The march was a rhythmic torture of squelching mud and rattling gear. Fifty people might sound like a small group in the grand halls of a palace, but on a narrow forest trail, they felt like a mile-long target. Basyar walked in the middle of the column, his eyes fixed on the heels of the soldier in front of him. His stomach felt like it was trying to eat his spine.
They had been eating nothing but "hard-tack"—stale, tooth-cracking biscuits—and whatever bitter berries Marissa deemed safe to pluck from the bushes.
"Hunger is a worse enemy than the Yilmaz," Juhada remarked, pulling her cloak tighter against the biting wind. She was walking beside Basyar, her eyes constantly scanning the tree line. "A hungry soldier thinks of bread before he thinks of his shield. And a soldier who thinks of bread is easily led into a cage."
"We need a win, Juhada," Basyar whispered. "The men... they look at me and see a boy. They need to see a King who can provide."
"Provision is a tactical necessity, not a royal favor," Juhada replied coolly.
As they rounded a bend where the forest thinned, a large, well-built stone villa appeared. It sat like a fortress of comfort among the wild trees, surrounded by high walls and golden wheat fields that hadn't yet been trampled by war. This was the estate of Master Garris, a merchant who had grown fat on the trade routes between Hurbala and Shadowhold.
"Wait here," Hujeena commanded, her hand moving to the hilt of her sword. "Marissa, check the perimeter. Juhada, with me. Basyar, stay behind my shield."
They approached the heavy oak gates. Before they could even knock, the gates swung open. A man with a belly that strained his silk vest and a smile that had too many teeth stepped out. This was Garris.
"Oh, blessed day!" Garris cried, his voice dripping with forced warmth. "Is it true? Has the light of Hurbala come to my humble doorstep? Prince Basyar! We heard of the tragedy at the capital. My heart has been heavy as a stone!"
Basyar stepped forward, trying to maintain his dignity. "Master Garris. We seek only passage and perhaps enough grain to see my people to the Veyra border."
Garris clapped his hands together. "Grain? My Prince, you shall have a feast! I have cellars full of smoked meats, fresh bread, and the finest wine from the southern valleys. Bring your people in! The walls are high, and my guards are loyal."
Basyar looked at Hujeena. She looked at Juhada. The suspicion in the air was thick enough to choke on. But then, Basyar looked back at his fifty survivors. They were staring at the villa like it was a vision of heaven.
"We accept your hospitality, Master Garris," Basyar said.
The Taint of Greed
The "feast" was set in the grand courtyard. It wasn't a royal banquet, but compared to the mud of the road, it was a miracle. Roasted chickens, bowls of steaming pottage, and thick slices of buttered bread were laid out on long wooden tables.
Basyar sat at the head of the table, Garris hovering over him like a nervous moth.
"Tell me, Prince," Garris said, pouring Basyar a cup of dark red wine. "What are your plans? Surely you intend to rally the lords of the north? Or perhaps seek sanctuary in the Sunspire?"
"Our plans are our own, Master Garris," Juhada interrupted, her cup remaining untouched on the table. She was watching the merchant's hands. They were shaking.
"Of course, of course! A strategist's mind never rests!" Garris laughed, but the sound was hollow. He excused himself, claiming he needed to check on the additional supplies in the cellar.
The moment he was gone, Marissa slipped out from the shadows of a stone pillar. She looked like a ghost, her mottled cloak blending perfectly with the grey stone.
"Something is wrong," she whispered, leaning close to Basyar. "The stables are full of fresh horses—Yilmaz breeds. And the pigeon coop is empty. He's been sending messages."
Basyar felt a cold shiver that had nothing to do with the wind. "He's selling us."
"The bounty on your head is enough to buy ten villas like this," Juhada said, finally picking up her cup and pouring the wine onto the ground. It stained the stone like old blood. "Garris isn't a host. He's a hunter."
"We leave. Now," Basyar said, standing up.
"Too late," a new voice chirped.
They all spun around. Sitting atop the high wall of the courtyard was a girl who looked no older than Basyar. She was dressed in strange, loose-fitting clothes with dozens of pockets, and her hair was a wild mess of bronze curls. She was chewing on a piece of dried apple, her legs dangling over the edge.
"Who are you?" Hujeena growled, her shield already unslung.
"I'm the one who noticed the merchant's 'guards' putting on Yilmaz breastplates in the barn," the girl said, hopping down with a light thud. She didn't look like a soldier; she looked like a mechanic. Tools hung from her belt—wrenches, coils of thin wire, and small, heavy spheres of brass. "Name's Idayu. I was the estate's 'pest controller' until I realized the biggest pest was the guy paying me."
"Yilmaz bounty hunters?" Basyar asked, his heart hammering.
