Chapter 32: The Tarwin River

　　The descent from the Fingers was like shedding a skin of stone. The jagged cliffs and shadowed gorges gave way to rolling, scrub-covered hills. The air lost its dry, dusty chill, becoming thick and humid, carrying the rich, muddy scent of the great river that now dominated the landscape. The Tarwin was not just a river; it was a boundary, a moat guarding the heart of the kingdom. On its far bank lay Calldyr, its white spires and grand bridges shimmering in the hazy distance, a vision of civilization after weeks of wilderness.

　　The sight was both exhilarating and terrifying. They were so close. But the final barrier was the most formidable yet. The Tarwin was wide, deep, and swift, a churning, brown ribbon of water teeming with river traffic. Barges laden with goods, sleek official skiffs flying the royal banner, and the patrol boats of the River Guard—their oars rising and falling in a relentless, disciplined rhythm. To cross it openly was impossible.

　　They made camp in a dense thicket of willow trees on the riverbank, hidden from view but close enough to hear the lap of water and the distant calls of boatmen. The tension was palpable. They had overcome mountains and deserts, but this last, liquid mile felt like an insurmountable wall.

　　“We need a boat,” Garrick stated the obvious, his voice low as he watched a patrol boat glide past.

　　“We need to be invisible,” Xaden countered, his gaze sweeping the river. “A stolen boat would be reported within the hour. They’d be waiting for us on the other side.”

　　Violet was silent, her eyes fixed on the city. She had been quiet since the Fingers, her focus turning inward, sharpening. She was no longer just a fugitive; she was a strategist planning an invasion.

　　“We don’t need a boat,” she said finally, her voice calm. “We need to be cargo.”

　　Caden looked at her, understanding dawning. “The barges. They’re inspected at the docks, but not during the crossing.”

　　“Exactly,” Violet said. “We find a barge heading for the city. We board it at night, while it’s moored on this side. We hide in its hold. It sails at dawn. By the time it docks and the inspections begin, we’re already in the city. We slip away in the chaos of the unloading.”

　　It was a plan of breathtaking audacity. It relied on timing, stealth, and a hefty dose of luck.

　　That night, under a sky obscured by thick, promising clouds, they put the plan into motion. They moved along the riverbank like phantoms, their dark clothes blending with the shadows. The river was a different world at night, alive with the creak of moored vessels and the soft glow of lanterns. They found their target: a large, broad-beamed grain barge, the River Maiden, tied up for the night. It was low in the water, heavy with its cargo.

　　Getting aboard was the first test. The water was cold and shockingly strong. Xaden went first, slipping into the inky water without a sound and swimming to the barge’s hull. He secured a thin, strong rope. One by one, they pulled themselves across the treacherous current, their muscles burning with the effort. Caden, the weakest swimmer, felt the river’s pull like a hungry beast. He focused on the rope, hand over hand, his heart pounding, until strong hands—Xaden’s and Garrick’s—hauled him, dripping and gasping, onto the deck.

　　They were aboard. Now came the dangerous part. The crew was asleep below decks, but a single night watchman patrolled, his footsteps a slow, rhythmic thump above their heads. They had to find the hatch to the main cargo hold and get inside without being seen.

　　Violet took the lead, her small size an advantage. She crept across the deck, a shadow among shadows, with Xaden covering her. Caden, Garrick, and Rhiannon provided a lookout, their bodies pressed against the cold, tar-scented wood of the deckhouse. The seconds stretched into an eternity. Caden’s senses were stretched to their limit, every creak of the boat, every lap of water, a potential alarm.

　　Then, a soft click. Violet had found the hatch. She signaled. One by one, they slipped down into the darkness of the hold.

　　The space was cavernous and filled with the sweet, dusty smell of grain. They sank into the shifting, granular mass, burying themselves until only their faces were exposed to the stale air. It was claustrophobic, uncomfortable, but it was perfect concealment.

　　They waited. The night wore on. They heard the watchman’s footsteps pass overhead, the murmur of voices as the crew awoke before dawn, the clatter and shout of preparations for departure. Then, the lurch as the barge was untied, and the deep, rhythmic pull of the tow-horses on the riverbank as the River Maiden began her slow, stately journey across the Tarwin.

　　Caden lay in the grain, feeling the vibration of the barge through his whole body. He could see nothing but a sliver of gray pre-dawn light from a crack in the hatch. But he could feel it. They were moving. They were crossing.

　　The journey seemed to take forever. The sounds of the river changed, the lapping against the hull replaced by the louder, echoing sounds of a confined space. They were entering the city’s waterways, passing under bridges. They could hear the distant, muffled roar of Calldyr awakening—the bells, the carts, the voices of a million people.

　　Then, the barge bumped against something solid. A dock. The journey was over.

　　The hatch above them was thrown open with a bang. Daylight flooded the hold, blinding them.

　　“Alright, let’s get this unloaded!” a rough voice shouted. “Move it, you lazy dogs!”

　　This was the moment of maximum danger. They waited, buried in the grain, as the crew began shoveling. The level of grain dropped rapidly. Soon, they would be exposed.

　　“Now,” Violet whispered.

　　As one, they erupted from the grain, scrambling up the shifting pile towards the hatch. They were a shocking sight—covered in dust and chaff, emerging like ghosts from the hold. The dockworkers shouted in surprise and alarm.

　　“Hey! What in the gods’ names—!”

　　They didn’t wait. They burst onto the deck, into the chaotic, bustling confusion of the Calldyr docks. They didn’t run; they walked, quickly but purposefully, blending into the crowds of stevedores, merchants, and sailors. They were just another group of dirty, disreveled workers.

　　In moments, they were off the dock and into the labyrinthine streets of the capital. The sounds and smells were overwhelming after the silence of the wilderness—shouting, the clatter of wheels, the smell of baking bread, sewage, and salt air.

　　They had done it. They had crossed the Tarwin. They were in Calldyr.

　　Violet stopped in a narrow, shadowed alleyway, leaning against a damp stone wall, her chest heaving. She looked at Caden, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and triumph.

　　The fallen knight met her gaze. They had reached the heart of the lion’s den. The Archives were close. But now, the real hunt began.

　　Chapter 32 - End