Book 2 - Chapter 21

“I counted eleven on the right side,” Mara whispered as they huddled in the dark.

“Another eight on the left,” Ken added.

“I’m seeing sixty‑six tents.” Noah nodded toward the center of the camp.

“Assuming one man per tent, minus the thirty in the ambush, that leaves seventeen sleeping,” Ciri said, doing the math. “Including the two conduits, assuming the prisoners were telling the truth.”

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Ken asked, looking back at Noah.

He steeled himself and nodded, placing his backpack on the ground. “Yes. We’ve got the element of surprise, and they’re at half‑strength. If we wait, they might move the camp or call for reinforcements. We need to strike now.”

“Good assessment,” Ken agreed, turning back toward the camp.

“So how do we do this?” Mara asked.

After corroborating the two prisoners’ answers, Ken and Noah had dispatched them and led the way toward the camp. It wasn’t far, but it still took nearly an hour of hiking through the dark forest before voices and flickering firelight began to reach them. They paused at the edge of the clearing the Tollmen had carved out, splitting up to scout the perimeter before regrouping to share their findings.

“They’re far too comfortable,” Ken said at last, breaking his silence. “They should have more guards posted — a lot more.”

“They’re not expecting to be attacked. Nobody comes this far into the forest,” Noah offered as he rummaged around in his bag.

“There are more dangerous things in this forest than people.” Ken shook his head. “It’s almost as if…” He trailed off, eyes widening. “Ah.”

“Ah?” Noah asked, retrieving sheathed knife before slipping it into his belt.

“Look there.” Ken pointed. “See how the tents are clustered around the central fire? And around them — the wooden outbuildings. The forge, the longhouse.”

“Yeah?” he replied, standing back up.

“Look at the sides. They’re shaped strangely, and the doors all face inward, toward the tents.”

Noah leaned forward. “Yeah, but I still don’t get your point.”

“There’s wood laid across the ground between the buildings. Bound together. I’ll bet there are iron handles on the back.”

The gears turned in Noah’s mind. “It’s… a wall.”

“Not just that. There’s likely a pit trap underneath.” Ken’s voice stayed low. “Those walls can be pulled up and locked in place in seconds. I’ve even seen it done with magic. Turns an unassuming camp into a fortress instantly.”

For the first time, one of Mara’s family guards spoke. “Never would’ve seen that.”

“You never fought Ferrum Vale,” Ken replied without looking.

Noah kept studying the layout. “A few of us might be able to slip in unnoticed. Maybe even kill the sleeping conduits before they know we’re here. Then all they have to do is hold one of the doors down long enough for the rest of you to rush in.”

“It’ll be difficult fighting once the walls go up,” Ken warned. “But… if we thin their numbers first, it’s manageable.”

“Who goes, though?” Mara asked.

“Me,” Noah said.

“And me,” Ken added, cutting off any other volunteers. “No more. Every extra person increases the risk of being spotted.”

Mara looked between them. “Be careful.”

“Velæn,” Ciri said.

“Ænthor,” Noah replied, then looked at Mara. “Watch for our signal.”

“Wait!” she hissed as he moved. “What’s the signal?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

Noah pulled his balaclava over his face again and slipped through the trees as Piper took flight above them. He kept his crossbow low as he crouch‑walked a few meters behind Ken, ready to sprint at a moment’s notice. Adrenaline sharpened his already‑honed senses, but it also made the fifty meters of open ground between the treeline and the nearest building feel endless.

Fortunately, he’d brought an expert.

Ken moved like a shadow, head constantly swiveling. He seemed to have an almost supernatural sense for when guards were approaching, motioning for Noah to drop flat just seconds before they rounded a corner. They waited in the dark until the guards passed, then rose silently and continued toward their target.

If it wasn’t for the fact he’d be Corrupted by it, I’d swear Ken was using magic to detect them somehow.

When they finally reached the wooden building, Ken motioned for them to wait, flattening himself against its surface. The sound of approaching voices made Noah glance at him in question, but Ken only shook his head. Trusting him, Noah mirrored the motion, pressing himself tightly against the wooden frame.

The pair of guards who rounded the corner barely had time to register their presence before Ken struck. His knife was in his hand in an instant, slitting both their throats in two practiced motions. They gurgled out useless warnings as they collapsed, bleeding out and dying seconds later.

“There. That should buy us some time,” Ken said, stooping to pick up the still‑burning torch from one of the bodies and handing it to Noah. “Take this but keep it low to the ground so you stay hidden. Give me ten minutes to move between the tents at the back, then use it to light this—” he nodded to the log building behind him “—on fire. After that, go to the door over there. I’ll meet you there.”

Knowing better than to argue, Noah simply nodded. “Good luck.”

Ken seemed to melt into the darkness without making a sound. Noah began counting seconds in his head, crouched low and holding the torch near the corner of the building to minimize its glow. When he reached the five‑minute mark, he stuck the smoldering torch handle‑down into the dirt and risked a quick peek around the corner to make sure nothing had gone wrong.

