Something ill was in the air, and Brakus didn’t like it. Nightfall came too soon for his liking, and the water gate was still open. The trader that had docked there early this morning was not finished unloading his cargo and insisted that he would sail on if Brakus closed the gate.

  He was carrying supplies of food and drink that the fort desperately needed, so Brakus had agreed to his demands and left the gate open while he finished unloading. Brakus wasn’t a fool though. He sent half of the remaining company to the water gate just in case.

  He was worried about the other two companies, however. The scouts had returned with new signs that the Fenns were massing troops along the border near the now-destroyed Lannic Outpost. One of the scouts insisted it was a massive force, and they were preparing to cross.

  So Brakus had set two companies out to the location as a show of force to the Fenns. If they were planning to begin an invasion, the fort would be ready. When they left this morning, he hadn’t been concerned, but now that night had fallen and the water gate was still open, he couldn’t help but feel nervous.

  “I don’t like this, Veila,” he said to Aeolwyn’s page. “Something just feels wrong.”

  Velia eyed him strangely. “Feels, sir?”

  “I don’t know. Call it an old soldier’s intuition. Maybe we should close the water gate.”

  He knew he didn’t need to feel nervous. The fort was strong, and the walls were thick. All the other gates besides the water gate were shut and locked. There was no way anyone could breach the walls, and he’d sent most of the remaining force, including the knights, to guard the water gate. There was no question the fort was safe.

  “We need those supplies. With winter on the way, who knows when we may see another shipment.”

  Brakus shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first lean winter he’d spent at the fort. “We could just seize the ship and hold its captain until morning.”

  As he looked down at the dock, he thought he recognized one of the members of the crew. His hair was longer than Brakus remembered, and his face and arms bore massive burn scars, but the way he stood and carried himself was unmistakable. As impossible as it seemed, it had to be him.

  “Call me the son of a motherless goat,” he said. It was Captain Flint, back from the dead.

  “Sir?”

  He gestured towards the burned ex-soldier. “Take a look at that man walking up and down the dock. The burned one. Who does he look like>”

  Veila looked. “It’s hard in the dark, sir, but I’d say he bears a resemblance to Captain Flint.”

  If the captain had survived, why had he deserted? As a captain, he would certainly know the punishment for desertion was hanging. And yet he joined the crew of a merchant vessel that was coming to Fort Camulan? Brakus knew Flint wasn’t the smartest soldier at the fort, but he had to know that someone would recognize him.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  He debated whether or not to send someone to take Flint into custody. It was well within his rights to do so, and wondered if General Aeolwyn would want him to. The young prince was sometimes too soft-hearted for his own good. A general needed to make tough decisions sometimes, and the boy had a hard time doing it. But he had a strange magnetism about him, and his successes in battle couldn’t be denied.

  Plus, the men loved him.

  “It can’t be sir. Flint died in the battle of Lannic Outpost?”

  “I don’t think he did.”

  He thought if Aeolwyn saw a horribly disfigured soldier working on a cargo ship instead of doing his duty, the prince would want to go soft on him. He probably would say whatever that man is going through is much worse than anything we could do to him. And leave him be.

  So Brakus did.

  Flint started walking up and down the line of cargo crates that were being staged along the dock and into the fort. Some he noticed were blocking the water gate’s portcullis. Who had allowed that? That was completely against protocol.

  “Veila,” he said, “go find Corporal Littus and tell him to move those crates that are blocking the portcullis. Should something happen and we can’t close—”

  Brakus didn’t finish the statement. As soon as Flint was inside the fort, he put a bosun’s whistle into his mouth and blew. The second the screeching sound of the whistle pierced the air, The crates burst open, and men carrying swords erupted from them. Before the men guarding the water gate and along the dock could even move, they were run through.

  “Alarm!” Brakus shouted as he reached for his sword. He grabbed Veila before the man left. “We are under attack! Go ring the bell!”

  It was a ruse. This whole thing was a ruse to take the fort. Men began to pour out of the ship’s hold, each carrying a sword and wearing tabards with the lake and oak sigil of the Fenns. He suddenly doubted if there was an army massing along the river at all. That was probably a trick to get Brakus to empty out the fort.

  He raced out of the general’s office, down the stairs and out into the yard. It had already erupted into battle. His men were holding a strong line between the yard and the water gate, but it wouldn’t last forever. There were just too many men.

