“First… we need to know our enemies.”

Rowan crept through the forest, carefully placing each foot, mindful not only of what might gouge his dirt-blackened soles, but also of crinkly leaves, dry twigs, and snapping pinecones from the occasional conifer.

Motion in the dark. Rowan froze. A millipede slunk by, this one only as thick around as his wrist, and vanished into the thick leaf mold. He shuddered and gripped the trowel tighter. A thicket of thorns obscured the path ahead. He crouched behind the thorns and peered through.

Moonlight illuminated a small clearing. Four people slumped in the opening. Two men, one burly and half-propped against a tree, the other slender and splayed in the leaves, and two women, one curled tight in a sleeping bag, the other spread-eagle, slept under the stars. Their gear laid nearby. The spread-eagle girl used her bag as her pillow, and the burly man had used his to prop himself upright, but the slender man and the curled-up girl’s bags laid unguarded atop the leaves. Gear laid splayed around them, most of it useless. Overhead, a bag dangled from a rope, tied to a sturdy branch overhead.

As he watched, the burly man snapped awake and propped himself back up the tree. He stared around him, bleary eyes searching the shadows.

Rowan froze. He held his breath.

The burly man sagged back against the tree. His head nodded against his chest. His eyes drooped shut.

Looks like their night watch isn’t doing a great job of watching. Good news for us.

The slender man laid barefoot, and his boots sat not far from his body, one upright, the other knocked over. Rowan eyed them, mentally checking the size against his own feet. Ought to fit close enough. If I get nothing else, I’m grabbing those boots.

"Scan," he muttered.

Ruby: Tank, Lvl 3. Mica: Thief, Lvl 5. Beryl: Mage, Lvl 7. Topaz: Pugilist, Lvl 4.

His brows furrowed. What’s with those names? Wait--I remember. In the Hero-King’s biography, they all used nicknames in the Tower so no one would come after them outside of it. He paused, then shrugged. Surnames don’t display in the Tower, I know that much. As long as I don’t tell anyone my last name, they shouldn’t be able to find me. There are Tower nodes all over the world, a thousand entrances to the same Tower. It’s a bit paranoid to use nicknames.

He surveyed the area, searching for a route in.

Narrow, young trees grouped tight at the northern end, blocking the path in. Thorny brambles twisted along his side of the clearing. Across from him, someone had draped wires hung with empty cans across the gaps between old growth trees. Laid with layers of old branches and tinder-dry pinecones, the unobstructed south end appeared to offer an easy route in to the unsuspecting ne’er do well, but doubtless would crackle with noise as soon as anyone attempted it.

Across from him, Rowan caught a flash of light. He glanced up and found Kaidu, now bereft of his white coat, standing in a gap in the new-growth trees. Dressed in a dark gray shirt and matching jeans, he fit in with the moonlit forest, barely more than another slender tree in the grove. Kaidu tipped his hand, and his straight razor flashed in the moonlight.

Rowan held up his trusty hand trowel and tilted it back at Kaidu. I’ve seen everything I need to see. Let’s move on.

Back in their clearing, Kaidu and Rowan huddled in the dark over the failed remnants of their fire. “Four combat classes. All under level ten. They have a guard. He’s mostly asleep, but he’s awake enough to be a problem.”

Kaidu waved his hand. “I have an illusionary spell. I can handle one guard.”

Rowan nodded. “I’m going for the boots.”

“The hanging bag likely holds food. I’ll target that,” Kaidu replied.

“Next, our escape route.”

Rowan hurried through the trees, casting left and right. Brambles tore at his legs. He wound along deer paths, memorizing their paths. At least, I hope they’re deer paths, he thought to himself, looking around.

Overhead, dark, gauzy material hid the moon. Rowan stopped and peered ahead, squinting into the night. A fat, black orb hung among the trees, lying against thick branches.

He backed away. Not that way.

The black orb shifted slightly. The branches shifted, lifted it up, and bent into long, spindly legs. One stretched out and strummed a thick strand of the gauzy material. An unnatural keen rang through the forest.

Rowan turned and ran. Nope, definitely not that way!

At the end of the path, he staggered to a halt. Panting, he braced himself on his knees and glanced back.

No orbs in sight. He wiped his mouth and stood, tipping his head back. “Watering Can.”

Water filled his mouth. He cancelled the spell and pressed on, deeper into the woods.

The sky opened up ahead. The moon shone down, brilliant in the night. Rowan jogged out and found himself on the edge of a cliff. He inched to the edge and peered down.

Below, almost grown to the lower lip of the cliff, stood a tall, pyramidal hill. Black shapes crawled over the surface, bustling in and out of holes. Rowan frowned down. Are those… ants?

He blinked. That’s not just a hill, it’s a giant anthill!

Something tickled at his bare feet. Rowan glanced down and found a half-dozen small ants staring up at him, maybe the size of his palm. They prodded him curiously. One nibbled at the open wounds on his ankles.

Rowan froze. He whirled, found an ant-free space, and jumped to it. The ants chased after him, almost playful.

Damn ants! This is a--a, a perfect opportunity!

Reaching into his bag, he drew out the empty bread bag from the scraps of food he’d brought into the Tower. He held it out toward the ants. “C’mere, ant, ant, ant. I’ve got some tasty breadcrumbs for you.”