Ahead of him, the Tollmen still lounged around the fire, laughing and trading stories. Even from this distance he could see their weapons within easy reach, their relaxed postures masking how ready for violence they were. His mind automatically began marking positions, distances, and priority targets for when the fighting started.

All of that vanished when he spotted two women — a blonde and a brunette — walking away from the tents. Their coats were in far better repair than the others’, and each wore an iron chain over her shoulder. At the end of each chain hung the spine of a heavy leather‑bound book.

Conduits. They’re awake. Shit.

His mind raced through the possibilities. He trusted Ciri’s and Mara’s magic, but a straight fight against conduits who likely specialized in combat spells would put them at a disadvantage. And with the Tollmen’s superior numbers, the conduits would be needed for crowd control almost immediately — or they’d be overwhelmed.

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Fuck it, Noah thought, grabbing the torch. Improvise. Adapt. Overcome. Isn’t that what Lucien always said?

He pressed the torch to the dry grasses along the side of the building, walking slowly enough to ignite them as he moved. Once he was sure the fire had taken, he jogged toward the camp and tossed the torch aside. Shouts of alarm erupted behind him. He ducked behind a cluster of barrels and glanced back — the flames had already spread to a second structure.

More shouts rang through the night, followed by pounding footsteps. Tollmen sprinted past him, oblivious to his presence thanks to his dark clothing, their focus fixed entirely on the growing blaze. He waited silently until the two conduits joined the crowd, tearing pages from their grimoires to summon jets of water that blasted the flames.

Knowing he had only seconds before they realized this wasn’t an accident, Noah steadied his crossbow by bracing his elbow against his knee and pulled the trigger. The bolt struck the blonde just left of center mass, piercing her heart. She remained upright for a heartbeat before her spell guttered out and she collapsed face‑first into the dirt.

To the brunette’s credit, she understood instantly. Noah’s follow‑up shot went slightly wide, slamming into her shoulder as she turned toward the threat. He cursed silently as he pumped the crossbow again, taking aim just as the familiar chime of magic rang out.

The next bolt didn’t even make contact, bouncing off the shimmering bubble of a shield that snapped into place before breaking and falling harmlessly to the ground. To make matters worse, the rest of the Tollmen finally noticed him, turning with expressions of pure rage. Noah kept his crossbow leveled at them, did a quick mental count, and then did the only logical thing he could.

He vaulted over the barrels behind him and ran.

The Tollmen gave chase immediately, matching his sprint and screaming as they closed in. He pushed himself as hard as he could, racing past the now‑abandoned fire toward the tents. Just as he began to gain distance, his foot caught on something hard in the dirt, sending him sprawling face‑first into the packed earth.

Fuck. He pushed himself up on bruised arms—only to realize whatever tripped him was still wrapped around his leg.

He twisted around and saw a rogue tree root. He yanked the knife from his belt and slashed at it, hacking wildly. It took several frantic chops to sever it, each one costing him precious seconds as the Tollmen drew closer.

To his horror, even as he cut the root, a second one burst from the ground and coiled around his other foot. The realization hit him like a punch: he was being attacked magically. He dropped the knife, leveled his crossbow at the rapidly approaching men, and pulled the trigger.

Click.

His eyes widened. The bowstring had snapped during his fall, and the body of the weapon was cracked. He growled and tossed it aside, narrowing his eyes at the sneering faces as they slowed, confident he was helpless.

“You’ll fucking pay for what you did,” the closest one said, waving his knife as they closed in enough for Noah to see their features clearly.

Instead of wasting breath, Noah reached into his bandolier and flicked a dart at the lead man in one smooth, practiced motion. The hours he’d spent with Ken in the tavern paid off — the dart hit him square in the stomach, piercing the thin cloth and delivering the toxin straight into his bloodstream. The man froze, then dropped to his knees, the others whipping around to stare.

Noah didn’t give them time to react. He repeated the motion three more times in rapid succession, exhausting his supply of darts. Three more men collapsed just as quickly, leaving the remainder to resume their charge.

He grabbed for his discarded knife as the root around his leg tightened, memories of Ken’s training flashing through his mind before—

“Fuck!” one of the men screamed.

A tangle of black fur and feathers landed on his head, clawing at his eyes before vanishing into the night sky. The bewildered Tollmen couldn’t resist looking up, spinning in place as they tried to locate the attacker. Instinct took over — they closed ranks, backs pressed together, ignoring Noah entirely until they could identify and deal with the new threat.

A single rusty nail zipped through the air and buried itself in the temple of one of the remaining Tollmen, announcing the timely arrival of the rest of the group. They’d used the confusion of the fire and Noah’s assault to breach the camp undetected, stripping the bandits of their advantage and putting both sides on even footing. As the nail ripped free and darted away, most of the camp turned to face the well‑trained guards now in their midst.

The exception was the two nearest Tollmen, who seemed intent on finishing what they’d started. They cast nervous glances upward before advancing on Noah, swords drawn. The root around his leg loosened — the conduit’s attention clearly elsewhere — and he tore himself free, scrambling upright just as they reached him.

A mace and a sword against my knife. Noah gritted his teeth, stepping back. Don’t love those odds.

