The trees thin ahead, and through the clearing, Fort Gaellin looms, weathered stone and timber stark against the field of snow. In the dense woods nearby, Gandre’s voice rings out like a whipcrack, urgent and coarse. “Drop that tree! We need it down, now!”

  A trio of woodcutters, sleeves rolled and axes moving, make quick work of a mid-sized oak. The trunk groans, then crashes down with a heavy thud, kicking up frost and scattering birds into the air. Gandre strides forward, looking over it. “Aye, this'll do. Strip the branches and bind it tight. We’ll have our ram before sundown.”

  Ropes are fetched, the trunk wrapped and measured as more men join in to drag it toward the clearing's edge. Gandre turns, barking again, “Move quickly! We've a gate to bring down, and the goddess won't wait on lazy hands!”

  I struggle to ride behind Edwin and Daniel, flanked by a few guardsmen as we weave through the treeline encircling the fort. Edwin reins in, scanning the fort carefully, eyes straining across the distance. "We’re fortunate," he murmurs. "They’ve not fled. Likely haven’t heard of Yurik’s death just yet."

  He points toward the looming structure. "Only one proper entrance, the main gate, reinforced with iron bands. It'll hold for a while, but look there, south wall. Stone’s crumbled, cracked and sagging....."

  He gestures again. "Watchtower’s are all manned, Edric's not that stupid. But from what I can see, most of the men stationed on the walls are to the north, centralized around the gate."

  Daniel frowns, following Edwin's gaze. "It's like you said, the gate is the only entrance. The wall's in poor shape, but we're not gonna ram it down with a tree."

  Daniel glances over his shoulder toward the siege camp, nestled in the woods a mile behind. "The carpenters brought timber for ladders. Were you thinking of scaling the south wall?"

  Edwin shakes his head. "No. The watchtowers will see us coming. We'd lose too many men just getting to the top."

  He points toward the weakened wall. "No, the key to victory will be through a breach. Fast. Hard. Before they can rally. If we had three men for every one of theirs, maybe we'd take our time. But we don't. We're at two to one. We end this quick, or not at all."

  Daniel nods, his cocky demeanor gone, listening attentively to his father's wisdom. "Then we're to focus on breaching the main gate?" he asks.

  "That alone may not be enough." Edwin turns to one of the guardsmen. "Bring out the weapon Zaenith left us."

  The guardsmen return moments later carrying a large, spherical bundle wrapped in layered cloth. At first glance, it looks like nothing more than a tangle of old blankets.

  Daniel frowns. "Are you certain you want to rely on that woman’s... craft?" His hesitation drips with disdain.

  Edwin glances to his son. "Her tonics were good enough when they cure you of the red cough. Why should her other works be any different?"

  Daniel hesitates to reply, his brow furrowed in doubt. Edwin’s tone firms. “Don’t let the Church’s dogma shackle your thinking, son. Even Holy Saint Lude saw fit to use alchemists and instruments the faithful might call questionable. I've spoken with Father Alric, he gives his blessing. And I’m placing my trust in you, Daniel, to see it through.”

  I can see the conflict play across Daniel’s face, faith and loyalty. But after a long breath, he nods. “I won’t fail you, Father.”

  Edwin turns to me. "As Zaenith's apprentice, I’m trusting you to aid my son," he says. My eyes flick to Daniel. There's still some hostility in his gaze, but it's dulled, restrained. He offers no objection.

  "What do you want me to do? You've not yet told me your plan, or what this weapon is."

  His men set the bundle in the snow and begin unwrapping it. Blankets peel away layer by layer, until at last, nestled at the center, sits a ceramic jar, plain and round, about the size of a man’s head.

  Edwin nods to it. “This,” he says, voice low, “is Emberglass. A sealed vessel of liquid fire. One drop can set a wagon ablaze. That jar holds enough to shatter stone and drown men in flame.”

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  I step back instinctively at the name, a chill running through me. Flashes of memory from my childhood emerge.

  Fire.

  My brothers screaming in pain.

  A danger kept locked away, at least from me.

  Edwin gestures toward the fort, specifically the southern wall where cracks and wear are most visible.

  "While Gandre and I hammer the gate and draw Edric’s eye," he says, "Daniel, you’ll take half the men and prepare for the real strike. Seven will plant the Emberglass at the weakest section of the wall. One good blast, and the breach will open. You’ll surge through and Edric’s forces will be thrown into chaos, forced to split and face both fronts."

