Night Blades and Morning Blood

Chapter 5

Barrett was soon dressed in his black attire with the twin, silver swords strapped to his back. The robe was full length and touched the floor at his heels even when the hood was up, which it was. The material was heavy, but not itchy like a monk’s robes, possibly a blend of cotton, silk and fine wool. It seemed to drink in light making him all but invisible. The gown was at startling odds with the silver cross-belt’s buckle that sat square in the center of his chest which caught the light and made it dance.
Before him stood a great iron door, three bands wide and twelve tall, all held together with large, solid rivets wherever the bands crossed. In its center hung a knocker the size of Barrett’s fist and wrought of iron as black as his robes.
The bangs the knocker made ran through the stone foundations of the house like thunder claps. After five solid raps the deep tones were replaced by the sound of metal scrapping stone. The door swung slowly open.
The corridor that greeted him was walled and floored in solid stone and was dimly lit by flaming torches. All was silent once again and the air inside flowed to meet him, tinted with the smell of wood smoke. Barrett inhaled deeply, the smell conjuring the unbidden memories of all meetings before this one. It was cold in the tunnel but the gust that met him was warm and smoky.
Barrett stepped Inside deliberately and puaed to let the door swing shut behind him. His footfalls echoed off every surface and dissipated down the tunnel.  He took another deep breath and steadied himself.
After ten yards or so the passageway began to slope downwards and as its tributaries branched off right and left, the smell of the wood smoke intensified. The tunnels under Barrett’s house seemed to go on forever and after what seemed like hours, he came to a stone stair.
At the bottom of the stair the tunnel cornered sharply right, a warm light reflecting off the cold stone to guide the way. Around the bend the passage opened into a large chamber forty yards across, lit by more torches and four large open fires. The light was as bright as fresh dawn, casting ugly, deformed shadows on every wall. Three other passageways led off from the chamber, to the three points of the compass, each separated by a roaring blaze but untouched by their stifling warmth.
Paintings, tapestries and embroideries coated the walls up to the invisible ceiling, all were frayed and faded their tales slowly yielding to the passage of time. The depictions showed monsters, witches, harpies and even a dragon, white men, black men, men in rags and men in gold, all with a hooded figure dressed in black standing over them, their blood spilling onto the floor. No stone could be seen under the woven history of the order.
In the room’s center spanned a long table of blackened wood. It was an old table made of timber from a far-off land and scorched by an unnatural fire. Around the table sat ten chairs hewn from the same trees as their father. Only one chair, at the foot of the table, was empty.
Nine men sat around the table, all in black robes with silver swords and silver buckles, each identical to the ominous figures covering the walls in bloody death. Barrett moved towards the empty chair and the other members of the council stood and drew back their hoods in unison.
All nine men Barrett knew by name if not by reputation, but the three invisible men in the other passageways and the door opener who would soon cover the direction from which he came, were invisible and unrecognizable. Barrett pulled back his own hood and stood ready to take his place.
At the head of the table stood Cutler, a greying man with a clean-shaven face and sharp features. He was past his prime, but not by much, and everyone knew it, everyone but Cutler. His eyes were small and dark against the fire, but their message was clear; he did not like Barrett and glared hard with obvious distaste.
Where Cutler’s muscles and joints had grown stiff his mind had sharpened and become lithe. He enjoyed his work more than most of the other men that stood around the table and took immense pride in the act of capturing an enemy and taunting his prowess over them while they rotted behind bars. His arrogance was almost palpable and it tainted his every deed and word.
Most of the order’s business was conducted on a purely kill by request basis, but whenever Cutler was involved capture was the main objective. “Valuable research” Barrett had once heard his leader say but most who knew him understood the truth of it. As soon as the target was Cutler’s prisoner and his gloating was done, he handed the keys to the man to his left and it was never long they begged for death.
Men called him The Bat, though never to his face, but at the table his name was Senik. He resembled a bat in many ways too; he was small, more than a head shorter than Barrett, with large, deep set eyes, a long, pointed nose and a complexion that almost glowed in the darkness, the perfect contrast to his black, ill-fitting robes. His hair was black as purest jet and slicked back behind large ears. Senik’s strange features cast stranger shadows across his cheeks making him seem even uglier than he was in the dancing light of the fire.
