Rest for Risens was never deep. Even before the ruin of the protected sanctuary that was his private chambers, he’d always slept with one eye open. Taught and reinforced at the hands of violent and unforgiving tutors, it was a lesson he’d never forgotten, now burned into the very fiber of his being.

  Risens feigned sleep.

  He’d heard Orio’s whispers as Korpis returned, but could not make out the words. The scarred killer made no sounds as he bedded down after the first watch.

  Peering through barely cracked eyelids, Risens found the man’s focus squarely on him.

  The voice he’d now come to recognize as the Ravens Talons nearly frightened him into giving away his ruse. “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.

  He could not risk using them for this task. He had no immediate desire to kill those in his company, and the fear that the Ravens Talons would drive him to do so prematurely was real. As soon as Korpis’ attention shifted away, he slowly withdrew his standard-issue blades, careful not to give himself away, and 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. Apart from that, there was nothing to listen to but the quiet tap of dripping water 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 boots on the stone and muffled chewing as someone worked through a section of the tough, 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 it was clear as a cloudless day. “He sleeps like a tit-sucking babe, tucked safely in his bed, too carefree to understand that the nightmares lurk closer than he thinks.”

  “Quiet, you,” Orio demanded.

  “You think they’d give us the title if we slit his bloody throat and brought his head back with the Warlords?”

  “They’d hang you for a traitor if they could find lengths of rope long enough to strap you up,” Risens growled. Even through the minute gaps between his lashes, he could identify their positions. He needed nothing more than the sounds of their voices to kill them all without bothering to open his eyes.

  He had not been idle while he rested. Every shifting 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 hand’s width of the naked blade slid from under the cover of his cloak.

  “So, the babe’s got teeth, do he?” she grumbled as she sat down, making herself comfortable on her bedroll. She let out a sharp laugh. “I knew you was watching. Just testing the great and powerful Rightmaker, I was.”

  “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 hand, he would have given in to the urges of the Ravens Talons long ago.

  He found it curious that most of the assassins knew each other, personally or by reputation. The Rightmaker was a title he had worked for, trained from a young age to achieve. He knew, without a doubt, that he was more skilled than any here, and that was not to say these were amateurs.

  The longer he pondered it, the more logic 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. He had been kept apart from the others—all but Vagon.

  A yawning pit opened in his gut as the true weight of that trust settled in. It went both ways. Though he had honored his commitment all his life, it had waned over the last few days.

  Ever since the Brand of the Appraiser appeared on his skin.

  Thankfully, his thoughts quietened, 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 a 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.”

  They were quiet, yet vigilant as they abandoned their hasty camp. Noting the location among the rocks, 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 the torrential storm had concealed had resolved into a stunning landscape. Though limited to only a few miles, the peaks, many still topped with a permanent layer of ice and snow, glistened in the light of the brightening day. It had slipped into the early hours of the afternoon, but the rays cut through the icy chill that was still pervasive at this altitude. It lingered thickly 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—a thin strip of pale, worked stone winding along the sizeable chasm in the rocks, caused by the rushing river below. Mist seemed to bubble over the edge, appearing like a witch’s brew, as if it were nothing more than a frothy pathway of fog. Lost behind the mountains and the limited visibility, there was no sign of the plains of Shial to see.

  Within hours, their wetness and that of the landscape burned off, revealing lush forests alive with the colors of the approaching night. A wash of deep purple, vibrant red, and burnt 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.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Descending toward Shial, their travel was far easier, though the distance was considerably longer. The composition of the surrounding terrain changed from jagged boulders to large swaths of loose rock, making the prospect of hiding or moving stealthily off the track a daunting one. 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 evidence of neither patrols nor outposts.

  With rejuvenated legs, they pushed on, leaving the daylight behind for the cover of darkness. At home in the shadows, their pace only increased as they wound the switchbacks and turns of Breakker’s Pass. As if conspiring to conceal their movements, clouds 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 penned them in. Still several miles in the distance, flames spilled wide halos of light over the large wooden gate that guarded the pass. The silhouettes of Shial warriors patrolling the fortification faded in and out of view as they moved through the light.

