A low moan gurgled from the dying man’s mouth as death had not yet completed its icy embrace. Korpis, his bloodlust not yet satiated, had his focus trained squarely on expediting the process. Or at least inflicting the greatest measure of pain in the poor soul’s remaining moments.

  Risens’ hands shook as the rage inside found no outlet. Inhaling a deep breath, he trapped the cold air in his lungs, attempting to quench the fires that burned within. The effort was akin to spitting on a bonfire. He tried to tune out the macabre noises that exited the barn as Korpis bent over the body.

  Collecting the pitchfork from the bale of hay, Risens tugged down on his cowl to conceal his face. He stuck his head across the opening of the doorway. Then, focusing on the sound of Orio’s voice—the timbre and cadence he’d become accustomed to hearing from the man—he called softly into the barn. “Stop playing with your kill. It’s time we take the Rightmaker.”

  Korpis straightened, snapping upright. He looked over his shoulder. Risens became concerned that the big man had recognized him—or at the very least, didn’t recognize him as Orio. It was a gamble he was willing to make. In the end, it would cost him nothing.

  Sheathing his blade, Korpis turned slowly and confirmed their conspiracy. “About time I taste his rotten blood.”

  The man had been a mute for the duration of their travel, communicating only through nods and hand gestures. His voice,however, was expectedly deep and raspy, but it also contained a sinuous quality that made Risens’ skin crawl. As if evil were a sound, it assaulted his ears.

  Risens was on the move the instant the big man’s grip was free of his weapon. The barn was small, but he’d reached top speed before crossing the five meters of its width. With the pitchfork leading his charge, he slammed the makeshiftweapon into Korpis, lifting him off the ground as the sharp tines punched through his barrel-thick chest. His forward momentum abruptly stopped as the fork slammed hard into wood, pinning the assassin to the wall.

  “Civilians were never a part of this mission,” Risens growled.

  “You devil,” Korpis sputtered. “Only… da-dark spirits…” He coughed up blood. “Can mimic another’s v-v-voice.” His meaty hands slapped at the handle of the pitchfork to no avail. “The King... Your days are numbered, Rightmaker.”

  “Likely, though I have at least one more than you.”

  Risens shoved the weapon deeper, then ripped both Talons from their sheaths.

  “Kill! Life! Blood!”

  Risens gritted his teeth as he crossed the long daggers. With a swift movement, their sharp blades closed on Korpis’s neck like scissors.

  The rejoicing of the weapons mirrored the increase of the digits glowing in the bottom corners of his vision.

  Blood dripped down his hands and forearms. He could almost sense the weapons’ disappointment at the loss of the precious liquid.

  He pulled them away. As if they sensed their destination within the leather at his side, they cried out, begging to be given more.

  In spite of their protests, Risens sheathed the blades. He would not allow them to control him. He would decide when enough was enough.

  Blood oozed from Korpis’ delicately balancing head—it hung on by literal strings of thickly muscled neck.

  Risens riffled through the big man’s pockets, but found nothing of note beyond a thin, sealed canister. It only took a glance to note the mageLock. Shaking his head at the foolishness, he grabbed Korpis’ limp hand and used it—and his distinct fingertips—to bypass the lock and twist off the sealed cap before emptying the contents into his hand. He unrolled the tight parchment that bore a mark he knew too well.

  Only one can be Right. See that all return to their Maker. You Must ensure the completion of this task. All must Die. No Exceptions.

  The breath was robbed from Risens’ lungs as he noted the curious and inappropriate capitalization of words, one in each sentence. The common, simplistic code in the message was glaring.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Right.

  Maker.

  Must

  Die.

  No Exceptions.

  With a growl, he slammed his fist into the side of Korpis’ skull. The force of it tore his head free of the remaining flesh. He was already moving back toward the door as the wet thump reached his ears.

  Risens paused before he reached the exit to the barn. Korpis had confirmed what he had expected—that he and Orio were sent on a mission with alternate priorities. He felt a sickening twist in his gut and his mind. His hand reflexively closed around the handle of a Ravens Talon at his side, squeezing as if trying to choke the life out of the steel.

  “They tricked you, you fool.”

  Cursing to himself, he collected the mageLight, and closed the dampers entirely as he slipped back into the darkness of the night. The civilians wouldn’t need it any longer. Remaining in the shadows, he snuck along the edge of the building,remaining in the concealment of the darkest shadows. Peering into the night from the corner of the building, he viewed the village with a festering feeling of disgust. That Orio and Feylen were not among the others was telling. Their words in the cave, though said to be jest, had been true. Risens didn’t doubt that both had been given similar orders from the King.And in light of that knowledge, he knew where he would find them.

