The bone-chilling cold of midnight had completely enslaved the valley. As the caravan routes leading out of Sihera advanced westward, they began to split into different branches. While the southernmost track stretched toward the border post of the Eastern Fortress, Beran and his secret convoy of six heavy wagons followed the narrower, more desolate path just north of it. Beran tightly gripped his horse's reins, riding side by side with the lead driver into the darkness.
Thanks to the rubber strips lining the wooden rims of the wheels, the wagons glided over the sharp stones with barely a sound. Because the massive cast frames and shafts on top were wrapped in thick linen, not even the slightest metallic ring escaped into the darkness of the valley.
Yet Beran's primary concern was not the noise, but the weight. The hydraulic press parts and mechanical drill bits hidden within the false bottoms beneath the flour sacks were straining the wagon axles to their breaking point. Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, Beran thought to himself, "If even a single axle snaps here, we are all finished." Just then, the path narrowed into a steep gorge, and the torches of a Palsur border patrol emerged from the darkness ahead.
"Halt! What is in the wagons?"
The commanding voice of the patrol sergeant echoed through the valley. Four Palsur border guards holding torches surrounded the wagons. Wearing the calm and respectful expression of an experienced merchant on his face, Beran dismounted his horse and approached the officer. Handing over the permit documents, he said, "We are transporting mill infrastructure and materials for Mayard's northern branches, sir. Iron beams for a new waterwheel, and flour sacks to stock the warehouses."
The sergeant grunted, looking at the massive iron shafts resting openly on top of the wagons. He pointed at one of the soldiers in the rear with his index finger: "Check the back."
The young guard climbed onto the back of the third wagon. When his heavy boots stomped onto the wooden floor, he was completely unaware that a heavy hydraulic piston was hidden just beneath the double-layered bottom. Drawing his long dagger from his waist, he drove it into one of the top sacks. When he pulled the blade back, only white flour spilled over the gleaming steel. The soldier called down, "It's clean, sergeant. Just flour and structural iron."
Beran held his breath without breaking the calm mask on his face. After giving the documents a cursory glance, the sergeant shoved them back into Beran's hand. "Move along. But don't linger on the passes; the weather is turning."
Meanwhile, around the same hours at the main border crossing further north, time was flowing with an entirely different kind of tension. As the dawn began to paint the sky a misty crimson, Kaahn was watching the outside from the window of the Mayard passenger wagon heading toward Nireskaya.
The sleepy eyes of the guards at the border gate snapped wide open the moment they saw the official "Regional Auditor" documents Kaahn lightly flipped between his fingers, along with the heavy royal seals stamped upon them. The legal armor provided by the paperwork cut through all bureaucratic suspicion like a knife. The guards let them pass without even attempting to lay a hand on the wagon's covers. When the vehicle crossed the official border and began its descent into the safe zone, Kaahn pulled his pocket watch from his vest pocket. The timing was exactly as planned.