Chapter 57: DEATH SENTENCE

AUTHOR'S NOTE - You are reading this chapter prior to the final draft for public release. This will be updated with the final version once i

AUTHOR'S NOTE - You are reading this chapter prior to the final draft for public release. This will be updated with the final version once it is complete. As always, we'd love to hear any feedback you might have! Thank you again for continuing this journey!

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Risens darted to the entrance to the barn. Silently vaulting the small pile of hay bales, careful not to disrupt the pitchfork resting precariously on the pile, he peeked inside the gap in the door. The sliver of dim light from the open door to the house illuminated enough to continue the roiling of his stomach. His focus was immediately drawn to the body, curled in a pool of its own blood against the far wall. A low moan gurgled from its mouth as death had not yet completed its icy embrace. Korpis, his bloodlust not yet satiated had his focus trained squarely on the expediting the process. Or at least inflicting the greatest measure of pain in the remaining moments.

His hands shook as the rage inside found no outlet. Inhaling a deep breath, he trapped the cold air in his lungs attempting to satiate the fires of age that burned inside. The effort was akin to spitting on a bonfire in an effort to extinguish the flames. He tried to tune out the noises that exited the barn as Korpis bent over the body.

Collecting the pitchfork from the bale of hay, he tugged down on the side of his cloak, leaning his head across the opening of the doorway. Focusing on the sounds of Orio’s voice, he called softly into the barn.

“Stop playing with your kill,” he hissed. “Its time we take the Rightmaker.”

The man straightened his back, looking over his shoulder. For a long moment, Risens thought he had presumed too much. It was a chance he was willing to take. In the end, it would cost him nothing. Sheathing his blade, the assassin turned slowly, confirming his intent

“It’s about time I get to taste his blood.”

The man had been silent the duration of their travel, communicating only through nods and hand gestures. His voice was deep and raspy, with a sinuous quality that made his skin crawl. As if evil was a sound, it assaulted his ears.

Risens was moving the moment his hands let go of his blades.

The barn was small, though he was at top speed before he crossed the five meters of its width. With the pitchfork leading his charge, he slammed the tines into Korpis, lifting him off the ground as the tines punched through his chest. His forward momentum stopped as he pinned the assassin to the wall.

“Civilians were never a part of this mission,” Risens growled.

“You have your orders from the King, so do I,” Korpis sputtered. His meaty hands slapped at the handle of the pitchfork to no avail. “Your usefulness to the crown has run dry. Your days are numbered, Rightmaker.”

“Likely, though longer than yours.”

Ripping both of the talons from their sheaths he gritted his teeth as he slashed them together. The closed on Korpis’s neck like a scissor. The rejoicing of the weapons mirrored the increase of the digit that glowed in the bottom corners of his vision. Sheathing the blades, racing the blood that oozed from beneath the delicately balancing head, he rifled through Korpis’s pockets, finding nothing of noted beyond a only a thin sealed canister. It only took a glance to note the mageLock that locked it shut. Shaking his head at the foolishness, he grabbed the Korpis’s limp hand using it to twist off the sealed cap before emptying the note into his hand. He unrolled the tight parchment that bore the mark he knew too well.

There is only on Right. See that all return to their Maker. You Must ensure the completion of this task. All must Die. No. Exceptions.

Risens felt the breath rob from his lungs as he noted the curious capitalization of inappropriate word, one in each sentence among the missive. The common, simplistic code in the message was glaring.

Right.

Maker.

Must

Die.

No Exceptions.

With a growl, he slammed his fist into the side of Korpis’s skull. He was already moving back toward the door as the wet thump of his head hitting the floor reached his ears.

Risens paused before he reached the exit to the barn. Korpis had confirmed what he had expected. That he and Orio were sent on a mission with alternate priorities was clear. He felt the sickening twisting in his gut as he mind. His hand, reflexively closed around the handle of the talon at his side, squeezing as if he choked the life out of the steel.

“They tricked you, you fool.”

