Chapter 54: THE PURSUIT

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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Rest for Risens was never deep. Even prior to the ruining of the protected sanctuary of his private chambers he’d alway been a light sleeper. Taught and reinforced at the hands of violent and unforgiving tutors, it was a lesson that he’d never forgotten, now burned into the very fiber of his being.

He’d heard the whispering of Orio as Korpis had returned, bedding down after first watch. The scarred killer made no sounds, yet peeking through barely cracked eyelids found the focus of the man squarely on him.

“Fledgling will allow his wings to be clipped while he slumbers. Still too weak.”

Though the speech was bizarrely disjointed, he understood the insult clearly in his mind. He knew between the comments about his aptitude of failures, he’d get no rest. Switching to his standard issue daggers from the castle, he withdrew the blades though he kept the naked steel disguised under the folds of his cloak.

Floating on the precipice between slumber and wakefulness, he heard the unmistakable heavy breathing of deep sleep. Listened to the quiet tapping of water is is dripped through a crack in the rocks to the stone below.

He was fully cognizant as they changed shifts for the final time. He heard the muted scraping of feet on the ground and the muffled chewing as someone worked through a section of the though, salty trail rations. The timbre of Feylen’s voice was harsh, yet the words were the most disconcerting.

“Must be a blessing to be the King’s Rightmaker.” Her voice was barely a whisper into Orio’s ear yet to his ears it was clear as a cloudless day. “He sleeps like a baby, tucked safely in his bed, too carefree to understand that the nightmares lurk closer than he thinks. Do you think they’d give us the title if we slit his throat and brough his head back with the Warlords?”

“They’d hang you for a traitor, if they could find the pieces large enough to rope up,” Risens growled though he had no need to fully open his eyes. Through the minute gaps he could see their positions clearly. With all modesty, he knew that he needed nothing more than the sound of their voice to kill them all without opening his eyes. 

He had not been idle while he rested. Every shift of a bedroll, every deep sighing breath had been noted, painted into the image of the room in his mind’s eye. Moving his wrist slightly, a hands width of the naked blade slid from under the cover of his cloak.

“So, the babe has teeth,” she grumbled as she sat down, making herself comfortable on her bedroll.

“Do not try my patience,” he responded, leaving the shining metal of the blade exposed. “This is a tooth that I know well how to use. I assure you there are far more coming behind it. Rest now. We don’t stop until this task is complete.”

There were a few grumbles, though none voiced any further complaints. Had it not been for the task at had, he would have given into the urges of the Raven Talons long ago. He found it curious that most of the assassins knew each other, personally or by reputation. The more he thought about it, the Rightmaker was a title he had worked for, trained from a young age to achieve. Without conceit, he knew without a doubt that he was more skilled than any here with him, and that was not to say that any here were amateurs.

The more he thought about the peculiarity, the more logic it registered in his mind. He was the bloody hand of the King, striking where His Majesty could not go. The sensitivity of his quests demanded utmost secrecy, trust and skill. He had demonstrated them for years. The yawning pit opened in his gut as he realized that trust, though he had granted and demonstrated it daily had waned over the last few days.

Ever since the Brand of the Appraiser was applied the Brand to his skin.

Thankfully, his thoughts quieted as did his temporary companions. Risens was awake and packed before the others stirred calling an end to their quiet rest.

“The storm is only mist now,” Orio noted as he poked his head in through the gap in the ravine. “There has been no movement anywhere, though I expect we’ll see something once the sun burns off the last of the rain.”

There was little discussion to be had as they abandoned their hasty camp. Noting the location among the rock, in the event they would need it during their return trip, they moved carefully through the maze of rocks to the pass.

The scenery that had been concealed by torrential storm had resolved into a stunning landscape that spread out before him. Though limited to a only a few miles, the peaks, many still topped with a permanent layer of ice and snow glistened in the light of the clearing day. It had slipped beyond midday into the middle of the afternoon, but the rays cut through the icy chill that was still pervasive at this attitude and that still lingered in the air, heavily laden with moisture as it was.

Several hundred meters to their left, the snaking evidence of Breakker’s Pass was evident. The thin strip of pale, worked stone winding along the sizeable gap in the rocks, caused by the rushing river below. Mist seemed to bubble over the edge appearing as if it were nothing more than a pathway of fog. Lost behind the mountains and the limited visibility, there was no sign of the plains of Shial to see.

Within hours, the rain and mists that had drenched their travel through the peaks burned off revealing the late afternoon alive with colors of the approaching night. A wash of deep purple, vibrant red and oranges pushed up into the sky along the western horizon. In places, cutting through the jagged peaks, it appeared as if the mountains themselves were on fire.

Descending the pass toward Shial, their travel was far easier though the distance was considerably longer. The composition of the surrounding landscape changed from.jagged boulders to large swaths of loose rock making the prospect of hiding or moving stealthily off the track a daunting prospect. The scattered shrubs increased in size, frequency and variety as they left the heights of the mountain behind. Signs of wildlife abounded here though thankfully they saw no evidence of either patrols or outposts.

With rejuvenated legs they pushed on leaving the daylight behind for the cover of darkness. At home in the shadows, the rate of their pace only increased as they wounded through the switchbacks and turns of Breakker’s Pass. As if conspiring with the sky above to conceal their movements, clouds had covered much of the sky, though not the type that threatened rain.

It was past midnight when they spotted the first lights flickering through the gaps in the rocks that had penned them in. Still several miles in the distance to large flames spilled their halos of light over the large wooden gate that covered the pass. The silhouettes of soldiers patrolling the fortification faded in and out of view as they moved in and out of the light.

