Evening settled over Whitehold slowly, the way cold seeps into stone.
From the high windows of the keep, Baron Edric could see nearly half the city spread beneath him.
Roofs of slate and timber stepped downward along the slope of the mountain, their chimneys breathing thin lines of smoke into the dusk. Farther out, beyond the narrow lanes and market squares, the outer walls traced a dark ring against the snowfields.
Near the heart of the city, a cluster of larger fires burned.
The square partially hidden behind rows of buildings, but the flames were tall enough to rise above the rooftops. From this height they looked like scattered beacons…orange pillars flickering in the blue-grey of evening.
Those were the pyres.
Hours earlier they had been enormous. Soldiers had dragged beams and doors and broken carts into the square, stacking the wood in hurried piles.
Now the fires had begun to settle. Some had already collapsed inward, their frames sinking into beds of glowing coals.
The smoke drifted slowly across the city.
It carried the smell with it.
Even this far above the streets, Edric could still taste it when the wind shifted…wood smoke first, sharp and familiar, and then the heavier scent that followed behind it.
He stood at the window with one hand resting lightly on the stone frame.
From here the people in the square were little more than moving shapes. Soldiers walked between the fires in small groups, feeding timber into the embers or pulling back from the heat.
Occasionally sparks rose above the rooftops, scattered briefly against the darkening sky before fading.
No cheering had followed the battle.
No bells rang for victory.
Whitehold had survived, but the city mourned instead.
Behind him, the door to the chamber opened.
Edric did not turn immediately. He watched one of the pyres lean sideways and collapse in a brief shower of sparks before he finally glanced over his shoulder.
Asha entered first.
Dave followed her into the room; his helmet tucked beneath his arm and a narrow bandage crossing his brow.
Both stopped several steps inside the chamber.
For a moment none of them spoke.
Asha broke the silence.
"I reached the city later than I intended," she said.
Her voice was steady, but the long ride and the day's fighting had left its mark in the faint shadow beneath her eyes.
"There were small explosions along the western approach," she continued. "I followed the trail far enough to see where they came from."
Edric turned from the window now, leaning his shoulder lightly against the stone beside it.
"What did you find?"
"A convoy."
Dave shifted slightly.
"Merchants?"
Asha shook her head once.
"Mercenaries guarding it. Wooden crates packed carefully and sealed with canvas."
"And inside?" Dave asked.
"Bodies."
The word hung in the chamber for a moment.
She added. "Joints treated. Eyes sealed the same way as the puppets we fought today."
Edric's gaze drifted back toward the distant fires beyond the rooftops.
"I burned the convoy," Asha said. "The crates, the wagons, everything."
Dave exhaled slowly.
"That's one road we won't have to worry about again."
Asha's expression remained unchanged.
"I searched the surrounding villages afterward," she said. "The foothills along the pass and the lower farms near the ridge."
She paused briefly.
"I found no trace of your son."
The words settled heavily in the room.
Outside the window, the smoke from the square shifted as the wind turned across the city.
Edric looked toward it again, watching the flames for another moment before finally pushing himself away from the stone.
He walked to the chair beside the long table and lowered himself into it with careful deliberation.
Then he raised his eyes to Dave.
"The city," he said.
Dave set his helmet down on the table before answering.
"We're still counting, my lord. But the picture's clearer now."
Edric waited.
"About a quarter of Whitehold's people were turned during the attack," Dave said. "Citizens, guards, some of the council's clerks."
He kept his voice steady, though the numbers clearly weighed on him.
"Two hundred are still missing. Some might have fled into the outer villages during the fighting, but most likely they were taken before the attack began."
Edric did not interrupt.
"Eight hundred more were injured when the powder charges went off across the city," Dave continued. "Some will recover. Others…" He let the thought trail away.
The chamber remained quiet.
Dave clasped his hands behind his back.
"There's another matter," he said.
Edric lifted his gaze.
"For months now we've had reports of people disappearing on the roads between towns. Traders. Farmers. Couriers."
"They returned after a few days most of the time," he added. "Claimed they'd gotten lost or delayed."
"And the reports stopped there."
Edric's tone was calm.
"Yes."
Dave nodded once.
"The officer responsible for tracking those cases never pushed the investigation further up the chain."
