The scouts finally returned at dusk with fresh drawings of the Nightthorn main camp. I spread them across the war room table while the kings leaned in close.
Vespera's forces had grown. Tents clustered in a wide bowl between two ridges, guards posted at every approach. Her two mates moved among the shelters, one tall and scarred, the other broad and heavy with rage. I traced the route with my finger and marked the narrow pass that would let us strike the center before they could form ranks and we took more plans for the attack and prepared adequately: weapons, horses, supplies and nightshade (poison) in case things go south.
We rode before the moon cleared the horizon. We were twenty riders in total, our cloaks dark, horses' hooves wrapped in cloth to move clandestinely.
