Stonebreach represented the line of demarcation between the Glimmerstone mountains to the north and the Aether mountains to the south. It was the only point of egress easily accessible to both the Kingdom of Shan and the Siremirian League territories to the west. As a result, while most passes were watched by various orders of monks higher up in the mountains, Stonebreach was very directly and actively defended.

  Glynfir got the idea when they first saw all the catapults set for launch on the north wall and found it positively uplifting. Grym told him these units, called mangonels, could launch heavy stones over five hundred feet. Given the height of Chagrothlond’s mountainside perch over the surrounding forest, that should be more than enough carry to get them clear.

  The mustached wizard picked his way north and east towards the catapults through the heavy foot traffic as quietly as he could. As he approached the middle of the quad, a guard turned unexpectedly, berating several lagging subordinates. The shaft of his spear caught the wizard squarely in the back, sending him sprawling to the ground. Gasping for breath, Glynfir scrambled to his hands and knees. He and the soldier locked eyes in complete surprise for a long moment. Shit! He can see me.

  The wizard reacted first. Realizing the unexpected impact had broken his casting concentration, he sprang to his feet and ran in the opposite direction, towards the heavily armed south gate. Rapidly repeating the incantation and gesturing with his left hand, he fished in his satchel for the resin block. The guard raised the alarm and hurled his spear. When the wizard completed the spell, purple energy swallowed him. He snapped invisible again, cutting hard left, feeling the breeze of the passing missile on his cheek. The spear skidded harmlessly across the cobblestones. That was way too close!

  Breathing heavily, he resumed his original course, closing the remaining distance to the siege machines without incident. Crouching behind a cairn of large ammunition stones between the third and fourth mangonel, Glynfir admired the ripple he had just inserted into the fort’s chaos, smiled to himself, and waited for Grym.

  Commanding officers barked orders, while a swelling sea of guards began frantically waving their spears at waist height between his last known location and the fortified gate. Even the casters had joined in, using every magical means available to expose his position. His brief appearance had caused quite a commotion. The sorcerer couldn’t help but chuckle. You’re not gonna get lucky a second time!

  Surveying the north side of the walled central square, he spotted a lone figure suspiciously wrapped in a tarpaulin, slowly ambling toward their position. That must be Grym.

  When they parted ways, Grym had cut right, barely turning the corner before the guards reached the bottom of the stairs and had to choose a direction. His breathing ragged, heart hammering, he froze against the outside wall of the tower’s staircase.

  This side of the quad was more commercial. Stalls selling fresh produce, grains, poultry, and baked goods lined the walls on either side of the main thoroughfare. The smell of fresh apple pie made his mouth water as three of the pursuing soldiers emerged mere feet to his left, scanning the area.

  Seeing nothing unusual, a short discussion ensued before two of the three hurried off toward the South Gate. The third stepped cautiously into the main thoroughfare, intently scrutinizing the rapidly closing stalls on both sides. Needing to circle the tower and cross the eastern side of the quad to reach the mangonels, Grym assessed his options. I should stay off the main road—too much traffic. Glancing to his right, the dwarf noticed a makeshift alley behind the market stalls.

  Left clear to allow the merchants to come and go without squeezing between the tightly packed wagons that served as storefronts, the rear alley offered an open path to the tower’s north side. I’ll just slide along this wall to the corner, then leg it across the courtyard—easy-peasy. Grym couldn’t hold back a grin, extremely satisfied with his solid planning.

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  He stilled his axe and chainmail and began to shuffle cautiously north, the tower’s wall at his back. He had moved less than ten feet along the alley before a commotion behind him rose above the already boisterous din of his surroundings. Glynnie! The final guard charged back into the stairwell breezeway, towards the outcry. Grym exhaled for the first time in what had felt like minutes. Turning around to resume his course, he found himself staring into the eyes of a very confused baker. And the baker was staring back.

  “Took you long enough!” the half-elf chuckled as Grym shed his wrap, joining them behind the ammunition pile.

  “Aye. Well, I found myself suddenly and rudely exposed…” He dramatically raised his eyebrows in the direction of his friend’s voice. “…and had to steal a burlap cover from one of the wagons. But, whatever you did, it certainly got their attention.” He cleared his throat before continuing, “Good thing too, because I don’t think my disguise would have fooled anyone.”

  Glynfir chuckled again. “Why do you smell like pie?”

  Subtly licking the last of the sweet apple filling from his fingers, Grym’s eyes darted left and right, his face blank as he shrugged. “You sure this is going to work?” he deflected the question with a serious tone.

  “I’d bet on it.”

  “Knowing you like I do doesn’t exactly give me a wagonload of confidence.”

  “Only one way to find out!” The half-elf smiled. “You take the one to your right, I’ll take the one to my left. Since I can see you, I’ll let fly on your mark.”

  Glynfir moved to the mangonel beside him and quietly climbed into the launch basin. With Grym uncomfortably perched in the adjacent catapult, he channeled his magic to summon a mage hand—one of the first spells he was taught. What it lacks in power, it makes up for in utility.

  A spectral translucent hand appeared, and he quickly moved it to grip the catapult’s release handle. As he watched Grym pull a dagger from his waistband, the dwarf turned in his direction and signaled a countdown with his fingers. Three, two, one. Glynfir reached into his satchel, wrapped his hand gently around Lunish’s trembling form, and whispered,

  “Hang on tight, Lulu, here we go!”

  When Grym slashed the rope holding the tension on his apparatus, he silently instructed the mage hand to pull his release lever.

  In nearly identical timing, both mangonels coughed out a loud thwack. The pair were hurled up into the air and over the tower wall. Watching the fort descend below him, the wizard’s shoulder-length hair whipped across his face, causing his eyes to tear up. The wind whistled in his ears, the pit of his stomach tingling as they went higher and higher. There’s that delicious rush again! With only a few feet between them, he could hear Grym laughing infectiously as they rose nearly three hundred feet.

  Approaching the apex of their trajectory, the wizard worked quickly, extracting the mouse from his satchel with one hand and a small feather from his pocket with the other. Quickly speaking the incantation as they began to drop, Lunish flashed back to her gnomish form, Glynfir’s firm grip dangling her awkwardly upside down by the ankle.

  Gravity began to accelerate their drop. Fighting the effects of minor vertigo, he uttered the final words of the spell. A pink burst of energy surrounded the three of them. The effect was instantaneous. It reminded him of sinking in water rather than falling through air. Their rate of descent slowed immediately, and they fluttered toward the rising forest below as gently as a feather in the wind.

  Grym, still cackling, kept his eyes locked on the fort. Triggering the mangonels had only increased the cacophony of shouting and running as the military crowd converged on their last position. Several spears were launched, falling harmlessly short, snapping branches as they disappeared into the wooded hillside below. One small group, however, began turning and loading stones into the remaining catapults.

  “They’re firing on us!” he shouted across to the others

  “Not us…” Glynfir corrected, “…just you!” reminding his friend that he and Lunish were still invisible.

  The dwarf shot an annoyed look in their direction while repositioning his helmet.

  As their descent carried them below the sight line of the garrison wall, the welcome blanket of the dense forest below stretched out its welcoming arms. Lunish spoke for the first time since regaining her standard form. She shouted defiantly towards the fort at the top of her lungs,

  “I am NOT a grubby little boy!!!”

  Glynfir turned to her, his jaw agape and brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

  The druid looked up at him sheepishly, head bowed. “Also, I threw up in your satchel.”

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