  Then, the unthinkable happened. A half-dozen of the knights in their swords and gleaming armor raced over to the soldiers defending the passageway to the water gate. Instead of reinforcing it against the invading army, they began cutting down their own men.

  “Traitors!” he shouted. “Traitors in our midst!”

  A few of the other knights followed and attempted to strike down their compatriots, but it was too late. The line was broken. The enemy poured into the fort, slashing at anything they could. They swung their swords at the squires, the pages, even the laundresses and blacksmiths.

  But the battle wasn’t over yet. Brakus raced to defend his men, and immediately crossed blades with the one person he should have killed when he had the chance: Captain Flint.

  “You traitor!” he shouted. “How could you give this fort over to the enemy?”

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  “Me?” Flint protested as he swung his blade hard at Brakus’ midsection. Brakus parried the attack easily and countered with his own, forcing the burned captain back. “Look what Aeolwyn has done to me!”

  Flint swung again, forcing Brakus to duck, and then followed up his swing with a quick fist into Brakus’ face. He stumbled back, stunned.

  “You shouldn’t have run, Flint. The mages could have healed you.”

  “And for what? Only to be hung as a traitor? What kind of justice is that?”

  Flint continued pressing his advantage, pushing Brakus further and further back. They hadn’t sparred in years, and he’d forgotten how strong the burned man was. Each attack that he had to parry sent shockwaves of pain down his arms and into his shoulders.

  “You would have had a chance to defend yourself, Flint. Aeolwyn is a fair and just general.”

  “General! That idiot is a general? That is exactly why I didn’t return.”

  Flint kept advancing, and Brakus kept retreating. If he didn’t do something soon, there would be nowhere else to go. How had the man gotten so strong? When they sparred, right here in the yard, Brakus had defeated Flint 9 contests out of 10. And yet, Flint was pushing him further and further back.

  Then, on a particularly strong overhead strike, Brakus’ sword shattered. It split right in two, shards of steel flying in every direction. One shard drove deep into his thigh. Before he could shift his weight, Flint drove his blade deep into Brakus’ belly.

  He stumbled, falling to his knees. This couldn’t be! He couldn’t be the commander who lost Fort Camulan to the Fenns. Brakus felt nothing but embarrassment and shame. This fort had stood against the Fenns for a century, if not longer. And now it would fall.

  At least he wouldn’t be around to face the consequences. Blood filled his mouth as Flint pulled the blade from his stomach. The old captain fell forward into the dirt, watching the dry earth drink up his blood.

  Then everything went black.

  ***

  Veila ran to the alarm bell and started ringing it as hard as he could. It was difficult to get it into motion—the hinges were stuck with rust. It had been a long time since they’d been attacked, and no one had bothered to oil them. He’d had to grab the rope and jump several times, using his entire body weight to get the bell unstuck.

  But finally, it moved, sending its alarm to everyone inside the camp—not that there were many people left who weren’t already dressed, in uniform, and fighting at the water gate.

  He couldn’t believe that Captain Flint had not only survived the fires of Lannic Outpost but had come back to the fort only to betray them. If Veila had any skill with a sword at all, he would run the traitor through himself.

  In the distance, he could see the Camulani men getting slaughtered at the water gate. There were just too many Fennish attackers to hold back. They might have had a chance if the group of knights hadn’t attacked their flanks and cut a hole through the middle of their line.

  Those knights were sent by the king! How could they betray their own like that? At least some of the knights remembered where their loyalties lay and had engaged their brethren in mortal combat. A few of them already lay dead.

  Out in the middle of the yard, something caught his eye. It was Captain Brakus and Captain Flint, and they were facing each other in combat. Despite the scars and burns, Flint was pushing Brakus further and further back, while they both were shouting at the other.

  Then Brakus’ sword exploded, a portion of the steel driving itself deep into the grizzled old warrior’s thigh. Before he had a chance to escape, Flint ran him through. The burned captain took a moment to salute his fallen former comrade before disappearing into the fray. He wondered if Brakus lived long enough to see Flint’s show of respect. He doubted it.

  More of the Fenns were pouring through the water gate. This battle had been lost. The Fenns had done the unthinkable: The had taken Fort Camulan. Veila needed to run. He needed to get out of the fort and warn Aeolwyn before the Fenns found him and killed him too.

  He let go of the alarm bell and ran. The fort’s walls were high and well protected, but every wall had a flaw, and Veila knew exactly where Fort Camulan’s were. He ran through the mess hall and out into the yard, doing his best to stay along the buildings and not attract any attention to himself.

