Kevlin worked along the southern edge of the clearing until he reached the cliff.

“I’m crazy,” he muttered.

Sentinels, shadeleeches, magic. Life had gotten messy. His honor and his very soul hung in the balance, and that was the craziest part. All his life he’d tried to stay as far away from anything to do with magic. How had he gotten lashed into this mess?

The image of Terach kneeling in a pool of his own burning blood haunted him, and he shivered.

No choice.

He concealed his extra gear in the heavy underbrush, taking only his burglar pack and a length of rope. Following the cliff, he headed north toward the fort. He suspected its wall formed a half-circle built right up against the cliff face.

Eyes open or closed, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t see anything. But then, neither could the enemy. He and Ceren had already proven that, and he couldn’t pass up the chance to scout their position.

He refused to think about how insane it was to try sneaking up on a shadeleech and a bunch of makrasha. Sanity was not going to save Antigonus and, unless he moved fast, insanity wouldn’t help much either.

Walking close to the cliff turned out to be difficult, with loose rock littering the ground and threatening to twist an ankle or rattle and give him away. So he moved farther into the clearing, hoping to hold a course parallel the rock face. If he lost his way, he could end up wandering around for a long time in that huge open space, but didn't see any better option.

Kevlin counted each step as he walked. The minutes ticked by, and the chill and the incessant rain ate at his resolve. His mind turned to Ceren.

Was she all right? Was she still on the trail? Would he ever get to kiss her again?

I’m a leech-brained worrier.

Ceren would be fine. They hadn’t run into any patrols on the way in, so the trail was clear. All she had to do was follow it.

He thought of that kiss. He was a fool to dwell on it, but couldn't make himself push the memory away. His blood warmed, and the memory of her soft lips set his tingling. Her motivation didn’t matter. Her rank and birth, and the impassable gulf they created didn’t matter. All that mattered tonight was that brief moment.

After he’d covered about half a mile, and without any warning, he walked straight into the rough logs of the fort wall. Sucking on a sore finger, he followed the wall to the right until he reached its juncture with the cliff.

So far so good.

He waited several minutes while the rain slackened to a steady drizzle. The air smelled of rain and wet earth, but all other scents had been washed away, taking with them every sound.

Just as he was preparing to move out along the wall, the darkness began to fade under the light of an approaching torch, and he saw the wall inches from his face.

Crouching low, he huddled close to the ground and waited for the sentry. The light brightened, but the guard never noticed him hiding in the mud. The man or makrasha, he did not know which, reached the end of the wall and turned back the other way.

Kevlin settled in to wait. It took fifteen minutes for the guard to return, but without the torch this time. Only the regular tread of boots gave him away.

Was the guard a makrasha, and could they see in the dark better than men? He had assumed they couldn't since no one had seen him and Ceren approach earlier, but now he wondered if he'd made a serious mistake.

What a stupid question. Of course he'd made a mistake. The entire plan was a mistake, but it was too late to back out now.

After the guard’s footsteps retreated, Kevlin stood and turned to the rough cliff. The narrow gaps between the end of the wall and the cliff were too small to slip through, so he found handholds in the stone and started to climb. The strain tugged at the stitches in his stomach and shoulder, but it felt like they were holding.

A fall could alert a guard, or injure him and make it difficult to retreat to the safety of the forest before sunrise. But he couldn’t very well knock on the front gate and ask them to let him in.

At least he didn’t have to climb far. It took only a few minutes to scale the cold, wet rock to a level above the top of the wall.

Sherah’s Teeth, I’m such an idiot.

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He saw nothing. Not a glimmer.

He clung to the cliff face for a minute, with rainwater trickling down his arms and pooling at his elbows inside the slicker. His fingers ached from the strain and cold, and his shoulder burned.

He couldn’t leave. He’d never get another chance to peek over the wall and see. . .well, whatever was in there.

Time to spin the Wheel.

Kevlin climbed above the palisade of sharpened logs and worked his way down to the rampart. Crouching low, he shook out his numb fingers, massaged feeling back into them, and stared at darkness. He closed his eyes, and the view did not change.

For several minutes he remained crouched on the rampart, leaning against the cliff face, hoping to catch a glimpse of something useful. Finally, he pulled the rope from his shoulder and looped it over one of the sharpened spikes of the palisade, letting the two ends drop to the ground outside the fort. He would wait as long as possible before slipping down the rope and out of sight.

Turning back to the interior of the fort, he caught his breath. A glimmer of hope warmed his soul.

A light.

