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Authors: Joshua P. Simon
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Kroke’s dismantling of the sailors, Drake finally understood.
He thought about the encounter again and realized that fighting did not accurately describe what Kroke had done. Fighting insinuated that some sort of struggle occurred between the combatants. But there wasn’t any real struggle because the assassin had been in control the entire time. What Kroke had done, despite all the spurts of blood flying through the scream-filled air, seemed more like art.
A pretty twisted form of art, but art nonetheless.
Five people had come at the mercenary, brandishing weapons of all shapes and sizes, stabbing and swinging. None of those blows found their mark. Drake could barely follow Kroke’s movements, slicing at hands and legs to disarm each person.
And in every instance, the cocky sucker left a paper thin line across each person’s throat. Just enough to let them know he could’ve killed them.
Drake had stood there in awe, as did everyone else who had watched the scene unfold.
All except Krytien. The mage had been busy chomping on the apple in his hand like it was the last one in the world. Drake realized that Krytien had sent his own message to the others watching.
Seem indifferent and let them guess what he’s capable of.
Drake had to smile. In those moments, he most enjoyed being a member of the Hell Patrol.
Even still, each step away from the docks eased his worries. Kroke and Krytien may have felt confident in what they could do, but he couldn’t say the same. Kaz had taught Drake a lot over the past year, but he still felt far more comfortable behind a catapult than a sword.
They procured mounts from workers near the harbor, which they planned to use to reach the citadel that loomed in the distance atop a small rise in the land. Despite the queen’s written orders, none seemed to care who they were.
“This ain’t starting out well,” said Kroke.
“When does it ever,” Krytien said. He struggled into the saddle and clicked the reins. “C’mon we need to get there before dark.”
Drake looked to the sky and then the citadel. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Don’t let the landscape nor the size of the place fool you,” said Krytien. “In order to make it there by sunset we may have to push the horses.”
Drake eyed the sway-backed mount the mage sat upon and the old gray-chinned mare Kroke rode.
I hope we don’t kill them doing it.
* * *
The descending sun dipped below thick clouds and bathed the landscape in purple.
Krytien was right.
The blank canvas of rolling hills and open land, specked with patches of tall trees did play tricks on the eyes. After a full day of riding, they finally came upon the school.
Drake thought about how little it resembled what he had always envisioned a school to look like. It had no defensive walls, not even a fence, which struck Drake as peculiar until he thought about the sea surrounding them and realized it didn’t need a wall.
The portentous look of the structures made them appear like the giant cathedrals that populated Cadonia. The smoke colored walls of the buildings looked at least six stories high, not counting the towers that crowned the roof every hundred feet. The towers sloped upward and thin metal spires sat on their peaks, each flapping a different flag in the breeze. The highest peak flew the queen’s colors. Drake realized the other flags must represent the dukes and lords of Cadonia.
Just like the dining hall in Lyrosene.
Unfortunately, the darkening sky hid many of the school’s other details.
Kroke hadn’t even raised his head from the saddle, too busy examining the dozens of knives he kept, polishing or sharpening where only he saw the need.
Especially that new one he took from the sailor.
Krytien seemed in his own world. Earlier, Drake had asked the mage questions about the school, assuming that if anyone had the answers, Krytien would. However, the mage seemed distracted, muttering to himself. Drake meant to ask if
He thought about the encounter again and realized that fighting did not accurately describe what Kroke had done. Fighting insinuated that some sort of struggle occurred between the combatants. But there wasn’t any real struggle because the assassin had been in control the entire time. What Kroke had done, despite all the spurts of blood flying through the scream-filled air, seemed more like art.
A pretty twisted form of art, but art nonetheless.
Five people had come at the mercenary, brandishing weapons of all shapes and sizes, stabbing and swinging. None of those blows found their mark. Drake could barely follow Kroke’s movements, slicing at hands and legs to disarm each person.
And in every instance, the cocky sucker left a paper thin line across each person’s throat. Just enough to let them know he could’ve killed them.
Drake had stood there in awe, as did everyone else who had watched the scene unfold.
All except Krytien. The mage had been busy chomping on the apple in his hand like it was the last one in the world. Drake realized that Krytien had sent his own message to the others watching.
Seem indifferent and let them guess what he’s capable of.
Drake had to smile. In those moments, he most enjoyed being a member of the Hell Patrol.
Even still, each step away from the docks eased his worries. Kroke and Krytien may have felt confident in what they could do, but he couldn’t say the same. Kaz had taught Drake a lot over the past year, but he still felt far more comfortable behind a catapult than a sword.
They procured mounts from workers near the harbor, which they planned to use to reach the citadel that loomed in the distance atop a small rise in the land. Despite the queen’s written orders, none seemed to care who they were.
“This ain’t starting out well,” said Kroke.
“When does it ever,” Krytien said. He struggled into the saddle and clicked the reins. “C’mon we need to get there before dark.”
Drake looked to the sky and then the citadel. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Don’t let the landscape nor the size of the place fool you,” said Krytien. “In order to make it there by sunset we may have to push the horses.”
Drake eyed the sway-backed mount the mage sat upon and the old gray-chinned mare Kroke rode.
I hope we don’t kill them doing it.
* * *
The descending sun dipped below thick clouds and bathed the landscape in purple.
Krytien was right.
The blank canvas of rolling hills and open land, specked with patches of tall trees did play tricks on the eyes. After a full day of riding, they finally came upon the school.
Drake thought about how little it resembled what he had always envisioned a school to look like. It had no defensive walls, not even a fence, which struck Drake as peculiar until he thought about the sea surrounding them and realized it didn’t need a wall.
The portentous look of the structures made them appear like the giant cathedrals that populated Cadonia. The smoke colored walls of the buildings looked at least six stories high, not counting the towers that crowned the roof every hundred feet. The towers sloped upward and thin metal spires sat on their peaks, each flapping a different flag in the breeze. The highest peak flew the queen’s colors. Drake realized the other flags must represent the dukes and lords of Cadonia.
Just like the dining hall in Lyrosene.
Unfortunately, the darkening sky hid many of the school’s other details.
Kroke hadn’t even raised his head from the saddle, too busy examining the dozens of knives he kept, polishing or sharpening where only he saw the need.
Especially that new one he took from the sailor.
Krytien seemed in his own world. Earlier, Drake had asked the mage questions about the school, assuming that if anyone had the answers, Krytien would. However, the mage seemed distracted, muttering to himself. Drake meant to ask if
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