Edric's expression did not change.
"That officer," Dave said quietly, "is now missing."
For several seconds the only sound in the chamber was the distant crackle of fire drifting from the city below.
Edric rose from the chair.
"Continue the recovery," he said. "Move the wounded somewhere warm and see that tomorrow's funeral is prepared properly."
Dave inclined his head.
"It will be done."
Edric walked toward the door.
Before stepping through it, he glanced briefly toward Asha.
"Walk with me."
She followed him out into the corridor, leaving the chamber and its smoke-scented air behind.
The corridor outside Edric's chamber was long and narrow, its stone walls lit by torches that burned with steady yellow flame. The light cast tall shadows along the floor as the Baron walked, his steps measured but unhurried.
Asha fell into step beside him.
For several moments neither of them spoke. The sounds of the castle at night drifted faintly through the halls...distant footsteps, a door closing somewhere farther down the keep, the muted clatter of armour being stacked and set aside.
Edric finally broke the silence.
"The convoy you found," he said. "How far from the city?"
"Half a day's ride west," Asha replied. "Near the pass where the road cuts along the cliffside."
"That's close."
"Yes."
Edric's expression remained calm, but his thoughts had already begun assembling the pieces.
"If those bodies had reached Whitehold," he said quietly, "we would have had another outbreak."
"Most likely," Asha agreed.
She continued after a moment.
"The mercenaries guarding the convoy didn't know exactly what they were transporting. They were told to protect the crates and deliver them to a contact somewhere inside the city."
Edric glanced toward her.
"Inside."
"Yes."
Her tone did not change, but the implication settled heavily between them.
"They panicked when I opened the first crate," she continued. "Tried to kill me before I could see the rest."
"That usually means they already know too much."
"Or that they were told not to ask questions," Asha said.
They turned a corner in the corridor. The torches here burned lower, their light softer against the stone.
Edric walked a few more steps before speaking again.
"How many crates?"
"Twenty-three."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"That many bodies would have been enough to replace half the watch."
"Yes."
Asha paused briefly before adding another detail.
"They weren't ordinary corpses either. Some were dressed in the clothing of minor nobles. Others carried rings and seals belonging to merchants."
"Replacements," Edric said.
Asha inclined her head slightly.
"That's what it looked like."
For several seconds the corridor was quiet again.
Whitehold had not been attacked randomly.
Someone had been preparing the city from the inside.
Edric stopped walking.
They had reached a wide wooden door set into the wall, guarded by two soldiers who straightened immediately at the Baron's presence.
He pushed the door open.
The chamber beyond had once been a council room, but tonight it served a simpler purpose. Blankets and bedrolls had been laid across the floor, and a few lanterns hung from hooks along the walls.
Inside, the survivors of Kaavi's group occupied the space.
Gavril sat on a low bench near the wall, a strip of cloth wrapped around his ribs while he argued quietly with Joren, who held a small bottle of medicine in one hand.
"You're supposed to drink it," Joren was saying.
"It smells like horse piss."
"It's medicine."
"That doesn't make it better."
Joren sighed and held the bottle closer.
"Drink it."
Across the room, Corren and Veyl were cleaning their blades while Tannic checked the fletching on a handful of arrows. Liran leaned against the wall nearby, arms folded as he watched the others work.
Near the far end of the chamber, Viktor sat beside a small table where a single lantern burned softly.
The boy looked up when the door opened.
Edric stepped into the room.
Viktor had seen him once before, from a distance.
Now seeing him up close, Viktor noticed things he had missed before.
The Baron's coat was dark with dried blood along one sleeve.
His hair, streaked with grey, clung damply to his temples.
There were faint lines at the corners of his eyes that had not been there earlier.
Joren noticed Edric next and stood quickly.
"My lord."
The others followed his lead, rising as the Baron stepped fully into the chamber.
Edric lifted a hand slightly.
"At ease."
They settled again, though the room grew quieter now that he stood among them.
For a moment Edric studied the group.
Gavril still holding the medicine bottle reluctantly.
Joren watching him with patient irritation.
The others worn, bloodied, but alive.
Then his gaze moved briefly to Viktor.
Just long enough to acknowledge him.
Finally, Edric spoke.
"Kaavi," he said.
"We should talk."