The bat was a master of stealth. Although concealment was a very basic skill in the assassin’s armory, Senik excelled at it to the point where he could remain almost invisible even in the smallest of shadows created by the midday sun. His purpose within the order was first and foremost to gather intelligence with his “little eyes” as he called them. Not long after his graduation into the order killing lost its taste for Senik, too easy, too mundane. Now he took alarming pleasure in the removal of information from Cutler’s captives. The torture and mutilation he could inflict made creatures scream and wale like a chorus of harps, beautiful and horrid but the Bat loved every minute of the symphony.
In all Honesty, it disgusted Barrett, as it did most of the order but evils such as Senik were often necessary. Barrett preferred a clean kill. The overcoming of an enemy’s defenses, that’s where his pleasure lay. Whether scaling shear rock faces, to drive an invisible blade or fighting tooth and nail to defeat an opponent it made no matter, so long as it was clean.
The man to Cutlers right was a completely different animal (and he almost was an animal). Boers was the orders enforcer of sorts, their Battlemaster, the real muscle behind the council. Taller and much leaner than Barrett, Boers stood proud at all times. He was on the whole a remarkable man but the most astounding thing about Bores was his eyes; blue like deep ice flecked with the grey of frost. Intensifying their amazing color, long, deep scares radiated out across his face from the sockets, mostly hidden by the thick chestnut beard and long tangled hair that kept him warm in his cold northern habitat.
The scars were gifted to him by a witch he had been sent to destroy and all knew the infamous story. Taken unawares, Boers had been cut before his apprentice reached him and sacrificed his own life for the witch’s head. Boers had never forgotten and never forgiven.
Boers’ father had been nobility amongst the tribes of the north and was once the leader of the order’s most northerly chapter (a position Bores had since been voted into himself). The fallen Battlemaster had married a woman of the frozen fields and Bores was their fruit. The Proud assassin hung to his parent’s memory and heritage in the form of a sash woven in seal skin and red silk, which Barrett had never seen him without.
Although Barrett and Boers were not friends, they had an understanding. Both fought and killed for the same reason and neither wanted to see Cutlers arrogance and greed expose the order to the world. The order must remain a legend, a whisper, to all but a few.
Five of the remaining men around the table were the leaders of the other chapters of the order. They men were all middle-aged and of varying heights and statures, all had grey flecks in their hair if they were not all grey already but remained clean shaven. Barrett had heard stories about each but had never worked directly with any of them and so tried to reserve judgement for the time being whilst still giving them the respect their position deserved.
The final member of the council was Tiberius, the master of the collage at Bawtry. Older than any other the order could remember, Tiberius had been in service for more than half a century. But unlike Cutler and others not dissimilar to him who could not let go of the killing lifestyle, the wise old assassin had hung up his knives and swords long ago for a life of education and teaching. His grey beard came down to his belt, but the top of his head was almost completely devoid of hair. His eyes were deep and green like fresh spring grass, their shine not dimmed by the passing of time, though they were almost obscured by the curtain of white eyebrow that draped over them. The true testament of Tiberius’ years, however, was plain to see in his over-large nose and ears that sprouted with white fluff to match his beard.
“At last the council is complete, ” Began Cutler traditionally. “And the meeting can begin.”
With that, again in unison, the ten members of the council reached behind them, drew their silver blades, glinting red and orange in the fire and led them silently on the table. From the silence, broken only with the soft fire crackling, the chamber erupted with the sound of wood scrapping stone as the men in black took their seats around the long, black table. Cutler looked around at the men’s faces, admiring his band of deadly subjects with a smirk of ownership akin to that of someone who hoarded valuable paintings.
“Members of the Order Night’s Blood. Friends. Brothers. We gather here, now, as always, before the trails ahead, to prepare and to discuss the fortunes of our organization. But first, the payments.
At this each member of the order withdrew parchment lists and stated the tasks his chapter had completed since the last collection, ready to pay their share.
All in all, the six chapters raised almost a thousand pounds of gold since last winter, a sizeable sum. Cutler, as the guilds leader, then dictated how much of this would be taken and used to fund both the collage and Senik’s information network. Four-hundred pounds was the price this time, the remainder to be used to keep the other chapters healthy in any way their leaders chose.
Barrett’s place on the council however was not as a leader. He was the keeper of everything the order was, its records, histories, artefacts, gaol and most importantly the orders meeting place; all were under Treadknee house and under his protection.
