“Why are they lingering out here?” I wonder as Briar joins me.
“…Looks like there are moreof them now, too,” she mutters.
“Something strange is definitely going on.” I take a small, collapsible scope from my bag and use it to inspect the camp more closely. “We’re two days from the capital, at least, and several of those tents look garish enough to belong to high-ranking officers. Seems like a lot of important people to be so far from home.”
“Maybe they’re scouting out a place to put King Asshole’s latest luxurious dwelling?”
“Doubtful.” Most wouldn’t evencampin this place, let alone build anything in it. Even if they could command the dragons to leave this land alone, the damage to it is already done.
Though it wouldn’t surprise me if the King of Mourenwaslooking to waste more riches on something so foolish.
Since he ascended the throne twelve years ago, Reave Callahan has earned a reputation as a man who delights in building frivolous things, throwing lavish parties, and feasting on delicacies while the rest of us fight for scraps.
I hate him as much as I hate the dragons that he wields like a fist against the four kingdoms—if not more.
My irritability flares hotter. I take a few steps toward the camp, until Briar grabs my arm and pulls me back.
“We’re waypast outnumbered now, Owyn.”
I shrug off her grip. “I’m not going to engage with them. I just want to take a closer look.”
“Yeah, I’ve heardthatone before. And that line always seems to be a precursor to disaster.”
“Not this time. Trust me.”
She lets out a low, disagreeing huff. But her gaze is now locked in the direction of the camp, same as mine. Drawn in again, no doubt, by the thought of how much coin the supplies they’re carrying might fetch. The intricately-woven horse blankets alone are probably worth a fortune. I spot golden navigation tools and map cases, too, along with cooking pots of polished copper instead of practical iron, their contents seasoned with expensive spices that tickle and tempt my nose even from this distance…
So many gaudy displays of Mouren’s wealth, glittering all the brighter against the backdrop of bleak landscape.
“I’m not doing this unless you let me steal things,” Briar says, flatly.
I cut her a backwards glance, but I can’t deny the growing urge I have to redistribute some wealth.
“Fine,” I say. “You may steal a few things. Afew.”
She cracks her knuckles. “See, nowyou’re speaking my language.” Her hazel eyes light up as she scans the camp more closely, sizing up potential targets. “Let’s go investigate, shall we?”
After making sure our horses are secure, we ready a few of our usual devices: thick smoke bombs; small vials of flash powder; a couple of hidden knives to complement the larger weapons we carry. We douse ourselves in bitterly overpowering bloodroot oil, too—a trick to confuse the hounds patrolling alongside some of the soldiers.
Briar decides on a target: a supply wagon that looks to be damaged, and which is currently being ignored on the edge of the campsite.
While she slips toward it, I find myself drawn elsewhere—to the darkest corner of the camp, where a fire has burned down to its last embers. Three figures huddle close around the dying light, their voices low and urgent. A pile of wood sits within arm's reach, yet they leave it untouched.
Whatever they're discussing, it seems they want to keep it cloaked in darkness.
Thievery is tempting, but I'm far more interested in what's brought this many Mouren soldiers so deep into the Ashlands. So I drop to my belly and crawl toward a thick tangle of brush near their circle, close enough that I can make out occasional words. Not enough to understand the full conversation, but enough to pick up on their tone; they're clearly worried about something.
After a few minutes, the conversation abruptly stops.
An odd sensation passes through me—a pulse of uncomfortable heat that makes my heart skip a beat. I go perfectly still, my hand clenching the hilt of my mother’s sword.
At least a minute passes. The fireside circle remains silent, and I’m still so tense that Briar’s sudden, silent appearance makes me jump, even though she makes sure to approach from my non-blind side.
The bag slung across her chest jingles faintly. Dragonfire crystals scraping against the most expensive trinkets she could quickly grab, if I had to guess; a modest haul by her standards. But I understand why she’s already abandoned her heist.
Because the camp seems to have come to life, all of asudden, and there are far more bodies than what we counted from the hilltop.
“Spot anything interesting over here?” Briar whispers, clearly trying to maintain her usual bravado.
