COLLIN BLACK’S POV


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    79


    55 vouchers


    “Alpha Jason…” Collin sped the other Alpha’s forearm and felt the weight of iron under leather. “Is everything ready?”


    Jason nodded once. Both of them were already in armor,yered mail under hardened tes, travel cloaks pinned back, des oiled. The courtyard behind the keep was stacked with movement, two lines of Crimson Howlers on one nk, two of Nightfall on the other, each column one hundred strong, handpicked. No banners. No drums. Just men and women with knives strapped to calves and short bows slung tight.


    Beta William stood behind Collin, his helmet tucked under his arm, face set. Across from him, Beta Joma reviewed a te of names with the Howlers‘ captains. Packs rarely mixed, but tonight the formation blended by purpose, fast movers up front, archers staggered, shield carriers spaced to cover a retreat if needed.


    “Yes. We move now,” Jason said. “We cut their tails before they reach the cut between the cliffs.”


    Collin gave William a look and got a short nod in return. The Nightfall scouts trotted ahead to link with Crimson Howlers‘ pathfinders.


    They’d ridden the ridgelines all morning, marking a route that stayed off the main track Cassian’s column would use. These were hunter trails, narrow and root–choked, but they kept them out of sight and scent as long as the wind held.


    “Orders are the same,” Collin said to his captains. “No howls. No signal horns unless you’re dying. If you must call, use the thrice–tap on steel. We hit the rear ranks first, then the supply mules and litters. Take officers when you see them. If they try to form, we break off, circle, and strike again. We’re not here to trade bodies; we’re here to bleed them.”


    William moved down the Nightfall line, checking straps and greaves, tugging on bowstrings, forcing one recruit to swap a cracked buckler. Joma did the same on his side, handing out resin to dull metal sheen and small y jars of pitch for the torch teams. Two squads carried grapnels and lines, if Cassian’s men tried to climb the cliff faces to gain height, they’d be yanked down fast.


    “They won’t be expecting us from behind,” Jason said as they walked to the gate. “His people are watching the Demon Fangs on the border. You kept this… discreet?”


    “My guards think we’re reinforcing the southern posts,” Collin answered. “Only William’s handpicked know our real target. The rest were told to hold the line against the Fangs.”


    The gate winched up. Cold air pushed through. They stepped out to the game trail that cut


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    <b>79 </b>


    55 vouchers


    away from the road, single file for the first stretch before it widened. Pine and wet earth masked scent. Both Alphas had rubbed mud into their greaves and cloaks to help. Runners peeled forward on both nks to watch for sign, fresh prints, cut branches, ash. If Cassian had left pickets behind, they’d find them.


    “Contact n,” Collin said, raising his voice enough for the nearest ranks. “We don’t know when the Demon Fangs will attack them. So, when the rear guard shows, archers will pin them. Shield line advances ten paces, then parts. Spear teams drive the gap. Torch teams wait for my mark. We don’t burn until we’ve cut their center loose from the head.”


    This was all part of the n. They were capable of transforming, but to hide their traces better, it is best to use weapons. Weapons that had beenced with deadly poison.


    “And if he turns?” Jason asked.


    “Then we pull them into the trees and trade them inches,” Collin replied. “Your left will rake them while my right skews their front to the ravine. We finish the wounded. We then burn them all.”


    He pictured Cassian’s column, tired men, slowed by poison, thinking only of the path ahead and the cliffs choke point. Good. Let them stare forward. Let them pray the Demon Fangs stay put. They wouldn’t look back until it was toote.


    They marched.


    Nightfall’s elite moved with short, even steps, bows unstrung but ready, knives loose in their sheaths. Crimson Howlers kept pace, heavier shields riding on shoulders, axes resting against thighs. At each bend, scouts signaled with two fingers and a tap on bark.


    Fresh impressions on the trail told a clear story. Cassian’s people had passed here within the hour, mule prints, a drag line from a litter, the wedge of a boot heel that slipped and caught again. No counter–scout sign. No set snares.


    William fell in beside Collin as they crossed a shallow stream. “Wind’s holding,” he said. “If it shifts, we’ll smell their cook smoke.”


    “Good,” Collin answered. “I don’t want smoke, I want their backs.”


    Jason moved up on Collin’s other side. “Our cut–in is half a league ahead. From there, the path runs parallel to the main road for a time. When we break through the birch stand, we’ll be close enough to hear them.”


    “Then we time it,” Collin said. “The Demon Fangs will press their front very soon. I am certain of it. The moment they do, we take the rear. We snap them in the middle.”


    He didn’t add the rest. Both of them knew that poison should be in their veins by now, that