The keeper was not always elected however, the house and its grounds had been left to him as the last limbs of his family tree had disappeared into nothingness, shortly before he was born. He wasn’t quite sure why and had never asked for a reason but his oldest friend, John, had given him to the care of the Order of the Nights Blood, a place for orphans, unwanted children and the occasional smuggled slave baby. His first memories were of swords and knives wielded by boys in white and men in black in caverns lit by fire and marble halls lit by sunlight.
But after the bruises and beatings, lessons and lectures and almost ten years of stalking and preparing, Barrett had returned home to John having completed all the trials the order had for him. Four years later, his apprenticeship complete (and a reputation gained), he took his place at the table and there he remained. He took contracts from his small area as well as jobs from the other chapters when they were too busy or thinly stretched.
“And how much do you have to contribute, Brother Barrett?” Cutler asked with a wry smile. Barrett sighed. He gave an account of all he’d achieved and finished his list with:
“For the seven witches of Goldpost I was awarded 7 pounds of gold, bringing my total to exactly 70 seventy pounds of pure gold.” He replied returning Cutlers smile.
“Excellent, the order will take 20 pounds…”
“Also, ” Barrett interrupted. “I was awarded an extra pound for slaying a white wolf pack.” He lied.
All eyes were on him now. It was questionable for members to take jobs not prescribed by the order and against the book of life to take jobs that the order didn’t approve either before or after. Cutler was silent.
“Also,” Barrett continued to the table’s alarm. “While hunting the wolves I came across a bear guarding another five pounds of solid gold.” 
Silence. There was no point is hiding the gold, if it was found later the punishment would not even stand for debate.
“Very well.” Cutler sighed. “You know the rules, Barrett, the order will take a further five pounds, bringing your total to twenty-five pounds of gold.”
There was a silent pause.
Cutler sat smug, relishing every moment. Barrett fumed within but kept his tongue still. Senik chuckled quietly like an insane little girl.
“Very well.” Barrett said with false curtesy, shifting in his seat.
“White wolves you say?” Tiberius asked. “Such beasts have not been seen as far south as Goldpost since I was an apprentice, when the snow fell five feet deep. But in late autumn you say?”
“I believe this particular pack was in the process of being tamed or familiarized by the Goldpost coven, perhaps they were encouraged down by the hags for exactly that purpose?” Barret kept his speech formal as he always tried to at these meetings.
“Birds and bats make common companions for witches but even in the depths of the snow forest unions such as that are rare at best.” Commented Boers in his gravelly voice, his words clipped.
“My master was killed by such a union in my first year.” Remembered Tiberius. “Few, before or after, have faced such odds and lived to tell the tale. Your skill is to be commended, brother Barrett.” Cutlers eye twitched at the compliment.
“I am afraid I cannot accept your kind words my friend as only seven witches were slain at my sword and the bond with the wolves was not yet solid.”
“Gentlemen.” Cutler called the room’s attention. “We digress. Now is not the time for tales of blood. What news do we here bring to share? Boers?”
“In the north, the witches of the forest grow in both numbers and boldness.” The northern bear began behind his thick beard. “They have snatched four children from inside the walls of Snowhold since we last met, two of which we have returned alive. Only my chapter works against them and the spies the legion send into the forest and across the fields.”
“What of the garrison at the Icefort?” Asked Moxham, the leader of the southernmost chapter.
“Once again the emperor’s men are unprepared for even a northern summer and as the snow falls their patrols grow less and less frequent. Even if they marched at sunrise and sunset the legion scouts are quick and cunning, by the time anyone knows where they are they’ve been gone for some time. I have had reports that only a token garrison remains at the fort, I assume the emperor is at least gathering his troops somewhere he deems more useful?” Bores asked Cutler who answered only with a nod. “A hidden war is being fought in the North, a war that we are charged to fight from the shadows with deeds unseen.
We need more assassins to push back the witches and complete the bounties we are called upon for and more still if we are to control the legions movements and limit their advantage when the war begins. I have lost two assassins and an apprentice defending the ice clans and I fear they will not be the last. The clans fight hard in our support, independent of the empire in the defense of their homes but they cannot hold the enemy back forever. I hope you will all remember this when the time comes to assign those who complete the trials.”
“The Order of the Night’s Blood will fight on no open battlefield for the empire I swear to you my brothers, but we will defend it on our own terms.” Announced Cutler in illusion that that was what they all wanted to hear.
