10:45 AM.

Lieutenant Jorik Halmsen checked his pocket watch for the fourth time in ten minutes, salt spray misting his weathered face as he snapped the silver case shut. The Farmusian fleet cut through the morning swells like a blade, fifty warships strong, their crimson banners snapping in the ocean wind.

"Still on time," he announced to no one in particular, though his voice carried across the crowded deck.

Sergeant Theron looked up from where he'd been sharpening his sword for the past hour. "Nervous, Lieutenant?"

"Cautious," Jorik corrected, tucking the watch back into his breast pocket. "There's a difference."

Around them, the eight soldiers assigned to this particular vessel prepared for what their commanders promised would be the easiest victory in Farmusian history. Most of the fleet's four hundred men were spread across the other ships, but every vessel carried its complement. Some cleaned weapons that were already spotless. Others stared at the horizon where Arkhos waited, invisible beyond the morning haze.

Near the mizzenmast, Battle-Mage Korvain adjusted the focus crystals on his staff for the third time this morning. His blue robes fluttered in the sea breeze, the silver threading that marked his rank catching the sunlight. Unlike some of the younger soldiers, he looked perfectly calm.

"Still tinkering with that thing?" called Corporal Bren from across the deck.

"Habit," Korvain replied without looking up. "Though I doubt I'll need it today."

Private Corwin, barely eighteen and trying to grow his first proper beard, clutched the ship's rail with white knuckles. His face had a distinctly greenish tinge that had nothing to do with his armor's reflection.

"First campaign?" asked Bren, a squat man with scars crisscrossing his forearms.

"Yes, sir," Corwin managed, swallowing hard as the ship rolled over a larger swell.

"Not sir. I work for a living." Bren's grin was missing two teeth. "And stop looking like you're about to puke on my boots. What's got you spooked, boy? This isn't exactly going to be a battle."

Corwin's Adam's apple bobbed as he fought down another wave of nausea. "I don't understand why we couldn't just use transportation crystals to get there. Why did we have to take ships?"

"Because the city's warded against magical entry," Korvain explained patiently. "They've set up interference fields around Arkhos for the trial. You can teleport out, but nothing can teleport in from the outside."

"Smart of them," Theron added. "Prevents any unwanted guests from crashing the prince's big day."

"Unfortunately for them, it doesn't stop ships," Bren said with a laugh. "Old-fashioned naval approach works just fine."

Corwin nodded weakly, then leaned over the rail as his stomach betrayed him again.

"Oh, for crying out loud," groaned Private Lem. "Kid's been green as seaweed since we left port."

"Leave him be," said Master Sergeant Valdric, veteran of three wars and owner of the most magnificent mustache in the Fifth Regiment. Though his voice carried a hint of amusement. "We've all been seasick at some point."

"Not me," Bren declared. "Born with sea legs."

"Born with sea brains too, apparently," Theron muttered, earning chuckles from the others.

Corwin straightened, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand. "It's not just the seasickness," he admitted. "It's... what if something goes wrong? What if the plan fails?"

"Then we adapt," Valdric shrugged. "But it won't. Too much preparation, too many pieces in place."

"What pieces?" Corwin asked, then immediately gripped the rail again as another wave hit.

"Someone with very good reasons to want the current regime gone," Valdric said carefully. "Someone with access to the highest levels of government."

"A prince," Bren added with a grin. "Imagine that. A prince of Sundar, working with us to take down his own father's empire."

"Prince Kalyon," Lem said with satisfaction. "Smart man. Knows which way the wind's blowing."

The ship's captain, a grizzled Farmusian named Torrhen, approached their small group. "Arkhos comes into view in about thirty minutes," he announced. "Almost time, gentlemen."

"How are the other ships, Captain?" Jorik asked.

"Formation's perfect. Weather's holding steady." Torrhen squinted at the sky. "Good day for a handover."

"Any word from our... inside contact?" This from Private Lem, who'd been unusually quiet this morning.

"Silent as planned," Torrhen replied. "Birds would be too risky during the trial. But everything's proceeding exactly as discussed."

Corwin perked up despite his nausea. "But how do we know he's actually going through with it?"

"Because he wants his father dead even more than we do," Bren said bluntly. "Kid's got motivation."

"Still," Corwin swallowed hard, fighting another surge of sickness, "what if he changes his mind? What if—"

"Gods' balls, boy," Lem interrupted. "Would you rather be storming fortified walls under arrow fire?"

