Rhett crouched low on the edge of a mountain peak. He pressed his shoulder against a large stone, shielding him from view as he remained still. Behind him, three other men ducked down, pulling their cloaks tight against their bodies to block out the chill. Among them was Tristan, who let out a quiet grumble.

  “I signed up for a war—not to become a mountain goat,” the young lord muttered as he pressed his back against the stone.

  “Well, you’re in luck,” Rhett murmured, sniffing the air for any signs of others. “Because this is as far as we'll go.”

  The scent of men lingered in the area, though none were close enough to pose an immediate threat. Still, they needed to remain cautious. After a deep exhale, Rhett changed his eyes into Silas's. With him now able to see farther, he leaned forward and peeked over the rock.

  “What do you see?” Tristan inquired impatiently.

  Rhett narrowed his gaze. Below, nestled within a valley, was the city of Walford.

  “Several dozen men are lounging around makeshift tents,” he muttered. “Either they don’t expect an attack, or they’re idiots.”

  Tristan snorted, inching forward just enough to get a glance.

  “Perhaps a bit of both,” he smirked. “They think we’re marching to Jux from the east, not slipping through the mountains from the south. I can’t tell from here—how many men are at the gates?”

  Rhett shifted his gaze, counting as he scanned from the northern gate to the southern one.

  “Twenty men each,” he confirmed. “And from what I can tell, the patrols are light.”

  “They’re definitely not expecting trouble,” one of the other men commented. “Not from us, anyway.”

  “Good,” Rhett said, finally pulling back from the ledge. “That means we have time to plan.”

  Without another word, he turned, moving carefully as he descended the mountain. The others followed, careful to avoid making any noise that could be heard in the valley below. By the time they reached the bottom, it was nearly dark out, and the men had to hold onto Rhett to keep from tripping over their own feet.

  Not far from the mountains was their camp, hidden among the trees. No fires had been lit despite the frigid chill in the air. Instead, pits had been dug out with low, smoldering embers placed inside. It was enough to keep warm without sending plumes of smoke skyward. Tents had been put together beneath the low-hanging branches, and those along the edges used mud to help blend the canvases into the surroundings.

  Rhett and Tristan made their way toward the middle of the camp, where a tent partially covered in sticks and leaves stood. A fallen log had been repurposed as a table, with maps placed over it, held down by stones and daggers.

  Several men were already gathered inside, waiting. The moment Rhett entered, they turned toward him with a bow. Ashur, who had been standing between some of the captains, straightened with a raised brow.

  “Well?”

  Rhett exhaled, reaching for one of the maps.

  “They will be in for a surprise when we show up in the morning,” he replied as he flattened the parchment with his palm. “No more than 150 men—if that. The patrols are only done by a handful of soldiers at a time, while the gates have about twenty men standing guard. With how relaxed the city seemed, I’d like to attack just before dawn.”

  “Tristan, you will lead a unit of thirty men to the southern gate,” he continued as he pointed to the spot on the map. “Your job is to subdue the guards without raising an alarm. Once the gate is secured, put out the torches on the right side. That’s when I’ll push through with the rest of the men. We take the southern streets first, clear them of the Earl’s men, and hold them.”

  One of the captains leaned over the map, pointing to the large buildings on the eastern side of the city.

  “What about the barracks? Even if we have more men, they are bound to have an unknown number of weapons. We could be overwhelmed very quickly if that were the case.”

  “Good thinking, Alric,” Rhett nodded as he looked at the captain. “You can take fifty men and go north along the river. They have a makeshift camp just to the east of the barracks. Surround it first. Hit them fast and hard before they’re fully awake. Capture as many as you can—but if they fight, don’t hesitate to protect yourselves.”

  Alaric grunted in approval, leaning back as he crossed his arms.

  “The rest of us will make our way north through the city, stopping once we’ve reached the northern gate,” Rhett stated as he drew a line with his finger. “The moment that is secured, we should have control over the city again. And remember—only kill the soldiers if you need to. Don’t harm the people; if someone surrenders, you take their weapons and show them mercy.”

  The captains murmured their agreements, with several eager to start fighting. However, before the young king could dismiss them, Ashur, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up.

  “And what exactly am I supposed to do?” The prince questioned.

  “Stay here, sitting with the camp,” Rhett replied with a frown.

  “That’s not an assignment,” Ashur scowled.

  “No, it’s common sense.” Rhett leaned forward slightly. “I don’t have a death wish. If something happens to you, Kenna will have my head. And I quite like it where it is.”

