Chapter 50: CARNAGE

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!

***

Risens took the lead as they trailed the pair of soldiers along the mountain path. Maintaining their stealthy pursuit they darted from shadow to shadow. They could have walked along the center of the track with little concern for all the care the two were giving to their surroundings but training and common sense dictated their caution.

In a long single file line, the moved ever steadily along Breakker’s Pass. Bakka was in the lead while he followed just far enough that the man’s stealthy shadow was still visible through the gloom of the night. Feylen paced behind him, with Orio, Korpis and then Destra bringing up the rear. He thought it wise to separate Feylen from the unexpectedly jovial Destra, or else he wouldn’t be surprised if one, or both ended up dead.

The wind had increased steadily as they ascended. Free from even the limited protection of some of the peaks, it blew strong and cold, swirling around them in wicked gusts. Each blast drove needles of icy chills through his clothing while the sound of rushing wind moaned in his ears.

A particularly strong gust brought with it a wail that seemed to linger longer than the wind whipped through the stones. Ahead, Bakka stopped in the shadows of the trail as it reach another bend in the track. Maintaining his silent and sure footing, Risens put on a measure of speed to reach the assassin.

“Something’s amiss,” Bakka whispered as he reached his side. “That was not the sound of the wind. Look there, against the mountain in the distance.”

Risens followed the tangent of the man’s extended arm as he peered into the darkness. Under the pale light of the moon and stars the rocky faces of the mountains, the various boulders and stone all took on the same muted hue. Against the looming vertical face of one of the sheer spires of the Shial Sliver range he capture the minor, yet distinct orange glow.

A fire burned among the rocks, its light wavering erratically.

“The pair took on speed as soon as they rounded this bend,” the assassin continued. The others joined them one after the other as they trained their eyes in the direction of the attention. “It was hard to tell through the darkness, yet I don’t believe it was the promise of warmth that fueled their steps.”

“I heard the moaning on the wind,” Risens noted.

“As did I,” Destra chimed in. “Though I thought it was just Feylen thinking of me.”

“Enough.”

Risens stopped the useless banter, likely before the woman removed his grinning head from his shoulders.

“I agree with Bakka”s assessment,” Risens acknowledged. “Why go through the trouble with all the silent patrols, only to burn a beacon among the rocks? Orio, Korpis and Feylen, watch the road. Bakka and Destra, with me.”

Though they were all undoubtably professionals, he would make a conscious effort to keep Destra and Feylen apart before the man’s mouth inevitably got himself into trouble. There was no clear path among the rocky peaks with every boulder or formation forming another place for soldiers to hide. The weather was thankfully dry, the thoughts of trudging through the pass in the freezing rain or snow was chilling though it made tracking the sentries across the rocks far more difficult. Beyond the low scrub brushes, clinging desperately to the rocks, there was no vegetation this high up the mountain. They hadn’t made it far when the sounds of rapid footsteps from the camp and shifting stones cracked through the air.

Risens flattened himself to the backside of a rock, pulling one of the Raven’s talon partially from its sheath. The blade’s excited anticipation blade vibrated in his mind. Bakka and Destra disappeared from view as they too sought shelter. A rapid check of the other found nothing but shadows.

Without warning, a man spilled across the rocks a few meters to his side, grunting in pain as he scraped across the stones. A moment later the second, grabbed him from behind, wrenching him to his feet.

“Get up you fool. Keep up or Ill leave you to greet the others in Pylkev.”

Risens recognized the voice as one of the sentries that had wandered by their position. His animated tones from earlier were now frantic, dripping with fear. The pair scrambled past, throwing occasional panicked glances over their shoulders toward the encampment they were fleeing.

Even though the immediate threat of discovery had past, the pair running at breakneck speed away from his location, he couldn’t bring himself to release his hold on the talon.

Greet the others in Pylkev.

There was something far more alarming ahead than just the ill-advised firelight. A few breaths later he heard the pained cry of a man from his rear, understanding the source immediately. The pair of fleeing sentries had met with the rest of his party. Their frantic flight would continue no further.

“They run as if being chased,” Bakka whispered, appearing from the shadow where he’d concealed his form. Destra crouched to his side.

