"Portilo, Young Master Ancard said no girls tonight," the garden guard said, eyeing Elisa hungrily.

  "It's Governor Ancard," the male secretary replied curtly.

  "Well, he's probably exhausted himself already," the guard guffawed.

  "Hey, whore!" another guard with a spear shouted at Elisa. "If that old man can't satisfy you, I'd be more than happy to take his place!" His voice boomed across the small garden.

  The maid lowered her head and hurried past. "Ignore them," Portilo said, his voice unusually gentle.

  The guards swung the doors open, and Elisa was momentarily blinded by the light within. Hundreds of beeswax candles bathed the modestly sized hall in warm light. "Upstairs." The maid gathered her skirts and climbed the spiral staircase. (Even a side hall at Clawyn Manor is larger than this entire place.)

  "My lord," Portilo placed his left hand behind his back and knocked softly with his right.

  "Enter," came a gravelly voice.

  The male secretary opened the door, and Elisa had to adjust once more to the stark contrast between the bright hall and the dimly lit study. The governor's study was unremarkable, though the meticulously organized desk with its neatly arranged documents and books suggested that Medros Ancard was a man of precision and order.

  "Daisy, you're here!" The governor sprang from his chair. "I can barely contain myself from diving into your tender embrace!"

  It was then that Elisa understood: if Baroness Rolisa was a viper and Secretary Portilo a rat, then Governor Medros Ancard was an insect.

  An insect without wings.

  Toyef Bilinski sucked on his wineskin like an infant at the breast. "Blue, have you any wine left?"

  "None, Lord Bilinski," Green Varmint presented him with a bowl of fish soup instead. "Perhaps this will warm you, sir."

  Toyef downed the pungent soup in one gulp, licked his lips, but offered no comment. Jim Harad, sitting cross-legged nearby, marveled at Toyef's indiscriminate palate.

  "Another bowl," he commanded, dismissing Blue Rascal. "So you don't just drink wine," Jim remarked. "You'll consume anything that doesn't kill you outright."

  "I recall you nearly choking to death on wine last time," the red-haired dwarf wiped soup from his beard with a cloth. "Care for a rematch? Odds at twenty to one."

  "Twenty for me?" Jim asked, intrigued.

  "Of course. Who else?"

  "Then I fear you'll lose everything but your wine bottles," the brown-bearded dwarf sneered, before both erupted into raucous laughter.

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  "Toyef and Jim laughing? I'm seeing things," Walin Barklo Vaslov joined them with Holar Peter Wilton. "Wilton, you old devil!" Toyef and Wilton embraced warmly, exchanging the traditional Beard Greeting. "Where were you earlier? Without you around, I might have beaten Master Harad to a pulp! Hahaha!"

  Jim Harad grabbed a handful of grass and flung it at the red-haired dwarf. "Taking a piss," Wilton rumbled like distant thunder. "Found a stream back there," he gestured over his shoulder.

  "Your company seems incomplete. Where's young Fendi? And the human traveling with you?"

  "I'm here, Lord Bilinski," Fendi Firshield approached, cradling an infant and nodding respectfully.

  "Young Fendi!" Toyef Bilinski exclaimed with delight before they exchanged formal greetings.

  "Whose child is this?" The red-haired dwarf peered at the baby girl.

  "Caroline Tobias's child. She—"

  "She died of dysentery on the journey," Walin cut in. Near the boiler, a human mother shuddered at the word "died" carried on the wind.

  "Poor little one," Toyef said, kissing the infant gently. She slept soundly, undisturbed even by the brush of his coarse red beard against her cheek. "Where's that red-haired apprentice of yours?" Jim glanced around. "Bring him over so we can properly gather."

  "He's preparing our supper," Thorin Durin was slicing cured beef. "Let's not disturb him, gentlemen."

  The black-bearded dwarf quickly grasped his meaning. "Go help him, Fendi," he told the young dwarf. "He's about your age."

  "Dawn approaches. Let's discuss our business," Walin Barklo Vaslov straightened, taking command of the meeting. "Toyef, any alterations to the plan?"

  "None I'm aware of," Toyef patted his wineskin, remembering it was empty. "Before first light, we assemble the trebuchet. By the time the sun is high, we strike."

  "Can we breach the walls with one shot?"

  "That's for your side to answer, Walin," the red-haired dwarf continued. "Most of our timber is oak and fir, but the critical components of the heavy trebuchet will be assembled using Crivi's sacred Sylvanwood, ensuring both weight-bearing capacity and tensile strength. Even the chains and ropes," he gestured toward his wagon, "are reserves from the Rebellion Era battles against the Titans. Far from deteriorating with time, they've grown more resilient. With these materials, we can launch an eleven-hundred-pound projectile over thirty-two hundred feet. But breaching Cynthia's walls depends on your friend there." He nodded toward the boulder on Walin's cart. The covering canvas had been removed, revealing a pale yellow stone that seemed almost to breathe rhythmically.

  "He's not talkative, like myself," Wilton said. "Otherwise fine. Except his weight likely far exceeds eleven hundred pounds..."

  "And there's the range issue," Jim added. "The distance from here to Cynthia's western wall must be over four thousand feet."

  "Weight's not a problem," Toyef Bilinski calculated mentally. "Our counterweights total approximately forty-one hundred pounds. But range... that I cannot guarantee. Even with my improved trebuchet design, launching a thousand-pound projectile four thousand feet hasn't been tested. Theoretically possible, perhaps even exceeding four thousand feet. But understand this," he said, "during our battles with the Titan giants, our designs maxed out at thirty-five hundred feet. That was the absolute limit."

  "And those weren't even boulders, they were—"

  "Still nearly a thousand pounds each," Walin interjected, head bowed. "A dwarf weighs forty-four kilos."

  "...Curse those Titan giants."

  "I never promised certain success," Toyef sighed. "The humans didn't specify success as a contract requirement."

  "But they did write, 'If the plan succeeds, the Humanoid Act will be repealed,'" Jim Harad reminded him. "That's why we stand here."

  "...Curse the humans too."

  "Let's consider what follows. After dawn, whether we succeed or fail," Walin said, "we must depart quickly. Godma's cavalry will gather at West Wymar Forest's edge and assault Cynthia after our projectile launch. Duke Duke promised a small cavalry unit to assist our retreat, so we'll wait for their arrival. No changes to that portion of the plan?"

  "None I've heard," Toyef Bilinski shrugged.

  "I don't trust Godmans," Holar Peter Wilton stated firmly.