Obsidian: Retribution (Book 2)

Seventeen: The Wind of Change

He came in the grey gloom of the morning, a darker silhouette against a dark backdrop of a fog-covered forest with fifteen paces of visibility at best. The first man died in complete silence, but you could hear the whisper of a blade as it sliced through flesh if you were listening.

Zahara had been listening, or had been told to listen after Muradi shook her awake with a hand clasped tight over her mouth, the other holding up a finger before his lips. Be quiet. Listen. Something's happening. The hand on her face had loosened when she nodded and made another gesture. Get behind me.

She swept her eyes around camp after the mysterious figure made his first kill, found no one else stirring from their sleep. In front of her, Muradi sat stiffly, jaw clenched tight and tensed muscles twitching as he stared into the thick fog, trying to get his own grip over the situation. She had no idea what was happening or who was here to kill these men, but Muradi, being what he was, could be counted upon to take an advantage of any situation and turn it in his favor. He seemed to be doing that now, whether or not he was the target of this silent killer. It had crossed her mind once or twice, that Deo di Amarra might send one of his assassins to track him down if they never found his corpse. Di Amarra would be sending the best of his gold-ring apprentice to do the job for that purpose, and there was no possible way Muradi could fight in that injured state even if he had the skills required.

If he was troubled by that reality, it didn't show. He was watching it all as if he still had the strength to lead an army to war, or that the two obsidian blades were still strapped to his back, not kept somewhere next to Qasim. Then again,  Zahara would remind herself that this was the man who had wrestled a loosed tiger once, calmly. And although he'd nearly died many times during the event, everyone present would agree that the salar was smiling the whole time while it lasted.

But the assassin he would have to deal with tonight was no panic-stricken tiger. This was a calculating dark figure who knew the art of killing swiftly, silently. She watched him work his way through the fog, quick and quiet as a ghost. One minute here, the next there. Saw a blade glinted once or twice through the mist, heard a soft hush of surprise from someone being awakened, and then gone. One more heartbeat silenced, one more soul dragged away somewhere in the dark. Three down, Zahara counted, holding her breath. And he's working his way here.

Muradi gripped her wrist, gave her a gesture to remain still. To their left, another man was awakened, only this time the blade made no whisper. Through the fog, she saw the silhouettes of the killer yanking the fourth man up on his feet. The grunt he made stirred awake the entire campground, got the rest of the men fumbling groggily for weapons. The girl and the boy were huddled together, trembling as they tried to make themselves small and invisible.

"Drop it." The dark figure's voice boomed in the quiet forest as he stepped into view. He had the hostage she now recognized as Qasim hoisted off the ground like a weightless rag doll with one hand wrapped around from behind the neck, the other taped a blood-soaked blade under the bandit leader's chin. "Go ahead, tell them. Tell your men to stand down."

Zahara closed her eyes and released the breath she had been holding. She had no idea how he'd gotten there or for how long he'd been tracking them down, but for the first time in her life, she found herself thanking Ravi to see Ghaul again.

"Fuck you," Qasim swore, kicking his dangling legs to get free. Ghaul flipped the blade in his hand, rammed the hilt into the man's kidney from the side. The blow sent him swinging like a pendulum, almost far enough to break the neck still gripped tight by Ghaul's gigantic hand. From the looks of it, especially after he'd taken a glance at the state of his former salar, she had a feeling Qasim wasn't going to die very well or very soon if Ghaul had his way.