The high route, a trail above the valley shifted beneath one hundred pairs of boots, though the sound they made was closer to a handful of men than a full company.

Cedd had spent weeks drilling noise discipline into them until it became instinct. Every step placed before weight followed. Every buckle checked before it could strike metal. Every loose piece of equipment controlled before gravity handled it instead.

Three and a half hours before dawn, moving through wet autumn foliage, one hundred armed soldiers produced less noise than a careless sentry on gravel.

Cedd moved at the head of the pack, reading the terrain through weak starlight filtering through the trees. The knowledge about their target filtering through his mind.

The Ashen Company had worked these foothills for years. Long enough to establish routines, long enough for employers to trust them.

Normally, settlements paid them to remove rivals, mine operators paid them to control labor sources, anyone with marks and a problem eventually found the Ashen Company.

Prisoners became a second income stream after that.

Ern’s briefing had confirmed what Cedd already suspected. The enclosure in the center-left section of the camp represented months of accumulated work in slaves.

He acknowledged the thought, then pushed it aside.

The mission was more important than morals. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

The trail narrowed near the first ridge and forced the company across a stretch of exposed stone. Cedd adjusted immediately, his right hand locked onto the rock for balance while his left pressed flat against the surface, fingers finding whatever hold they could manage.

He never slowed.

The soldier directly behind him watched the movement and copied it without instruction. That was what training was meant to do. One action observed. One action repeated.

The company continued through the dark.

Wet leaves compressed beneath boots. Somewhere farther back, leather creaked softly as a soldier fixed a strap before it shifted louder. One man exhaled harder than he should have, caught himself, then returned to walk.

Nothing moved in the valley below.

The Ashen Company’s sentries were watching the open ground, as expected. Flat terrain was where monsters attacks came from, and a long period of time without serious opposition had only reinforced the habit.

Nobody expected an assault from the high trail above the ridge.

The Street Dogs intended to make use of that mistake before the camp understood what was happening.

Cedd maintained the pace.

The fork appeared exactly where Ern’s sketch indicated. The trail split away from the high route, the ground worn lighter from repeated use.

Varo was two places behind Cedd in the marching order. He had been comparing the terrain against Ern’s map since the company started moving, and he recognized the gully immediately. Before Cedd even turned, Varo signaled his squad right with a small motion of his hand.

Brek’s squad peeled off behind them without hesitation.

Twenty men disappeared into the dark. Their footsteps remained audible for several seconds before the trees swallowed the sound entirely.

Cedd counted the remaining company automatically.

Eighty left in the main body.

Then he turned back toward the ridge ahead.

The high trail continued another quarter-mile before clearing into the position Ern had marked as the rifle line.

Cedd climbed the final rise and lowered into a crouch at once, reducing his silhouette against the sky.

The mercenary camp spread below him.

One hundred yards downhill.

Two dying fires glowed red-orange among the tents, casting enough light to mark positions without fully illuminating the camp.

Ern’s sketch had been accurate.

The sleeping tents clustered near the center. Supply crates in rows at the north side. The enclosure stood near the center-left quarter, visible as a darker shadow against the fence, bodies bound there in masses.

Cedd checked the perimeter.

Two sentries visible from this position.

The closer guard on the right walked a short patrol route beside the fence, facing away from the slope. The far-left sentry stood still, attention fixed on the valley floor below.

Neither man looked uphill.

The rifle line formed beside Cedd as the squads reached position one by one. Each soldier dropped into place beside the previous man without a word. The formation built itself from left to right in complete silence.

Training again.

Every man understood their place before it fully formed.

Cedd looked to his right.

The nearest squad captain raised a thumb.

Ready.

The eastern horizon had begun to change. Dawn had not arrived yet, but the darkness had thinned. The hills now carried texture instead of pure shadow.

Cedd watched both the sky and the camp together.

He had monitored the weather throughout the approach. No autumn fog had rolled in. The cold air remained clear enough that a standing figure at one hundred yards still made a workable target.

He raised his rifle.

The soldiers raised with him.

The near-right sentry completed another turn around the corner post and paused. For one moment he stood fully outlined against the fence with the coals glowing behind him.

Cedd fired.

Seventy-nine flintlock rifles answered within half a second.

The volley became one massive crack that rolled down the valley and slammed into the far hillside before returning broken and enormous. The mountains tore the echo apart.

The near-right sentry collapsed instantly. The round struck the base of his skull. One moment he was walking.

The next his body hit the ground flat without even trying to catch itself. Blood spilled dark beneath his face and soaked quickly into the churned dirt.

The far-left sentry took a bullet through the shoulder. The impact spun him into the fence hard enough to shake the posts before he slid downward. His left arm bent at the wrong direction and stayed there. Blood ran down the post behind him in uneven streaks.

Inside the camp, a man crossing toward the nearest coal fire took a shot through the upper thigh. The femur shattered immediately. His leg folded sideways in a direction legs were never meant to move, and he crashed onto the broken joint while one hand reached instinctively for ground that no longer matched where his body expected it to be.

The sound he made stopped short of a scream.

Shock had not fully caught up yet.

Blood pumped through torn cloth around the ruined thigh, black-red in the weak firelight.

A tent near the right perimeter absorbed two rounds through the canvas. One bullet struck the man inside through his bedding. The canvas darkened where blood spread beneath him.

Another man had pushed himself upright inside his tent moments earlier, perhaps reacting to some faint sound outside. He turned toward the perimeter just as a round struck beneath his left cheekbone. The bullet crossed through the jaw and exited behind it, carrying blood, teeth, and fragments of bone through the rear canvas.

He fell sideways.

His body hit the ground once.

Then nothing.

The seconds after the volley told Cedd everything he needed to know.

No crossbow fire answered from the camp. Nobody called defensive positions. No organized countercharge moved uphill toward the ridge.

Those that survived near the perimeter flattened themselves against dirt, crates, fences, anything available. Men crawling from tents moved toward the center of camp instead of toward the attackers.

One man broke completely and sprinted for the far side of the camp, running directly away from the slope.

Near the supply crates, one figure stood.

He had been crouched behind the wood during the volley. Two bullets had struck the crate where his torso should have been.

Now he rose and looked directly toward the ridge.

Toward the smoke lingering above the forest where eighty rifles had discharged together.

Cedd marked him immediately.

That one understood what had happened faster than the others.

The broad-shouldered captain beside Cedd was already slinging his rifle across his back.

"Bastards don’t even know where the fire’s comin’ from."

The words were aimed at the camp below, not the men beside him.

Then he drew his saber and pistol.

Farther down the line, the young eastern captain called across the ridge in a flat voice.

"Moving."

Cedd slung his rifle. He drew the pistol into his right hand. The saber settled into his left, his palm finding the grip with the form that compensated best, fingers tightening carefully to maintain control.

Supplies intact, he reminded himself briefly.

That objective had molded the entire attack plan from the beginning. The volley had been designed to break the camp, not destroy it.

Then he discarded the thought and started downhill.

The slope rushed toward him fast.

Eighty soldiers charged beside him now, and noise discipline no longer mattered. The stealth phase had ended the moment the first rifle fired.

One hundred yards separated them from the camp, and the distance vanished quickly.

The supply crates near the center still reflected dim orange light through the drifting smoke.

The figure who had looked toward the ridge was gone from sight.

The camp surged closer.