Chapter 63: WINGED SALVATION

The feeling of absolute refreshment was startling. Risens was well versed and accustomed to existing for extended periods of time either feeling the pangs of hunger or thirst. Sleep deprivations was the most frequent and seemed to be a perpetual status in his life. When one lives by the blade, being a very light sleeper was essential to surviving. 

Rising to his feet now, he felt as complete as he every remembered. His belly felt full and his hydrated. His mind and body functioned as if they had never lacked for substance or rest. The difference from his state prior was startling. The complete absence of discomfort and pain almost felt alarming as if for as.long as he could recall he’d never truly been complete.

The discrepancy between his overall feelings and the state of his gear couldn’t be more drastic. While every fiber of being felt hale, every fiber of his clothing had been damaged. Whether slashed, torn, or soiled with a sticky coating of drying blood his every shred of his cloak, pants and shirt were effected. He was thankful that fate had allowed him to retain the Raven Talons, his and blades as well as the guide tucked safely away in his pocket.

As his thoughts shifted from his surprise at his current state, the voice that still echoed in his mind still toyed with him. The unnamed skill had saved his life as had the others before it. That he could call on the assistance of raven was a boon he knew would prove vital in the challenges to come, whatever they may be. If he could find his way out of this crevice and make it back to his chamber in the castle, what would befall then? He had spent his life in devotion to the King and realm, yet somehow he doubted that protecting the ruler of Halthome would he the pinnacle of his tasks.

Risens was certain that Lathrenon had ordered his death, yet he still intended on giving his report upon his return. He would play the part he was expected. He would serve the kingdom as he had sworn, though his loyalty to the man had been severed. There would be plenty of time to contemplate his actions as the capital was still hundreds of miles away and the windSteps they had traveled through was now closed.

Walking back along the paved pathway to collect his dagger, he traced the disturbances in the dust covered floor. He played out the devastating battle in his mind. The colossal creature had never given him a chance, overwhelming him from the start. He collected his blade from where it lay on the stones, frowning at its pitted edges. Either the fall to the tile dented the razor’s edge or perhaps he struck a stone that was caught up in the mixture of ice, rock, tree and death.

Instinctively, he reached for the talons that had refused to assist him during the trial. The moment his skin touched the familiar feather wrapped handles, the intrusive thoughts and insatiable bloodlust flooded his mind.

“Thank you for your assistance,” he sneered.

“It was never our battle to fight. You survived. Perhaps you’re not as pathetic as we thought.”

Hr growled as he released his hold on the blades. They were impressive and lethal, yet at tikes they could be irritating beyond measure. Wrapping his hands around them again, he noted the peculiarity. No symbols flashed in the corner of his vision. Had the counters reset or were they not bound to the rules here, like the Shadows Shroud was in the Roost? It was a theory he planned on testing as soon as possible.

Now with his body rejuvenated and refreshed, his attention turned to freeing himself from the confines of the cavern that hemmed him in. He scanned the walls as he walked back along the paved track toward the narrowing section of the area, finding nothing but sheer faces of stone to greet him. Reaching the edge of the circle around the charred mark in the floor his mind shifted to the words that hammered into his skull. 

The peculiarity of the statement that thundered through him reasserted itself. 

“Among the lucky one.”

The wording was awkward. There had never been so much as a hitch or stutter when the words had boomed in his ears. Every consonant and vowel was perfectly arti1culated every syllable clean and concise. This was not an error in tense, but an intentional statement.

Risens breath caught in his throat as the prospects threatened to rob him of his newly restored strength. One had passed the trial that he’d just faced. How many more had failed?

The significance of the area, of the detail were clear.

He was standing on hallowed ground.

This was where, Adalhard, the first king of hold had saved the realm.

The figure of the great king was so entrenched in the history of Halthome that it was impossible to decipher fact from fiction. The plaza and glorious statue of the man was built as legend held at the intersection of the Cimmerian and Shial Sliver ranges. That is was a false idol celebrating an incorrect position, the partial truth of the event was confirmed.

Adalhard was rumored to have three Brands, yet beyond the Brand of the Bloodheir, the mark that made him king, little was known. The Brand he received here had granted him the power to bring the birds to his aid. What other skills did he acquire? 

The line of thought occupied his mind as he scoured the wall for signs of a means of exit. The collapsed wall at the far end of the cavern had the feel of an intentional cover. At some point in the distant past, this area had been hidden from the prying eyes of those who would seek the site. As the voice had hinted, would seek it for their own gain.

