Twelve figures wrapped in shadow-silk glided through the narrow fissure like venomous centipedes.
They moved with supernatural silence, their soft leather boots making zero sound against the volcanic gravel.
Each assassin wore a molded iron face-plate depicting a grinning raven.
They were Inquisitor Thorne-Crow’s personal Shadow-Censors, handpicked from the imperial border prisons and trained in clandestine wetwork.
Before entering the tunnel, Lieutenant Gha had questioned the assignment.
“General Dravus claims the cliff gave way due to seismic instability,” Gha had whispered.
“General Dravus is an arrogant fool making excuses for losing two irreplaceable relics,” Shadow-Captain Ren had replied coldly. “Inquisitor Thorne-Crow does not believe in convenient earthquakes. If the drums fell, someone dug the ground out from under them.”
In his gloved palm, Ren cradled a silver blood-compass.
