168 The Fog Clears

Before the morning hours, the bright of day had not yet shown, yet the dark of night had begun its retreat. Waters from among the Mayura River rose to blanket the city and add to the gray of the sky. Within this murky, gray fog, everything blurred together. With their presence hidden by nature itself, Mason's mercenaries marched their way across the city. Of course, even in this sort of weather, they should be found. Someone had to see them. However, it was as Mason had said: Many of the city's guards had already been taken over by the traitors, at least for tonight. Now, as the shift changed, most people on patrol were those loyal to the traitors. All they had to do was look the other way as an entire army walked past them.

With a settling dread he watched as the troops of foreign mercenaries were joined by more and more local warriors as well. By the time the troops crossed the bridge to Rapra Island, they had swelled to about five hundred or so. This was outrageous! Most of these troops were Medalan after all, men born and raised in Saniya. For now they had no idea about their goals and were only led along by their commanders.Even so, once they were faced with resistance from King Corco's loyal troops, they would have to fight to save their lives. Still the commanders remained silent as they led their men to their doom. There was an uneasy mood in the air. Though of course, none of these soldiers would dare speak up. For months, they had been trained to follow orders without question. After the king's effective training methods, they would never speak out based on some small doubts.

An annoyed frown covered Quato's face as he looked to the center of the formation, where the fat Mason walked, all proud of his cheap deception. At first, Quato had assumed that the quartermaster would stay behind in the training facility within the empty estate, while the soldiers launched their attack. In that case, he could have kidnapped the ringleader, uneartherd the plot in front of the king's loyal troops and put down the rebellion before even a single shot was fired. However, for some reason, Mason had decided to lead the troops himself.

All this time, Quato had expected Nahlen to show up, but he hadn't. In fact, the entire operation seemed a bit hasty in the warrior's eyes. Up until they had begun their march, the dead warrior Quato had taken the uniform from still hadn't been reported missing, a clear sign that the traitors were flustered.

While their disarray had made Quato's work easier, it also filled him with great unease. Their rash actions could only mean that they had spotted a rare weakness in the castle's impregnable defenses. And indeed: Even as they reached the front gate of Rapra Island, they were let through without a word. Already, the enemy stood at the foot of Rapra Castle, ready to storm. Once they made it beyond the gates and up the walls, the sparse guards would never be able to deal with this many enemies. The greatest fortress of the south, the one which hadn't even fallen during the civil war, would be taken just like that.

Once in charge of the castle, Mason would control the city's food supplies and the armory. At that point, the remainders of the city's inhabitants, as well as the king's local troops, could only join him, or face death.

*What a perfidious creature.*

Through the murky darkness, he saw Mason's grin shine as the traitor stared up to the object of his desire. It wouldn't be long now. There was only one last hurdle for them to cross before they would become unstoppable. And as if on cue, the doors to the castle's main gate labored open, as a steady creak escaped from its hinges. After decades of peace, the castle's gates hadn't been fully opened for far too long and the building screamed at the unusual treatment. While the core of his king's power was violated, it was time to make a decision. All this time, Quato had followed along without a proper plan, ever since his original plot had been foiled by Mason's presence and Nahlen's absence.

His fists clenched as the sound of the gate echoed in his ears. He rose from the shadows he had hidden within, ready to rush the enemy. Yes, he couldn't stop a charge all by himself. Yes, he couldn't fight an entire army. Yes, being caught would most likely cost him his life, and capture was inevitable once he stepped outside the shadows. However, that was a small price to pay in defense of his home, his House and his lord.

Even more, over weeks under the incompetence of his temporary master, a deep rage had built up within Quato's body. When all hope was lost, at least he could fight and kill to his heart's content. Better yet, he didn't have to win at all to achieve his goals. All he had to do was start a fight, and make enough noise to get the attention of the castle's defenders. Although there was no way to know who had already been won over by Mason, Quato could only hope that whoever manned the castle was still loyal to the king, and that not everyone had been infested by the greed of the foreigners yet. Maybe his cry of death would wake them up and return them to the fold.

By the time he had reached the edge of the bridge, the enemy troops had taken up formation at the mouth of the castle gate. It was now or never, no more time for hesitation. After a deep breath, maybe his last, Quato took a heavy step onto Rapra Island... and stopped. Before he could prove his honor, others had already begun to act, and it wasn't the traitors who were as confused as him. All of a sudden, noise swamped the mercenaries from all over the castle. Atop the walls, torches were reignited and illuminated hectic activity. Right before their eyes, the ancient gate of Rapra began to close again. A few troops shook off their confusion and rushed the gate, but after they had entered, the doors slammed shut with a deep scream of metal.

As the action began, Quato retreated back into the shadows. Before he acted and did more harm than good, he needed to understand the situation.

Still among his troops outside the gate, Mason seemed just as confused as Quato. "What's going on here!?" he shouted.

"Open the gates!"

