Battle cries and roars filled the morning sky as men and women charged from the Erisdalian siege trenches towards Kwent’s breached walls. Hails of crossbow and arrow fire flew back, thudding into shields, pinging off armour, or finding their way into flesh.

In the breaches, orcs, trolls and ogres roared their replies, banging weapons on their shields as they braced to receive the human charge.

However, away from the clamour of battle, along the sapphire-blue waters of the Kwent river, all was quiet except for the sound of the water bubbling and splashing against the piers of the Kwent bridge. Sometimes the river would smash wood chips, fallen branches, or debris against the stone piers of the bridge.

As the battle continued to rage and the Erisdalian army clashed with the Alavarians in the breaches, an upturned row boat floated down the river, towards the bridge. The sight would have been slightly unusual, but with the battle going on at the walls of the town, nobody really noticed nor cared.

They really should have.Underneath the boat, heads in the air pocket formed between the water and the wood, were Frances, Martin, and Elizabeth. Shivering, wet and tired, they clung to the thwarts of the boat. They could only see each other thanks to a glowing circle of light that Frances had placed on the boat’s bottom, now ceiling, before they had set off. The trio’s weapons and armour were in bags, tied securily to the inside of the boat.

“Remind me, why can’t you just teleport us to the gatehouse? You learned how to teleport didn’t you?” Martin whined from his spot in the centre of the boat.

“I’m sorry, Martin. I can’t teleport to a place I’ve never seen before,” Frances replied, her teeth chattering from the cold river water, from her place at the front.

“Oh, right, sorry about that,” Martin apologized, suitably chastised.

“I’m sorry for suggesting this. I forgot about how cold the water is,” Elizabeth chattered from the stern.

Frances shook her head and pushed back cropped locks of hair from her ears. “It’s alright, Elizabeth. It was better than my original plan of sneaking into the town.”

“Speaking of the plan, Elizabeth, can you check if we’re on course?” Martin asked, nervously.

“On it.” Elizabeth took a deep breath and ducked under the gunwale at the stern. Coming up behind the boat, she grabbed the stern and peaked out, blinking her eyes furiously.

The Kwent bridge, with hundreds of buildings and houses built on its sides, loomed above them. The current was carrying them towards the piers of the bridge. Thankfully, it wasn’t too fast.

Elizabeth saw their target. The gatehouse on the fae-kin side of the Kwent river. It looked like a giant box of stone and masonry, bristling with arrow slits and crenellated battlements. Short walls connected to the gatehouse proper divided the town from the riverbank, with gates allowing access to a set of fishing piers. In many ways, it looked really similar to the human side of the town.

Fishing boats were everywhere, tied at every bridge pile, moored at every pier. Every bridge pier also had wooden stairs that zig-zagged up the side. The trio wanted to get to closest one to the gatehouse. From there, it would be easy enough to gain entry into the building.

At this very moment, Elizabeth realized that they could miss the pier quite easily. Thinking fast, she ducked back under the gunwale.

“We’re close. I’m going to stay outside and guide us in.”

“Are you sure they won’t notice you?” Frances asked.

“Yup. Get ready.” Elizabeth took a breath and ducked back outside. They were less than a hundred meters from the piers now. Doing her best to keep an eye on the gatehouse, and her hands on the boat, Elizabeth kicked the small boat towards the first pier. Thankfully, she was a strong swimmer and the slow current aided rather than hindered her efforts.

In no time at all, the boat, with seemingly nobody the wiser, bumped gently against one of the five fishing skiffs tied to the base of the pier nearest to the Alavarian gatehouse.

Wasting no time, Elizabeth grabbed the bowsprit rope and clambered onto the stone base of the pier, making sure she was under the bridge, and out of sight. Shivering, as she was drenched in water, and only wore a linen shirt and shorts, she yanked the boat and found a hook to tie it to. Once finished, she rapped on the boat’s keel.

Inside, Frances breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Martin.

“That’s the signal. Martin, take my hand, I’ll guide you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Martin grabbed his friend’s hand and took a deep breath. Frances guided him under the gunwale and let go as he surfaced on the other side. She, in the meanwhile, grabbed the packs stowed underneath the boat and dived.

When Frances came up, she saw her friends on the pier, with their hands offering help. Frances handed them the sacks, which they put onto the pier, before hauling herself up.

Once on the pier, arms grasping each other, the three friends suddenly realized they were close. It wasn’t uncomfortable so to speak, but with sodden linen undergarments, there was very little left to the imagination, and all three were curious teenagers, who were all quite fit. All three flushed red and were frozen in place by an awkward silence.

Elizabeth broke the awkward moment by asking, with chattering teeth, “So, what are we comparing exactly?”

Frances had to clamp down both hands on her mouth to quiet her giggles, and Martin shook with mirth, even as his face burst into a strained grin.

“I feel like I’m slightly disadvantaged here,” Martin choked out.

Frances had to bite down a laugh and yanked Ivy’s Sting from the holster she kept on her.

“How would you even win such a contest, Martin?” Elizabeth asked, arching an eyebrow, hands on her hips.

Shaking not from the cold, but purely from laughter, Frances snorted. “Please, I need to cast a warming spell!”

“Frances could help. What do you think, Frances? Can you change me into a pretty woman?” Martin asked, throwing one arm over his shoulder and striking a pose.

