Amol-Kalit was as cutthroat as it came but there were curious codes of honour.
Takama found herself clashing with Vel Anirian mores at times, they had a tendency to be blunt and cruel. Children could be enslaved, used as bargaining chips, but killed? No, let them grow up and continue the blood feud a generation later, no matter the trouble it caused further down the line.
"Yes mistress" was all she said, "I have your permission to make the final preparations?"
The plan would go ahead with little change. The
dark elves would move at one hour past midnight, storming the main gate and the surrounding walls. Their archers would kill the wall sentries and with luck they'd be over the wall before the alarm was raised. The real strike would come after it was sounded.
Takama crouched in the undergrowth, staring at the silhouetted shapes on the wall. Sentries found their vigilance slipping as night drew on. A false sense of security set in and they began to dream of their bed, drink, and warm fires. She could picture the dark elves slipping through the forest, keen eyes sighting in on tired sentinels. The arrows loosed and bodies crumpling. Lithe figures surging forward to vault the walls, scaling them with ropes and crude ladders.
As if on cue, the alarm bell began to ring. It paused for a moment as the ringer was shot but then it was taken up again. The watchers on the wall disappeared, no doubt running towards the front of the manor. Takama waited before running forward doubled over.
She flung the grappling hook high, giving it a blast of air to aid it. The hook caught on the battlement and she yanked on it once to make sure it was firm. Without hesitating she began to scale the wall, her arms and legs falling into a steady rhythm. She drew her sword as she landed on the wall but it was empty. Securing the hook, she planted her weight on it while the others began to climb.