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Chapter 70 – The Lower Gate
The lower gate was a narrow postern entrance beneath the south wall, used only for discreet deliveries and late‑night patrols. By the time Kairo and Elira reached it through the side passages, the carts were already lined up in the yard, canvas covers tied tight. A few lanterns burned low, casting jagged shadows on the cobblestones.
They stayed high along the inner wall, cloaked by darkness, moving silently from parapet to parapet. From above, Kairo could see everything—the drivers, Lysander's trusted men moving in crisp formation, and Lysander himself standing near the gate arch, giving quiet instructions.
"He's careful," Elira whispered, crouching beside him. "Look at how he's positioned them. Any attack from outside would be seen first."
"He's expecting trouble from beyond the wall," Kairo murmured, eyes narrowing. "Not inside it."
The wind carried fragments of Lysander's voice: "…no delays… Vale wants this at the river by dawn… keep it moving…"
Kairo scanned the yard for openings. The drivers were lightly armed. The guards were alert but not expecting a strike this close to the keep. A single distraction would be enough to sow confusion.
He pointed to the far corner of the yard where barrels were stacked under an overhang. "You circle there. Cut off his retreat if he tries to run."
Elira nodded and slipped away into the shadows without a sound.
Kairo waited until she was in place, then dropped down from the wall like a phantom, landing behind a stack of crates. His sword stayed sheathed—steel ringing in the dark would bring every soldier running—but his hand was ready on the hilt.
Lysander turned as if sensing movement, eyes narrowing. "Who's there?"
Kairo stepped into the open, his presence as cold and sharp as drawn steel. "Going somewhere?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Lysander's face—too brief to be fear, too practiced to be honest. "Kairo," he said smoothly, as if they'd met by accident. "You're up late."
"Seems we're both up late," Kairo replied. His gaze swept the wagons. "You don't usually inspect carts personally. Something valuable in them?"
Lysander's men stiffened, hands drifting to their weapons. Lysander raised a hand sharply, keeping them still. "Careful. You wouldn't want to make a scene in your own yard."
"No," Kairo said quietly, "I'd rather finish this before anyone wakes."
From the far corner, Elira's voice cut the night. "He's not leaving here, Kairo."
Lysander's head snapped toward the sound just as Kairo closed the distance between them.
---
The yard seemed to hold its breath. Every lantern flickered as the wind shifted, scattering faint trails of smoke across the cobblestones. Lysander's men formed an instinctive half‑circle around him, steel flashing under the muted light. Not one dared move first, but every eye stayed locked on Kairo.
"You're walking into dangerous territory, my lord," Lysander said softly, tone pitched so only Kairo and Elira could hear. "Whatever you think you're doing, stop now. I can make this… disappear."
Kairo's eyes narrowed. "Disappear like the shipments you've been sending Vale? Like the men who die before they can talk?"
A faint smile crossed Lysander's lips. "You've grown reckless. That's unlike you."
"I'm tired of rats in my own walls," Kairo replied, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. "And I'm done watching you poison this keep."
Elira stepped from the far corner, dagger in hand, blocking the narrow gate arch. Her hood had slipped back, revealing her face in the lantern glow—calm, sharp, fearless. "If you think you're walking out, you're wrong," she said.
Several of Lysander's men glanced at one another nervously. They hadn't expected both of them here—Kairo, the lord of the keep, and Elira, the shadow no one could quite place but everyone feared to cross.
"Stay where you are," Lysander murmured without looking at his men. His calm was deliberate, a show of control meant to steady them. "If anyone draws a blade, I'll consider it an insult to Lord Kairo himself."
"Don't dress this up as loyalty," Elira snapped, moving closer, eyes scanning every figure. "You're smuggling weapons, toxins—enough to kill hundreds. And you're doing it under his banner."
Lysander finally let his smile fade, tilting his head slightly. "You should choose your words carefully, Lady Elira. The council listens when I speak."
"They'll listen to proof," Kairo cut in. "And after tonight, I'll have more than enough."