  A few of the captains put hands over their mouths to stifle their laughs, but Ashur wasn’t amused.

  “I can be useful,” he insisted. “I could fly over the city—keep watch from above.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we don’t know if Walford has any anti-dragon weapons,” Rhett stated bluntly. “I didn’t see any during our scouting, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have them hidden away. I won’t risk you getting shot out of the sky.”

  Ashur hesitated, but then his eyes lit up with another idea.

  “What about messenger pigeons?”

  “What about them?” Rhett frowned.

  “If they get word out, our entire plan is ruined. A pigeon could reach Jux within a few hours, and then they’ll know we’re coming from the south. You want stealth? We need to make sure no messages leave this city.”

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  Rhett’s jaw tightened. He hated to admit it, but Ashur had a point.

  “Fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You take a dozen archers and go through the mountains. Get around to the north and watch for any birds being sent out. Shoot them down before they leave the city.”

  Ashur grinned, looking satisfied—until Tristan chuckled beside him.

  “Looks like you and the archers best get to hiking, Your Highness.”

  Ashur’s smile faded slightly.

  “Wonderful…” he muttered.

  “If you’re going to be a glorified pigeon hunter, you need to be in place before we start in a few hours,” Rhett smirked. “Without you guiding the way through the darkness or sniffing the air for patrols, my archers can’t get into position.”

  Ashur scowled but, not wanting to back down and seem childish, grumbled as he turned on his heels. He left the tent to gather his quiver and bow, as well as the men Rhett allowed him to take. The young king watched him go before looking back at the captains.

  “Get some rest while you can,” he said. “We move in a few hours.”

  One by one, the men nodded, stepping away to find what little sleep they could before the fight. Rhett, however, remained where he stood, staring down at the maps but not really looking at them. Tristan, noticing the young king’s distant gaze, crossed his arms as he watched his friend.

  “Aren’t you going to rest, too?” He questioned.

  Rhett didn’t look at him but instead shook his head once.

  “No.”

  Tristan sighed, rubbing a hand over his head. He had expected that answer, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

  “Is it because of the dreams?”

  “Yes,” Rhett admitted as he slowly nodded again. “They invade my mind the moment my eyes close. At this point, I know if I see Amara, it’s just a dream. But I can’t seem to escape the blood… the nightmares that always come. And if I have to hold my dead child in my arms one more time… I fear I might break.”

  Tristan frowned as he stepped closer.

  “And if you don’t sleep, you will break. Rhett, even as a dragon, you have limits.”

  The young king finally turned his head, meeting Tristan’s gaze.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said simply before waving his hand. “You go rest. That’s an order.”

  Tristan hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, but he knew it was pointless. With a sigh, he reluctantly nodded and left the tent.

  By the early morning hours, a dense fog was clinging to the ground. The only sounds were the soft crunch of boots against the cold grass and the occasional hoot of an owl hidden in the trees. Rhett crouched low behind a cluster of boulders, tightening his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Behind him was his army, while ahead of them—hidden among the mist—were thirty of his best soldiers.

  Tristan led his unit forward, but their pace was slower than he would have liked. With the mist in the air, it was hard to see. It wasn’t until they were about twenty feet away that the silhouette of the gate came into view, as well as two guards.

  The young lord lifted a hand, signaling two of his men forward. They blended into the mist, slipping to either side of the gate. Without so much as a sound, they jabbed their daggers between the guard’s ribs. They barely had time to gasp before hands were clamped over their mouths, muffling their cries. The bodies were quickly dragged back into the fog, vanishing as if they had never been there.

  Wasting no time, Tristan motioned for the rest of his unit. They rushed forward, reaching the iron gate. Beyond it, several torches illuminated more soldiers stationed just inside. Approaching them directly without raising an alarm would have been impossible. Tristan glanced back at his archers, motioning with his fingers for them to shoot. The guards barely had time to register that they were being shot at before they fell to the ground, lifeless.

  When the soldiers were downed, Tristan and his men grabbed onto the iron bars. They were rusted but heavy, making it difficult to lift off the ground. Gritting their teeth, the men pulled, straining their muscles from the effort. The metal groaned, rising just high enough for most of the men to roll beneath it.

  Inside, the soldiers on duty barely had time to draw their weapons before swords were at their throats. Caught off guard, most surrendered without a fight. After the area had been secured, the gate was finally opened completely. Tristan turned quickly, snatching up a bucket of water. He splashed it onto the torches along the right side of the wall, signaling that they had been successful.