  What had the village done to deserve the untethered violence that Lathrenon had unleashed upon its population? As with eliminating the Duke and all within his employ, he had justified the action on the pretext that they posed a clear threat to the security of the realm. Acid crawled up his throat as he attempted to use the same logic on the warlord and those unlucky enough to be in his estate this night.

  He wanted to scream aloud as nothing in his body could justify the destruction that had come to the civilian population.

  How many had the trio killed?

  That Korpis had exited the nearest farmhouse was an answer enough as to the state of its inhabitants. He looked at the mageLight in his hand, judging the distance in the darkness. Perhaps thirty meters. He could make the throw, or close enough.

  Ironically enough, burning the village was likely the only thing that would now save it from total annihilation.

  Rearing back, he lunged forward using the force of his motion to accentuate his throw.

  As he watched the mageLight spin through the air, a thought occured to him.

  Perhaps the one who truly deserved killing now sat in a cushioned throne, sipping on fine wine.

  Though the King had never hefted a knife, his hands were soaked with the blood of countless innocent lives.

  The cracks in his faith shattered along with the mageLight as it smashed against the side of the house. Alchemical fire, hungry and fending for food, quickly consumed the side of the structure.

  Risens melted back into the shadows of the forest as the first alarm bells of the city came to life. His whistled call, warning of his approach, was answered immediately. Destra and Bakka still waited for him alone in the clearing.

  “What happened?” Bakka asked, the blaze that had now nearly consumed the building reflecting in his eyes.

  “Tell me, exactly, word for word, what were your orders?” Risens demanded. “Not those from me, but from the King.”

  Both assassins flinched at the sudden malevolence in his tone. That his hands hovered dangerously close to his blade no doubt called attention to the sudden severity of the moment.

  Destra’s usual, jovial face darkened.

  “I’ll answer for the pair of us as we were both summoned together,” he whispered, though he held his hands carefully,upward and palms out. “The Warlord Trufang mounts a blockade, preventing precious grain from reaching the starving people of Halthome. We are to accompany the Rightmaker, eliminate the warlord, and return to our original postings upon completion.”

  Risens glared at them in the darkness, his gaze darting between the pair. “Bakka?”

  “As stated, my orders were the same, Rightmaker.” He bowed slightly. “For all his faults, Destra’s recollection is not flawed.”

  “And nothing more?”

  “No. Nothing,” Bakka replied.

  “Where are the others?” Destra asked.

  The very fact that the pair was waiting here in the clearing was verification in itself that they had not been a part of the plan. Any shred of trust he’d placed in these two assassins had wavered, while for others, it had failed entirely. Risens was satisfied for the moment that neither would try to kill him, at least for the time being. Nonetheless, he would not let his guard down.

  “It seems Korpis got himself killed,” Risens said, voice low. “That Orio chose to return when my direct order demanded he wait here is problematic. They are on their own now. The city is awake and will soon find evidence of their doing. We need to be gone when they do.”

  “And Feylen?” Destra asked.

  “She’s already cast her lot,” Risens said. “Let’s move.”

  Risens was content to allow Bakka to lead the way as they hastened through the woods toward the pass. The lighter stone against the darker surroundings had only come into view when the first of the haunting notes floated in the air.

  The discovery of their wicked deed was revealed as the city seemed to cry aloud at once. The sounds sent a shiver that started at the base of his neck, tracing its path down his spine.

  “You were selected as the best the Kingdom has to offer,” Risens growled as they stopped in the shadows of the trees. Not a single guard who had manned the gate remained at their posts. It was likely their houses were in danger of catching fire. Their families had been murdered by the assassin Risens had led into their midst.

  His cold heart had accepted his fate. Countless lives had been cast into Pylkev by his hands or blades, yet with all his being, he had believed that they’d been justified killings—a righteous order from the highest power that commanded his obedience.

  He strained his ears, hoping that the voice from the Roost, ominous and terrifying, would hammer in his ears. At the moment, it seemed like the only thing grounding him to reality.

  When it failed to speak, he did. “We return to Halthome with all due haste. We will not stop. If you cannot maintain the pace, you will be left behind. This won’t get better for the waiting.”