Aredd was pacing in front of the closed gates of Saskinar. They were periodically letting a small group into the city, around thirty or forty at a time. Well over a thousand people were standing outside, waiting for the next moment the gates were opened.

The air was sickly. The tight confined area with everyone desperate to get into the city made it clammy and far too warm for the north. Everyone was huddling as close to the walls as possible to get chosen.

“How long do you think before they open up again?” Muiren asked.

“Should be pretty soon. Are the others in position?” He looked towards his nervous lieutenant, dressed not in the usual guard uniform but in simple clothing. Aredd pointed his chin towards the wagon, signalling Muiren to also get into position.

“I can’t accompany you inside, I’m too well known, too obvious. This is up to you Muiren, but you need to try and look less nervous. Embrace the life of the farmer, a soldier wears many faces.” He smiled at him. “You got this.”

Muiren climbed the steps and sat down, crouching forward slightly and taking a pipe off the seat next to him, gripping the reins firmly. There was a second wagon to the side, Muiren didn’t want to glance at them, they both had to make it through to help with the plan.

The chatter around them quickly died down as the massive gates groaned open, and twenty armed guards walked out of the city. Archers appeared on top, their bows primed to fire. All wearing those horrible black uniforms of the traitors.

Muiren looked around cautiously. Aredd was nowhere in sight, he had already slipped away back to the army. The window to enter the city was getting smaller, the other wagon had gained access already, and they were only going to let another few in. The short fat man was the one selecting who gained entrance to the city.

“That’s it for this time.” The man shouted. Everyone nearby groaned.

“Shit,” Muiren swore. He had to think of something quickly before he got too far away, it would be hours before they came back out to let more people inside. “Excuse me, sir.”

The man stopped with deliberate slowness. The guards ready to pounce at his command. “That’s it for this time.” He spat out each word, a threat to the poor farmer atop his wagon.

Just before he went to turn again, Muiren shouted after him. “I have fresh goods for the market, you can help yourself.” Muiren was prepared to fight his way out of this, what he wasn’t prepared for was the utter look of disgust from this man, like he was no more than a bug on his boot. Muiren had half a mind to wipe that look off his face with his blade but kept his face blank.

“I have the freshest fruit and pastries in the back if you want to try some?” he asked.

“Dismount.” The man ordered, noticeably irritated. Muiren obeyed, noting that every eye around was watching him but ready to grab his hidden blade in a moment’s notice.

“Inspect the goods.” He said, turning to two of the guards nearby. They marched over with brutal efficiency as Muiren walked to the back of the wagon to show them. He swallowed hard as he opened the door, revealing everything from bread to cakes, little snow buns with the powdered frosting or strawberry tarts. There was a multitude of fruit, watermelons, lemons, apples, oranges. The variety was perfect, Muiren thought. Too perfect. Luckily, the guards lifted a couple of the smaller cakes and said nothing. Muiren lifted a snow bun himself and one for the fat man in the hope to appease him to get through the gates. The door gently closing to protect the goods inside.

He tossed one the man’s way, who caught it mid-air, crushing it with his fat fingers. He looked at it with quiet content. His face still stern, that was until he bit into it. He closed his eyes while his face softened. Muiren couldn’t help but celebrate this small victory, trying a cake himself. It was heaven. The soft dough complementing the harder sugar frosting on the outside.

The man began speaking, showing a mouthful of half-eaten cake, “let him through.” Muiren shuddered as he spat bits of the cake out of his mouth as he spoke. At least this part is over, but the harder part was still to come, infiltrating the castle. At least he had been brought up in and around the castle. He would know where to look and where to hide, that was the silver lining he supposed.

He flicked the reins to spur the horse forward at a slow, casual pace. Taking deep breaths, trying to stay in control of his nerves. The guards began to close in around him, blocking the rest of the peasants from the city gates, which closed with a resounding thud a few moments later. He turned left after two streets and followed it for another three. A right then the next left and he was down in the slums. He noticed a tail of three of the soldiers watching him. Shit.

He halted the wagon and dismounted. “Free food for all.” A gathering of the poor city dwellers began to appear, in their ragged clothing. A lot of them were just sacks of skin and bone, barely surviving. Was it always like this here? He made a note to try to fix this after they had regained control of the city, or at the very least bring it to the Queen’s attention.