"No, but—" Corwin doubled over the rail again.

"Then shut up and enjoy the easy assignment," Bren said, shaking his head. "Look at him. Can't even handle a calm sea, and he's worried about battle."

"At least he's not puking on us," Theron observed. "That's something."

Jorik pulled out his pocket watch again. 11:16.

Right on schedule.

"I still think this seems too easy," Corwin mumbled, straightening again.

"Easy?" Valdric laughed. "Boy, do you have any idea how much work went into setting this up? Months of planning, careful coordination, precise timing. Just because you don't have to swing a sword doesn't mean it's easy."

A lookout's voice rang down from the crow's nest. "Arkhos in sight! Two points off the starboard bow!"

The small crew moved toward the rail. Corwin reluctantly joined them, though he kept one hand on the rigging for support. In the distance, a smudge of blue, white and gold resolved into the famous skyline of the City of Mages. Towers that seemed to scrape the clouds themselves, walls that had never been breached, harbors that had hosted ships from every corner of the known world.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Jorik said quietly.

"It will be," Theron replied. "When it's flying our colors."

The mood on deck was almost festive now. Even Corwin seemed momentarily distracted from his seasickness by the approaching city.

"Remember," Valdric announced, "we're liberators today. The people of Arkhos are about to be freed from an incompetent emperor. They should be grateful."

"And if they're not immediately grateful?" Bren asked with a grin.

"Then we'll help them understand the situation," Valdric said mildly.

"What if they fight?" Corwin asked, his voice small.

"With what army?" Lem laughed. "Their prince just handed us the keys to the kingdom."

"Besides," Korvain added, "most of their forces will be busy dealing with the chaos. Hard to organize a defense when your government's collapsed."

The Iron Serpent, their flagship, began signaling to the rest of the fleet. Flags snapped up and down masts in predetermined patterns. Across the water, forty-nine other warships adjusted their positions, preparing for what should be a peaceful arrival.

"You know what I'm looking forward to most?" Private Lem said, leaning against the rail. "Seeing the look on their faces when they realize what's happened."

"I want to see the emperor's head on a spike," Bren said cheerfully.

"Easy there," Valdric warned, though he was smiling. "We're liberators, remember? We'll let Prince Kalyon handle the family reunion."

"I just want to get off this ship," Corwin muttered, looking green again.

"Aw, is the baby sailor feeling poorly?" Bren cooed in mock sympathy. "Maybe you should've stayed home with your mother."

"Leave off," Theron said, but he was grinning. "Kid's doing fine for his first time at sea."

Jorik checked his watch again. Perfect timing.

"All right, listen up!" Captain Torrhen's voice carried across the deck. "Final positions in 30 minutes! Weapons ready but sheathed—we're not expecting trouble, but we stay prepared. This is what we've planned for, gentlemen."

The organized preparation began. Men checked that their equipment was secure but accessible. Officers reviewed the occupation procedures one final time. Korvain ran a few practice gestures with his staff, though everyone expected it to remain ornamental today.

Jorik found himself next to Valdric at the rail, both men staring at the growing city ahead.

"You really think it'll be this smooth?" Jorik asked quietly.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Valdric replied. "Our ally has had months to arrange everything."

The city was clearly visible now. They could make out individual buildings, see the famous floating tower of Xerkes, the people moving along the harbors like tiny ants. Fishing boats dotted the water between the fleet and the city, their crews probably wondering about the impressive naval formation approaching.

"Peaceful morning for it," Jorik observed.

"Perfect morning," Valdric agreed. "Clear skies, calm seas, and a city about to hand itself over to us."

Behind them, Korvain stood with his staff planted beside him like a walking stick, completely relaxed. Corwin had found a spot where he could grip both the rail and a rope, determined not to embarrass himself further.

A commotion started among the soldiers at the bow. Voices rose in curiosity, then confusion.

"What is it?" Theron called forward.

"Something in the sky!" came the reply. "Look!"

Every head on deck turned upward. There, perhaps a quarter mile ahead and several hundred feet above the water, something moved through the clear morning air.

"Is that a bird?" Corwin squinted, momentarily forgetting his seasickness.

"Too big for a bird," Lem said.

"Could be some kind of magical construct," suggested Korvain, though he sounded uncertain.

Valdric pulled out a spyglass and extended it toward the mysterious shape. After a moment, his weathered face creased in confusion.

"What do you see?" Jorik demanded.

