As the Hearthknights made their way down the bank of the river, keeping low as possible to avoid the sight of the sentries, Aina gave thanks for the moonless sky. It was a point in this particular natural cycle that worked very much in their favour, granting them an advantage as they approached Glemslott. If she had any faith in the beneficence of her patron – any of them – she might have wondered at the fortuitousness of their timing. Frankly, she didn’t think any of them gave enough of a damn to interfere like that. 

Condradi’s probably licking Laraca’s boots... Aina grumbled internally, looking back to look at the other ‘Knight, though the woman gave no sign of being distracted. All of them were covered in mud to dull the shine of weapons and armour, mute light fabrics, and generally break up solid colours in the darkness. Metal plates and straps were bound with cloth to muffle sounds, and glowing eyes moved from their feet only in quick glances. 

Aina was in the lead, being able to see the path ahead almost as clear as day, the stars casting the landscape in a silver sheen. Where she trod, the others followed, one misstep away from falling in the river and disrupting their stealth. Least of all, they could afford the delay that pulling someone out would cause; this whole plan was all about the timings. 

The first of these was being in position when Arnesson initiated the assault, prompting the skirmishers in the woods to lay down fire from the other side, sowing confusion and hopefully drawing away guards from the centre. 

The second was for the terrestrial Hearthknights to assault the inn before the defenders realised what was happening. The Seacrows on watch had reported the officers, especially Thaumaturgists, were quartered at the inn, and had identified who was the best target. It was a man of middle age, with a goatee beard and salt-and-pepper hair, who looked like he had been giving instructions to the rest. This was their opportunity to plunge deep into the belly of the beast and cut out its heart. This was their opportunity to finally be done with all of this; to be free. 

The third and final point of timing was possibly the most important. So much magic being flung around would no doubt attract every Frekir in the region, a horde of tooth and claw descending on Glemslott to bring violence and destruction – more violence and destruction – regardless of allegiance. Even if they survived the Forsarans, it could be the Frekir that did for them. 

Aina tried not to think about that. 

Up ahead the bridge was getting close, a beacon of warmth and light thanks to lanterns set up by the defenders, casting the guards in silhouette and making them a painfully obvious target for her enhanced vision. 

That part of Aina given over to the divine – that terrible beast within – almost vibrated in anticipation of the coming fight, the coming slaughter, the scent of blood and the screams of the dying. She could almost taste those vital fluids on her tongue, warm across her cheeks, and she salivated for it. However, the human part of her mind was keeping an iron grip on her selfhood, and it was worried about Sera. The two of them hadn’t said another word since parting in the woods and she wished so dearly for her to survive, for things to go back to normal, to feel the touch of her skin and the smell of her hair. She really hadn’t wanted to leave things like that, especially if... well, especially if something happened. 

Of course, she worried for the others, too, Alvard, Goose, and Oskar, but not nearly as much, wishing her closest friends – her chosen family – be safe from harm. Oddly enough she held no worry for herself, and pushed the potential implications for that into the back of her mind. 

Lost in thought, she stumbled on a root, prompting a hissed ‘Focus!’ from Gulbrandsen. 

‘Focus your arse...’ she muttered, nevertheless paying more attention to where she was going, slowing down and hunching more as the approached. The bridge was only a handful of yards away now, tumbledown steps leading to the riverbank, where once upon a time some villagers may have whiled away lazy afternoons fishing. 

It was their way in, the one weakness in defences built for beasts rather than men. 

She stopped, the others seeing enough to realise and do likewise. Even in heavy armour, even to her superlative hearing, they were almost-soundless. Not for the first time she was impressed by their skill and experience. 

Sure-footed as a metal-bound cat, Gulbrandsen made his way to the fore. This will be one situation where that aforementioned protection should be first to contact the enemy. 

Then, they waited. 

Seconds bled into minutes. Footsteps tapped on the bridge as someone crossed. A door creaked out of sight. Somewhere, off to the left, a horse whinnied softly. To the right, the dull whumph of a grenado exploding and the shouted surprise and pain of people hit by shrapnel. 

Voices raised in confusion and alarm, suddenly interrupted by the snap-crack of musketry from the woods on the other side. Another grenado exploded, far from the original, adding to the bedlam. An officer started bellowing orders, drawing defenders to the location, the sentries here staying put – this was an experienced company of soldiers. 

A cannon barked, its voice loudest of all. 

‘I see a barrier! They’ve got a mage!’ someone called. 

‘Get the Thaums!’ someone else shouted. 

Back on the bridge, the visible sentry collapsed as an arrow – fired by Condradi – transfixed his neck, and Gulbrandsen was charging up the steps, sword raised, boots thudding, voice quietened. Holmgeir was directly after him and Aina was after her, carbine out and eyes darting. This side of the river was a small square before the inn, giving room for coaches to turn, and where a squadron of bleary-eyed soldiers were now forming up under the watchful eye of a cloaked and brooched journeyman Thaumaturgist. 

Gulbrandsen didn’t even slow down as he veered towards them, igniting his sword in a gout of flame that drew shocked eyes his way.