The guards following him had stopped, hidden behind buildings and round corners, he could see the shadow of one waiting…they were clearly inexperienced. He could train someone to do a better job than them in a few days, he scoffed.

“Come one and all, the freshest fruits and bread. Help yourself,” Muiren shouted as he opened the back door of the wagon, wrapping his knuckles three times on the wooden door, a signal.

The crowd around became a bit jumpy, fighting over the food being offered. Murein’s men were hidden in a false backed compartment of the wagon used the distraction to escape, blending in with the crowd. They knew the plan, they had fail-safes in place for scenarios like this.

Muiren escaped in a light jog around a nearby corner, stealing a hat from one of the beggars nearby and dropping a handful of silver coins on his lap to stifle his protests. Another street over and he took a dark brown jacket from one of the stands of a nearby shop. He paused, examining himself in one of the shop mirrors as one of the guards that were following him passed. How had he been made that easily? He stood looking for another few moments, waiting for the shopkeeper to tend to someone else before slipping away from sight.

He doubled back the way he came then delved deeper into the city. He knew exactly where to go: the Bronze Horse. Strange name for a tavern but he knew the owner quite well. He was corrupt, and they were in the more ‘mischievous’ part of town. Where the drug lords loomed, the black market and all manner of foul deeds went on.

The houses here were ramshackle, but a tentative hand still tended to them. Whatever families dwelled here done their best to keep them in shape. A few shady individuals were traipsing around but other than that there was no sign of trouble, no vagrants or thieves or other would-be troublemakers. Surprising, considering the area they were in. Perhaps the new regime had come down hard on this part of the city.

There it was above him, the sign he was expecting, the little bronze horse swaying in the harsh wind. Checking his surroundings briefly, Muiren headed inside. He paused for a moment upon entering. It was a dark, dingy place, but he knew they could group here before they began their plans. There were very few lights in the tavern safe for a few sporadically placed candles, enough as to not walk into a table but dark enough so the patrons could move unseen if they needed too.

It took a couple seconds for his eyes to adjust before he spotted Hector at the bar, pouring that piss he called ale. He angled his hat downwards, trying his best to conceal his features as he approached the bar. Hector and he went way back, he had managed to get a message snuck in to warn him of his arrival.

Muiren simply placed a small pouch on the counter, concealed between his hands so that only the barman could see it. The man angled his chin, pointing to the far end of the room and quickly scooped up the purse, whisking it away from sight in a mere instant.

Muiren nodded his approval and went to the staircase, down two flights of stairs and took the last room on the right. Kleon was at the door waiting for him. His second opened it inwards and followed Muiren inside, closing the door and barring it shut.

“Gods, I’m glad I’m out of that blasted wagon,” one of the men said. “Any longer and I think I would have gone mad.”

One of the others burst out laughing. “Aren’t you already?”

Seven men, including himself. Not much, but it was a start. Five were his guards, and the Sixth was one of the loyal lords still inside the castle. Aredd had managed to sneak a message to the Lord. He was a known sympathizer of the Queen, but only if you knew him well. He spoke out against her at most opportunities, but his loyalty was still unquestioned, the perfect pick of an inside man.

“Lord Muiren, I presume.”

“Lord Toris,” came the response, a slight nod of his head in acknowledgement.

Muiren noted all eyes on him, his own men all a bit nervous around the presence of Toris. He would be too except Aredd had already let him know what to expect. Gave him the rundown on his hot temper among other things, how to handle him to an extent, I guess he would see soon.

From his crash course, he knew better than to be direct in his approach, so started with a simple, “How are you?”

“You seriously ask that under the present circumstances?” Shit. Wrong tactic. He gulped as Toris continued his rant. “The city is falling apart, seized by a tyrant. There was a reason Elspeth’s father was elected King decades ago rather than his older brother. This man will ruin everything she has built, we have all built.”

It was true enough. Aredd had told him the stories from three decades ago. He had been working up the ranks in the palace guard at the time, which to his credit didn’t take long. He was a born leader, and his commanders saw it in him from a young age. He got closer to a few of the lords, always in the banquets and halls guarding them and the King, gleaning as much information as he could.