"I'm... not sure," Valdric admitted, lowering the spyglass.

Korvain stepped forward. "May I?"

Valdric handed over the spyglass. The battle-mage peered through it, adjusting the focus, his free hand unconsciously moving toward his staff.

"What do you see?" Theron pressed.

Korvain slowly lowered the instrument, his expression puzzled. "It looks like..."

He raised the spyglass again, double-checking, his grip tightening slightly.

"Like what?" several voices demanded.

Korvain slowly lowered the spyglass, and for the first time since boarding, the confident battle-mage looked genuinely perplexed.

"It..."

The figure in the distance began to expand.

What had been man-sized moments before swelled outward like a balloon filling with air, but wrong—violently wrong. Arms stretched and broadened, a torso that elongated and thickened, a neck that extended impossibly far. The transformation wasn't gradual. It was explosive, each second doubling the creature's mass.

Korvain swallowed hard, the spyglass trembling in his hands as he tracked the metamorphosis.

The thing that had been human-shaped was now the size of a house.

Then a ship.

Then larger still.

Massive wings erupted from its back with an audible crack that carried across the water. The clear morning sky began to dim as the creature's bulk blotted out the sun. Its shadow fell across the lead ships of the fleet like a black stain spreading across the ocean.

"What is it, mage?!" Valdric insisted, his voice sharp with growing alarm.

Korvain's staff began to glow involuntarily, responding to his mounting terror. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"It looks like a dragon."

The entire deck fell silent except for the sound of wind and waves.

They never reached Arkhos.

*****

11:30 AM.

A particularly fat pigeon wobbled across the temple roof, oblivious to the danger it was in. Soot twitched his whiskers, calculating the distance. Six paws' length, maybe seven. The wind was against him, but not strongly. The pigeon turned its back, pecking at something invisible.

Perfect.

Soot gathered his haunches, tail swishing once, twice—

"Focus."

The voice in his ear was sharp, impatient. Soot flattened his ears, irritation rippling through his sleek black coat. The voice belonged to a scarred woman crouched behind the chimney stack, her fingers absently stroking the enchanted collar around his neck.

"You weren't brought here to hunt birds," Lissa said. "Find the bad people."

Soot glared at her, then pointedly looked back at the pigeon, which was still gloriously fat and tantalizingly close.

"Remember what Adom promised," she said, scratching under his chin despite his attempt to remain dignified. "Find a Devoted, and tonight you'll have the finest tuna in Arkhos."

Tuna. The word triggered a cascade of memories: silky texture, rich flavor, the satisfaction of a full belly. Better than pigeon.

With a final glance at his lost opportunity, Soot stretched, feigning indifference. He'd do Adom the human's job, but not because he asked. Because he wanted to. On his terms.

He leapt down from the roof to a window ledge, then to an awning, navigating the vertical landscape of the city. The market square spread below him, crawling with humans. So many humans today, all pressed together, their emotions a tangled scent in the air—excitement, fear, anger, anticipation.

Soot wrinkled his nose. Humans were exhausting.

His job was simple.

Adom said: Look for the ones who smell wrong. The ones who might hurt many others. The ones with the crystals.

Soot slipped into the crowd, weaving between legs, occasionally accepting an unwanted pet from a child before moving on. Most people ignored him. Cats were everywhere in Arkhos, especially today. Adom had made sure of that, calling in every feline in the city. They weren't as good as Soot—common cats with common collars—but they served their purpose as cover.

A merchant selling candied nuts kicked at him halfheartedly. "Shoo! Away from my wares!"

Soot gave him a withering look that was wasted on the human. Candied nuts. As if he'd bother with such things.

He continued his patrol, nostrils flaring, taking in the scents around him. Sweat. Perfume. Food. Horses. Nothing unusual.

A small girl spotted him, her face lighting up. "Kitty!" she squealed, lunging toward him with sticky fingers.

Soot darted away. He had no patience for children today, not with tuna at stake.

The crowd grew thicker as he approached the western gate. This was where the danger would be greatest. Adom had been clear about that.

His collar tingled against his fur, a reminder that his handler was checking in on him.

"See anything?"

Soot meowed, letting her know his frustration. Too many humans. Too many smells.

"Keep looking. Close to the gate."

The connection faded. Soot flicked his tail irritably. Of course he'd keep looking. He wasn't an ordinary cat. He was Soot, finest of his kind. He did not need to be told to do his job.

