For decades, the Shial and Halthome had been as close to war as possible without drawing blades. That Risens and his soon-to-be-met companions were being sent into the lands to the north brought even greater worry to his spirit. This was an act of war. Sure, Sagra Trufang had placed a stopper in the vial of their trading route, but such things were to be expected when dealing with politics between nations. This, being sent to eliminate one of their key warlords… this was something else altogether.

  There was no fear that they wouldn’t find success in the assassination, but Fendri’s lingering warnings had taken up residence in Risens’ mind. Who were these additional killers that Lathrenon had seen fit to pair Risens with? Could they be trusted? The King had shown displeasure at the attempt on Risens’ life in the hedge maze, but His Excellency’s actions earlier with Lady Myrenas had driven a deep chasm through the foundations of Risens’ loyalties. Coupled with his newfound interest in the voice of the Roost, he found himself utterly torn.

  The Mother Raven had called Lathrenon a false king, and those words had also been found scribbled into the pages written by Lady Myrenas. Was there more to her death than initially met the eye?

  And then there was Tawny and Marlaine. Though he hadn’t known them long, they had become something beyond simple liabilities. He’d sacrificed years of practice in their salvation, but Marlaine especially, had been a direct command from the voice.

  These and other thoughts bombarded him as he stepped through the doorway and into a chamber made entirely of stone. It was devoid of furniture, the only features being the door he’d entered through and the windStep along the opposite wall.

  However, he was not alone.

  Dressed in unremarkable travel clothes and cloaks, packs already on their backs, each looked out of place to his well trained eyes. From their stature—the positioning of their hands; the way their weight was centered just over the balls of their feet, the cautious shifting of their eyes—to their spacing, they had the unmistakable look of those who’d devoted much of their lives to sneaking through the shadows. That he recognized none of them was no surprise.

  Even in those days when Vagon trained him, he’d always heard tell of other assassins overseeing his training, but none had ever made themselves visible. He’d often wondered if his former master had just been spinning yarns. Were these simply men and women in the employ of the King who might have passed by him in the castle grounds unseen for years?

  He’d rarely work in the company of others though he had, on occasion, lead small strike teams such as this. They met in the shadows, worked in the shadows, and vanished back into the shadows as quickly as they had been summoned. There were no heartfelt goodbyes, no handshakes or hugs—and certainly no introductions in a well-lit room somewhere within the castle walls where Risens had never ventured. As a point of fact, the station of royal assassin was not conducive to lasting friendships, as often times, life was cut tragically short.

  The five assassins eyed him skeptically, though each offered polite bow as Fendri moved past him to the center of the chamber.

  “The oath that binds you to this Kingdom binds you to service and secrecy,” he announced, his gaze meeting with each as he talked. “It binds you to each other. The Rightmaker speaks for your lord, King Lathrenon. His word is your law.”

  Fendri let his piercing glare make a circuit of the room again. Risens watched him carefully, noting as his eyes lingered on a pair of the assembled assassins before falling upon him.

  “The windStep from this room will deposit you close to the edge of the Cimmerian Peak and the Shial Sliver. The guards at the other side will not question your appearance, though it would be wise not to overstay your welcome. Do not give in to the temptation of Adalhard’s monument before your task has been completed. Once you cross through, the portal will be sealed. There will be no simple return. You will be on your own.”

  Risens tried to hide the shock from his posture and eyes. He’d never used the portals to travel this far. Truly, he hadn’t known it was possible.

  Risens examined the others’ faces as the steward explained. None seemed as fazed as he, nor by the description of the tasks at hand. They were professionals and for that, he was thankful. They would follow his commands.

  Or they would die by his blades.

  “Make haste,” Fendri continued, “there is little time before nightfall. You dwell in the shadows, but do not let that deceive you. The northern pass will be treacherous at night. Your presence will merit fewer questions if you remain undiscovered.”

  “Then let us be on our way,” Risens acknowledge. He met eyes with the closest assassin to the portal. “Lead on. We’ll deal with formalities on the road.” Without a word, the man nodded before slipping through the wavering darkness of the windStep. The others followed one after the other.

  A spare pack had been left for him in the corner. He threw it over his shoulder before falling in line. He reached the windStep, but the unexpected weight of Fendri’s hand on his shoulder held him back.

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  His voice was a whisper, barely loud enough for the words to be made out. “May the ravens guide you home.” He offered a bizarrely poignant bow.

  Risens stared at him a moment, then turned toward the windStep.

  The continued peculiarities of the man clouded his mind, and he wondered if that was the point. Was Fendri aiming to confuse and befuddle him so he’d not be prepared when the next attack came?

  The rushing of the windStep did nothing to dilute the thoughts as his vision cleared to reveal the cramped confines of a small storeroom. Where the mountains ranges met was far to the north, hundreds of miles from Windwake. That they could even cross such a distance had been previously unknown to him. Now that he’d done it, the disorientation of the journey left a lingering effect that was far more potent than what he was used to when traveling around the city. The others, shaking off their confusion, had already taken up defensive positions near the door, awaiting his arrival. Cramped as it was, there was a chill to the air as Fendri had foretold.