That sent Elizabeth into a fit of giggles barely suppressed by her hands, and Frances had to heave in deep breaths to keep herself from making too much noise. Somehow, she managed to hum a tune. Instantly, warmth spread through the three and their clothes and packs dried, water pooling out from under their feet as it seemed to slough off of them.

Elizabeth giggled nervously, still slightly heady. “So far so—”

“Shh! Don’t jinx us,” hissed Martin, though, he was smiling. He knelt down and opened his pack to reveal his armour and weapons. “We have a long way to go.”

Frances nodded and grabbed her pack before she paused and gave Martin an odd look.

“Frances?” Martin asked.

“I think you would make a pretty girl, though, I don’t know if such a spell exists. I’ll ask Edana after all this is over,” Frances said as she pulled over her dress.

Martin and Elizabeth couldn’t help but chuckle softly as they changed into their gear. The last vestiges of their good humour still accompanied them as they checked all their weapons and armour were in place and snuck up the stairs.

The stairs opened between two of the houses on the bridge and into a narrow alleyway. Quietly, the three, led by Martin, stepped up to the corner of the house, and peeked around it.

Over the shoulder of her companions, Frances could see that they were at the last house before the gatehouse. However, like on the other side of the Kwent bridge, there were no houses in the last section of the bridge between the last pier and the gatehouse’s wooden doors.

Right now, those doors were open to allow for the flow of supplies and reinforcements from the Alavarian side to their defenders on the other side. At the top of the gatehouse, Frances spotted two sentries looking over them to the town, where the battle was raging.

Still, she quickly pulled her friends back into the alley.

“Martin, Elizabeth, do you think there’s anything else we need to go over?” Frances asked. Because after this, there was no reconsidering, or time for hesitation. There was just the plan.

Martin stuck out his hand. Frances reached into one of her belt pouches and put several glass phials into her friend’s hand.

“Are we sure there’s no other way to save the fae-kin?” Elizabeth asked, even as she extended her hand.

Frances took a deep breath and thought back to the moment they presented their plan to Earl Darius.

Earlier…

Darius drummed his fingers on his map but said nothing to the three teenagers in front of him. He only gave Bernard a sidelong glance.

To Frances, Martin and Elizabeth’s relief, the lord’s personal mage looked thoughtful.

“There’s no harm in asking for more details, Darius. The plan has potential,” Bernard said.

“Agreed. But let me get this straight.” Darius stood up, hands clasped behind his back. “While the Erisdalian army attacks the breach, you want to infiltrate Kwent’s gatehouse and burn it down, which will trap the enemy forces on the other side, and open the way to attack the town proper.”

The three teenagers nodded.

“How are you setting the gatehouse on fire? Its walls are made of stone. You could use magic, but you need to be in and out of there very quickly,” Darius asked.

Frances fished out a glass phial from her belt pouch and raised it so that Darius could see it.

“Master Edana taught me how to make firebombs from Essence of Crownfire. I’ve made a batch and they can be used to set the gate, portcullis and wooden supports in the gatehouse on fire. This will gut the gatehouse and make its defence untenable.”

The earl gave a nod, but then his eyes instantly narrowed. “What’s in it for you? It would help our assault significantly, but it also poses an extraordinary risk to you three. I have a hard time believing you would just volunteer for it.”

Frances tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. She knew what to say, but Darius’s narrowed eyes froze her.

Luckily, Elizabeth coughed, and said, “To be honest sir, we were hoping that once we destroyed the gatehouse, you can offer terms to the defenders. With their last line of defence down, they’re likely to surrender.”

Darius blinked. “I could do that, but why should I?”

Martin straightening, declared, “It would deprive you of the need to fight thousands of desperate Alavarians who are terrified of the army killing their children, especially after a bloody assault on the walls. It would also allow your army to keep a supply base in Kwent on both sides of the river.”

Darius pursed his lips but didn’t say anything for several long seconds. Instead, he straightened out one of his maps of Kwent and the surrounding valley and peered at it as if he could see something they couldn’t.

“Your plan is sound. You may execute it,” Darius said, finally looking at the three.

Frances resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Most of what her friends said was her plan but hadn’t been sure if she could convince the grouchy earl. Thankfully, because of her friends, they’d been able to make their case.

“Make no mistake, though, this mission is extremely high-risk. Nothing can go wrong in order for you to succeed. The only reason I’m authorizing it is because of the rewards,” Darius pointed at the Kwent bridge. “There will be no turning back, especially when you arrive at the bridge. Do you understand?”

Back at the Kwent Bridge…

Breathing out, Frances forced herself to think back to the present and shook her head. “I don’t think there is any other way to save the fae-kin, Elizabeth. This is our best shot.”

Martin grimaced and turned to the alleyway entrance, crouching slightly. “Then let’s do this.”

The two girls nodded and took up places behind the knight. They had to get inside the gatehouse before the gates were shut, or the portcullis—a protective iron grate—were closed. The three then needed to force themselves into the gatehouse and split up, to start setting fire to the structure, before exiting out the other side.

But all that would be impossible to achieve if they didn’t first make it across the open span of the Kwent bridge.

“On three?” Martin asked. He glanced around the other corner of the alleyway. The bridge was clear from both sides.

“On three,” said Elizabeth. She braced and raised her shield slightly. “One...Two… Three!”

Martin charged out, Elizabeth behind him, and Frances behind her. Their feet pounded against the cobblestones.

There was no going back now.