The tension broke like a wire snapping. One of the wagon guards panicked, lunging forward with a short blade. Kairo met him with a single, precise stroke—steel flashing as the man collapsed before he could cry out. The yard erupted into chaos.
"Take them!" Lysander barked, and his calm mask cracked for the first time.
Elira spun low as two men charged her, cutting the first across the thigh before he could raise his sword. The second swung wildly, but she ducked under his strike and drove her dagger up into his ribs, twisting hard. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones as he went down choking.
Kairo's blade was a streak of silver in the lanternlight, every motion efficient and merciless. He cut through one attacker's guard, slammed another into the wagon wheel hard enough to crack bone. The sound of steel on steel rang sharp in the night, echoing against the gate arch.
Lysander didn't fight—he moved backward, slipping between the carts, calculating his exit even as his men fell. He wasn't here to win. He was here to delay.
"Kairo!" Elira shouted, parrying another strike and catching the man's wrist with a vicious twist that snapped bone. "He's trying to slip past—"
Kairo saw it too. Lysander was already at the far cart, dragging a canvas tarp aside. A shadow moved beneath it—one of his agents, wounded but alive. The man thrust a small leather satchel into Lysander's hand before collapsing to the ground.
Whatever was inside that satchel was what Lysander had come to protect.
"Get him!" Kairo roared, shoving an attacker aside and sprinting across the yard.
Lysander didn't run. He stood calm as ever, watching Kairo approach. "You really think you can stop this?" he murmured when they were only a few paces apart. "You don't even know what you're fighting."
"I don't have to," Kairo said coldly, sword raised. "I only have to stop you."
Their blades met with a clash that jarred Kairo's arms to the shoulder. Lysander was fast—faster than he'd expected—and skilled enough to hold his ground even against Kairo's sheer strength. Sparks flew with every strike, steel ringing against steel in the tight space between the wagons.
Elira dispatched her last opponent with a clean thrust to the throat and sprinted toward them. She vaulted onto the wagon bed, moving to flank Lysander from above.
He saw her coming and shifted his weight at the last instant. Kairo's next stroke glanced off the edge of Lysander's guard, giving him just enough room to twist and slam his shoulder into Kairo's chest. Both men staggered back a step, but Lysander kept his grip on the satchel.
"You're too late," he said, breathing hard now. "Even if you kill me, it's already in motion."
"What's in that bag?" Kairo snarled, striking again.
Lysander parried and rolled aside as Elira leapt down, landing between them. "Don't let him leave!" she shouted.
For a moment, all three circled in the lantern glow—Kairo and Elira working in unspoken rhythm, Lysander giving ground with calculated steps. He was looking for an opening, not to win, but to vanish.
Kairo feinted high, Elira struck low. Lysander blocked them both, but his defense faltered for a heartbeat. Kairo's blade nicked his shoulder, cutting clean through the dark cloth. Lysander hissed in pain but didn't drop the satchel.
Instead, he hurled it upward onto the wall walk above the gate, where another shadowy figure caught it and ran.
"NO!" Elira launched herself after it, climbing the wagon wheel and leaping for the ladder bolted to the gate wall. Kairo lunged for Lysander again, but Lysander slammed a shoulder into him hard and twisted free, darting for the postern door.
"Not this time," Kairo growled, grabbing Lysander's cloak and wrenching him back. They crashed against the wagon in a blur of fists and steel, Lysander fighting now with vicious desperation.
Above, Elira sprinted along the wall walk after the fleeing courier, her breath harsh in the cold air. The man was fast but wounded—she could see the limp in his stride. She closed the distance, heart pounding, every step echoing against the ancient stone.
Below, Kairo slammed Lysander against the wall, pinning him with raw strength. "Tell me where it's going!"
Lysander's eyes burned with cold fury. "You'll never touch it."
Kairo drove his fist into Lysander's ribs, hard enough to make him cough blood. "WHERE?"
But Lysander only laughed, low and bitter, even as the sound turned to a wheeze. "By the time you find it… you'll already be too late."
Up on the wall, Elira caught the courier at the corner turret. She drove her dagger deep into his back, ripping the satchel from his grasp as he fell forward without a sound. She glanced down into the yard, clutching the bag to her chest. "KAIRO! I've got it!"