The King was an older man though, deep in his sixties. His chosen son, Lord Muiller, was set to inherit the kingdom, but he was fast becoming power-hungry. It started small, blackmailing lands of a nearby Lord and incorporating them into his own estates then leading an assault onto the hill tribes with no provocation or approval.

The chain of events set the King training his youngest son in secret, over a span of four months. He knew all the basics anyway, the court, the armies, the inner workings of the castle. It was the experience that he gained over that time before the King elected Richard, Elspeth’s father, as heir a mere three days before his death.

Kleon’s eyes widened as the man ranted for the next four minutes. At least it was obvious whose side he was on, even if he tore through everyone in the room. Muiren was wondering if it would ever end, the rage building up in the Lord. It was probably down to a build-up of frustration at everything that had happened over the last couple of weeks.

At least this pampered lord still looked well and was clean, which couldn’t have been that hard in the palace. Muiren hadn’t bathed in a week now, wanting nothing more than to leave this too small, slightly stale smelling room and head to the nearest bathhouse. The warm water caressing his skin would be much better than the lord's spittle currently bathing him.

Gods. Why couldn’t Aredd be here to deal with this fool, he thought. He wasn’t a politician. He was a soldier. Why was he even here? Silence ensued; the moustached mouth of the man had stopped moving. Finally. Muiren raised an eyebrow at the lord who simply shook his head in return. “Sorry,” he murmured. Kleon’s breath escaped him as he relaxed.

There was a pause in the room where no one uttered a word. Muiren was the first to talk. “We need to know as much as possible.”

“Of course. There are a few lords loyal to our queen. Most are still sitting on the fence, not wanting to anger their new king.”

“Don’t call him that.” Muiren spat.

“Boy, that’s what he is right now. Everyone knows him, they won’t risk their lands or their families to oppose him. Between him and the three lords supporting they have the same numbers as the royal army. It would be a blood bath. There is no way in or out of the city, they shoot down any carrier pigeons too.” He paused to regain his breath, “There is a silver lining, however. Half of my own forces are within this city.”

Muiren’s face lit up. “As many as half? That’s incredible.”

“I won’t risk their lives in an open war with our own, but they will protect the Queen, if she comes.”

“I understand.” He said, turning to his second. “Kleon, try and see if you can get word to Aredd somehow. It should be dark enough for you to remain undiscovered. We will stay here tonight.”

Kleon nodded his acceptance and left without as much as a word.

Lord Toris stood shortly after. “Well, I’ll meet you here again tomorrow to discuss things. It's late, and they may be wondering where I am,” he said as he began to leave.

Muiren wondered who would be looking for him at this time of day. He grabbed his shoulder as the lord turned to face him. “Thank you,” he muttered.

Lord Toris ignored it and left, heading back towards the castle. The sigh of relief that swept through them now that he was gone, brought a smile to Muiren’s face. At least all the men felt the same way about him.

Muiren commanded his men to scout the perimeter while he decided to deal with some business. The guards were told to leave in intervals of a few minutes apart, but Muiren was first to head up the darkened stairway and straight to the bar.

“Hector,” he whispered at seeing the barman. “How much would it take to close this place for a few days? We need a place to lay low for a while.”

“Are you mad?” he laughed as he wiped the bar with a grimy cloth. “I cannot close for a few hours, let alone days. I have clients to deal with.” He paused, leaning over the bar closer to Muiren. “I have a warehouse I was in the process of renovating, its three streets away. Two hundred silver a night.”

Muiren gasped. “Two hundred?” he shouted. The barkeep silenced him with a stare as many of the patrons looked around. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

The look of greed on Hector's face was astonishing, he knew how desperate the situation was and was abusing it to the fullest. Muiren didn’t entirely trust the man, but he had a reputation to uphold and wouldn’t sell them out, it wouldn’t be worth the loss to his business.

He disappeared for a few minutes and returned with an old rusty key. It was heavier than expected and brought no conversation as Hector once again withdrew to deal with another customer.

The chill air greeted him as he exited the Bronze Horse and followed the directions given to him. It was amazing how quickly the city turned from the slums into a more well-developed area; The dirt paths made way to cobbled streets, the shacks into fully formed buildings.

He still couldn’t believe he had managed to make it within the city with as many guards, but this was only the beginning. The support from Lord Toris would be most welcome and a great help. Aredd would be working on sending more and more soldiers discreetly into the city, in as many ways as he could think of before the Queen arrived back.