Again, Risens thought of his own motivations, his quest for skills and power. The Roost was his to access at will, containing a seemingly endless supply of skills, each of which could be evolved through his lived experiences. Beyond the power as a means to survive, to be stronger, faster and more skilled than the ones trying to end his life there was no greater motivation. He was honor bound to protect the Kingdom of Halthome.

His vision tracked down to the circular clearing on the floor. It was his blood too that now stained the original mark of charring on the stone. He crouched down, rubbing his palm over the warmed stone finding it dry to the touch as if the new staining had always been a part of it. Whatever the purpose, he was tired to this legacy, this path, wherever it would lead him. The peculiar thought lingered as little more than a whisper in the back of his mind — saving the Kingdom alone seemed like a trivial use of powers and skills that lurked behind the sealed doors of the Roost.

The darkness that still shrouded the end of the ravine where the mighty mountains met drew him toward it. Leaving the circle, he moved steadily forward, though the shadows remained, covering the flat wall that he knew lay behind. A few paces further and the truth came to light.

On the thin sliver of flat wall where the ranges collided, a tall, narrow portal had formed on the stone. Risens had no way to know where it would lead though his assumptions guided him. Regardless of the destination, his purpose was set.

The blackness of the windStep closed around him.

Risens grinned as he stepped out into the vaulted hall that had become so familiar to him. Prior to this point, his entrance to the Roost had always come from the incredible speed, deadly cold and pressure of the portal at the rooms head. Now he emerged from one of the sealed doors on the first floor at the far right end of the hall, closest to the shrine and Raven’s Guide. The stone ravens judged him, following his steps as he moved to the pedestal at the shrine’s base.

The process that had been startling when the new page of the sealed tome turned to the next was now familiar, though the anticipation was overpowering. He’d not viewed the new markings that graced his chest, yet he knew that they’d match the image seared into the page perfectly. A marking was a simple set of diagonal lines. Much like the canyon he had been trapped in, they were wider at the top than at the bottom where they came to a point.

It was relatively easy to view the Brands on his chest through the shreds of his tunic. The new addition was clear, the skin still red angry from its recent application. He could feel the heat still radiating from the mark. Brand varied widely in complexity though the detail of the marking meant nothing to the overall powers they imbued. He scanned through the pages of the Raven’s Guide in his mind, viewing image after image of complex designs. The Brand of the Whipping Boy was an intricate crest featuring the profile of a man, his stature imposing and regal, towering over a hunched form beside him. The entire design was encircled by a finely detailed whip, coiled like a snake. There was no purpose to the design save for the marking given to the unfortunate peasants that accompanied various nobles around so the sheer privilege of bearing the pain of any punishment that was to be earned.

The relatively formless designs of the forbidden Brands here in the Roost had been curious in their minimalistic details. Now that several scarred the skin on his chest, the purpose and intent became clear. Each carried powers that far surpassed any that filled the pages of the Raven’s Guide, yet they were never intended to be viewed alone. They were all part of the designs that he hoped would one day cover the skin of his torso and abdomen. The momentary pain of the applications was excruciating. The power held within the designs was limitless.

Below the carefully inked design on the large tome, he studied the passage that followed.

Brand of the Winged Salvation

One of the twelve key brands. To the bearer belongs the Conspiracy of Ravens. the bonded pair will be ever at your service with a call. Trust and experience will increase the flock. Further evolutions will increase their abilities.

Risens grinned as he contemplated the uses of the new skill. His power and capabilities continued to increase with every journey to the Roost. He studied the passage again as the description was burned into the small version of the Raven’s Guide he carried in his pocket. The company he would find himself in now was something he could trust, unlike the scheming assassins that had accompanied him through the mountains.

Expecting that the time would be limited as his other skills were, he resolved to test the application as soon as possible. Attempting the feat here within the confines of the Roost would be a pointless endeavor as here he was unbound by the strictures of Windwake and the world beyond the portals.

He paused as he reached to stow the book in his breast pocket. Replacing the book on the lecturn, he fished through the concealed folds in his cloak retrieving the vial that contained the orders that were to seal his doom. He would likely have limited places to store anything of value in the coming days. A quick search of the pack he had left on the ground at the foot of the statue confirmed that all of his supplies remained as he had left them.

Though it wasn’t tangible skill, the Roost had provided a boon once more. He had somewhere to store his gear and valuables where none, not even the most skilled assassin could find them.

Beyond that, he had found a home.