The Gembound: The Price of Keeping Chapter 29: Chapter 28 — Regent’s Feast

Read chapter 29 of The Gembound: The Price of Keeping by Taliorn on NovelPedia.

Chapter 28 — Regent’s Feast Dusk turned everything gray. The hunting-oaks that the Regent used for boar drives provided cover. Leaves rustled in the wind. Inside the castle, lanterns had been dimmed. The stone walls looked dark and solid. Men settled into position, breathing quiet, weapons wrapped to muffle sound. The Gem pulsed steady in Yara's chest. She stood on a low root, watching her forces spread out. Archers in small groups. Converted officers studying ash-drawn maps. The Iron Defenders lined up in formation, silent and ready. Varrek had gone in a few hours before dawn. Marcus moved close, voice low. Yara adjusted her belt. The Greatsword hung heavy there—the blade she'd taken from the Spire chamber. She'd never drawn it. Didn't know if she could. But it felt right to carry it. "How do we get in?" she asked. Marcus traced the barracks layout in the dirt. "Two points. Back and front. Varrek goes through the service alleys—kitchen drains, the old sally-gate they use for hunts. He wedges the sleeping halls from inside, jams the door mechanisms. Keeps the garrison trapped in their barracks." He pointed to the main gate. "Front approach—we bring the Scion and Thing One. They break the gate. Once it's down, our strike team rushes in to cut off the retreat. Collapse the culvert, break the winch ropes, jam the escape routes. If the Regent can't run, he can't regroup." “Seal the mouths; make the keep deaf,” Yara said. Marcus’ mouth tightened. “You go with the front. Varrek wedges from within. Cray and Derris handle the route they’re ready to drop and burn and break at a moment’s notice. When Varrek whistles, we surge the battering and the strike moves to reinforce him. Timing is everything.” They set the signals simple a white cloth on the ridge for “prepare,” a single horn for “break,” and Varrek’s low click for “wedges set.” Even the plan’s neatness felt fragile in the chest. Varrek had entered the barracks a couple hours before dawn. Now, hours later, he and his five Iron Defenders moved through the corridors. The place smelled like must and old straw. Soldiers slept in rows of cots, their faces pale in the torchlight. Varrek's men moved quietly, their iron feet making soft thuds on stone. He had two jobs. First: trap the garrison. Varrek worked through the sleeping halls, jamming iron wedges into the door mechanisms. A lever that normally took three men to lift was now immovable—braced with shields and wood rammed tight. Where hinges were old, he set metal shims and wrapped chains. Quick knots that wouldn't last long, but would hold for now. One Iron Defender stood against a door like a living barricade while Varrek pulled the bolt and wedged a shield as a brace. Another moved down the corridor, cutting ropes that would let men assemble quickly. Second: block the escape route. The service culvert ran beneath the kitchens—a narrow drain where hunters used to slip in and out of the castle. Marcus had marked the lintel as weak. A few good strikes and the roof would collapse into the passage. Varrek and a converted engineer worked the old stone with crowbars and timber. Stone cracked. Mortar crumbled. A patrol nearly found them. A lantern bobbed in the distance. Footsteps approached. Varrek pressed his hand over one man's mouth. Felt the pulse. The heat. The sentry kept sleeping—one of theirs, already converted, pretending to patrol. Another shadow crossed. The Iron Defenders went still, muscles tight. The real sentry passed, muttering to himself. He smelled unwashed. Varrek's knuckles went white on the crowbar. He waited until the footsteps faded. They toppled the lintel into the drain and pushed the beam in after. The culvert filled with stone and splintered wood. The engineer stuffed earth and burning pitch into the inner opening. Enough smoke and debris to block the passage for hours. Varrek jammed the last iron spike into the winch's gear teeth. Bent the wheel with a quick lever. When dawn came, the Regent's private exit r