Blood Isle

Chapter Seventeen: Calling Card

The sound of wind-swept rain beating against the tent, awakened Donovan. From the sounds of it, they were going to be staying put, for the day.
A minute later, the crack of thunder sounded as it struck something close by. It appeared that the storm was getting worse by the second.

Wrapping the blankets around himself and Morgan, Donovan decided it was a good day to get some extra rest. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by rolling thunder.
The figure of Aberith, paused at the entance to their tent.

"Come in," Donovan bade him to enter, and come-in out of the rain.

"Donovan, we have a problem. Two sentrys were due to change shifts, and their replacements never arrived. When they failed to arrive, the sentries were found dead in their tent," Aberith said in a lowered voice.

"There is no need to whisper, the storm will drown out anything you have to say," Morgan stated, before she yawned.

Donovan dressed and donned a oilskin cloak, fastening the hood, he pulled the garment tightly about himself. Then he exited the tent, followed by Aberith.

During the walk to the soldiers tent, the rain hammered them, driven by the wind. With relief, they stood behind the tent, next to the entrance, which was currently blocking most of the weather.

Brenna stuck her head out of the tent, and showed them the dead soldiers. "We need to go to the command tent, where we can all gather, out of the rain," suggested the Neeri.

After the short trek to the command tent, they lit the brass oil lanterns, and sat down.

"Brenna, what have you found?" Donovan inquired.

"When Aberith awakened me, I walked through the storm and entered their tent. I found that both of them had been stabbed to death, with a dagger," Brenna said.

"How do you know it was a dagger?" Donovan asked.

"It was still embedded in one of the victims, and thus I say again, we have a problem. Our spy is a skilled assassin, one that is skilled enough to handle dark power, also," Brenna replied.

"The question is, why did our assassin kill the two sentries?" Girard asked, while scracthing his head.

"Perhaps, they saw something they were not supposed to," Donovan commented.

"The important thing is, the assassin is using a glamour spell. This allows him or her to hide in plain sight, unless the individual makes a mistake. We are totally subject to the whims of the assassin," Brenna reminded them. "So far, the killer has managed to act without revealing him or herself. All the mages and myself are carefully looking for any sign that will reveal who they are."

"Clearly, this dark mage is biding their time, until the time is right for them to strike," Aberith said.

This did not sit well with Donovan, the enemy had successfully planted an enemy in their midst. One they could not manage to find, the implications of such were a veritable nightmare.

Donovan departed with his oilskin cloak wrapped about him snuggly, and fought his way to his tent. He entered his tent quickly, and fastened the entrance behind him.

Donovan stood there, removing his oilskin cloak and boots, glad to be in out of the storm. If the storms winds were any indication, it did not show any signs of letting up anytime soon.

Donovan added more fuel to the brazier, and stirred the coals to rid the tent of the damp chill. Having removed his outer wear, Donovan slid into their bed, and wrapped the blankets around himself and Morgan. She rolled over, and snuggled up beside him, in the darkness the king pondered over their problem with the spy.