The three roaming guards were at the limits of their patrol routes when Col raised a flat hand above the wall.

The signal moved through the squads by touch in four seconds. Each group leader passed it to the shoulder of the nearest man in the next group.

Seven teams of three slipped out from the shadows around the supply area and started forward. The plan depended on time, and no one rushed.

The nearest roaming guard was on the return portion of his patrol, crossing the open center, when the assigned group intercepted him.

The lead soldier came up from behind and slightly left. One hand sealed over the guard’s mouth and nose before he could react. The knife entered beneath the jaw on the left side of the neck, toward the windpipe and the major vessel above it. The soldier drew the blade forward through both targets in a single motion.

Blood spilled down the guard’s chest in a dark sheet, soaking into his collar and running beneath his coat.

His hands shot up and found the arm restraining him. He held on for two seconds before the strength left him and his knees folded inward.

The lead soldier kept control of the weight and lowered him carefully to the dirt. Blood pooled beneath the left side of the man’s face and spread through the dust.

The soldier behind crouched, grabbed the guard by the ankles, and dragged him.

The body slid three feet before coming to rest against the base of the perimeter wall.

"Heavy bastard."

The words were barely louder than breathing.

Then he straightened.

The second roaming guard was already dead on the far side of the yard. His body lay flat while the assigned group finished positioning it.

To the left, the third roaming guard had vanished from the open center as well. His team stood near the wall, keeping both themselves and the corpse inside the stone’s shadow.

Col turned his attention to the gate.

It stood thirty yards away along the right side of the fort. The route to it ran through the shadow cast by the perimeter wall, beyond the reach of the gate torch.

The torch itself burned four yards past the left flanker, bright enough to illuminate the gate timbers and throw the guard’s shadow down the center lane. That shadow offered a concealed path.

Col followed it with his group. Ulf stayed at his right shoulder while Bern moved behind.

The left flanker stood with both hands resting on the gate’s horizontal brace. His attention remained on the timbers and his back faced the open yard. As far as he knew, nothing had changed.

Col closed the final eight feet from behind.

His left hand came up beneath the guard’s chin and forced the head back, exposing the throat. Once the position was right, Col drove the knife into the right side of the neck, through the windpipe and the tissue beside it.

The flanker released the brace and reached backward toward the attack. His hands found Col’s coat and clenched. The grip weakened within two seconds.

Col guided the body down along the gate structure and lowered it to the dirt.

Blood pulsed from the wound in two dark streams. They joined at the collarbone, spilled across the front of the man’s coat, and dripped from his chin.

Hod appeared beside him.

"Right flanker’s done."

He spoke quietly enough for the wind to swallow the words.

That solved the next problem. Col turned toward the interior walls.

The team assigned to the right perimeter guard was already crouched over the body on the far side. The guard’s crossbow leaned against the wall beside him.

Col shifted his attention toward the left interior wall.

The left perimeter guard stood outward over the parapet, watching the dark ground beyond the fort’s lower defenses. His crossbow rested against the stone at his right side.

The lead soldier approached along the interior of the wall from the north. The route kept him in the guard’s blind spot, where the man’s own body blocked his view.

The knife drove into the base of the skull where neck met bone, toward the spine.

The guard went limp instantly, faster than expected. The soldier caught him under the arms anyway and lowered him to the stone walkway beside the parapet.

Blood leaked heavily from the wound, running down the back of the neck and into the collar before dripping onto the stone.

The crossbow never moved.

Col looked over the yard.

Seven down.

The barracks had the low, constant sound of hundreds of sleeping men. Occasionally a cot creaked or someone shifted. The checkpoint fire still burned at the lower gate while the gate torch remained sixty yards away.

Neither tower had raised an alarm.

The three roaming guards were dragged by the arms toward the perimeter walls. Their boots left tracks in the dirt, but darkness concealed them.

The flankers already lay at the gate base. The perimeter guards remained where they had fallen on the parapet walk.

Col touched two soldiers and pointed toward the crossbows.

Both men moved immediately.

One checked the first weapon and pressed a thumb against the bolt seated in the groove.

"Still loaded. Both are."

The two men carried the crossbows to the inside base of the gate wall and took position, one on each side.

From there they had the angle they needed toward the parapet above the gate.

The two guards stationed there leaned over the edge, watching the valley road. Their chins pointed down toward the route. From below, their bodies stood silhouetted against the glow from the tower fires.

They were focused on a road that had remained empty all night.

The crossbowmen braced and waited.

Col touched the left soldier’s arm once.

Both weapons fired within a second of each other.

The first parapet guard was still looking down the valley road when the bolt struck from below.

It entered beneath the chin, punched through the jaw, shattered upward, and buried itself in the base of the skull.

He collapsed backward onto the walkway without reaching the edge. Blood poured from beneath his chin and ran across the parapet stones before dripping onto the structure below.

The second guard heard the first discharge.

He turned toward the sound and rose into a half-crouch, exposing the front of his throat.

The second bolt hit as he turned.

His hands slammed onto the parapet stone and held.

One soldier below had anticipated the fall and stood ready with his arms raised. The guard maintained his grip for three seconds before strength failed him. Blood spilled over his hands and streaked the stone.

As the body pitched forward over the edge, the soldier caught him across the chest and upper arms, then guided him carefully down the wall.

The impact created only a muted sound, cloth and weight against waiting arms.

It carried no farther than the gate.

Nine.

Col looked at the gate.

The next step was obvious.

"Crossbar."

Three soldiers moved into position. One took the left bracket, one the right, while the third stood at center to manage the weight and length of the bar.

Together they gripped it.

"Left side first."

The defensive perimeter formed without instruction.

Twelve soldiers spread out between the gate and the supply area. Sabers were drawn. Pistols were ready.

They faced the barracks and covered the open ground.

No one spoke because everyone understood the risk.

The gate was the objective, but the barracks were now the threat.

The bar lifted free of the left bracket.

Iron scraped against iron.

The sound rose through the fort.

It was not loud enough to be mistaken for a shout or a crash, which made it more dangerous. A precise metallic note, the unmistakable noise of a mechanism moving after hours of silence.

Stone carried such noises well.

A light appeared in the nearest barracks window.

The soldiers at the gate kept working the bar out of the right bracket.

Someone inside the barracks spoke.

The stone carried the shadow of a question, though not the words themselves.

Another voice answered from deeper inside. Lower, a man only partly awake, trying to decide whether the sound had mattered.

The crossbar was nearly free of the second bracket.

The gate remained closed.