"A whole troop of them," Idayu said, pointing toward the cellar entrance. "Garris told them to wait in the main cellar. He's going to invite you down there to 'see the supplies,' then they'll jump you. Classic snare. Very unimaginative."
"We can fight our way out," Hujeena said, her eyes flashing.
"Why fight when you can let gravity do the work?" Idayu grinned. It was a wicked, clever look. "The merchant has a very expensive cellar. It would be a shame if the floor... disagreed with the visitors."
The Trapmaster's Debut
While Juhada and Marissa kept the soldiers quiet in the courtyard, Basyar followed Idayu toward the back of the villa. The girl moved with a strange, hopping gait, her eyes constantly darting to the architecture of the building.
"See that beam?" she whispered, pointing to a massive timber supporting the cellar roof. "If you pull the pin on the weight-bearing joint, the whole center floor drops six feet into the old cistern. It's a bit damp, but very effective for stopping people with heavy armor."
"Can you do it?" Basyar asked.
"Already did," she whispered, patting a coil of wire in her hand. "I just need a 'bait' to lead them to the center of the room. Someone they really want to catch."
Basyar looked at his reflection in a polished silver tray on a nearby side table. He saw a scared boy. Then, he adjusted his circlet of thorns.
"I'll do it," Basyar said.
"Basyar, no," Hujeena stepped out of the shadows.
"They won't suspect a trap if the 'prize' is right in front of them," Basyar said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Idayu, tell me what to do."
Minutes later, Basyar stood at the top of the cellar stairs. He could hear the muffled clank of armor below. Garris was there, his voice high and nervous.
"My Prince! Please, come down! The vintage I promised you is right here in the center rack!" Garris called out.
Basyar descended slowly. The cellar was vast, filled with towering racks of wine and giant crates of grain. In the dim light of the torches, he saw the glint of steel. A dozen Yilmaz bounty hunters were crouching behind the crates, their crimson cloaks tucked in.
Garris stood in the center of the room, standing on a large, ornate wooden rug.
"I'm here, Garris," Basyar said, stopping just at the edge of the rug.
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" Garris signaled.
The bounty hunters stepped out, their swords drawn. The leader, a man with a scarred face and a Yilmaz officer's seal, stepped forward. "Prince Basyar. You are worth a lot of gold. Make this easy."
Basyar looked up. Idayu was perched on a ventilation duct in the ceiling. She gave him a tiny thumbs-up.
"I'm afraid I don't have any gold for you," Basyar said. "But Master Garris has a very deep cellar."
"What are you talking about?" the leader growled.
Basyar stepped backward, off the rug.
"Now!" Idayu yelled.
She yanked a thin wire. A heavy iron pin, hidden in the rafters, snapped. There was a sound like a giant cracking a whip.
The center of the floor—the entire section where Garris and the twelve hunters were standing—didn't just fall. It vanished. The wooden supports, sabotaged by Idayu's tools, collapsed inward.
A chorus of shouts and a massive SPLASH echoed through the cellar.
Basyar ran to the edge. Ten feet below, Garris and the hunters were thrashing in the cold, black water of the old cistern. The walls were slick stone, impossible to climb in heavy armor.
"The water's not deep enough to drown them," Idayu said, sliding down a rope to stand beside Basyar. "But it's cold enough to stop them from thinking about anything but shivering for the next three hours. By then, we'll be miles away."
She looked at Garris, who was blubbering and treading water. "By the way, Master Garris? Your 'pest controller' is resigning. I'm taking my back-pay in smoked ham."
The Road to Veyra
The survivors of Hurbala didn't leave empty-handed. Under Juhada's direction, they stripped Garris's kitchen and pantry. They had enough bread, salt-pork, and dried fruit to last a week.
As they marched away from the villa and back into the safety of the trees, Basyar looked at the girl walking at the rear of the column. She was adjusting a strange mechanical device on her wrist, whistling a jaunty tune.
"You're quite good at that," Basyar said, falling back to walk beside her.
"War is just a big machine with too many moving parts, Princey," Idayu said, not looking up. "People think it's all about swords and screaming. But it's really about who controls the space. A well-placed rock is worth more than a thousand soldiers if you put it in the right gear."
"We're going into the Shadowhold forest," Basyar said. "We could use someone who knows how to control space."
Idayu stopped. She looked at the fifty bedraggled soldiers, then at the young King with the crown of thorns. She sighed, a dramatic, long-suffering sound.
"Well, I've already burned my bridge with the Yilmaz. And that merchant is going to want his ham back. I guess I'm in." She held out a hand covered in grease and soot. "But I get first pick of any scrap metal we find. Deal?"
Basyar shook her hand. "Deal."
As the sun began to set, the dark, towering silhouettes of the Veyra trees appeared on the horizon. The first empire—Shadowhold—was waiting for them.