The caravan rolled through the narrow streets, the wheels creaking against bumpy stone. Morena and Corin had settled into one of the wagons in silence, making sure to cover their presence with boxes and goods.
Through the small gaps in the wooden frame where rat had made a path, Morena could see the faint glow of torches ahead, signaling the east produce gate, and with it, the first true test of their plan.
Two guards stood at their posts, spears upright, their faces lined with the weariness of long hours. Still, they did not mess around when it came to their work, their eyes sharply scanning around the area, cutting through the dark at the approaching wagons.
The driver spat out his chewing leaf, flicked the reins, and slowed the horses as the guards raised their hands.
"Stop. Where are you headed?"
"To the river towns."
The driver said with a grunt, his tone even, unbothered.
"Grain for the mills there. It'll sour if it sits."
