[Time warp! This takes place a year-or-so later, after many run-ins and head-butts between Olive and Kentamin.]
The snow would cover their work. Cover their tracks. Cover their escape. The mages had studied the lay of the land, practiced the routes to safety so they were ingrained in their memories; then they waited. Waited for the targets to arrive. Waited for the weather, for the heavy, blinding snow that would disguise their attack and their flight from the scene.
The target was a meeting of three generals - generals! - come to discuss troop movements, how to secure the increasing uprisings in the mage camps, and other such matters. They were meeting here, at the foot of the mountains that led to the crueler camps in one direction, and the mines, and to the rest of Connloath in the other. It was to be a three day meeting and the Alliance was getting anxious that the weather wouldn't come to cover them and they would have to risk a more dangerous, outright attack. But this morning the snow had started and had not let up. It was the perfect conditions for the rebel mages.
They waited until the troops had retired to their barracks, but struck before the generals had retired. Now, all three of them were still cooped up together in one cabin. Sitting ducks. They were few enough and stealthy enough and the snow was thick enough that they could move without being detected. But they didn't only rely on the snow. Earlier that day, three of their members - posing as local peasants - had delivered firewood and foodstuffs to the armies. After all, why should the army use their own stores when they could impose on the locals. But the soldiers taking the goods weren't locals and did not recognize the wood, or the 'edible' roots for what they were:
The firewood was the thick woody vine that, when burned, created a smoke that inflamed the respiratory system and burned the eyes. It wasn't deadly, but it sent its victims into a state of uncontrolled coughing and partial, temporary blindness. The root, however, was Aconite, or wolfsbane, and it certainly was deadly. Easily mistaken for wild carrot or parsnip, the roots had been taken greedily by the army cooks to use in the soldiers' dinner that night. They would not, they knew, be lucky enough to poison the generals; officers of that rank would only eat the fine food they had carried with their train. Inside the barracks, though, now that dinner was eaten and night had fallen, the soldiers would start feeling the effects of the Aconite. For those who had eaten a higher dose, the root's poison worked to paralyze the nerves, lower blood pressure, and stop the heart. Any soldier who had not received a large enough bowl of the deadly stew would instead be treated to violent vomiting and sickness.
That should start any time now, Constance Carwick thought, gazing through the snow at the dim light of the barracks. But they wouldn't let them suffer for long. A scarf pulled tight around her face to protect herself, Olive dropped her torch into the stacked firewood. She had already doused the pile with oil and when the torch hit it, it set to light. But rather than burning bright, the thick, oily vines began to let out copious amounts of their burning, choking smoke. Simultaneously, other members of the Alliance set alight fires at critical points around the barracks and the generals' cabin. The wooden, makeshift buildings quickly caught fire themselves. And throughout the camp, several piles of firewood were now filling the air with noxious smoke. Coughing, despite the protection of the scarf, Olive quickly retreated through the snow away from the fire and smoke, but she didn't fully retreat yet. She was listening for...
...BOOOM!!!...
Olive was knocked over by the force of the explosion that had just been set off. Pieces of the generals' cabin flew flaming through the air. Once a fire had been set by the cabin, all they'd had to do was roll the explosive in the right direction and - kaboom - the generals were no more. Olive picked herself up, her eyes burning, choking. The snow was falling even faster now and her visibility was starting to fade; was it the snow, or the smoke? she wondered. Either way, she needed to get out. The whole attack had only taken a few minutes and the reaction from the barracks was, predictably, non-existent. Those soldiers were in no condition to respond to a guerrilla attack. But that didn't mean that retreat wasn't still paramount. But another explosion rocked the camps, sending Olive staggering and, combined with the noxious smoke, left her disoriented. Unsure what her route was now, Olive decided it didn't matter; picking a direction away from the smoke and fire, Olive ran through the blinding snow.