Kairo turned at her voice, and that split second was all Lysander needed. He tore free with a brutal twist, ducked under Kairo's arm, and sprinted for the postern door. Kairo cursed, giving chase, but Lysander was gone into the night before the guards could close it.
The yard went silent except for the groans of Lysander's wounded men and the hiss of their dying torches.
Elira climbed down with the satchel, breathless, her face pale in the lantern glow. "Whatever's in here… it's sealed. And it's heavy."
Kairo wiped blood from his lip, eyes still fixed on the door Lysander had vanished through. "We'll find out what it is. And then we'll use it to bring him down."
He looked around the yard at the fallen men, his voice dropping to a cold growl. "Seal this gate. No one leaves. No one enters. Not until I say."
The soldiers scrambled to obey as Kairo and Elira disappeared back into the keep with their prize, unaware that far beyond the walls, Lysander was already preparing his next strike.
---
The satchel felt heavier than it looked. Elira held it tight against her chest as she and Kairo slipped back through the keep's service passages, avoiding the main halls where council guards would surely be prowling by now. The night air clung to them, damp and metallic with the stink of blood and oil.
"Do you think Lysander knows we have it?" Elira asked in a low voice. Her breathing had evened out, but her hand still shook faintly where it gripped the dagger.
Kairo gave a short, sharp nod. "He saw you take it. That's why he ran. But he didn't come back for it—which means whatever's inside is either replaceable… or too dangerous for him to fight over right now."
They descended into the lower vaults of the keep, choosing a narrow stone passage few knew existed. A torch bracketed to the wall gave off just enough light to guide their way. The deeper they went, the more the noise of the keep faded, until only their footsteps echoed in the cold.
"Here," Kairo murmured, stopping at a heavy iron door barred from the inside. He drew a key from his belt, one of only two in existence. "No one comes here but me."
Inside lay a small chamber with a single table, shelves bare but for a few old maps, and a brazier glowing faintly in the corner. Kairo lit a second torch and wedged it into the wall sconce. "Put it down."
Elira set the satchel carefully on the table. Up close, the leather looked freshly oiled, unmarked, sealed with a strip of black wax bearing no insignia. Not even Vale's wolf‑and‑vine.
"Strange," she murmured. "No crest. No seal. Why hide who it belongs to if it's just another shipment?"
"Because this isn't just another shipment," Kairo said grimly, cutting through the wax with his dagger.
The flap came open with a faint creak. Inside lay a small metal case, about the size of a man's hand, wrapped in oilcloth. Kairo unfolded the cloth carefully, revealing dark iron chased with fine, almost invisible runes. A faint pulse of light shimmered under the surface, as if the case itself breathed.
"This isn't poison," Elira whispered, leaning close. "It's… something else."
Kairo frowned, tracing the runes with his thumb. "I've seen marks like this before. Old work. Smuggling, yes—but not of weapons. Of knowledge. Of messages."
He unlatched the case with deliberate care. Inside was a folded piece of parchment bound with silver thread and… something else. A shard of dark glass, no bigger than a coin, catching the torchlight like a drop of midnight.
Elira reached for it instinctively, but Kairo caught her wrist. "Don't touch it."
"You think it's dangerous?"
"I know it is." He set the shard aside using the flat of his dagger, then unfolded the parchment. Lines of ink scrawled across the page in cipher, sharp and angular—an old code used only by the council's inner circles.
Elira frowned. "Can you read it?"
"Some." Kairo's brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the page. "It's not complete. Fragments… locations… dates." He tapped a line near the top. "This one I know. It's two days from now. The river crossing north of Vale's stronghold."
"A handoff," Elira guessed.
Kairo nodded slowly. "And this shard—" He turned the dagger so the torchlight caught the glass again. "—isn't just a token. It's a key. Whatever Vale's moving, this opens it."
Elira's breath came quick. "Then this isn't just a shipment. It's the start of something bigger."
Kairo set the shard back into the case and closed it with a decisive snap. "Which means Lysander will come for it. He'll move sooner than we thought."
