Tree leaves crunched underfoot as Cyrus Alder trekked his way through the Asundrian Pines.

“Sorry,” he said. They were supposed to be sneaking.

The night was young, sun freshly set. Their little trio, consisting of himself, Captain Fauke, and Lieutenant Korsak, had ventured deep inside the woods. Rows upon rows of pine trees surrounded them in every direction for miles, though they were barely visible in the darkness, only fleetingly revealed by the flickering oil lantern held by mountainous Korsak ahead. Somehow, the trees looked lonely to Cyrus, despite their number.

“Lad,” Captain Fauke said. “That’s the fifth time you’ve apologized. Relax, a’ight? You sound like some fauna to them. They’ll see the big guy a thousan’ paces before they hear you.” He slapped Korsak’s back a few times for effect. “May call ‘emselves Cathartes, but they’re no gods. Not even clippin’ close.”

Korsak glanced back at them and nodded slowly. The enormous Pruinan man was very aversive to talking, but he was listening. A thick polearm strapped to his back gave the man a rather intimidating visual appearance, contrasting his actual polite, even friendly, demeanor.

Earlier, when they had camped in the middle of the day to rest up for the rest of the journey, Cyrus had impressed Fauke by having a full conversation about the regional differences of gourds with Lieutenant Korsak. Fauke said it was the most words the man had used in weeks. The gourds were a mutual interest, it turned out. Korsak wanted to be an explorer when he was younger, and found their vivid colors and unique patterns interesting. Sadly, he had messed it up after that. When he had asked what had led a Pruinan adventurer to the Ulciscor Guard, the man clammed up and hadn’t spoken much since.

“Not close ‘nough yet anyway to be heard,” the captain said. “I’ll warn you. Sound good?”

“Right. Sorry.”

Fauke made an unpleasant sound in his throat.

“I—”

“If you…” Fauke held up his fingers and curled them one by one with the other hand, as if counting. “If you… apologize for apologizin’ for apologizin’… I’m gonna scream at the top o’ my lungs, lad.”

Cyrus laughed weakly and put up his arms in mock surrender.

Fauke had a certain friendly way about him. He was an upbeat optimist, never mean-spirited when he explained the inner workings of tracking and scouting. His accent had intrigued Cyrus, but despite that— and his combed-back black hair— the captain claimed he was a natural-born Mintakan. He had no idea where he had picked up his manner of speaking, and said it was ‘A clippin’ good mystery, actually.’

The captain seemed to have something going on with Major Linden. Romantically. That was the big twist of their campfire chat. Korsak had brought it up. Apparently, it wasn’t appropriate for military officers in their respective positions to engage in relationships. Something about potentially affecting their decision-making in various situations. Wolf had strict policies about it all. To be honest, the policies as they were described sounded like a bunch of sterile no-fun nonsense to Cyrus. He said as much, and the three had shared a laugh.

Despite some of the general’s policies, Fauke and Korsak’s agreed that Vander Wolf was that of an excellent leader and role model. He wasn’t just a man who did a single great deed, he was a man who did plenty of lesser good deeds every day. Every fresh recruit of the Guard personally got to meet with the man at least once, and most were grateful for their acceptance by the end of their recruitment training. The two guardsmen clearly thought of their general as someone larger than life. A shining beacon for the lost.

“You see that, big guy?” Fauke said suddenly. He laid a hand on the longbow at his back, though his other hand thumbed the dagger sheath beside his quiver, as if he were undecided. “Two o’clock. Ten… twelve paces. Waist-level.”

“Disturbed brush,” Korsak said. The Pruinan’s voice was deep, like rumbling earth. He shifted the oil lantern to his other hand and lowered the shield, dimming the light and plunging the surrounding area into darkness. He reached for the polearm strapped to his back as he stepped closer to the bushes.

Cyrus stayed silent but attentive, which was about all they had asked of him. They knew he would not be able to contribute much until they were closer to Castitas. He carried a satchel with most of their rations, extra watergourds, as well as the bulk of their supplies, mostly medical in nature. It was about a week’s worth.

In the event of an emergency, Cyrus understood that his job was to try and get away quickly but quietly. He would then have to make his way back to Ulciscor to relay what had transpired. They had told him all of this last night, advising him of the danger, but he agreed to come along anyway.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary about the bush Fauke was inspecting. The captain squatted, putting his face right up to the leaves and sniffing. Korsak set the lantern on the forest floor to give him light as he went all the way down.