  Even from afar, Risens could tell that the wall was built as a deterrent against free egress, 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 designed as an impediment against troops marching up the mountain pass and to provide ample time to send warning to 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 did not 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 they couldn’t cover every meter of the terrain. Likely, teams of bored warriors 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 that, perhaps, the second had fallen to a similar fate.

  Beyond the gate and wall, a modest yet widespread village was nestled against the foothills of the mountains. The greatest accumulation of buildings was to the left of the gate, framing a well-lit square. The pass they followed had shifted to the north, while the river that cut through the range continued west. Somewhere to the southwest, it exited the mountains. Whether the fury of the storm forced its destructive contents over its banks or not, darkness obscured any evidence.

  To the west of the gate, the settlement thinned as the tightly packed buildings gave way to scattered farms. It was here that Risens’ attention focused. Set atop a low rise, looming over the village, Sagra Trufang’s complex was an imposing sight. Massive stone carvings of wolves framed either side of the wide staircase leading to the five-meter-tall stone wall that surrounded his dwelling on three sides. Patrols guarded the perimeter, though he could tell from the distance that complacency had set it.

  The other side of the warlord’s complex was defended by a narrow courtyard that rested against the sheer drop off. Below, the basin was no doubt filled with river water coaxed to high-rising by the recent rains.

  The wall here looked to be crafted for beauty, not function, carved out of a long row of hedges. 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 Trufanghad presented them with an opportunity or tempted them with an alluring trap.

  Accustomed to the scale and scope of Windwake, the vastness of space and the compact nature of the buildings were a drastic change. The entire village could have easily fit into King Lathrenon’s sprawling palatial complex. The warlord’s grounds, though dwarfing the next most prominent building in scale, were 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.

  “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,” Risens responded. “When it’s only your life on the line.”

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

  The woods that overlooked the small town were dense, though they posed no real hindrance. With every step, cautionmounted 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 that illuminated the sealed wooden doorway, there was only a single mageLight on the final section near the water. There, a pair of long, narrow farms extended along the inner edge of the wooden fence, though only a scattering of low light filtered through their closed shutters.

  Reaching the copse’s end, the quiet lapping of the gentle water licked against the stone bank of the lake, joined by the steady chirp of insects.

  Crouching in the shadow, Risens turned his view to the assassins that formed up behind him. “Thoughts?”

  The answers were as varied as he had anticipated.

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

  “This be yer command, Raven Rightmaker,” Feylen grumbled. “We follow yer orders. You tell us yer heart. It’s you speaking for the King, eh? Kill ‘em all, as we was ordered.”

  “Alarm or not, you’re too soft. Mercy does your title no justice,” Orio growled. “Trufang will die, as will any who standsin 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 a force beyond their control somehow shielded their purpose.

  “I agree with the Rightmaker. 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 said.

  “Yer gonna choose fear?” Feylen said. “Big bloody surprise. Yer yellow as the sun.”

  “My dear girl, 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 choose the latter? I side not with fear, but the very same vigilance that has kept us all alive for these many years. We cannot rush in with pride only to find the tip of a spear in our side.”

  “I hate poets,” Feylen said. “Weren’t fear kept me alive, but my blade.”

  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,” Risens interjected before the argument took a deadly turn. “Know that under different circumstances, your insinuations would have earned you a swift death.” Risens’ hushed voice dripped with malice. “You have the right of one thing. I asked your thoughts out of courtesy, but 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. Until now, he’d avoided resting his hands on the blades of the Ravens Talons for fear that the urge to kill one or several of his companions would have been too strong to overcome. But the time for violence was here, and he longed to give them their fill.

  What he heard was not expected. “They’re going to kill you. Stupid fledgling is flying right into a trap.”