“They run as if they were on fire,” Destra added. “Though we’ll get no information from them. Orio and Korpis tend to use their blades before words. Terrible interrogator, the pair of them.”

Ignoring the comment, Risens motioned the pair forward. Drawing the talon, the symbol flashed into view in the lower right corner of his vision. The insatiable blood lust mounted.

Twenty-three.

It was curious that the timer remained where it was when he’s last used the blades. Unlike the mask where a period of cool down was required before it could be removed, sheathing the blades apparently had no impact on the number. The passage of time was inconsequential. Not willing to risk the time, he stowed the blade, switching it with one from his supply in castle. The familiar grip of the handle felt cold and awkward.

It was not a thought that at the present he could give any credence to. Diverting any attention from their surroundings would be foolish at best. Shifting the entirety of his focus back to the situation at hand, he motioned for the pair of assassins to follow. 

Silently they slid over and around the rocky outcroppings and ledges. It was slow, purposeful movement. Even with the flight of the sentries, there was no telling what lurked around boulder, or what hazards dwelled in each crevice. The acrid smell of the fire increased as it was carried by the swirling winds. The wavering glow from the blaze ahead had decreased with time though as they neared it shifted. The steady amber aura on the rocks now splashed wildly as the blaze clung to life.

Risens stopped abruptly as the odor in the air, beneath the char wrinkled his nose.

For one adept at dealing in the dark arts as he was. The aromas of blood and death were all too familiar. Peeking around the next boulder the traces of scents carried by the wind increased as they were given an image to back the smell.

Set in a small, natural bowl in the cliff, the disguised encampment had been protected from view and the elements. Wind now whipped through the space blowing sparks and scraps of fabric across the stone. A first glance there was no telling how many tents or soldiers had occupied the compact lookout.

The devastation was complete.

Even for one trained in the bloody, savage art of assassination, the carnage was shocking. The King’s assassination of Lady Myrenas was intimately brutal and deliberate. The scene before him was pure wanton destruction. Bodies were torn to shreds, left is scraps strewn around the rocks. Not a single, insulated fur lined tent remained standing, the tattered remnants slashed into strips that blew errantly around the gore of the camp. The carefully constructed signal fire, strewn around the outpost in shattered chunks of wood and tinder. The reason for the rapid flight of the sentries was entirely justified.

Risens fought the unexpected urge to do the same.

Whatever, or whoever had done this was not gone for long. The patrols had grumbled about the hours they spend traipsing the pass in the depths of the night, so this had happened after they had set out. Risens shifted forward, placing his feet carefully avoiding the splatters of crimson and gore as he stalked toward the remains of one of the soldiers. He rested his hand against the exposed pale flesh of the dismembered torso. The skin was cold though it still remained a hint of its latent heat.

“Whatever did this has only been gone for a matter of hours,” he whispered to the assassins crouched around him. The eyes of all cautiously scanned the shadows beyond the fading influence of the fire’s light.

“Men are the only large creature I know of that hunts in the mountain peaks,” Destra’s hushed voice was barely audible over the low moaning of the wind. The normal easiness of his voice had darkened into a tentative, foreboding tone. “Bears and wolves prowl the highlands, while rumors of the occasional dragon have persisted for years. Sentinels, maybe, but this doesn’t have the look of feel of their work. The only thing certain of is that this was not the product of human hands.”

As much as he didn’t want to believe it, there was truth to the logic. Risens had killed before, framing the attack on a natural predator. The custom weapons were clumsy, made more for effect and his prey was solitary. The devastation here was far more thorough. This was not done as a means pass convolute the blame. Errant scraps of the soldiers were scattered around the encampment along with their savaged gear and shreds of fabric. 

This was not the work of an assassin, nor damage wrought by swords. The vicious slashes that craved through the flesh were wide and jagged, like claws, or talons of a massive beast. The blaze flared for a moment as a blood-soaked scrap of cloth was blown into its embrace.

“There’s nothing more we can do here,” Risens noted. “I don’t know what did this. We shouldn’t linger.”

Beyond the fire reflecting in the eyes of the hardened assassins that crouched by his side another district emotion burned.

Fear.