“Think the poor fool’s sheath got caught.” Fauke stood and walked near the waist-high brush. He paused as he passed it, as if something sticking out from his belt were stuck in it. “Scrapes on the branches could’ve been made by leather. Smells like nothin’.” He licked his lips, lost in thought. “Last one doesn’t mean much, but we are dealin’ with the vultures. What do you think?”

Korsak nodded.

“A’ight, lad,” Fauke said. “Practice is over. Stop steppin’ on so many wing-clippin’ pine needles.”

———

The clouds overhead had drifted away by the time Luke’s group made it to their destination. An area of Filose spanning several blocks, sectioned off by a simple waist-height fence. Past the fence, he could see numerous shipping containers scattered about, and a few small warehouses. Light flooded from inside just one of them, its metal shutters raised. Pairs of workers stood redirecting traffic, no matter if it was by foot, horse, or automobile. They did not want anyone getting close, and Luke suspected they were not the usual workers, but soldiers.

“Is there any getting through that?” Luke whispered. He took the opportunity to rebalance his crate, and found that his arms were not sore at all, not even a little. He blinked at that. Twenty minutes of that heavy thing? Perhaps he was stronger than he thought.

Daniels tilted his head in thought, examining the guards from afar. Luke tried to count them. Four, six… ten… There were a lot. Including the ones they couldn’t see, it had to be two dozen or so. Daniels watched them for a time, and Luke saw that some pairs moved while others did not.

“There are openings,” he finally said.

“We should wait,” Cade said. “For the others.” Daniels nodded.

“That warehouse,” Daniels said. “It’s fake.”

“Fake?” Luke asked.

“There,” Daniels said, arching his neck to the right. “That warehouse. There are more people surrounding it than the lit one. Their eyes are shielded from the lights by those walls and containers, so their vision stays adjusted to the darkness.

Luke could barely make them out. They wore darker uniforms than the rest of the workers, but after being pointed out, yes, he could see extra bodies standing that he had passed over. Some stood guard while others were carrying crates back and forth from a huge rectangular automobile parked in a street leading to a four-way intersection.

“Is that kind of caution normal?” Luke asked, not wanting at all to hear the answer.

Daniels said it anyway. “No.”

Luke could not say what possessed him to move, but he did so, stepping back, moving closer to the shadows, away from the light of that warehouse.

And crashed into someone, both of them falling on their backsides.

“Flocks!” the man cursed, righting himself and hurrying past. He looked elderly despite his spryness, sporting a thick gray mustache. Luke caught sight of a golden armband tied around the old man’s shoulder. He stood back up, checked to see that the crate was undamaged from the fall, then froze in place.

One of the soldiers was heading toward them.

“Let me do the talking,” Cade said quickly. Luke couldn’t even think to nod. Were they going to die?

Get it together, he told himself. Focus. A feeling washed over him, a greenness, and his mind sharpened, straightened like an arrow drawn back in a bow.

“Hey, you! You three!” the soldier hissed, stalking up to them. His partner did not move, but was watching intently from their post. “What are you doing here at this time of night? What have you got there?”

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Luke was already sure, but eyeing this man… there was no doubting it. This was a Terra Daevan soldier. Though the man wore a cargo uniform and a simple worker’s cap, he strode with the light-footed grace possessed only by predators, like a venomous scribblesnake ready to strike. The soldier’s hand drifted to his side, where the sheath of a long belt knife was plainly visible. Luke had to consciously stop himself from reaching for his own knife, hidden behind a fold stitched into his cloak.

Major Cade smiled at the soldier as he approached, and he hesitated for a step when their eyes met, nearly stumbling. Did he find her that beautiful, or had he recognized her as an enemy commander despite the disguise?

“Wares, my good man,” she said politely. “It was to be delivered tonight.”

“I haven’t heard anything about this,” he said. He glanced back at his partner. The other man nodded. “No one’s allowed inside the shipping compound past curfew. And ‘wares’ is awfully vague. What’s in these?”

He stepped, and she stepped forward sharply to match.

“Special orders.”

“Whose orders?” the soldier demanded, face harsh. He was losing patience fast.

She smiled at him. “An Ace’s orders. No one looks inside, and this must be delivered, by us, inside the compound, within the hour. Stick to your duty. Stop bothering us. Understand?” Her words cut like a knife, and the man’s face paled.

