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The first note seemed normal, advising him of the deaths so the families could be notified. The second, though, seemed as if written by a different person. Khaal’s usually tight and concise writing, a shaky scrawl. It began with an apology.
Sorry Warlord, I have failed you. The garrison is just about lost to an enemy we cannot detect. If you receive this, then Ioan will have told you of the deaths. Or should I say, the slaughtering of the soldiers in my care. I should have sent you notice with the first kill, but I thought I could handle it. Whatever hunts us is wily. It leaves no trace. No tracks. It can enter rooms with closed doors. Awake or asleep, it does not seem to matter. We have locked ourselves in the tower and will take turns keeping watch. I still have hope we can stop whatever is killing us. If we fail, tell my family I love them.
There had to be an explanation. Something that vicious and wily didn’t suddenly start murdering. Whatever the case, Lomar would sniff it out and when they found out who dared to attackSrayth, he’d bring the horde down on their head and make them regret ever being born.
CHAPTER TWO
Dinner time passed normally, the snippets of conversation Kormac overheard—and those Lomar spied upon—made no mention of the soldier from the Pass. Despite the flirting from several of the women in attendance, Kormac was not in the mood for company and ended up going to bed alone.
Perturbed by the day’s events, he found himself wondering what could have happened to the garrison. If Ioan could be believed, then it seemed unlikely a wild animal had killed all those soldiers. So what did that leave?
Most likely a new enemy. Many envied his territory, rich in metals mined in their numerous mountains, and an exporter of the best horses in the world. But it had been more than two decades since anyone last raided one of the outer villages in the north. While some tried to sneak in via the northern bluffs hundreds of feet above an angry sea, most vessels sank before any managed the long climb. Those that did attempt the treacherous ascent were easily picked off by Sraythians who guarded their northern coast.
To the south, Srayth’s relationship with Ulkruuba had been good for more than a century and their trading strong.
West lay Acca, the land of the supposed witches who’d spent centuries keeping to themselves, most likely because their kind were executed until recently, as Srayth took a hard line against charlatans who pretended to do magic.
That left the east, past the Andeir mountains, which he would have thought impossible. The mists beyond that range were known to swallow people and never spit them out.
No likely scenarios. Still, a complacent warlord wasn’t a long-lived one.
Given the decimation of the force watching the Pass, he’d have to replenish the garrison, perhaps with a better cadre of soldiers, until they’d assessed the threat.
The severity of the situation meant Lomar would be taking some soldiers with him. Perhaps Kormac would visit as well. It had been a while since he’d been to the Pass. His duties kept him tied to the citadel more than he liked. He missed the freedom of being his father’s heir and second, riding out to inspect garrisons, quelling disputes, conducting drills close to the border to remind their flanking neighbors not to tangle with them.
The more he thought of it, the more a trip sounded like a fine plan. His mother would most likely argue. His father, who’d retired from the warlord position, would understand, though. Sometimes a leader had to act in person instead of via an intermediary.
With that decided, Kormac fell asleep, a dreamless state that should have taken him to morning, only he woke suddenly. That never happened without reason.
He noticed the tingling in his arms had returned. Could that have been what woke him?
A still Kormac pretended sleep, keeping his breathing even, and listened, not just with his ears but with instincts honed by years of his father’s lessons, some of which included nighttimeattacks. Nothing like being suddenly roused in the night at a tender age and expected to fight off a man twice his size. But his father never did anything without reason, and those lessons paid off.
Move. Now!
He rolled almost too late. The dagger swiped down and plunged into the pillow where the indent of his head still showed in the strange purple glow emanating from his bracers. Odd, they’d never illuminated before. But forget his ornamental armor. An assassin, how exciting. It had been ages since anyone tried to kill him in person.
Kormac bounded out of bed, his hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade he slept with. Without pause, he swung.
There was no sound as his sword slashed the assassin across the torso, a killing blow, the only kind anyone should ever use in a fight. His father always said, “Dead men can’t stab you in the back.”Good advice, except for the part where they couldn’t answer questions after.
As the figure slumped to the floor, Kormac leaned over and struck the flint attached to the lantern kept by his bedside. The oil within ignited, illuminating the glass. He saw the identity of the assassin: none other than the garrison soldier, a man who should have still been locked in a cell. Someone must have released Ioan since those cells were escape-proof. In the decades they’d been using them, no one had ever broken free, meaning the citadel had a traitor. Kormac would enjoy seeking them out and making an example of them.
He wiped his blade on the body and readied to call someone to remove it when the limbs twitched.
Probably death throes. It happened sometimes. What didn’t usually occur with corpses? The mouth opening to whisper, “This is not the end, descendent of Airiok the Destroyer.”
The sibilant words almost brought a shiver because dead men didn’t talk, and Ioan was most certainly deceased. Between the gaping wound across the torso that exposed the guts, and the copious bleeding that left a huge puddle around the body, there should have been no way Ioan could speak.
Tell that to the dead man whose lips remained parted but didn’t move as it murmured in a raspy voice, “You cannot kill me. My imprisonment is about to end. My spirit set free?—”
Smash.The pommel of his sword crushed the skull and silenced the eerie voice. A chill breeze swept past him, bringing goose pimples to his flesh before warmth returned. The bracers on his arms also stopped tingling and glowing.
Hmm. Could they be linked? His bracers had never reacted in such a fashion before. Nor had his father ever mentioned it when he passed them on along with the warlord title. It should be noted, his father had only done so after Kormac proved himself worthy, fighting in the competitions that helped them choose their strongest leader. It just so happened he, like his father and his father before him, was the worthiest. Some claimed Kormac’s family inherited their strength from their ancient ancestor, Airiok, a man who’d supposedly fought monsters and vanquished a great evil. Or so the storytellers told the children. Strange how the dead man had spoken his name.
Kormac stared at the body, which now lay unmoving and unspeaking, but he didn’t trust it and sliced off its head for good measure.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