He slipped through the forest of legs, avoiding the occasional boot that threatened to step on his tail. A group of street musicians had set up nearby, adding to the cacophony. Their badly-tuned lute made his ears hurt.

A boy tried to grab him, calling, "Here, kitty!" Soot evaded the clumsy attempt with contempt.

Couldn't these people see he was working?

He paused near a food stall, partly to savor the smell of roasting meat, partly to survey the crowd from a new angle. His gaze swept over the faces, looking for the telltale signs Adom had taught him to recognize—the too-wide eyes, the nervous sweat, the hands that kept touching the same spot on their clothing.

There.

A man standing alone against a wall. Thin, sallow-faced, constantly adjusting his robe. His scent reached Soot's sensitive nose—fear, excitement, and something else. Something unnatural and sharp. Wrong.

Soot watched him, ears forward, whiskers quivering. The man's gaze darted around the square, never settling. His hand kept returning to his chest, pressing against something hidden beneath his clothes.

Crystal carrier. Devoted.

Soot's collar warmed as he focused on the man, automatically sending the signal to Lissa.

"Stay with him. Don't lose him."

As if he needed to be told.

Soot slipped closer, keeping to the shadows. The man was muttering to himself, words too soft for even Soot's keen ears to catch. A prayer, perhaps, or instructions. So strange.

A commotion rippled through the crowd—people pushing forward, jostling for position. The Devoted man tensed, his hand pressing harder against his chest. Soot could smell his sweat, sharp with adrenaline.

Time to act.

Soot abandoned stealth and trotted directly toward his handler. Lissa was positioned at the edge of the square, her scarred face partially hidden by a hood. He meowed loudly, pawing at her boot.

Lissa glanced down, her expression changing subtly as she noticed him. She crouched, pretending to pet him.

"Where?" she murmured.

Soot looked deliberately toward the Devoted man.

Lissa followed his gaze, studying the nervous figure for a moment. She scratched under Soot's chin and murmured, "Good cat. Stay close."

She straightened and moved through the crowd, somehow never pushing yet always advancing. Soot followed a few paces behind, watching as she approached the Devoted.

"Excuse me," Lissa said. "You dropped this."

She held out a small token—a bronze medallion with the city emblem. The Devoted man startled, his hand jerking away from his chest.

"I—that's not mine," he stammered.

"Are you sure?" Lissa stepped closer, studying his face. "I could have sworn I saw it fall when you passed by the fountain."

"I don't have pockets," the man said, his voice rising slightly. His eyes darted to the street, then back to Lissa. A flicker of suspicion crossed his face. "I've never seen that before."

"My mistake then," Lissa said with an apologetic smile, stepping back. "Sorry to bother you."

The man nodded stiffly, still watching her with wary eyes. After a moment, he turned away, resuming his position against the wall, his hand once again drifting to his chest.

Lissa moved casually through the crowd, her expression neutral until she was a safe distance away. Only then did she reach into her pocket and withdraw a small communication crystal.

"Thorgen, this is Lissa," she said quietly.

A crisp voice responded immediately. "Go ahead, Lissa."

"I've identified one of them. Western square, north side. Thin man, gray robe, dark hair. Shows all the signs--nervous, keeps touching his chest, definitely carrying something underneath. That's the tenth one today, right?"

"Yes. The final one." Thorgen's voice held a rare note of satisfaction. "Maintain surveillance. Do not approach further. Remember the system, cats locate, handlers confirm, we flag and tail until the signal."

"I already made contact to confirm. He's definitely one of them."

A pause, then: "Understood. Was your cover compromised?"

"No. I used the dropped token approach. He's suspicious but hasn't made me."

"Good. Keep eyes on him but maintain distance. We need to coordinate simultaneous takedowns now that we've located all targets."

Lissa's jaw tightened. "So we're finally moving?"

"Yes. Adom's contact said there would be only ten Devoted. Not knowing their faces was a pain in the ass, but you guys did a good job."

"Thanks."

"Just make sure you have the suppression collar ready. Apply it the moment you have him subdued."

Lissa took a collar out of her bag. "Are you sure these things work? They'll prevent the crystals from activating?"

"Adom tested and confirmed it. According to him, the collar creates a localized mana disruption field. Once it's activated on the wearer, any embedded crystals become inert. Just make sure it's secured before they can trigger anything manually."

"I understand how this works," Lissa cut in, irritation edging her voice. "I've been doing this job since before Adom could tie his own boots."