“What did she say?” the other soldier called. The soldier in front of them licked his lips nervously.

Cade positioned herself right in front of the man in front, standing as tall as he and ensnaring his eyes with her own.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way,” she whispered dangerously.

Face ghostly pale, the man stepped to the side and Cade strutted by, boots thumping on a silenced street. It was part acting, part true— an important duty did mean that she had to get inside that compound, but… Flocks. It wasn’t every day you saw an intimidating display like that. Only sheer force of will kept Luke’s jaw from dropping, but when he eyed Daniels, the captain was not so assiduous. He closed it quickly and hurried after her with Luke.

“What did she say?” the second soldier hissed sharply as they passed by. “Why are we—” Whatever the first man hastily whispered, it turned his face pale as well.

The two soldiers stared after Luke’s group, but did not pursue them further. He just hoped that act would work as well on the way out.

———

Cyrus hadn’t said a word since they had found that trace of Cathartes. Given that, he was left with nothing but his thoughts and the faint light of Korsak’s lantern. When the other two spoke, it was only to comment on oddities they had discovered.

From their brief conversations, Cyrus gleaned that there weren’t just a few people lurking around the Pines. There were a lot. It was a wonder they hadn’t run into anyone yet.

Part of the reason Cyrus had been included in the group in the first place was to make them look less suspicious if they were caught unaware. They had outlined a basic cover story about how they were taking Cyrus on his first hunting trip. He was Korsak’s son— a Pruinan with a Proximan wife, to explain the ginger hair and the… well, the height. Fauke was a friend of the family who had heard of the trip and offered to come along.

Is height even hereditary? Cyrus wondered. He had no idea. His education was probably limited compared to people from big cities.

Thinking of the cover story made Cyrus think of his own, real father. He was there, back home in Castitas, along with everyone Cyrus remembered so fondly. It had only been been a few days, but… Flocks, he was afraid. He was terrified for them.

The Terra Daevan military had occupied their village. Would anyone notice if they all vanished? Would anyone care, Terra Daeva or Mirastelle? It wasn’t as if they’d retaliate over a few victims in the neutral territory. Altair was hardly even a country anymore. Its people had no rights or protections, save for some flimsy papers that could be torn in an instant for the sake of conquest. Dozens upon dozens of people he had known all his life could be snuffed out because of an evil man’s thirst for power. Would the emperor ever be satisfied? Wasn’t the Razing of Altair enough?

An animal’s cry cut off suddenly. It was so unnatural that even Cyrus had managed to notice it. That was close. Alarmingly so. Fauke looked to him and mimed a person pulling back an arrow in a bowstring.

Korsak made some unfamiliar hand signs to the captain, who shook his head. The Pruinan man took a deep breath and stepped heavily, cracking pine needles under his feet. Cyrus froze, and Fauke had to yank him along.

“Hello there, friend,” Fauke called out.

“Ah, hey there,” a male voice responded.

Shortcutting through a bit of underbrush, the trio came upon a bored-looking fellow holding a bow with a quiver slung to what was clearly a hunter’s belt. Two plain-sheathed daggers hung loosely from it, as well as a tiny watergourd. The man wore similar clothing as they, long-sleeved shirts and trousers designed to match the unique color palette of the Great Asundrian Pines. A small boar lay dead at his feet.

“You are also looking for a nice campsite?” the man asked. He smiled, but only with his lips. There was something distinctly creepy about the way he did that.

“Yes,” Korsak said. He offered a hand, and the hunter shook it. “It’s Craig.”

“Wallace,” the hunter said, shaking the hand. “What brings you out to the Pines?”

“I’m with my son,” Korsak said fondly, wrapping a thick-fingered hand around Cyrus’s shoulders. “First time for my boy.” He coughed into the back of his hand holding the lantern. “Young man. Excuse me.”

Cyrus did not have to pretend to look completely embarrassed.

The man, Wallace, raised his eyebrows at that. “Of course,” he said. “A young man’s first time in the Pines is a special thing. When your son gets that first caribou, make sure you watch his face. It’ll light right up.”

“Oh, I know. I know.” Korsak nodded a few times.

Cyrus tried very hard not to let emotion twist his face. While it was true that caribou were well known as common residents of the Pines, they did not come nearly this far south. They lived much, much closer to the Pruinan mountain range up north. It was a subtle mistake, but one no native would make. This Wallace, now happily chatting and bantering away with Korsak and Fauke, was no hunter.