"Then we should take it to the council," Elira said. "If they see this—"
"No." Kairo's voice was iron. "The council is compromised. If we show them now, it disappears. Someone warns Lysander, Vale vanishes, and we're back where we started."
Elira hesitated. "So what do we do?"
"We use it," Kairo said simply. "We take it to the river crossing ourselves and see who comes to collect it. And when they do—we cut the head off the snake."
Elira looked down at the sealed case, the faint light pulsing under its surface. "And if it's a trap?"
"Then we spring it on our terms."
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The next hours blurred into preparation. Kairo summoned only his most trusted guards, the ones who owed loyalty to him alone, not to the council. Weapons were cleaned and packed in oilcloth. Horses were readied in silence under the cover of night. Every move was deliberate, unseen.
Elira worked beside him without rest, checking maps, memorizing routes through the marshlands north of Vale's hold. They spoke little—every word was weighed, every look shared meaning.
"You've done this before," she said quietly at one point, adjusting the straps of her cloak.
"Too many times," Kairo replied without looking up. "But never this deep inside my own walls. That's what makes it dangerous."
When the first gray light of dawn touched the battlements, they rode out through the north gate, cloaked against the cold. The satchel rested in Kairo's saddlebag, guarded as carefully as a crown.
For two days they traveled through barren fields and frost‑bitten woods, avoiding main roads. The silence between them was companionable, broken only by the crunch of hooves on frozen ground and the distant call of crows.
On the second night, they reached the river crossing—a narrow bridge of old stone where the water ran black and swift. No guards. No travelers. Too quiet.
"They'll come at midnight," Kairo said, scanning the treeline. "If the cipher's right."
They set up in the shadows near the bridge, cloaks pulled tight, watching the fog roll off the water. Every hour felt longer than the last.
Finally, lantern light glimmered through the mist. A wagon approached from the east, two riders flanking it. The driver slowed near the bridge but didn't cross. One of the riders dismounted and walked to the center, holding a lantern high—a signal.
Another light answered from the west bank. A second wagon rolled into view, smaller but faster. This wasn't a meeting of equals. It was a handoff, quick and clean.
Kairo's eyes narrowed. "This is it. Whoever's on that west side—that's Vale's man."
Elira gripped her dagger. "We're outnumbered."
"Not if we hit them fast." Kairo slid from his saddle, moving low. "You circle wide through the trees. Cut off the smaller wagon before it gets away. I'll take the bridge."
They moved like shadows. The first wagon pulled to a stop, the driver glancing nervously around. The rider with the lantern stepped forward, calling softly, "Signal confirmed?"
A figure from the west answered. "Confirmed. The shard?"
Elira's breath caught. They were expecting Lysander.
Kairo stepped out of the fog, sword drawn. "Wrong delivery."
The bridge erupted in chaos.
The eastern riders shouted warnings, fumbling for their weapons, but Kairo was already on them. His blade flashed in the lanternlight, cutting through the first man before he could raise his sword. The driver bolted, leaving the wagon behind.
On the west bank, Elira intercepted the smaller cart as it turned to flee. She darted from the trees, slashing at the horse's reins, forcing the animal to rear and topple the rider. The man hit the ground hard, scrambling for a dagger—but she was faster, pressing her blade to his throat.
"Where's Vale?" she demanded.
"Too late," he gasped. "You can't stop it—"
She silenced him with the hilt of her dagger, knocking him unconscious.
On the bridge, Kairo parried a heavy stroke from the remaining rider and slammed his elbow into the man's jaw, sending him sprawling. The lantern shattered on the stone, plunging everything into darkness except for the moonlight on the river.
The western courier, seeing the fight turn, snatched up a horn and tried to blow a warning—but an arrow from the treeline took him through the shoulder. Elira's aim was deadly even in the dark.
"Secure the wagons!" Kairo barked, hauling the last conscious rider to his knees. "Who's your contact? Who comes to collect?"
The man spat blood. "You think I'd tell you?"
Kairo's voice was quiet, colder than the river wind. "No. But you'll take me to him."
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