"Just following protocol, Lissa. Move into position and await the coordinated signal. We can't have any of them alerting the others."

"Understood. Lissa out." She slipped the crystal back into her pocket, her scarred face briefly showing her annoyance at being managed.

A demanding meow drew her attention downward. Soot sat at her feet, looking up with an expectant expression.

"Not now," she murmured.

The cat meowed again, more insistently.

"I said tonight."

Soot's tail lashed once, his yellow eyes narrowing in what could only be described as feline indignation.

Lissa sighed. "Fine. Here." She reached into another pocket and produced a small piece of dried meat. "This will have to do for now. The real reward comes after we've caught all these zealots."

Soot sniffed the offering critically before accepting it. Not tuna, but it would suffice as a down payment on the promised feast. He chewed thoughtfully, keeping one eye on the man while Lissa casually repositioned herself to maintain surveillance.

Stolen from NovelBin, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Humans and their complicated schemes...

Still, the dried meat was acceptable. And tonight there would be tuna. Real tuna, if Adom knew what was good for her.

*****

11:39 AM...

*****

11:41 AM

Kell stood in the shadow of an old statue, its marble features worn to anonymity by centuries of rain and wind. The small courtyard—tucked between two administrative buildings—offered both cover and multiple escape routes. Perfect for a meeting point.

He checked his pocket watch for the third time in as many minutes. The silver timepiece gleamed in the midday sun, its hands creeping ever closer to the appointed hour.

Four minutes until 11:45.

Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones behind him. Light, deliberate. Someone who didn't mind being heard.

"You're in advance," Kell said without turning.

"Is that bad?" A female voice, low and tinged with amusement.

Kell closed the watch with a snap. "Better than being late, at least."

He turned to face her.

Thessarian Valdris leaned against a pillar, arms crossed over her chest. She wore nondescript clothing—the kind that blended into any crowd—but the quality of the fabric betrayed her status.

"The time is close," Kell said with a nod of greeting. "The prince is in the trial now."

"As expected." Her eyes scanned their surroundings.

"Did you prepare the terrain well?"

Thessarian's expression hardened. "Who do you take me for?"

"Someone I need confirmation from."

"I've been doing this since before you knew which end of a dagger to hold," she said, pushing off from the pillar.

"Thessarian. Report." The word was clipped, an order rather than a request.

Thessarian's jaw tightened. For a moment, it looked like she might refuse, which was impossible given her binding as a homunculi.

Then she sighed, running a hand over her braid.

"Fine. The explosive crystals are placed at load-bearing points throughout the Hall. Six locations, each calibrated to detonate in sequence. The transportation crystals have been distributed to our allies among the nobles—Lord Darrow, Lady Crestfall, and the others. Morwen's man will use his crystal to extract the prince before the first explosion."

"And the escape route?"

"Three tunnels, as planned. The eastern one leads to the harbor, where a ship is waiting. The northern passage connects to the old catacombs—from there they can reach the countryside. The western exit opens near the Temple District, where they can blend with pilgrims leaving the city."

Kell nodded. "Good."

"I didn't do all this for your approval."

"I know." Kell checked his watch again. "Four minutes."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of what was coming settling between them. Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed the quarter hour.

"You seem tense," Thessarian said, her voice softer now. "Are you afraid?"

"The emperor, his children, dignitaries from the Elven Consortium, the Dwarven Holds, the Tirajin Federation—all gathered in one place." Kell's fingers traced the thorn pattern on his watch. "The perfect moment. The perfect message."

"Will it be enough?"

"It will be a beginning."

Thessarian studied his face. "You've dreamed of this moment for years. Yet you don't look... satisfied."

"Satisfaction comes after." Kell's gaze drifted over the rooftops, toward the great dome of the Hall of Justice. "When the message is delivered. When they understand what it means to destroy a city."

"Still thinking about Aledia?" Thessarian murmured.

"You weren't there." Kell's voice remained even, but something shifted in his eyes—a depth of rage so cold it burned. "It was my hometown. A frontier city of Sundar at the Farmusian border. We were loyal. We paid our taxes. We sent our sons and daughters to fight in the emperor's wars."

"And they repaid you by burning it to the ground."

"Because we were expendable. Because we lived too close to the enemy. Because some of us had liked the emperor's brother." The words came out clipped, as if each one had been polished by repetition.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "My sister was seven. She had no idea what a 'sympathizer' even was."

Thessarian reached out, her fingers brushing his arm—the barest touch, then gone. "I know."