Stars twinkled above as Gareth led his troops toward the shore. The chilly evening breeze carried the scent of salt and seaweed, and the crashing waves echoed off the rocky beach. Ahead, a cluster of small fishing boats and a couple of larger sloops bobbed gently on the dark waters, waiting for them alongside a few dozen local fishermen who had volunteered for the job despite knowing the dangers.

  Gareth glanced over his shoulder at his troops. Beyond the fifty or so humans, he was bringing about a dozen orcs with him to help should they get caught.

  This last group moved with uncharacteristic hesitation, shuffling nervously toward the boats as if the sea were some alien beast poised to swallow them whole. Gareth felt a chuckle build up, but he suppressed it; it wasn’t as if he had expected the proud forest warriors to take naturally to the idea of leaving solid ground behind. Only Elder Wei, whose grizzled face seemed carved from stone, showed no fear. She had apparently crossed the sea long ago when her tribe had sent her as an envoy to distant lands, and her footsteps now were as steady as ever.

  “Come on, then,” Gareth said firmly. “The sooner we get aboard, the sooner we’ll be back on dry land.”

  Despite the grumbles and resigned snorts, the orcs began climbing into the boats, their heavy boots clunking on the wooden planks. Gareth and the remaining men under his command followed, taking their places at the bow of one of the sloops. The small fleet bobbed restlessly as the soldiers settled in, the gentle rise and fall of the water unnerving to those more accustomed to the unyielding ground beneath their feet. Gareth signaled the rowers, and the oars dipped into the dark sea as the vessels pushed away from the shore.

  The night enfolded them as they made their way toward the open sea, where their quarry would be working. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light struggling to pierce the thickening mist that rolled in from the east. A few distant lights twinkled on the water, marking the outer edges of the harbor where the city’s wards lay, invisible yet impenetrable.

  General Oz’s plan had been daring, but it was their best chance. As observed by the shadow elementals, the city’s wards were lifted once a week—if only over the harbor— to allow fishermen free passage to unload their catches. Volten didn’t have enough food stores to survive a siege since it was forced to host the remnants of the royal army, and its lord deemed it less risky to send out fishermen than to brave his people’s hunger.

  It was a heavily monitored vulnerability. But it was a crack, and cracks were all the Revolutionary Army needed.

  The rhythmic creak of oars and the slap of water against wood filled the silence as the small flotilla glided closer to the nearest shoal. In the darkness, Gareth could make out the forms of other fishing boats drifting over the shallow waters, where plentiful schools of fish swam, their lanterns swaying softly in the night breeze. The glow of torches along the distant city’s walls ensured that no one forgot the need for discretion. Gareth kept his eyes on the distant shimmer in the air, where the city’s wards rippled with power.

  “We’re getting close,” Gareth whispered to Elder Wei, who crouched beside him, her eyes fixed on the approaching harbor.

  The old orc grunted, her gaze steady. “Let’s hope the shadows have done their part.”

  A signal from him prompted the troops to tense in wait. Shadows melted into oppressive darkness, preventing any sound from leaving the area while still allowing the swaying lanterns to continue flickering undisturbed. Gareth and his men waited until they closed the distance and jumped, boarding the unsuspecting fishing vessels.

  The handful of fishermen and slave-sailors, tired and unsuspecting, were overwhelmed in a matter of moments, their muffled cries for help cut short by the cold press of steel. Gareth’s men restrained the stunned captives under the fish, binding their hands and gagging them before donning their weathered cloaks and ragged hats.

  While killing them would have been easier, these men were innocent. Indeed, one might say they were the reason they were doing this. They were poor people, pushed into servitude, if not outright slavery, and onto the most dangerous jobs only because no one would stand up for them.

  The orcs concealed themselves beneath thick, coarse tunics, hiding their bulk under layers of fabric. Bent down and engaged in grunt work, they could pass for slaves, and no one bothered to look at slaves.

  Gareth pulled the hood of his cloak low over his fine features, glancing around as the elementals emerged from the darkness, slipping aboard with unnatural grace. In their hands, they carried bulging sacks, the unmistakable stench of fresh fish seeping through the rough cloth.

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  “That will do,” Gareth murmured as he checked the haul. “They should have no reason to suspect us.”

  At his approval, the shadows dispersed, dissipating into mist as Gareth’s boat led the disguised fleet back toward Volten. As they rowed into the harbor, the fog thickened, clinging to the water like a ghostly shroud. The cries of gulls echoed from the docks, mingling with the splash of oars and the low murmur of disguised fishermen calling to one another in the gloom.

  Just as the boats reached the last stretch before the harbor, a low hum vibrated through the air, and the faint shimmer of the wards flickered. The enchantments parted like a veil, forming an invisible crack in the protective barrier. Gareth’s grip on the edge of his boat tightened, but they slipped through the breach smoothly, rowing onward without any trouble. He scanned the ramparts around them, noticing several mages perched around the docks who carefully ensured that the wards closed behind them.