Whoever had entered Rapra's doors replied only with screams of agony to echo the gates which had become their prison. At the same time, the first projectiles began to drop from atop the castle walls. Although they were as sparse as they were improvised, one stone dropped on a mercenary's shoulder and caused another scream, followed by harsh curses in a foreign tongue.

*Strange,* Quato thought, *how easy it is to understand raw emotion, even without words.*

While the ghost mused in safety, the soldiers at the gates raised their shields to protect themselves from the ambush, but their options were quite grim. In formation, they could hold out for a while, but for how long? Even if only five warriors manned the castle, the attackers would never capture the walls without siege equipment. Even worse, every second they wasted here was a second more for the king's troops to react. If they wasted too much time on Rapra Island, more forces would join and they would never leave again.

Diabolical glee occupied Quato's mind as he anticipated the traitors' next step. Their leader did not disappoint.

"Retreat," Mason screamed from the top of his lungs, as his voice cracked like his grin. "Back to the inner city!"

Quato understood the bandit's thoughts quite well. In his current position, there was no way to conquer the castle, so a retreat made sense. Even if they couldn't capture the castle, they could still hold the bridges against the troops from the castle and the inner walls against warriors from the outside, at least for a while. Time enough to get rich off the wealth of Saniya's people. Although the inner city wasn't nearly as rich as Rapra Castle, it was still more than enough for mortal men to squander for a lifetime.

*Retreat a bit, plunder the inner city and then retreat back into the swamp, to contact his secret co-conspirators. What a nice idea this Mason must have.*

With a grim smile, Quato observed the bandit's actions. Nothing was ever easy, ever less so in war. After all, the fatso was only a quartermaster, no proper commander. In the end, his order, and moresothe way it was voiced, would be his death sentence.

When their commander had announced their retreat, his trembling voice had told his troops of their chances, and the stones from above only reinforced his silent words. Once incited, the army, held together by greed, blackmail and confusion, fell back to their instincts. Without any semblance of order, the men began to blindly rush towards the bridge they had only just crossed. Like this, they would get lost in the city's streets to wreak havoc.

However, the defenders seemed to have prophetic gifts. Just as the enemy formation broke, Quato could see movement inside the guard houses along the bridge. Before long, a force of Medalan warriors spewed forth from both sides of the bridge. Unlike their panicked opponents, they soon got into formation, large shields and long axes before sturdy armor, ready to block the path of all traitors. Against a much smaller force, but organized and standing together, the traitors stood no chance.

Like loose sand thrown onto an oak tree, the enemy troops stumbled into the wall of iron and leather without effect. More and more screams of terrified men entered Quato's ear, as the traitor's scattered in the face of an immovable foe. And right in the front of that uncontrollable mob stood Mason, himself in no state to control his troops. His eyes flitted here and there, desperate to save his own hide, his men all but forgotten. As he rushed, he as well as the close allies around him began to swing their long poleaxes wildly. From somewhere within the mob, someone fired a shot to make the gate'sdefenders cower behind their reinforced shields.

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Although heir actions reeked of desperation, it was still enough to make a difference. In the end, Mason, together with a handful of his allies, managed to escape onto the bridge before the two sides could link up and the defensive formation closed for good. The warriors of the king couldn't pursue them, preoccupied with the remnants of the attackers. Only a few more steps, and Mason and his gang would be able to escape into the alleys of the city. Then they could leave the walls in secret and at least regroup with the rest of their men in the camp. If nothing else, these few men could always sell themselves to the enemies of King Corco. All their knowledge would prove vital to their survival. If Quato was right about Nahlen's involvement, they could cause even greater damage.

Though of course, they had never expected one final trap. Neither had Quato, to be honest. However, when fate called upon him, he jumped at the chance to risk his life. As the traitors rushed past Quato's hiding spot behind one of the bridge's pillars, they didn't so much as look to their sides. Their minds occupied, they wouldn't have spotted him even if he had stood in bright sunlight. As his muscles tensed, Quato got ready for his next move.

*No more running, traitor.*

His agile legs shot the ghost forward without sound, while his eyes never lost sight of the main culprit. Only seconds later, he had tackled the fat Mason to the ground. No matter how much he weighed, fat was no replacement for true power.

"Save Master Mason!" someone shouted, but Quato's dagger was already at the traitor's neck.

"No one move! This charade ends here!" Exhausted from a night without sleep and his entire body still tensed from the ordeal of the final hours, Quato slowly stood back up, dragging Mason with him.

"Wait, whatever it is you want, I can give you just as much, no, double!" Mason squeaked, his confident facade long lost in the fog.

"What I wish, you cannot give me, traitor." With pride, Quato thoughts turned to his life's mission, to the lord he served. Right now, his king was risking his own life to guarantee the wealth and wellbeing of his subjects, truly a man worthy of respect, worthy of loyalty. If only King Corco could return soon, Saniya would return to stability. However, before the king came back, there were a few things Quato had to clear up by himself. Whatever had happened today had been planned by someone for a long time. His current master had a lot of questions to answer.