Shadows shift beneath the swaying of the bare leaves. The woodland creatures are silent in the oppressive presence of dragon and man and a darkness one can almost feel like an oily substance pressing on the soul.

From a mile out, I can hear the resounding pound of a hammer on nail. A saw slices through white pine and the smell of body odor and excrement of both man and beast pierces my nostrils.

My ears twitch when Jace stomps through the trees like a Berserk. Nevermind… that would be an insult to the Berserk. They are quiet when they wish it.

Tim—because of course Jace could not be without him—steps on a soft patch of dirt that sucks at his boot and squishes when he pulls it out.

One cannot mistake those two with huntsmen.

Heather, on the other hand, ghosts beside me with barely a hint of fabric on fabric.

Zephora and other Were are quieter than even Heather, mere ghosts of motion who surround Tim and Jace, who hold the reason for the night while I take point. Wolves and Shifters range further out, and I see Sir Hans through the trees as he glances my way, meeting my eyes with a nod. I nod back and continue forward.

The Resistance has been tinkering with something they stole from the Empire. Dragon Musk. I had heard the term before, but it was just before I left the assassin guild for good and nothing else came of it. I thought myself beyond such worries.

But now? Dragon Musk is either our salvation or our end. Perhaps both.

We’re going to see what it can do.

Dragon Musk is the drug they use in the fighting arenas. I had my suspicions, but David confirmed it tonight by showing a stash in the tunnels beneath Videlia. It seems the Resistance has been busy.

Zephora comes in front of me and motions me to stay. I narrow my eyes, but her eyes slit and her lips part in a silent hiss, showing pointed fangs.

I huff, crossing my arms but nod. Fine. I’ll let her scout.

She disappears into the undergrowth and Flash pops out beside me, making me jump. He stays at my side as I ease closer to Jace and Tim, watching me from the corner of his eye.

Ever since we arrived, the two Werecat siblings have been treating me like an invalid. It’s highly annoying. I’m back to usual. There’s no reason to coddle me.

Those two beg to differ.

I ignore Cynic.

Jace gives me a big thumbs up and Tim nods, his dark skin and tattoos blending into the shadows much better than his pale counterpart.

A howl rises in the distance, and my muscles tense. I force them to unclench, taking a deep breath and searching the scents on the air.

The wind blows in my face as we stay carefully downwind of the main encampment. There is a scent I’m searching for... and there.

The dark trail of an oily, broken scent mixed with wolf.

My shoulders sag. My cousin and the Empire joining forces is creating mass slavery for my people.

And then I scent something else. Something Other.

Before Flash can protest, I shove my way forward, pause when a sentry walks within inches of my bush, then glimpse through the edge of the forest to the bustling encampment.

The scent is... strange. It almost jumps from human to Shifter and back.

There was something familiar about the scent. And I remember Commander Vex... how he was in charge of humans who were... off.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

My teeth grind without thought as I see a mass of human fodder in the center.

“Change of plans,” I growl.

“Why is that making me nervous?” Flash asks, his eyes flashing and fingers curling into fists even as he stares at me sans grin.

“Aren’t you a brave cat?” I glance around the clearing, hardly thinking before I speak.

“Then are you a brave dog? A brave animal? What’s that even mean?”

I ignore his mutterings. Him and Cynic are too much alike... but I’m getting a bit used to them. They’re like a foul smell. Ignore it for long enough and it’ll drift away. Hopefully.

“What’s the plan change, anyway?” Flash asks, his shoulder near to brushing my own.

Or perhaps they don't go away when ignored. I’m still learning how these infernal creatures work.

You like us, Cynic says, a smirk in his voice.

I ignore him, still hoping for the smell to drift away.

Flash comes closer, brushing against my elbow and making me jump.

Drat.