He was a Cathartes assassin.

———

Incredibly, Luke’s group was not stopped or questioned by anyone else after Cade’s forceful entrance. In fact, inside the fence, there were remarkably few soldiers on watch. He supposed that meant they had confidence in their guards. The higher-ups would be in for a surprise after this night.

Their destination was the warehouse without lights yet the most activity, built into the corner of a four-way intersection. And that huge automobile filled to the brim with crates. The thunderflutes.

The three of them were halfway up one of the intersection’s streets, perpendicular to the bustling warehouse, when several of the guards who had been previously stationary began to scramble all over like a swarm of insects. Cade took them toward a small structure facing the road, a bus shelter for those awaiting public transportation from the larger automobiles, much like the one parked just ahead full of flutes. They hid in a nook behind the shelter itself and faced each other.

“Think that’s for us?” Daniels asked.

“Maybe,” Cade said. “I will draw their attention.”

“Draw their attention?” Daniels hissed. “Even for you, that’s—”

“—Possible,” she said, cutting him off. When Daniels opened his mouth to protest again, she gave him the same cold stare as she had the soldier and said, “Don’t argue with me.” That shut him up.

She kneeled to set her crate down, then crept away, staying low to the ground. Like that, she wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of trouble, but Luke had seen firsthand the major’s impeccable skill in combat. She would be fine. In no time, Luke had lost sight of her.

“Dump the grain,” Daniels said, bending down. He unfastened the lid of his crate and poured it onto the dirt behind the bus shelter. “We can’t use that story anymore. Maybe we can use a different one.” Luke nodded and did likewise.

At least it’s going to be lighter now.

Captain Daniels stood and poked his head around the shelter, peering toward the large automobile, the bus. The workers had stopped carrying crates, and were clustered together in front of the bus’s open back still full of its own crates. They seemed rather nervous, fidgeting and stepping in place while a good eight or so soldiers formed two lines leading from the bus to the workers like the arms of a rope bridge.

“Can’t see a wing-clipped thing,” Daniels muttered. “They’ve got the street lanterns on just enough oil for those guys to see their feet.”

Luke blinked. “Your eyes haven’t adjusted?”

“They have. You see better?”

He described what he saw as best he could, and Daniels cocked his head as if puzzled.

“That’s… really impressive.” He kept his attention on the bus as he spoke. “You’d better share that talent with the general. He can make good use of that eyesight of yours.”

The workers were shuffling between the soldiers now, unloading the crates onto the bus. Then, they retreated inside the lightless warehouse.

“No getting through eight guys,” Daniels said as Luke relayed what he saw. “Not even if she were here. Doesn’t matter how good you are when there’s just plain too many swords at your throat. And if they already have those flutes…”

Luke shivered at that. Then, something caught his attention. Someone was coming out of the warehouse, and all of the soldiers were looking toward the figure. The person spread upturned arms, then flipped one palm and gestured at the bus.

“What’s going on?” Daniels asked. Luke quietly explained as best he could this ninth person. He strained his senses, and could almost make out distant voices…

The figure standing before the soldiers thumbed their chest, and gestured again. Two by two, the soldiers began to disperse down the intersection.

“Get down!” Luke hissed. “Two are coming this way!”

It took quite a bit of time, but the sound of boots on gravel gradually grew louder. Closer. Luke’s heart thumped in his chest, and he clutched the knife inside his cloak until his knuckles turned white. Daniels was doing the same, both of them kneeling behind the bus shelter, empty crates at their feet. The footsteps grew their loudest, then began to fade away until they disappeared entirely. Luke released a breath he did not know he had held, and felt his tension suddenly loosen, like a string that had been cut.

Daniels looked ridiculously calm throughout the entire thing. He doubted even Vander Wolf— legendary war hero or not— could simply teach that to somebody. It was as if the man had been doused with cold water as a prank, and found it distinctly unfunny. Even after the soldiers had come and gone, Daniels maintained that air of deadly seriousness.

You’re the impressive one, Luke thought. I’ll admit it. Just not out loud.

Then, the Ulciscor guardsman suddenly sprang forward past Luke, knife out. That knife met the serrated blade gripped by an assailant in crimson and black robes. The clash of metal on metal rang out in the night like a bell.