The warehouse was before him just as Hector had said, an old derelict building that was sorely in need of work. Many of the windows were boarded up or missing the glass entirely, slates were laying on the ground around the building, and the smell wasn’t altogether pleasant.

It will do, Muiren thought to himself. It was somewhere to lay low and gather their forces, although he began to wonder why he needed the key. He could have gotten inside within a few minutes without it.

Inside wasn’t much better looking than the outside. “In the process of renovating, my arse,” Muiren said aloud. Boxes lay stacked upon each other, broken pieces of wood lay scattered around and numerous other goods, he must have been using this for storing his dodgy dealings.

Muiren walked around investigating, the good thing about the warehouse though was it was built up upon three levels. The upper two having balconies to overlook the main floor, perfect to station archers if the door was breached. A hundred men here could stand against whatever came through those doors.

The building was far away from any garrisons. There was a watchtower near here, but it had never been well maintained with troops, just a few men who wouldn’t notice the activity. It would work perfectly.

~

“What news, Kleon?” Muiren asked. He was sitting at a table inside the Bronze Horse, swirling his ale around in his mug..

“I got the word out to Aredd…well, I spoke with him myself. Had to scale the walls, which is harder than it sounds,” he replied. Muiren smirked as he continued. “He’s going to keep sending men through and meet us here. He reckons the Queen will be around six days away, give or take, and wants around five hundred or so inside by then.”

Muiren placed his half-empty mug back on the far too worn table, half expecting it to fall apart at any moment. The rest of the men they snuck in were situated around a nearby table playing a game of cards.

“Good work as always,” he smiled. “I didn’t like the rooms downstairs, if we get discovered there is no way out and almost impossible to defend. I have procured us a warehouse nearby. We can head there later.”

They both sat in silence for a moment as the rest of the tavern was in an uproar of shouting and singing, none of them were any good.

“Why can’t we just assassinate him with the six of us?” Kleon asked, his face hard and unreadable. “We could sneak into the castle in the dead of night and slit his throat.”

“Keep your voice down,” Muiren said, raising his eyebrows in silent warning. “And for far too many reasons. One, if you think he isn’t well guarded, then you’re an idiot. Two, the other mutinous lords would then just assume the throne. Three, this needs to be handled with much more finesse, not with all-out war. Neither of which is our decision, that’s for the Queen to decide and Aredd to advise.”

Kleon nodded and stood, heading to the bar to refill their tankards. They had only had one so far, and the ale was watered down it barely made an impact.

Muiren listened to the conversations around him, most of which were utter illegible garbage but a few of them were about what was going on with the new King, which surprisingly had somewhat mixed feelings. Many of the men were glad for a male ruler after the few years of Queen Elspeth’s reign. Some others were talking of new curfews in effect which didn’t seem to affect this area with the low guard count around. The palace had been locked off from anyone with thousands of guards patrolling the inner wall, an impenetrable fortress.

Muiren was brought back to his senses as another ale was thudded down on the table in front of him.

“Sorry to disturb you, old man!” Kleon joked, at noticing how startled Muiren looked.

“I’ll old man you!” Muiren laughed. It was the same thing he always said to Aredd. He almost felt like he was living in Aredd’s skin, how the roles were reversed. Kleon was young in comparison at late twenties to Muiren’s late thirties. Although Muiren’s grey hair had started to outnumber his brown these past few years. not that he felt old yet.

“Tell me Kleon, I know you are from one of the smaller towns around here but have you any family in the city?”

“My aunt lives on the other side of the city near the theatre, you?” Kleon asked, taking a drink.

“Aren’t you worried about her?” Muiren asked.

Kleon let out a soft laugh, “Not at all, she’s a resilient old bat.”

Muiren cracked a brief smile. “My wife, Sandra and our two kids: John and Abbie. She will be due any day now with our third, the midwives reckon a girl, but I’m hoping for another boy. I must admit, being so close to them I do want to visit them, if only briefly.” Muiren replied, looking somewhat defeated.

Kleon took another drain of his ale before responding. “This will all be over within a week, and you will be able to see her again. Do you want me to check on her?”

“Would you mind?”

Kleon smiled, “Not at all.”