CH499 · Rewrite
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Chapter 499: Prelude to the Spring Offensive

Garden Mansion, Inner City of King’s City, Kingdom of Graycastle.

Theo’s standing in the “Dove and Cylinder” had risen sharply since Roland’s surprise strike on the palace destroyed the Hall of the Sky Dome. Every member showed him a deference that hadn’t existed before, and the intelligence organization, finally given proper shape over the past six months, had become something he could actually use.

He now had direct influence over Skeleton Fingers’ decisions—earned through results, not proximity. He had informants in both the patrol and Black Street who sold him privileged information purely for gold, with no interest in who ultimately benefited. Through the Rats’ heads and their connections to the great nobles, he could access lower-tier intelligence from the upper circles, enough to give him an outline of what the noble houses were planning even if not the specifics.

Today’s report came through those channels.

“Timothy is deploying five hundred men to blockade the Redwater River?” Theo tapped the arm of his chair. “He’s actually doing it?”

“Yes,” Rockhill said. “Half of them are Blood Sail Rats. The boss confirmed it himself. Profitable work—the Rats fought each other over it. A few got hurt or killed in the scramble.”

“Profitable is right,” Clown said with a low whistle. “You block the Redwater, you stop the merchant ships. You stop the merchant ships, you apply the king’s ban. Apply the king’s ban and you confiscate cargo and levy fines. Who’s better at that kind of operation than Rats? Well—” he gestured— “the patrol team has some talent for it too.”

“If half are Rats, the other half must be Timothy’s own guards,” Hill Fawkes said. “I’ve heard there were four hawk-headed ships at the harbor in the countryside this morning.”

Theo’s expression didn’t change, but inwardly he felt the weight of it. Hawk-headed ships were fast inland galleys—slender hulls designed for speed on rivers, sails supplemented by oars, a ram below the waterline and iron boarding hooks along the sides. Once a hawk-head latched onto a merchant vessel, soldiers could cross over in seconds. Escape was nearly impossible.

Four of them, plus five hundred men—over two hundred fully armed guards among the Rats.

They’d had wind of Timothy’s blockade scheme before the Months of Demons, but most had expected him to restrict the canal at King’s City. A full blockade between the Western and Central Regions was another order of magnitude: it would enrage the lords of Silver City and Redwater City, men who profited heavily from that trade route. No one had believed Timothy would actually do it.

But with four warships and the right positioning, he didn’t need to hold a fixed point. His fleet could simply move—hunt merchant convoys anywhere on the river, act as pirates on water and bandits on the adjacent roads. No lord without a comparable naval force could oppose him. He’d eat the anger of Silver City and Redwater City and absorb the cost, because cutting Roland’s supply line was worth more to him than their goodwill.

Neverwinter’s needs have grown dramatically this year, Theo thought. The merger with Longsong alone would have expanded demand. With Timothy controlling the river, the Western Region’s imports could be strangled before the summer.

“We have to get word to His Highness immediately,” Theo said.

Wings in the courtyard. He stood and crossed to the back door.

The gray falcon dropped from above and settled on his shoulder like a breath—almost weightless, already steady. The circus members bowed their heads and pressed hands to chests in unison: the gesture of respect for a message from the West.

Theo lifted the note from the bird’s leg and read it.

He laughed.

He knew he shouldn’t—an intelligence officer was supposed to contain himself, read blankly, fold the paper, give a calm summary. He couldn’t. “We don’t need to worry about it anymore,” he said, the laughter still audible.

“His Highness already knows?” Hill asked.

“No. But he’s going to solve it once and for all.” He looked around the room. “The First Army has already left for King’s City.”

The room went very quiet.

“The spring offensive,” Clown said, carefully, as if checking whether he’d understood.

“Yes.” Theo had known Roland would move this year. He hadn’t known when—the prince had deliberately kept the specific timing from even his intelligence contacts, correctly judging that secrecy mattered more than coordination. Now it was obvious: the attack was timed for spring plowing season, the moment Timothy’s attention and forces would be most fractured. Theo had waited years for this word, and he hadn’t expected it to feel like this—like something finally and irrevocably beginning.

Hill inhaled once, slowly. Then he got down on one knee. The others followed, all five, in a single motion.

“For the new King.”

Theo looked at them and felt the thought move through him: if Timothy fell, Roland Wimbledon became the only legitimate heir to the throne of Graycastle. If Roland was crowned, what Theo was now would no longer be his ceiling. He’d moved through shadows for years, keeping his head down, building slowly. This was the moment everything he’d built began to pay.

He didn’t doubt the outcome. Anyone who had seen the First Army operate would have the same certainty.

“His Highness’s orders.” He read the remainder of the letter aloud. “Keep clear of the west gate of King’s City during the assault. Prevent the Rats from exploiting the chaos. Restore social order as quickly as possible afterward. Help civilians caught in the fighting—medical aid, shelter, food—then hand those duties to the First Army when the situation stabilizes.”

Silence.

“That’s… all?” Several of them exchanged looks. “No instructions to trick the guards into opening the city gate? Set fires to confuse the enemy?”

“No.” Theo put the letter away, and something in his chest settled warmly. “Those are the orders.” He’d recognized Roland’s thinking immediately—care for the people first, expose no intelligence personnel to unnecessary battlefield risk, and implicitly, confidence so complete in the First Army’s capabilities that subterfuge wasn’t worth the complication. “His Highness doesn’t need our help with the fighting,” Theo said. “He needs us for what comes after.”

He picked up his cup and drank.

It’s time.

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