“I think when the ice melts and the legions full force is amassed, we may not have the luxury of choosing how and where we fight.” Retorted Boers, the sadness plain in his voice. No-one else made comment on the sad state of affairs.
“Many boys familiar with the north are set to face the trials that approach. Your men will be replaced and avenged.” Offered Tiberius. Boers gave almost imperceptible nod in thanks.
For all the other chapter leaders’ life went on much has it often did and besides Tech losing a relatively novice assassin and Moxham an apprentice from last year’s crop Boers’ men were the only deaths to speak of.
None but Boers and Leo had seen more than a foot print of their hidden, soon to be enemy but the increasing activity from the other sentient enemies of the world was troubling.
Once the other chapter patrons had had their say, Cutler, begrudgingly, moved onto Barrett.
“As I returned home last night, I came across a strange scene at the crossroads. There were signs of a scuffle on the dirt track, three lengths of rope hanging from a tree branch and this.” Barrett withdrew the severed finger from his pocket and placed it delicately on the table. The faces of the other order members flickered in the firelight, but none showed any sign of surprise. “My caretaker tells me that two girls were found hung in the night, both were young, dead and had a full compliment of fingers. The village smith confirms the story and I am suggested to ask the council what they know about this attack, so close to my home, so close to our home.”
In the moment of silence that followed Barrett felt a slow trickle of sweat run down from his temple, the heat of the fires suddenly stifling now he was at the metaphorical lectern.
For the first time since the meeting began, Senik raised his head from his inspection of the table and giggled so quietly it almost went unnoticed over the dull sound of the room’s fires.
“My little eyes reported something very strange to me as I walked through your woods last night, brother.” The bat began in hardly more than a whisper, his eyes wide and boring into the wooden surface. “It started as no more than a breath on the wind but the message was clear enough. A pack of wolves left the great forest at some pace and crossed the river in the west. They were watched by many invisible eyes as first they travelled on four legs, and then on two…” he trailed off, the implication of his words obvious.
“Outside in the woods they were joined by four thin, dirty women who continued with them into the trees.” Senik turned his face to Barrett, his eyes still wide with madness. “As soon as the news reached me, I made for the house as fast as I could, hoping to rouse the guard, fearing an attack on the order, on my friends. But the tale was not fast enough and as I ran through the woods, I heard muttering on the track. ” He continued to stare, unblinking. “I crept closer to the crossroads,  preparing my strike, the rain covering me like a blanket. But all the darkness and silence in my possession could not hide me from the bird.” A tiny string of spittle burst from Senik’s mouth on the last word, his face straining with the anger of his perceived failure.
“I jumped out from behind the tree, drove my knife into the nearest wolf pup’s skull and rode him to the wet dirt.” A slight flicker of a smile and some more dribble. His voice had reached its height of volume and speed, now frantic, high pitched and truly insane. “But the rest ran like cowards and my second knife found only bark.” Senik’s eyes returned to the table and his voice to a mere whisper. “I was too late; all three girls were dead, and the witches had already had their way with the first. The clumsy footsteps of the sheriffs interrupted any hopes of studying the scene. So…” The bat gave a sigh. “I cut down the closest girl who had received the most… attention and it was all I could do to drag the wolf and the girl into the woods unseen.”
Ever since Barrett had known him The Bat’s insanity had been deepening. Every time the two had contact he wondered how long it would be before he snapped completely and his skills could no longer be directed.
“And where are the bodies now?” asked Barrett.
“The bodies are in the crypt awaiting further study.” Replied Cutler, dismissively.
“Further study?”
“Yes Barrett, further study!” Cutler’s voice was laced with aggravation at the apparent impudence.
“I can take you to see the body now if you would like?” Offered Tiberius. Before Cutler could object Barrett stood up, accepted the offer and was moving to follow Tiberius down the tunnel.
The crypt room so small it could barely house all ten men even when they stood shoulder to shoulder. The light in the space was initially bright, provided by two torches and a handful of candles but as the assassins filed in the flames disappeared behind them and the room grew dim. Most of the limited space was taken up by two large stone beds, both expertly set into the wall without legs and flanking the doorway. It was bitterly cold too, as if the rock walls were sucking the heat from every source, especially the young girl on the marble slab who was the white-blue color of ice.