  He looks between us both. "Speed is the key. The more time we give them to react, the more arrows we eat. This ends swiftly, minimal losses, overwhelming force. Understood?"

  Daniel eyes the jar with clear unease and gives a stiff nod. Edwin turns to me. "You know how to handle it?"

  I shrug. "There’s nothing to handle. Just don’t drop it. Once I place it, an archer can hit it with an arrow. One strike, and it’ll burst."

  Edwin nods grimly. "Then that’s the plan. When night falls, I’ll send half the militia and a detachment of guardsmen with Daniel. Stay to the treeline, keep hidden, no fires, no noise. Let them believe we’re all gathered at the gate."

  His gaze sweeps across the men. "When the sun rises, the battle begins."

  Daniel nods and Edwin rides back. Night falls, and the camp settles into uneasy silence. No fires are lit; the food is cold but sufficient. Luna, as promised, keeps to the rear with Edwin under his protection, though I know she means to return to me before the fighting begins.

  As I eat, I notice Daniel approaching, his expression tight and stoic. He stops in front of me, arms at his sides, eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place.

  I raise an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

  "Watch your tone, lowborn. Do not forget who you're speaking to!"

  I sneer, unmoved. “I don’t answer to you, and you hold no authority over me. I’m helping Ravencroft because that’s the agreement I made with your father. Don’t think that means I'll take orders from you.”

  His face contorts with fury. “Maybe you need another beating to remind you of your place.”

  I rise slowly, facing him without flinching. “Try it. You might’ve beaten me in a tournament, but this isn’t a duel. Out here, you haven't a chance.”

  We glare at each other, tension thick between us. Then, after a long moment, he scoffs and rubs at his temple. “Fine! Fine... now’s not the time for this anyway. We can settle out differences later.”

  I sit again with a shrug. “Doesn’t bother me either way.”

  “Tell me about Zaenith’s weapon.” His voice is cold, though at least the smugness is absent from it this time. He lowers himself, sitting across from me, waiting.

  "Just as I told Edwin, it’s simple. There’s no complex method or ritual. Impact alone is enough to unleash a burst of fire. It should tear through a crumbling wall easily enough."

  He brow furrows, eyes uncertain. “How? To summon fire that great... surely it is sorcery.”

  I stare at him for a long time, unsure of how much I want to say.

  Why is he asking? If he's come to me for answers, it must be eating at him... using the Emberglass.

  I'm not particularly interested in making him feel better... but then again, I'll be fighting beside him tomorrow....

  “Zaenith always said the Emberglass was just knowledge, the knowledge of man. Like striking a flint to light a hearth, is that sorcery? Or simply what we've learned over the generations?”

  He watches me, doubtful. “Have you seen it work?”

  I nod slowly, gazing into the night sky. “She brewed it often, though I never understood why. She had my brothers train with it on occasion, sometimes with each other. Just a pinch is enough to set a man ablaze. That entire jar?” I gesture toward the ceramic vessel. “I’ve no idea how great the fire will be.”

  He stares at me in disbelief. "She had your brothers using such a thing? That is heinous. Let me guess, pulled you all from some orphanage?"

  A theory I'd believe, if my brothers were not there for my birth.

  I don't correct him and just shrug. "It was training. And she always had the means to heal what she damaged. Besides… my brothers are strong."

  Daniel's expression hardens. “That woman is a monster.”

  I shrug again. “In some ways.” Then I shift the topic. “How did your father come to know her?”

  Daniel glances at me for a moment, considering... but then finally closes his eyes and begins. "From what I've heard, she once served as Solstira's court alchemist, back when Lumenon still tolerated such roles. Father met her during those years. But her time there did not last. The priesthood declared her position an affront to the Light, unacceptable for a kingdom of Lumina's faithful, and she was dismissed. Later, after being appointed mayor of Ravencroft, he found her and invited her to settle in his town."

  His tone sours slightly. "He says she’s a master of her craft. Her medicines work, no doubt about that... but mastery can all too often, pave the way to heresy."

  The folk in Mistvale would've loved him.

  “You sound more devout than your father.”

  Daniel shrugs. “Mother was too. Father believes of course, in his own way. But he’s a practical man. And practicality too, can walk the road to heresy.”

  He stops short, catching himself, realizing who he’s speaking to. “But that’s not your concern, lowborn.” He mutters, voice clipped. “Just be ready. Handle that foul weapon, and do your part.”

  I shrug. “Like I said, there’s nothing to handle. It couldn't be more simple.”

  He looks away, nodding once. “Good. I won’t fail him. Not now.”