Around the center mass of people who sit with strangely coordinated movements, there is the regular army. They move about with purpose: chopping down trees, feeding the horses, and digging out privies and fire pits. Further out are the shadows I take to be Shifters under the thumb of a mage somewhere. If I can take out the mage, I can free the wolves and have another fighting force in the center of the enemy.

But as of now, that’s not my main concern. Far to the left, just beyond the shadows, are the wingless dragons.

They are chained with metal thicker than my arm and appear to be sleeping.

At least they don’t move as men scurry like rats about their feet, propping things on their backs and scooping out their mess.

There are large siege machines near the dragons... that is what we originally came for.

But now... now I want more.

This is idiotic even for you, Cynic says. I approve.

Gee, thanks. I was merely waiting for your approval, oh mighty one.

That was uncalled for, he replies, sounding like one of my old tutors when I would do something especially naughty.

I shake the memories from my mind.

“You take Jace and Tim with the Were. I’ll take the Shifters.”

Flash stares at me, his face devoid of emotion. But somehow I think he’s cursing me out in his mind. Just an instinct.

“And what will you be doing?” he finally whispers.

“Freeing some chains. Create a distraction,” I reply.

“Freeing some chains. That’s mighty helpful. Couldn’t be more helpful if he tried—“

“Flash.”

“Fine. Fine! If explosions aren’t a big enough distraction, you better hope for a tsunami from Carpus,” he says, treading back silently into the wood and waving Jace and Tim to follow him.

Sir Rey and Heather flank me.

“What’s the plan, Roland?” Heather asks, her teeth flashing in the night as she leans forward.

“See the people in the center?” I ask. She nods. “Do they seem familiar?”

She delicately sniffs at the air, looking at them. She cocks her head. A near silent gasp escapes her. She growls, a sound pulled from the depths of her chest. “The experiments,” she says, her voice low and menacing. I look at her, not used to hearing such vehemence from her.

“Remember how the last were brought down?”

She looks at me as if I’m insane. “We killed them.”

“No, we killed their master. Find the master, cut off the head, and they’ll be free.”

“And what good will that do us? Or them? They are surrounded by a steel trap. Even if we free them, they will be dead in moments,” she says.

I love her, Cynic purrs.

“We need to wait until most of the men are going for the explosions.”

She shakes her head. “This is not smart, Roland.”

In other words, you’re being an idiot. Stop it. But she’s too nice for to say that.

Didn't you just mention how you approved of this plan?

... That was before. Heather makes good points.

You're just smitten and it's messing with your brain.

I look at the people, seeing how they sway in a rhythm not their own, how they don’t eat or drink or walk, they just sit.

“I understand shackles of the mind. They need to be freed before they find death tomorrow. And that’s final,” I say, using a hint of Command without conscious thought.

She snaps her mouth shut with a snap. “Yes, sir,” she says, as if unsure of why she’s saying it.

And guilt rears its ugly head, punching me in the gut.

Oh, wait. That was Cynic. He does whatever he did again, and this time I grunt at the force of... something inside of me feeling as if it’s stabbing my innards.

Cynic, I warn.

Don’t dare command her again, Roland. His voice is calm... but in the way you sit in the eye of a hurricane before you're torn to shreds.

I didn’t mean to this time. The words seem like an admission of guilt. Likely because they are.

Get control of yourself before you get us all killed.

The words hurt worse than him pulling at my insides. I sigh, leaning my forehead against the cool, prickly bark of a tree.

Wait, says another small voice that sighs like a whispering of wind through the trees.

They need to be free. I can’t kill them, too. Not like they are, I reply, but I don’t know if I’m talking to the Allfather, Cynic... or myself.

Cynic goes still as something inside me flames and brings grief I thought buried up inside me like a rising volcano, burning a path through my soul and making my chest ache with a hole bigger than my heart.

“Not now,” I hiss, clenching my fists until I feel blood pooling beneath my palms.

The grief tries to overwhelm me.

Then the explosions begin, and I must decide.

Do I move to free them or stick to the plan?

Wait, the voice whispers in my mind.