The swamps came to life as the night took hold, the drone of the biting flies and mosquitoes dimming as the frogs began to croak their own song and other small, sleeping things readied themselves to eat or be eaten. I too rose and shook off the mud that had dried on me, rolling my neck and shoulders until they moved soundlessly. It was a good and dark night with little moonlight penetrating the blanket of cloud. I spent some time preparing my sorcery and now carefully fed power into the constructs that would muffle the sound of my footsteps and blur the colours of my cloak. Thus prepared, I began making my way through the undergrowth that formed the border of the swamp, stopping regularly to listen and taste the air for unseen enemies, but there was no sign of any other sentries, either living or dead. I could feel their magic in the air, a growing but as yet undirected pressure that would soon become quite unpleasant.
After some time my feet finally found solid ground and I pulled myself up amidst the broken rocks. The ground here was even rougher up close, broken into tight ravines as if some ancient god had smashed it with a hammer. I climbed along these carefully, using the cracks and stumps of hardy shrubs to pull myself up. I had chosen the hardest of the paths, one that I hoped a defender would not think any sane attacker would attempt.
The sharp rocks and spiny bushes gave way to softer grass and I took some time to let my arms recover their strength, all the while watching as the sickly green light flickered to life within the clouds once more. I fed a lick of power into my night vision as I started moving forward again, wary of it being spotted but unwilling to risk breaking my leg in a rabbit hole or falling into a pit of stakes without it.
Passing the first line of sentries posed little challenge. Unlike those facing the city directly, these were standing and talking openly in pairs and threes, some with lanterns and some without. I stayed low as I crept past them, listening carefully for any change in their conversations, crawling on my belly like a snake when I needed to. The rough, broken ridge that marked the border of the swamp soon gave way to the undulating grassland that was more typical of Krandin’s heartland. I squatted in the dark, taking in the view of the Penullin camp spread out before me. It was well lit, so much so that even without my night vision it would have been no great feat to navigate it safely. Many of the lamps shed a disappointingly steady white light, marking them as the work of the wizards.
The lands outside Falkenburg were crudely divided by the great road that lead to the Southland, and each of these halves was then subdivided by numerous hedges and low walls marking the boundaries of the various houses that dotted the landscape. The Penullin camp straddled the road, and those same hedges now served to split the sprawling mass of the army into different parts. Thanks largely to my attempt at scrying it wasn’t too difficult to find the wizards’ enormous tents once more. These were almost at the very edge of the camp, separated from the regular soldiers’ tents by a shadowy band where no lamps or torches burned. There were two large tents within the wizard’s encampment, surrounded by at least two dozen smaller versions, and as I watched I saw a glimmer of green light dance across the roof of one of the larger tents then flash upwards, like lightning in reverse.
From where I was my path would lead me down to the camp past two ransacked houses, the smaller of which had suffered damage from a brief but hot fire, perhaps the work of the wizards. I couldn’t see any movement in or around this burnt house, which I thought would offer a very useful point to plot the final part of my invasion from.
The ground was still soft as I moved through the grasses, and I was perhaps halfway to the smoking house when I first heard the dogs. Animals hardly ever reacted well to my scent, but there was something about it that sent dogs into all manner of apoplexy. For once it seemed that luck was with me and the wind remained in my favour as I hurried into the deeper shadows that clung to the walls of the ruined house, the familiar smell of ash and embers providing a welcome break from those of mud and swamp fumes.
I kept close to the wall as I picked my way around the side of the house, the centre of which had been ruined by the fire, leaving its timbers poking out like ribs. Two sentries stood by what must have been the front entrance, talking quietly. I moved slowly across the yard, trusting to my sorcery to muffle my sound and shape, cursing silently when broken pottery and glass crunched under my feet, but neither sentry so much as looked in my direction. I crossed the final few yards quickly before my usual luck could reassert itself, and clambered through a broken window, taking care to avoid most of the detritus littering the floor.
Smashed furniture was scattered about, along with yet more glass and pottery. I could smell blood too, and I followed the scent to the far end of the room where a body had fallen beneath the remnants of a table. It was that of a man, his neck ending in an angry red stump just above the collar of his shirt. His hands were cut deeply, suggesting that he hadn’t died without a fight, but even so, judging by his small frame and wrinkled skin, the violence visited upon him seemed greatly out of proportion to whatever threat he may have posed. I left his headless body where it was and was about to move to the next room when I heard footsteps from the floor above me, followed by the sound of muffled voices.
I crossed to the staircase, which looked to be in good enough shape to hold my weight. The upper windows would offer a better view of my route, and any information I could squeeze out of a prisoner couldn’t hurt, but at the same time, if they managed to raise the alarm it could complicate things enormously, especially if the dogs caught my scent. I kept low and moved like a lizard, spreading my weight so that the wood wouldn’t creak as much and freezing in place whenever they stopped moving or talking.
When I was far enough that I could see over the top step it was clear that I needn’t have bothered. There were only two men in the room, but both were at the window and had their backs to me, talking quietly in Penullin.
‘It is beginning,’ said one, pointing to something in the darkness beyond. ‘Attend and eye look.’
‘You are sure we’re sweet distant?’
‘Stop being an old nag. We are being good here.’
I hauled myself up and, keeping to a crouch, inched closer. I was perhaps half a dozen paces behind them when the sky outside began to glow, silhouetting them against the sickly green shade tinting the night beyond, and the wind suddenly rushed and swirled, sending the shutters clacking loudly and their scent into my nose. A human scent, but one saturated with burned spices. Wizards.