Cursing to himself, he returned to the house, collecting the mageLight, closing the dampers entirely as he slipped back into the darkness of the night. The civilians wouldn’t need it any longer. Remaining in the shadows, he snuck along the edge of the building remaining in the concealment of the darkest shadows. Peering into the night from the corner of the building, he viewed the village with a festering feeling of disgust. That Orio and Feylen were not among the others was telling. If both had been given similar orders from the King, he had no doubt where he would find them.

What had the village done to deserve the untethered violence that Lathrenon had unleashed upon its population. As with eliminating the Duke and all within his employ, he had justified the action on the pretext that they posed a clear threat to the security of the realm. His gut twisted as he attempted to use the same logic on the Warlord and those unlucky enough to be in his estate this night.

He wanted to scream aloud as nothing in his body could justify the destruction that had come to the civilian population.

How many had the trio killed?

That Korpis had exited the nearest farmhouse was an answer enough as to the state of its inhabitants. He looked at the mageLight in his hand, judging the distance in the darkness. Perhaps thirty meters. He could make the throw, or close enough.

Ironically enough, burning the village was likely the only thing that would save it now from total annihilation.

Rearing back he lunged forward using the force of his motion to accentuate his throw.

As he watched the mageLight spin through the air the thought twisted in his mind.

Perhaps the one who truly deserved killing now sat in a cushioned throne, sipping on fine wine.

Though he’d never hefted a knife, his hands were soaked with the blood of countless innocent lives.

The cracks in his faith shattered open as the mageLight smashed against the side of the house. Alchemical fire, hungry and fiending for food quickly consumed the side of the structure.

Risens melted back into the shadows of the forest as the first alarm bells of the city came to life. His whistled call warning of his approach was answered immediately. Destra and Bakka still waited for him alone in the clearing.

“What happened?” Bakka requested, the blaze that had now nearly consumed the building reflecting in his eyes.

“Tell me, exactly, word for word, what were your orders? Not from me, from the King,” Risens demanded. Both assassins flinched at the sudden malevolence in his tone. That his hands hovered dangerously close to his blade no doubt accentuated the sudden severity of the moment.

Destra, his normally jovial face darkened.

“I’ll answer for the pair of us as we were both summoned together,” he whispered, though he held his hands carefully out in front of his body. “The Warlord Trufang mounts a blockade preventing precious grain from reaching the starving people of Halthome. We are to accompany the Rightmaker, eliminate the Warlord and return to our original postings on completion.”

Risens glared at them in the darkness, his gaze darting between the pair.

“Bakka?”

“My orders were the same, Rightmaker,” he whispered, though he bowed slightly. “His recollection was not flawed.”

“And nothing more?”

“No. Nothing,” he replied. “Where are the others?”

The very fact that the pair was waiting here in the clearing was a slight verification that they had not been a part of the plan, yet any shred of trust he’d placed in the assassins had waved, while for others it had failed entirely. Risens was satisfied for the moment that neither of the par would try to kill him at least for the time being, though he would not let his guard down.

“It seems that Korpis got himself killed,” Risens growled. “That Orio chose to return when my direct order demanded he wait here is problematic. They are on their own now. The city is awake and will soon find evidence of what’s been done. We need to be gone when they do.”

Risens was content to allow Bakka to lead the way as they hastened through the woods toward the pass. The lighter stone against the darker surroundings had only come into view when the first of the haunting notes floated on the air.

Discoveries of their wicked presence were revealed as the city seemed to cry aloud at once. The sounds sent a shiver that started with is head, tracing its path down his spine.

“You were selected as the best the Kingdom has to offer,” he growled as they stopped in the shadows of the trees. Not a single guard that had manned the gate remained at their posts. It was likely their house that was in danger of catching fire. Their families that had been murdered by the assassin he’d led into their midst.

His cold heart had accepted his fate. Countless lives had been cast out at his hands or blades, yet with all his being, he had believed that they were justified. A righteous order from the highest power that commanded his obedience.

He strained his ears at hopes for the voice, ominous and terrifying to hammer in his ears. At the moment, it seem like the only thing grounding him to reality.

“We return to Halthome with all due haste,” he ordered. “We will not stop. If you cannot maintain the pace you will be left behind. This won’t get better for the waiting.”

“Go.”