  From his vantage point in the distance, Rhett exhaled anxiously, watching as his men secured the gate. He turned to the captains who knelt around him.

  “Move.”

  They slipped through the open gate like a tide rolling in, pouring out onto the streets. The city itself was still sleeping, and only the muffled clanking of armor disturbed the silence. It wasn’t long before the first pockets of Walford soldiers stormed onto the streets, weapons drawn and ready to fight. Rhett stepped forward, pulling out his sword to block the attack of a soldier who charged him. But rather than striking or cutting into the man, Rhett pushed against him, knocking the man off balance before slamming the pommel of his sword into his temple. The soldier staggered back, then collapsed in a daze—alive but unconscious.

  “By order of your king, surrender, and you shall live!” Rhett shouted over the sounds of fighting, using Silas’s voice to help make him louder. “Lay down your arms, and you will not be harmed!”

  The reaction was almost instant. Fear rippled through the Walford ranks at the sound of a dragon. Some soldiers hesitated, glancing at one another before dropping their weapons in surrender. Others, either too stubborn or too desperate, fought on. Rhett and his men continued fighting, cutting down the soldiers only when absolutely necessary. They weren’t here to slaughter; they were here to take the city—and they would do so with as little bloodshed as possible.

  As the fighting continued in the streets, the people of Walford stirred, with their curiosity outweighing their fear. Shutters opened, and cautious eyes peeked out from behind curtains. Some opened their doors, whispering to one another as they watched the fighting. Rhett caught sight of some of these people, and he instantly felt uneasy. The last thing he wanted was innocent blood to be spilled.

  “Tell them to stay inside,” he ordered to one of the nearby captains. “No harm will come to them if they do not interfere.”

  The command spread quickly. Soldiers relayed the message as they moved through the streets, and one by one, doors were quickly shut and curtains closed.

  Meanwhile, Alric and his fifty men moved silently along the frozen river to the north. As they neared the makeshift camp, the first light of dawn crept over the mountain peaks to the west. A handful of Walford soldiers were already awake, stretching beside the fires, unaware of the danger lurking in the fog. Alric and his men crouched low, hidden behind trees, bushes, or anything else they could find. They watched in silence for a minute, assessing the camp’s defenses. Then, Alric suddenly raised his hand.

  His men rushed forward, slipping between the tents and barracks with their swords drawn. The camp erupted into chaos—men scrambling for weapons, shouting warnings—but they were too slow. Alric’s forces had already seized the armory, leaving their enemies with little more than training spears and daggers.

  Back in the city, Rhett was surveying the street he stood on. Another section had been cleared, and his men were tying up Walford’s soldiers who knelt on the ground. Despite how aggressive the fighting had been, the losses on either side had been minimal. He exhaled, satisfied with how things had gone so far. The fewer lives they lost, the easier it would be to rebuild Sylvaris after this war.

  Then, movement in the sky caught his attention. A flock of messenger pigeons had flown from a rooftop, causing Rhett’s heart to pound. They were more than likely carrying word of the attack. He debated on shifting so he could burn them before they reached the Nocktal Mountains—but doing so would risk damaging the street he stood on.

  Before he could decide what to do, arrows flew through the air. Feathers scattered like falling snow as the pigeons fell to the ground. Rhett sighed in relief, knowing that Ashur and his archers had gotten into position in time.

  Then, a flash of light went into the sky, followed by a deafening roar.

  Ashur had shifted.

  Rhett’s eyes darted across the sky, but the buildings blocked his view. He turned, sprinting toward the nearest temple. Bursting inside, he startled the priests and priestesses.

  “Forgive me!” He shouted before rushing up the spiral staircase of the bell tower.

  At the top, he finally saw him—Ashur, in his dragon form, blocking the northern gate. Lightning danced across his scales as he stood just outside the iron bars, stopping a group of soldiers who were trying to escape.

  Rhett leaned out from the tower, shouting down to his men below.

  “Push forward! We need to get to the northern gate!”

  His army hurried onward, getting through the city street by street. As the sun rose higher into the sky, Rhett’s forces reached the gate, where the remaining soldiers stood between his men and the dragon.

  “Lay down your weapons!” Rhett ordered with a growl as he approached. “Now!”

  Without any further hesitation, the men threw their swords and spears off to the side, raising their hands in defeat. With the gate now secure, the city was now theirs and, once again, part of the Kingdom of Sylvaris.