The wind cut sharp as they rode down the last stretch of road toward the city.

  Karl pulled his stolen cloak tighter around his shoulders. The weight of the salvaged sabre at his hip was still unfamiliar, but it matched the rest of the image. He looked like a mercenary now—dusty boots, pieced-together armor, a grim face hardened by mountains and battle. The same went for the others. Every one of them had replaced their tattered traveler’s garb with scavenged gear. Mismatched plates, iron helms, battered axes. To the untrained eye, they could have been just another northern company, drifting in for work or war.

  That was the plan.

  Ahead, the city of Rewen loomed.

  It wasn’t large. No golden spires or sprawling markets. But it had walls—walls that made Karl’s stomach tighten.

  The outer battlements were ancient black stone, towering and wide, reinforced over generations. Watchtowers rose at regular intervals, and atop them sat squat, ugly cannons: green-tinged bronze barrels, lashed with leather, pointed toward the hills like silent threats. Smoke curled from the chimneys of the inner keep. Banners snapped in the wind—imperial blue, faded but proud.

  Rewen had once been a fortress, and it hadn’t forgotten it.

  Tanir rode at the head of the column, his face unreadable. Behind him, a cart creaked under the weight of supplies and their unconscious prisoner—Lieutenant Maric, bound and hooded, still breathing but not moving. The players followed behind, silent for once, their makeshift weapons strapped to their backs.

  They reached the gate by midday.

  Two squads of city guards stood watch, spears crossed in ritual form. Their armor was polished steel, faces stern beneath bronze-rimmed helmets. One had a short-barreled firelock slung over his shoulder.

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  “State your name,” the senior called.

  Tanir pulled his hood back. “Just a merchant with hired swords and a bounty to collect. Got ourselves a fugitive. Mountain bandit. Thought you’d want him back.”

  The guard frowned, looked over the group, then spotted Karl. His eyes narrowed.

  “Where from?”

  “North borderlands,” Tanir said before Karl could speak. “They don’t talk much. Don’t speak the tongue right.”

  Karl did his best to look dull.

  There was a tense pause.

  Then a voice called from the tower: “Let them through!”

  The spears lifted.

  Karl released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  ---

  Rewen’s streets were stone-lined and narrow, built for patrols, not commerce. Soldiers marched in pairs past squat homes with shuttered windows. Smoke drifted from chimneys. Children stared from alleys, then vanished at the sight of weapons.

  Tanir led them through a maze of back alleys, stopping at a modest stone building tucked near the wall—a warehouse with a faded crest carved above the lintel.

  “Safehouse,” he said. “Keep your heads down.”

  Inside, it was dark, dusty, but secure. The rear chamber had bunks. A cellar. Even a bolt-locked chamber where Maric was dumped.

  Once they were alone, Karl knelt beside the bound officer and poured water over his head.

  Maric stirred, groaned.

  “You alive?”

  The lieutenant’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused. Then he saw Karl—and sneered.

  “You’ll hang,” he said.

  “Not before you talk.”

  Karl waited.

  Eventually, Maric spat, “Rewen houses three thousand regulars. Plus the garrisoned corps. Mountain troops—mine. Another three thousand. Maybe more.”

  Karl nodded. “Civilians?”

  “Ten thousand. Mostly poor. You want a rebellion? You’ll be crushed before you light the first torch.”

  Karl didn’t respond.

  He left Maric in the dark.

  ---

  That night, as they settled into their quarters, Tanir sat sharpening a blade by the fire.

  “You sure you want to be in this city?” he asked.

  Karl nodded. “No better place to disappear.”

  Tanir grunted. “Funny. I heard someone else say that once.”

  Outside, a raven landed on the rooftop. It cawed once, loud.

  No one paid it any mind.

  But in another district of Rewen, far from the safehouse, a black carriage rolled through the streets.

  Two figures stepped out.

  They wore long coats of charcoal leather, no insignia. Only a single silver raven clasp at the throat.

  “Spread out,” one said. “We’re here for revolutionary chatter.”

  The other looked toward the outer ring, where smoke still clung to the rooftops.

  “And anything else... unusual.”