  He made his way to the latrines and climbed inside. He looked down at the hole with disgust. It was filled with the leavings of every soldier in camp. The last thing he wanted to do was climb down into it, but it was the only way out.

  His plan was to get into the muck, and crawl through the small tunnel that led to the river. Then he could float downstream a bit until it was safe. Then make his way back up north and join up with the two companies that had set out this morning.

  They wouldn’t be enough to take the fort by themselves, but they would keep him safe until Aeolwyn returned. The boy may be young, but he had already made a name for himself as a great commander. If anyone could think of a way to retake Fort Camulan, it was him.

  ***

  Commodore Tyrec was pleased. The men King Alfyn had provided were well trained and followed orders well. They had no problems wearing the Fennish uniforms that Lord Longinus provided. He wasn’t sure what the Camulani king’s goal was by attacking his own fort. It couldn’t just be to annoy his younger brother. There had to be another nefarious purpose: to provoke a war.

  Rumors abound that Camulan had a new magical weapon in its arsenal, and that had put all their neighbors on edge, particularly the Fenns. They feared that Camulan was burning to use this new weapon on their longest and most hated enemy.

  A belief that Tyrec shared. He assumed that the entire conflict between King Alfyn and Prince Aeolwyn was just a ruse the two of them cooked up to confuse the rest of the kingdoms as to their intentions. He was sure that was why Aeolwyn wasn’t in the fort now. Alfyn was willing to sacrifice one company, but all six? No. He needed them to be out of the fort when the ‘Fenns’ arrived to attack.

  Once word spread that their mortal enemy had taken the prestigious fort, Camulan would have no recourse but to invade their neighbor, use this new magical weapon and take the whole nation by force.

  It was a clever plan, but Alfyn had no idea about the wrench Tyrec was about to throw into their works.

  He couldn’t believe that the Star Children had discovered Captain Flint fleeing from the battle. The former soldier in the Camulani army burned with hatred for the young prince-general. It hadn’t taken much to convince him to switch sides.

  He had been invaluable in planning this assault. He knew exactly the perfect time to dock the ship, and he knew that with winter coming, they wouldn’t want to delay the delivery of food and drink. He knew exactly where to place the crates to prevent the water gate from closing during the raid. Tyrec couldn’t have planned this better himself.

  Tyrec’s sword dripped with Camulani blood. His father would have been proud. He had been raised in the port town of Shatham on the Fennish coast, and his father hated the Camulani with a passion. It was probably due to his missing arm that had been taken in a skirmish along their shared border.

  Tyrec himself didn’t care about politics. He was in it for the money. If Camulan paid more, he’d be happy to take a ship back to his homeland and burn the city of his birth. The only loyalty Tyrec had was in generating profit for himself and his crew.

  The shield wall that the Camulani soldiers had formed when his men jumped from their hiding places had collapsed almost as fast as it had appeared. Some of the knights stationed at the fort had turned traitor and attacked from behind. That wasn’t his doing. Perhaps they recognized Captain Flint and shared his same hatred of Prince Aeolwyn. More likely, they were Alfyn’s men instructed to help Tyrec take the fort.

  The fight was over by the time Tyrec made it inside. The traitor knights lay dead, along with several of their loyal companions. The survivors, realizing the direction the wind was blowing had surrendered. Better to be ransomed back to their families than be killed.

  Alfyn would be pleased. He would send a pigeon to the capital in the morning. The king had paid handsomely for the fort, and Tyrec was happy to take his money.

  Two thirds of the defenders had been slaughtered, at a cost of only a quarter of his men. It was a heavy price, but they knew the dangerousness of this mission. It didn’t matter though; he had a reserve force on its way that would be taking over the defense of the fort. The surviving attackers and defenders just didn’t know it yet.

  A man was escorted from their ship and came to stand next to him. He wore an opulent and extremely formal white and gold gown covered by an equally opulent white and gold fur robe. The robe and gown both bore the sigil of a bright golden star. The tall hat he wore replicated the upper point of the star sigil, emphasizing his glory.

  Tyrec bowed deeply. “Your Radiance! Welcome to Fort Camulan.”

  Lord Longinus put his arm on Tyrec’s shoulder and bid him to rise. The smile on his face was as deep as it was menacing. Just like Alfyn, he had paid well for the fort. He had made Commodore Tyrec an extraordinarily rich man.

  And unlike King Alfyn, the Star Lord of the Courageous Order of Heavens was not a man you double-crossed.