A single flicker appeared in the otherwise empty blackness. It grew, its source obscured by the shadow of a building about fifty yards away. Kevlin stood too close to the cliff to see around the building.

The guard was due again any minute, and didn't seem to be carrying a torch this time. Kevlin would have little warning, but he had not come so far only to quit.

He ghosted along the wall to get a better view. Ten feet. . .twenty. . .fifty. At each step, the tension within him grew until he felt he would burst.

Just a few more feet.

Then he could see beyond the corner of the building, to the source of light. It was an open door set in the center of the building’s front wall. Three hulking figures bearing torches exited the building and the greater light revealed that the edifice stood two stories tall, although he could not clearly see its full dimensions.

The makrasha crossed a narrow porch, descended a short flight of steps, and marched into a large open space, like a parade ground in the center of the fort. There they separated. One of the creatures headed north away from Kevlin toward a long, low building with wide double doors, which was probably their stable.

The other two turned south and their approaching torches revealed the silhouettes of two additional buildings built close to the wall where Kevlin crouched. A moment later, light seeped out of those buildings through gaps in the rough log walls. The glow revealed each building was a single story about fifty paces long, paralleling the wall.

Other hulking beasts began exiting both buildings. Many bore torches, providing ample light for Kevlin to watch the ranks of makrasha assembling. The milling creatures growled and jostled each other, while several others climbed to the top of the wall.

Their light gave Kevlin a good view of its structure. The gate in the center of the wall was shielded by two small buildings, about ten paces in length, built right up against it. They formed a narrow alley leading to the gate, wide enough for four or five riders abreast.

Kevlin's assumption proved accurate about the shape of the wall. It continued around the simple compound in a half circle from the cliff. The fort was bigger than he has first assumed, but he saw no other buildings. The large building at the back, built close to the cliff, would be the command structure, with the barracks buildings and stables framing the central parade ground. Simple but effective.

Soon a dozen torch-wielding makrasha had reached the top of the wall, and began to spread along the curving defenses. Even crouching, Kevlin wouldn't remain concealed much longer. He was shocked to count two hundred makrasha, but still memorized the layout.

He wasn't sure what they were doing, but it didn't look like a mobilization to hunt him down. If he’d been discovered, they wouldn’t flood the compound with light and assemble out in the open. They’d attack under the cover of darkness.

A pair of makrasha bearing torches drew near. He was still far outside their circle of light, but retreated toward the cliff anyway.

He’d seen enough. Time to leave.

Kevlin glanced back at the interior of the fort, trying to burn the scene into his memory. Half of the makrasha filled the center of the parade ground, drawn up in four equal columns, while the rest lined the perimeter. Some held torches aloft, while others scurried around on unknown errands. The compound vibrated with their growling and disgusting clicking sounds. Their heavy, musky scent filled the air.

A huge makrasha that towered over the others exited the command building and roared a deep, piercing bellow that drove terror into Kevlin’s heart.

“Silence,” the creature ordered, its rasping tone clear above the din.

Kevlin stared in disbelief as the massive creature shouldered through the ranks of makrasha. He had never considered they might talk, and that fact made them all the more horrible.

A couple of makrasha led saddled horses from the stable, and Kevlin paused to watch. The thought that they might be leaving chilled him. Even though he had stayed behind for just such an eventuality, he finally saw the flaw in their plan. He could follow them if they left, but could not notify Ceren.

The dull thud of footsteps reminded him of his current situation. The guards had drawn closer, their circle of torchlight almost touching him. When he turned to look at them, one of them grunted and held its torch higher.

Kevlin spun away to hide his face from the light. Hoping the patter of rain would mask his footfalls, he ran back toward the cliff. Behind him, the guards advanced more quickly, but did not run. It seemed they weren’t sure if they’d glimpsed anything or not.

That was way too close.

Hurrying along the darkened wall, he nearly collided with the cliff. The guards were still coming at a trot, and their disgusting insectlike second arms carried small crossbows cocked and ready to fire. They might not be sure they saw something, but they were taking no chances, hengaruk weaving the weapons in the air in front of them.

It took only a couple of seconds to find his rope. He grasped the twin lines and prepared to slip over the wall, but paused.

They might be leaving.

He looked back toward the parade ground, much of which was obscured by buildings, but he could still see one of the horses waiting in front of the assembled makrasha.

I have to know.

Making a snap decision, he pulled up the rope and dropped it to the ground inside the wall. Not pausing to let reason interfere, he jumped over the side and slid down.