Chapter 56: OATH BREAKER

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 backward falling into a defensive stance, letting the Warlord crumple to the floor. Expecting to dodge a blade, he was only forced to avoid the splatter of blood from the Warlord’s mouth. Trufang’s wet, raspy breaths silenced as Orio stalked in from the shadows of the hall. Casually he reached down, pulling the blade from the man’s neck, wiping it on his clothing.

The confusion that addled Risens’s mind shifted to blinding rage as he lunged at the assassin. Grabbing him by hos collar, he spun, throwing the man further into the room. Orio slammed helplessly into the table, flipping it and half the chairs that surrounded it as he flopped to the ground. The splintering of wood and the shattering of the glass pitchers broke the silence that had permeated the Warlord’s estate since they had arrived.

Risens pounced on the assassin the moment his bond hit the wooden floor with a resounding thud. Driving his knee into the pressure point in the center of Orio’s chest, he pinned the man to the floor, holding the talon ominously close to the man’s neck.

His mind was a seething mix of burning animosity, intrigue, muddling bloodlust all held together by the glue of duty. He desired nothing more than to give into the rage the insatiable thirst for blood, to drive the blade through the assassin into the wooden floorboards, yet it was duty that won out.

“You are bound to me as I am to you. For the duration of this task, by oath we serve at the pleasure of the King to which we owe our devotion,” he cursed. “Once we return to Halthome, I will give my report to His Majesty. I promise you that if I ever see your face again, neither the broad daylight, nor crowds of soldiers watching, nothing will prevent me from removing your head from your shoulders.”

“Relax, Rightmaker,” Orio growled back with a surprising amount of bravado for one held in such a compromising position. “The task is complete. The Warlord is dead. I was protecting you as I was upholding the duty you profess. He had a knife.”

Risens silenced his pathetic excuses and justifications, hammering his knee into the side of the man’s chest, robbing the breath from his lungs.

“I neither wanted nor needed your assistance,” he snapped. “He was no threat to me and now the information the Kingdom desired is lost to his lips.”

Leaning with the entire weight of his body, he pushed himself up off the assassin, satisfied with the grunt of pain that exited the man’s mouth. The talon screamed at his inadequacy, raging that it was again denied the blood it so craved.

“Get up,” Risens growled. “Gather the others. Our task here is done.”

Staggering to his feet, Orio favored his with a mutinous look. His hand’s hovered ominously close to his blades for a few breaths. The spark of recognition flashed in the assassin’s eyes as he comprehended the precarious nature of the situation. Holding his hands out in front of him in a placating manner, he backed slowly toward the exit.

“By your command,” he groaned as he slipped from the room.

Risens cursed himself for the obligations of duty. as he slipped the talon back into its sheath. He no longer desired to hear it opinions of his aptitude, which were always unfavorable at best. His anger at the twist in the situation only swelled as he stepped back, avoiding the ever-widening pool of blood that spread around the Warlord.

That the King’s emissaries had been present recently was news to him. That they had reached an agreement added yet another layer to the riddled mess that he’d found himself in. The duplicity of both Lord’s Caervis and Theroulde was widely rumored, yet he was aware of no rumor that connected them with the growing influence of the Dreamcatchers. They had obviously come at the King’s behest and blessing, why then would His Majesty have wanted to Warlord dead?

Cursing the questions that swirled in his head, he skirted the crimson pool moving to the desk where Truang had worked. The missive he etched into the parchment was benign, though the timing of the subject did little to satiate his aggravated mind.

Honorable, King Lathrenon,

Your wisdom and generosity are a welcomed sentiment to the lasting peace between our realms. As trusted allies, we willingly rise to your people’s aid in your times of need as we trust you will do the same for the people of Shial if necessity dictated.

Risens scanned the note for the second time. committing it to memory even as he folded it, placing it into the breast pocket of his cloak. This was not a message planted for the sake of a ruse, but a genuine sentiment, scrolled onto paper before his eyes. Before his ominous presence was known. Turning his attention to the desk he quickly searched through the drawers, finding nothing but innocuous notes and missives. Various trivial grievances from citizens were mixed with requisitions filled and taxes collected. He bypassed the locked drawer with ease, finding nothing of note beyond the parchment bearing the seal he knew all too well.

Stamped and signed by King Lthrenon’s own hand was the entreaty conveying the grains from Shial to Halthome and the compensation for the goods provided. Risens collected it as well, storing with the other document on his person.

Scouring the surface of the desk, he quickly located the hidden compartment tucked into the side of the frame.

Beyond love letters someone named only as “X” there was nothing of value in the cache.

There were neither coded documents not anything bearing the Dreamcatchers name. No state secrets lay tucked away in the compartment. He quickly abandoned the search as he found nothing amounting anything close to a threat to Halthome among the papers in the Warlord’s study. Perhaps the evidence he sought was elsewhere, yet the purpose for his mission had been fulfilled. Warlord Trufang was dead.