  “The room beyond is clear,” one of the assassins said.

  Risens nodded before pulling up his tunic’s collar over his mask. Adjusting his hood, he stepped cautiously through as the assassin opened the door fully. True to the description, the room was unoccupied, though it was clear that the space was not abandoned. A small fire—truthfully little more than a pile of smoldering embers and a single flame—struggled mightily to keep the cold at bay. A pair of cushioned chairs piled high with blankets were set close to the hearth, pinning down the wiry brown fur of a massive animal pelt. The rest of the room contained only those things necessary for function. A small weathered table and a pair of chairs were positioned near the kitchen—barely large enough to even be called that. Through the waving imperfections in the glass of the windows, few clear details could be interpreted.

  Risens held the door for the other assassins to file through. He couldn’t help the involuntary tremor that coursed through him as his gaze landed on the windStep they had just passed through. The portal was gone, replaced by the natural weather-warped boards of a closet.

  They were cut off from the city. He was cut off from the Roost, from the wealth of information and power housed in its hallowed hall.

  But he had a job to do. He let the door close, crossing the room with intention to the door beyond. Though the finer details were diluted by the distortions in the glass, there was no disguising the jagged silhouette of the darkened peaks of mountains against the burning hues of the carmine sky.

  Carefully opening the front door, the previously disfigured vista that came to life was stunning. Not far in the distance, two distinct mountain ranges met in a confusing jumble of stone. The wild peaks thrust high into the sky at their intersection, the tops covered with a thick layer of white. He could see the winding track clearly, like slithering snakes, way up the mountains, following the easiest path onward.

  From his studies, Risens knew that the mountains here were at their narrowest, stretching a distance of roughly twenty miles. The pass, with its treacherous switchbacks and sinuous paths, was well over double that length, or hard travel. Without delay, it would take them at least two days to cross through the gap.

  The careful positioning of the portal gave little confusion as to the direction they would need to take. The small house they had found themselves in exited only a few dozen meters from the wide, rutted track that lead into the foothills. A crudely made pole was hammered into the ground a pair of sun-bleached, hand-painted signs pointed in roughly the same direction. The top read “Breakker’s Pass” while the bottom denoted, “Adalhard’s Rise.”

  Risens had only seen the monument and shrine dedicated to the great king illustrated in tomes and paintings. While he would have enjoyed the view, this was no holiday. They were not here to sightsee.

  Without a word, he lead the group away from the house, moving quickly to the road. To their left, a man and a woman, backs heavily laden with cut wood, were returning to their home at the end of a hard day’s labor. It was unclear if his party had been spotted exiting their house, unless, of course, one was to consider that they showed no anger or annoyance.

  Risens’ burning glare met with one of the assassins in his group, who’s hands had shifted menacingly to his blades.

  “They are not to be harmed,” Risens whispered in a low growl.

  The man nodded, slipping his hands from the hilts, then rubbing them together for warmth. The sudden rush toward violence was telling. This one would need to be watched.

  “There is a rest at the base of the pass,” he continued, this time talking to the lot. “We can rest there before covering what ground we can under the cover of night.”

  There was no conversation, only muffled grumbles of assent as they hiked along the steadily rising foothills. The track ran along the base of the Shial Sliver, though it weaved between it and the Cimmerian Peaks as it cut through the muddledmaze of stone.

  Daylight was fading fast as they stopped at the rest set along the side of the trail. It was nothing more than a wide dirt circle protected from the biting winds by a natural stone ledge on one side and tall, thickly spaced conifers on the other. Thankfully, they shared the camp with no others at the moment.

  “Start a fire,” Risens ordered. “This may be the last hot meal we enjoy for days.”

  He was grateful that, at least in initial appearance, he had been surrounded by those who understood authority. Fendri had deemed him leader, and they offered no protestations to the contrary. He’d tracked groups of soldiers in his training, watching the interaction between the commanding officers and their subordinates. He marveled at their restraint as some of their companions were unruly at best. It was no time before he joined the others around a crackling blaze.

  “There’s no need for past histories, achievements, or titles,” he said to the gathered killers. “That you are here speaks to your credibility in the eyes of His Majesty and the crown. Because this task is likely to take a a fortnight, we should at least know what names to call each other. Whether real or devised is no concern to me as long as you respond when addressed and follow orders.”

  He let his gaze track over those assembled in a semi-circle around him. Though they all watched him, none showed any outward emotion. He was traveling into foreign lands, set on a task to kill a warlord. He traveled in the company of unknown assassins, and while the words had only just parted his lips, he give them much weight. Beyond his advanced training, he’d survived in part due to his intuition.

  It was screaming in alarm.

  Meeting the eyes of each, he assessed them one at a time.

  He knew that this quest would be interesting.

  “You may call me Raven.”