XI

The killer smiled, a rictus of evil and malcontent on his face. The man—if he could be called that any longer—was supremely pleased with himself.

The adventurer, or knight, whatever he was, bled from the back of his shoulder. And now from his hip as well. He was already slowing, and not from the snow that began to fall upon them on the rooftop.

Soon the tiles would be too slick to stand upon and the killer would have to alter his form of travel between the different levels of Aevalin castle.

He wanted them to suffer, to feel fear before they died one by one. And then finally… he would kill his ultimate target. Knowing the Age of Readventure festival wouldn’t be ended out of a greed for change in this world, the killer could operate however he wished without bringing down a blizzard of swords upon himself.

The adventurer, or the knight—whatever he was, moved toward the window, his body movements bespeaking wounds that pained him greatly.

The man—if he could be called a man anymore—laughed.

“Go!” he taunted in his ruined voice.

It was what he wanted—for this man to bring back word of where he was, to frighten the rest of them.

He would kill so many of them.

Slowly.

And then he would kill the king and end his Age of Readventure!

Reaching down, he touched the stinging pain upon his forearm where the adventurer had nicked him. The slice had been put directly over the tattoo there. His tattoo of the Goat of Saineshal.

The fighter knew his craft well.

But not well enough.

It would have pleased the killer greatly to go after him, to hunt him down and tire him out until he crawled begging for mercy, only to have his throat coat so that his life’s blood could leave his body while his eyes rolled about in horror like an animal at the slaughter.

Shaking his head, he stilled his desire to murder this one. Even now, the others of the Order of Nai Sha’el were preparing to make their move.

And then he would deliver the ultimate blade stroke that would echo through the centuries forever ending any recourse against that which even still to this day, hung over the world… waiting…

And then he started laughing.

“Go!” he screamed. “Go, you fool!”

Yorinius crawled back through the window, falling across the carpet as he did so, the blood dribbling from his hip soaking into the carpet amidst the maniacal laughing from out on the rooftop tiles.

Growling, he got up and pushed forward, stumbling into the hall.

Yoreno’s trail had gone like the scattered smoke of incense that made the room hazy. It wasn’t that he couldn’t track Yoreno. How could he lose the young knight in these corridors? But he was far away now.

Yorinius would not be able to call for alarm, and so he stumbled down the corridor after Yoreno. He would not happen upon a guard station, as the next group was where Yoreno was headed now, in a sitting room cleared out to make way as a command headquarters for their hunt of the killer.

The top-tier adventurer had what he needed. Upon the edge of his sword was a tiny speck of blood from when he had sliced his opponent.

His only regret was that he hadn’t cut the killer’s arm to the marrow of his bone!

They arrived back at the headquarters. The corridors here were swarming with guards in the halls and in every room, guarding the windows for any sign of movement outside. If any of them caught anything, a manhunt would immediately ensue.

But so far, the killer had not made his presence known. It irked Yoreno that they couldn’t simply head out to his camp and attack him while he least expected it—like he and Dantera had done during his trials on the Isle of Morr.

When they entered the room, inspector Sheir looked up from the castle map he was scrutinizing. “Nothing?”

Yoreno shook his head.

Yorinius’ vision was hemming in on all sides, the central area going blurry as darkness began to overtake him.

He muttered some sounds as he tried to exert enough energy to call out. Not to save his own life, but to warn the others of where the killer was—to give them the blood on his sword.

But nothing came out of his mouth.

That hemming darkness overtook him. Something shook. Or was that him falling to the floor?

He couldn’t say.