Back at the parking area where carriages and wagons stood lined like silent beasts, Kael slipped down from his carriage with the grace of a shadow. Moving behind it, he tugged at the straps of his coachman attire, peeling it off piece by piece until only his black battle gear clung to him, blending perfectly with the shadows.
Once freed of the disguise, he stole across the lot, his steps soft against the earth as he advanced toward the entrance of the underground chamber. The three guards from before were still there, their armored figures alert, eyes scanning the open terrain beyond like hawks guarding a nest.
Kael slowed his pace as he neared the closest one, crouching low, his hand slipping to the slim tube at his side. Raising the blowgun to his lips, he breathed out sharply—fhhht—and the dart flew with deadly precision, embedding itself into the back of the guard's neck.