Risens exited the private chamber through the doorway, stalking into the darkened hallway beyond. The utter stillness and silence inside the estate was complete. This was not the cause of magic, but the reality that none breathed, no hearts still beat in the chests of any inside its room or halls. Descending the stairs he stepped around the vile byproduct of the quest he and his temporary companions had bee set upon. Bodies, in various states of death were strewn throughout the halls. Each room he stalked passed contained yet another corpse, yet another life ended by their campaign. Crossing the first floor, he was confronted by the fact that the Warlord had not lied.

There were no soldiers among the deceased. Only servants joined their lord in death.

Exiting the manor through the side door of the kitchen he noted the first among the dead that carried a blade, though it remained still lodged inside its sheath. None moved among the ground as he darted through the shadows along the inside of the wall. Ascending the stairs, he encountered several more bodies of the soldiers, cut down silently on their patrols. From the top of the wall, he surveyed the scene. From a purely technical standpoint, the assault had been performed to perfection. The Warlord and his soldiers lay dead, those on the grounds shrouded by the darkness beyond the glow of the mageLights.

He struggled to quiet the thoughts that churned within.

There was threat here. He could have accomplished the task himself with relative ease. Why send a group of six assassins to deal with a paltry supply of soldiers and a Warlord who’d agreed to your terms? Amateurs could have completed this quest. Why send six of the best?

Why send the King’s Rightmaker?

Lowering himself from the walkway, he rolled as he hit the ground to diffuse the force of his descent. He suspected he could have walked casually out of the front gates of the keep though his training was far more thorough than to allow that. Brushing himself off he crept quickly through the fields until he reached the water’s edge. He felt the mounting trepidation as he approached the shadows of the looming forest. Question that had swirled around the loyalties of his fellow assassins had surged. That ulterior motives were likely involved he had little question, though it was partially morbid curiosity that allowed it to play out. With their task complete, ending them now would be accomplished with ease.

How many of them shared teh same sentiment?

Silhouetted as a shadow against the darkness of the night, he would be an easy target for any ranged weapon. The shift from the pale glow of the moon that filtered through the stars to the shadow of the trees was the likeliest of sites for an ambush as adjusting eyes wouldn’t have the time to correct before the blades took their price in flash.

Not wanting the distraction of the insatiable talons, he drew his reserve steel blades before surging forward into the shadows. Risens adjusted his track as he entered the trees, shifting rapidly to the left for the cover of the first trunk. There was no whistling of blade in the air to greet his approach, no grunts of effort spent to cut him down. Only the insects quietly mocked him for his wild entrance.

Their predetermined location to meet was located in a small clearing only a few meters inside the cover of the trees. He noted the huddle shapes of the assassins, near the center. Putting his hand to his lips he whistled the call signaling his approach into the darkness. The echoed reply confirmed the safety of his return. With his attention still focused and on high alert, he moved into the clearing.

“That was far too easy,” Destra greeted him as he entered. A few steps from his side, Bakka waited, his bow still slung over his shoulders.

“Where are the others?” Risens demanded. The aggravation in his voice was clear, yet these were not the targets of his ire.

“Orio relayed your command, though neither he, Korpis nor Feylen had returned, Bakka replied.

The virulent string of curses that surged through his mind were fierce though he gave none the life it desired.

“Wait here,” he ordered before disappearing back into the shadows at the edge of the forest.

From where they were concealed he could see most of the terrain around the outside of the Warlord’s pitifully defended complex. The houses and farms were all civilian structures, none defended by anything more than a fence to hold their personal animals. Owin to the house, was surprised to see no more than a scattering of dull lights peeking out of their interiors.

Movement, a shifting shadow drew his attention as it exited one of the long, narrow farms sandwiched between the flimsy picket fence and the stone wall of Warlord Trufang’s estate. He tracked it as it slipped through the rows of crops toward the closest farm. The crouched form was a shape he was familiar with. The figure silently slipped through the slightly open door of the barn, built off the side of the small farmhouse. Low to the ground, he sprinted forward, slowing only to clear the defensive wall of pickets that bordered the fields. Moving with silent strides, length strides, he reached the edge of the farmhouse in a matter of a few breaths.

Hugging the edge of the building, he peeked through the cracks in the shutters searching for details of movement within. The interior was plain yet functional. The dampers were applied to the small mageLight, leaving only a hint of its original glow. It was enough to illuminate the vile scene within. Korpis, his face locked into an expression of wild glee plunged his knife repeatedly into the still form of a man on the ground. The bodies of at two others lay motionless on teh floor to the side.

Risens forced the bile back into his stomach as the assassin straightened up, licking the blood from the side of his dagger. Removing a small vial from within the folds of his cloak, he dragged his blade in short deliberate, yet random lines across his face. Sheathing the dagger, he unstoppered the cork on the bottle before tipping a small amount on his finger. The sting of the healing salve seemed to have no effect on him as he reveled in the addition of the new scars. Replacing the vial, his devious eyes scanned the room as if looking for something else to kill.

The duty. The restraint that had bound his hands incinerated in that instant.

If Korpis wanted more death, Risens was all too happy to oblige.