Thankfully for him, Ken chose that moment to reappear. He slit the mace‑wielder’s throat in a single practiced motion, drawing the attention of the other. Piper dropped from the sky a heartbeat later, clawing at the second man’s face and neck. When he raised his sword to stab the griffon, Noah and Ken both lunged, stabbing him from front and back to stop him.

He collapsed moments later as Piper leapt skyward again. Noah watched her for an instant before his gaze snapped back to Ken, now kneeling beside Piper’s original target. The older Fae had taken on the grisly task of finishing the man off, driving his knife through the bandit’s neck to end his suffering.

With the immediate threats gone, Noah turned his attention to the wider battle. Mara’s family guards fought just as effectively as they had during the ambush — disciplined, efficient, and utterly lethal. Even from a distance, Noah could see that the only thing preventing a complete rout was sheer numbers; there were still far more Tollmen than guards.

In the middle of the melee, Mara and Ciri were locked in a duel with the remaining conduit. Even though they stood side by side in identical all‑black outfits, Noah could tell Ciri was the one maintaining the bubble shield around them while Mara telekinetically hurled objects at the enemy spellcaster. His jaw dropped when they switched seamlessly — Mara’s shield snapping into place as Ciri tore a fresh page from her grimoire.

Unfortunately for them, the Tollmen’s conduit proved equal to the task. She held two spells at once, maintaining her own shield while firing jets of water in rapid succession. Her wild, cackling laughter rang across the battlefield as she rained magic down on them, blasting several of Mara’s guards off their feet.

“We’ve gotta help them,” Noah said, breaking into a run.

“What’s the plan?” Ken asked, matching his pace.

No crossbow. No darts. And that conduit’s got a shield. Mara and Ciri swapped roles again, covering each other for the moment. All I’ve got is my knife and firevine powder — which won’t get through her shield. There’s gotta be a way to—

His eyes went wide as they passed a row of narrow, foul‑smelling wooden buildings.

“Ken!” he shouted. “Get the buckets from the latrines!”

“What?”

“Just do it!” Noah darted into the nearest one.

Resisting the urge to gag, he grabbed the heavy bucket from the floor and lifted it. He ignored the sloshing contents as he crouch‑walked along the edge of the battle, leading Ken on a winding path behind the conduit. Gritting his teeth, he gripped the iron handle with one hand, crept as close as he dared, and crouched behind a wooden cart.

Then he heaved the bucket over his head in a single, almighty throw.

The mixture of human waste splattered across the conduit’s mana shield, blotting out her view from behind. Ken immediately understood, tossing his bucket as well. They darted back as the woman spun toward them and shrieked.

“What the fuck?!”

Grinning despite the stench, Noah sprinted back to the latrines for another bucket. Ken followed, returning with the last one only seconds behind. When they reached their hiding spot again, the conduit’s attention had shifted back to Mara and Ciri, giving them a clear shot.

Got a present for you, asshole, Noah thought as he hurled the next bucket.

It bounced off her shield and dumped its contents over her head. She turned just in time to see Ken’s bucket hit next. The additional foul slurry coated her shield completely, blinding her in every direction.

Noah’s grin vanished as a jet of water blasted upward from the top of the shield, power‑washing the filth away. Nails from around the camp slammed into the bubble — Mara’s doing, no doubt — but failed to pierce it. Noah gritted his teeth and turned to Ken.

“She’s going to be free in a minute. And pissed.”

Ken scanned the area until his gaze landed on the cart in front of them. He flipped open one of the large pots inside and found it filled with sticky tar. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a grin beneath the balaclava.

“Tar doesn’t wash off with water.”

“You’re a fucking genius,” Noah said, reaching forward.

Together they heaved the heavy pot out of the wagon and set it on the ground. Water began to fall from the sky as the conduit cast again. Each man grabbed a handle, hauling the pot carefully across the soaked earth. When they were close enough, they shared a look and began swinging it back and forth, building momentum.

The conduit managed to clear enough filth from her shield to spot them just as they released. The tar‑filled pot shattered on impact, splattering sticky black goo everywhere. She let out a primal scream as Noah and Ken retreated, narrowly avoiding the pressurized jets of water converging on their position.

Ken glanced at him once she redirected her efforts toward blasting the tar away. “What happens now?”

“Either she’ll run out of spells or drop the shield,” Noah said, circling around her. “Go tell Mara and Ciri to help the guards. I’ve got this one.”

Less than a minute after Ken left, his prediction came true. The conduit screamed in frustration and let the shield fall, covering herself in tar but finally able to see more than a few feet ahead. Before she could act on her regained vision, an egg filled with firevine powder hit her square in the face.

“Stop throwing shit at me!” she shrieked, clawing at her eyes.

Blinded, she was helpless. Noah closed the distance, driving a fist into her solar plexus hard enough to knock the wind out of her — just as Ken had taught him. Her fingers spasmed open, releasing her grimoire. Noah snatched it out of the air before it could fall into the mud, waste, and tar below.

Don’t hesitate. She could still be dangerous. Ken’s voice echoed in his mind.

Heeding it, Noah gripped the leather‑bound book in both hands, wound up, and slammed it across her head, knocking her unconscious.