  Gareth’s heart quickened as they neared the quay, but the guards watched indifferently, accustomed to the sight of returning fishing boats. The men aboard Gareth’s vessel played their roles to perfection, grunting and cursing as they dragged sacks of fish onto the dock. The orcs lumbered off the boats, heads bowed and postures slouched, moving as if greatly encumbered, imitating the weary labor of slaves.

  A mage approached, his robes fluttering as he stepped into the light of a nearby torch. He glanced at the haul, his expression bored. “Took you longer than usual,” he remarked.

  “Aye, m’lord,” Gareth replied, keeping his voice gruff and low. “Almost capsized with the weight of the catch. But we made it.” He kicked the nearest sack, releasing a fresh waft of fish smell into the air. “Am just glad we got enough for the whole week.”

  The mage wrinkled his nose and waved them on, more interested in returning to the warmth of the guardhouse than investigating further now that he had confirmed they had done their jobs. Gareth motioned for his men to continue unloading the cargo, keeping a weary eye on the massive walls above them. Now that they were inside, the real work would begin.

  The fish concealed the captured fishermen well enough that Gareth felt secure leaving them behind. The men lay bundled beneath heaps of slimy catch with their limbs bound and their mouths silenced by cloth. A cursory glance would reveal nothing but fish; even a closer inspection would be fooled by the meticulous arrangement of the sacks. Gareth ensured each haul was thickly packed, making it impossible to notice anything unusual unless one decided to plunge their hands directly into the smelly mess.

  Satisfied, he gathered his troops and motioned them forward. “Let’s move out,” he whispered.

  The city lay hushed under curfew; the only sounds were the faint murmur of the sea and the occasional call of a night bird. The wide streets seemed to stretch endlessly ahead in the occasional torchlight, winding through rows of darkened buildings and deserted shops. Gareth and his men trudged forward, pushing the large buckets of fish in handcarts. The orcs, hunched and subdued in their oversized cloaks, trudged along with the proper downtrodden shuffle.

  They are better at subterfuge than one would think. I wonder if they had to infiltrate a human town before. I’d say it’s impossible, but my gut tells me otherwise.

  Every so often, Gareth glanced over his shoulder, ensuring they maintained the formation. Their route took them deeper into the city, where the market square lay still and empty, the stalls abandoned for the night. It was also on the direct path to the lord’s castle, whose tall spires were barely visible in the gloom.

  Their luck held as they reached the market square without incident and found the expanse eerily silent, save for the occasional gust that rattled loose shutters. But just as Gareth motioned his men to slow their pace, the clinking of armor sounded from an alleyway. A patrol emerged.

  Getting to the castle without meeting one would have been a bit too lucky. Already, the curfew has been a big help. I don’t know the specific numbers now, but Volten used to have at least forty thousand citizens. With the leftover corps from Pollus’ army and the people that fled here from the countryside, it should still have about that much.

  Gareth stepped forward nonchalantly and let out a low grunt, “Fresh catch, boys. The haul was heavier than usual.” He slapped the side of a nearby bucket, sending a few smaller fish flopping over the rim.

  The guard in the lead wrinkled his nose at the smell and waved a hand dismissively. “Get on with it then. And keep it quiet.”

  “Aye, we’ll be gone soon,” Gareth replied, being entirely honest. He inclined his head toward the castle as if in respect while scouring the path ahead for more obstacles, finding none.

  The guards trudged off, vanishing around a corner. Gareth wasted no time, signaling for his men to continue.

  The castle’s iron gates were closed and flanked by two tired-looking sentries sharing a bored conversation. A few lanterns cast just enough light over the grounds to illuminate the wide courtyard beyond, full of scattered supply crates and empty carts.

  As Gareth approached with his men, one guard took notice, his brow furrowing. “What are you doing here? The castellan isn’t due to inspect the market for hours. You’re supposed to leave the fish in the square.”

  Gareth took a half-step closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial murmur. “We thought the lord’s household might appreciate the best of the catch tonight. Fresh from the sea, before any other hands touch it.”

  The second guard, more wary than his companion, shifted uneasily, his grip tightening on his spear. “Back off,” he snapped. “You’re not allowed past here.”

  Gareth moved quickly. Before either guard could raise the alarm, he lunged forward, striking the first guard across the throat with a lightning-fast chop. The poor man’s eyes widened in shock as he stumbled back, choking. In the same breath, Gareth swung his leg, kicking the second guard’s feet from under him and bringing his elbow down onto the man’s temple. Both fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs, unconscious before they hit the cobblestones.

  “Move!” Gareth barked as he grabbed the iron gates and forced them open with a tortured creak. His men spilled into the courtyard behind him, weapons drawn and disguises shed. The orcs straightened to their full height, casting aside their cloaks to reveal their carved bone armor. Shouts erupted from deeper within the castle as soldiers caught sight of the intruders.

  But it was too late. Gareth and his troops surged forward, their momentum carrying them through the courtyard like a wave crashing over the shore. Steel clashed as the guards rallied, but the Revolutionary soldiers had the advantage of preparation and utter ruthlessness. They drove into the castle as orcish war cries split the night.