Songbird

Chapter One - Hunter

The red-orange light of sunset lanced between the treetops as the mercenaries crept through the dense forest, their enchanted boots making their footfalls silent despite the tangled undergrowth that tugged at their heels. An observer might have thought them a detachment of a ghostly army, with mottled cloaks that mimicked sun-dappled leaves rendering them almost invisible. A myriad of weapons were arrayed on their belts—flintlock pistols holstered low for a fast draw, sabres peering out from beneath their cloaks, and an assortment of hatchets, daggers, and throwing knives. The lone woman in their company carried a rifled musket slung over her shoulder, the group's snarling sigil carved into the stock—a Black Hound.

The four wraiths glided to the edge of the woods, where the land opened up into a lush valley of rolling hills, and the young man who led them dropped to his stomach and crawled forward to peer over the crest of the hill so that only the avian mask that covered the top half of his face was visible. Shielding his eyes against the searing evening sun with one hand, he raised a short spyglass with the other and scanned the area ahead.

A lavish manor house sprawled over the plain there, its covered front porch partially hidden by the stalks of wheat, corn, and cotton that lay before it. Several dozen men and women stood half-concealed by the crops as they tended them, with sleeves rolled up and kerchiefs, bonnets, or floppy wide-brimmed hats protecting their scalps from the fading light of the sunset behind them. As the light of day began to dim, they gathered their baskets and filed toward the storage sheds on the other side of the field. But the mercenary was more interested in the men-at-arms patrolling the outskirts of the fields and the house itself, as smartly uniformed as even the Queen's own elite Canis Legio.

The tall grass brushed the tops of their knee-high boots, threatening to stain their crisp white breeches. Each man wore a long azure waistcoat festooned with tassels and buttons and crisscrossed with weapon belts and satchels for ammunition and equipment, and the feathers that crowned their tricorne hats waved to and fro as they continued their patrols. Muskets rested on their shoulders, gleaming bayonets reflecting the fiery light of sunset.

The mercenary had to admire their discipline—he should hate to be decked out in all that kit in the summer heat. Lowering the spyglass, he signaled to his companions and they slithered up the hill to join him at the crest.

"This the place, Raven?"

The young man shrugged. "You tell me. Got a reading on the dowser?"

The lanky Hound withdrew a small object from his pack, and Raven was baffled as ever by its construction and function. A multi-faceted silver polyhedron comprising many thin triangular pieces held together by some unseen force, the device emitted a soft glow as it hovered just above the mercenary's palm. The facets clicked against each other as each hovering triangle shifted, flattening the whole from its usual symmetrical shape into a narrow pyramid that pointed toward the plantation house in the distance, the point slowly tracking its unseen quarry.

"You bet I've got a reading." The mercenary gave a low whistle. "At this distance, even. This one's got potential. What do you think, Cor?"

Corvin, the bulkiest of the three men, hadn't taken his eyes off of the patrolling guards. "We'll know soon enough. What's the plan, kid?"

Raven considered for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "Leah, you stay here and cover us with your rifle."

The blonde woman beside him nodded, adjusting the sights of her weapon. "Leave it to me."

"Quin, you're with me until we have eyes on target."

The other man twirled a knife between his fingers as he balanced the dowser in the other hand. "My favorite part."