Even from afar, Risens could tell that the wall was built as a deterrent against movement, not as a defensible structure. Shial and specifically Trufang who lorded over this stretch of terrain had little fear of an invasion from the mountains. Even though they knew that news of their blockade would rankle the Kingdom of Halthome, only two outposts guarded the track. They were a designed to defend against troops marching up the mountain pass, to notify those waiting in the homeland that trouble was on the way.

The waiting signal fire at the second post would illuminate the threats far quicker than any runner could bring word. The Warlord would have easily half a day to muster defenses, though Risens had no doubt that the pass was rigged with traps for that eventuality. That they had seen none of the other signal fires during their trek today was curious, though it was impossible for them to cover every meter of the terrain. Likely teams of bored soldiers hunkered down for brutal shifts of boredom scattered high among the lofty peaks. That no fires had burned was a sign that the destruction of the first group had yet to be discovered, or perhaps the second had met a similar fate.

Beyond the gate and wall, a modest, yet spread out village was nestled against the foothills of the mountains. The greatest accumulation of buildings was to the left of the gate, framing in a large well-lit square. The pass they followed had had shifted to a northerly direction while the river that cut through the range had continued west. Somewhere to the southwest it exited the mountains. Whether the fury of the storm forced it over its banks of not, darkness covered the evidence.

To the west of the gate, the settlement thinned as the tightly packed buildings gave way to scattered farms. It was here that his attention focused. Set atop a low rise, looming over the village, Warlord Trufang’s complex was an imposing sight. Massive stone carvings of wolves framed either side of the wide staircase leading to wall that surrounded his dwelling. Three sides the stronghold were surrounded by a rock wall appeared to be less than five meters tall. Scattered patrols walked lazily around the perimeter though he could tell from the distance that complacency had set it.

The other side of the Warlord’s complex was guarded by a narrow courtyard that rested against the sheer drop off as the rise ended at the edge of a wide body of water. The wall here looked to be made for decoration not function, carved out of a long row of bushes. Fed from a stream far beyond their sight, the filtered moonlight flickered as it reflected off the rippling water. While the rest of the fortification was illuminated by rings of mageLight, the rear, facing the water was shrouded entirely in darkness. If there were docks along the coast, they too were concealed by the night. Staring at the darkened edge of the estate, he wondered if Trufang had presented them with an opportunity, or left them with an alluring trap.

Accustomed to the scale and scope of Windwake, the vastness of space and the compact nature of the buildings was a drastic change. The entire village could have easily fit into King Lathrenon’s sprawling palatial complex. The Warlord’s complex, though it dwarfed the next largest building in scale yet it was no bigger than most of the manor houses bordering the sandy beaches of Sea Solace in Quayside.

Silently, they stalked off the road into the cover of trees to the side.

“From this point on, any patrols we encounter in the woods, must be silenced, “ Risens whispered. “We make for the ledge against the water. I needn’t remind anyone that this will be considerably easier if we do not rouse the entire town in the process.”

“What if it’s a challenge we seek? Destra’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Then feel free to pursue one at the conclusion of our current task,” he responded,. “When it’s only your life on the line.

Beyond the expectedly snide remark from the assassin, the others only offered  grumbles of ascent

The woods that overlooked the small town were dense though they posed no trouble in moving. With every step that they approached, the question mounted in his mind. They encountered no patrols, no hidden traps amid the trees. The Warlord was either foolish in his preparation or overly confident in his security. Nothing that Risens noted as they stalked through the trees hinted at the latter. The thought troubled him.

The thin wooden picket that extended from the side of the gate ran all the way until it stopped at the water. Between the large fires and lights that illuminated the sealed wooden doorway, there was only a single mageLight on the final section near the water. There were a pair on long, narrow farms that extended along the inner edge of the wooden fence, though only a scattering of low light filtered through their closed shutters.

Reaching the end of the trees, the quiet lapping sounds of the gentle ripples of water against the stone bank of the lake joined the steady chirp of the insects in the air. Crouching in the shadow, Risens turned his view to the assassins that formed up behind him.

“What are your thoughts?” He inquired. The answers were as varied as he had anticipated

Korpis remained silent though the burning fire of pent up violence begged for release.

“This is your command, Rightmaker,” Feylen grumbled. “We follow your orders. Direct us as you see fit. It is you who speak for the King, do you not? Kill them all, as we were ordered.”

“Alarm or not, you’re too soft. The mercy does your title no justice,” Orio growled. “The Warlord will die as will any who stand in our way.”

If not for the mission at hand, Risens would have impaled the petulant assassins for the insult alone. As with the apathy of the guard, the statements were telling. They lacked the fear of repercussions as if their purpose was somehow shielded by a force beyond his control.

“Something doesn’t seem right,” Bakka interjected. They leave only a skeleton crew on guard. For one who risks the ire of an entire Kingdom, I had expected far greater preparation.”

“Of all the responses, I rank that among my top three,” Destra entered the conversation with his expected level of sarcasm. “Who are you kidding? Between the risk of one of you bloodthirsty maniacs ramming a knife into my back or giving Bakka a big head, you think I’d chose the latter. But I don’t.”

Risens was surprised by the dangerous support offered by Destra, yet he was pleased that at least two of them displayed the rational logic that was essential to maintaining a long life in this bloody profession

“Mercy, has nothing to do with the question. Know that under different circumstances your insinuations would have earned you a swift death,” Risens retorted, his hushed voice dripping with malice. “And you will follow my orders. Whether you like it or not.”

With the positions assigned, he watched as the killers stealthily disappeared into the darkness mo. He’d avoided resting his hands on the blades of the talons for fear the urge to kill one, or several of his companions would have been too strong to overcome. Lowering his hands to the talons the emotion and the voices rampaged through his mind.

“They’re going to kill you. Stupid fledgling is flying right into a trap.”