“We know the girl was found by Senik hung from a tree, but I do not think that is what killed her.” Tiberius began as he moved towards the head of the corpse. “I believe this, a knife thrust straight into the ear, probably as she slept, to be the killing blow. Very efficient, a technique we teach as preferable at the collage to any sleeping beast or witch. The method is quick painless and if done swiftly, silent. If it weren’t for the other obvious damage and the rules of the book of life, I might suggest a member of the order was responsible the killing is so efficient.”
Barrett looked over the body, glad that the girl had been dead when the rest of the legions work had begun.
The most disturbing thing about the corpse was the eyes; petite red pools of ragged flesh stabbed violently with a tiny blade now staring blankly up into the rooms ceiling. Not a customary practice from the Direus legion as Barrett understood but he had heard it reported by travelers from the far west after their mountain caravans had been raided. But the most curious element to the violence was the hands.
“The fingers have all been removed at the second knuckle and the thumbs cut away deep into the hand.” Explained Tiberius. “I would guess that the finger you collected at the scene must have been dropped as Senik attacked. The others were pushed quite forcibly down the girl’s throat. The other seven have been accounted for and yours makes eight, but of either thumb I have found no sign.”
“And neither will you.” Interjected Leo. “We all know that some witches believe the thumb bones are a source of stored magical energy. Any witch on witch kill found between the mountain and Tiber port will be just the same and I doubt any sheriff or witch hunter would have not seen this done to a peasant.”
The girl was so small, so innocent, she had not deserved such horrid treatment. Though she was otherwise unharmed save for the two acts of malicious violence her naked body was a gut wrenching terror, unimaginable to behold. A pang echoed through Barrett’s chest at the lost life he could not save.
“This is the Direus that Senik slew.” Tiberius explained directing the groups attention to the second stone bed. “He is a very different character to what we know in this land.” Tiberius stated for his colleagues.
Barrett could clearly see that despite the initial reports and rumors from the west that this was defiantly a man not a beast. He was shorter than Barrett, but skinnier too. His face was unremarkable but covered in black and red paint applied in stripes that crossed diagonally from temple to jaw. His exposed arms were thin and stringy, Barrett could easily feel the bones through the reed like muscle. The room had sucked all warmth from him too, his unexposed shell the same shade of frost as his preys.
The examiner had left his clothing in place and Barrett touched each part in turn. A wolf’s head headdress sat atop his long greasy hair, saturated in dry blood that flowed down around the ear. The legionnaire wore a thin, ragged shirt of itchy black material and slightly thicker shorts of the same fabric. His skin would have been fair but dirty in life and the man smelled like he hadn’t washed for some time.
The legionaries mouth sat slightly ajar. Barrett sniffed around his teeth, all filed to points, the smell was sour and burned his nostrils.
“What is that smell? In his mouth, it smells like…”
“I too have noticed that odor, brother Barrett.” Replied Tiberius. “Some reports say that the wolves eat only raw flesh, desiring especially the flesh of those they have killed. I believe this accounts for the bitterness of the stench. On further inspection of the corpse I have also surmised that this man may have suffered from a lack of food; malnutrition. Under his shirt, the bones are clearly visible. Judging by his light attire and slim build I would say this man is the perfect scout, well suited to running long distances at a fast pace. ” Tiberius finished, pushing his hips out slightly in his finality.
Barrett nodded thoughtfully.
“These men believe they are wolves.” Bores stated plainly. “They fight often with short blades but will sometimes lose control completely and snarl and bark as they try to bite their enemies. I too have only encountered their scouts, who are skilled and deadly.”
The party sat in silent thought for a moment.
Barrett found this very interesting. It was the first Direus he had seen and if they were ever to become his enemies in truth information would doubtless play a vital part in their defeat.
“My journey has also seen me return with this.” Barrett withdrew the map from another hidden pocket and as the council members returned to the chamber it was passed silently from man to man.
When the brothers had all returned to the table and were once again seated the map was handed to Cutler.
“I think we can all agree that the material is goat skin and that the blood is likely from the same animal. The cave could be any one of a thousand in the side of any hill or mountain across Ataua.” Said Cutler. “Therefore, I believe the runes will reveal its precise location.
“It may take time.” Answered Tiberius. “But the library at Bawtry should yield the answers we seek. I will start…”
“Tiberius,” interrupted Cutler. “I have a solution that may yet yield those answers much quicker. We should ask our newest guest to interpret the runes for us.”