The first supply caravan departed the capital on a morning so clear and unremarkable that no one standing in the staging yards would have guessed it was the opening move in a game of calculated murder.
Twelve wagons rolled through the eastern gate in a disciplined line, their canvas covers pulled taut over crates of arrows, barrels of salted meat, sacks of milled grain, and bundles of replacement bowstrings still stiff with wax. The drivers were civilian contractors, hired by the crown for standard rates, their only concern the bonus they would collect upon successful delivery. The fifty soldiers riding escort wore the polished armor and bored expressions of men assigned to what they had been told was a routine supply mission through secure territory.
