"Start with who sent you. Then we'll decide if you leave this cliff alive," Vencian said as he kneeled and picked up a small stone.
He placed the stone at the cliff's edge with calm fingers.
Tapped it once with his boot.
It tumbled down.
Rannon listened to it vanish into the void.
Vencian turned.
"Oh, save the theatrics, Vicorra. Just kill us and be done with it. I'm ready," Drek groaned, waking up slowly.
"Are you?" Vencian asked, raising an eyebrow.
He stepped closer. "You're both hired blades, aren't you?"
No reply. But the flicker in Rannon's eyes gave him away.
Vencian nodded, then turned away slightly.
"You know what I'll do when I return home?" His voice was calm. "I'll open an inquiry. Into two men named Rannon and Drek."
He glanced over his shoulder to see their reaction.
Frozen.
They hadn't told him their names. Not once.
How did he know?
Quenya had eavesdropped when they thought they were alone while scouting. Simple as that.
But they didn't need to know that.
"Whatever family you have left, I will find them." Vencian crouched low, now at eye level. Cold. Controlled.
"Mother?" Silence.
"Father?" Nothing.
"Sister?" Still nothing.
"Wife?"
No reaction.
"Son?"
Rannon's finger twitched.
Got him.
"Son, then. I'll show him your body. I'll tell him how I killed you. Step by step. And then I'll kill him—brutally. Ten times worse than I'll do to you."
It was a bluff. Vencian couldn't stomach hurting a child.
But they didn't know that.
"You bastard!" Rannon lunged, teeth bared like he meant to bite. Vencian didn't wait. He kicked him square in the chest and sent him sprawling.
"You fight like a coward," Rannon spat, but the spit hit dirt.
"I'm not taking moral lessons from men who shoot people in the back," Vencian snapped. His tone had an edge now.
He said nothing more.
Waited.
Rannon glared at him. Then the fury faded.
"I'll talk," he said, resigned.
"Rannon!" Drek shouted, his face twisted with betrayal.
"What? I'll die if I must. But I won't drag my son into this." Rannon growled back.
Drek said nothing after that.
Vencian didn't smile. He just nodded.
"Go on. Who hired you?"
"Lord Sarvos Ortega."
Confirmation. No surprise.
Of course, it's Ortega. His name is the only one consistently present at every step of my investigation.
"What for?"
"Dirty work. Whenever Ortega needs something done off the books, he uses us. This time, Matthias called us. Said we had to capture you and move you."
Matthias... So he was involved in this farce. That made sense. He was the reason they sabotaged the monastery in the middle of the night.
"Move me where?"
"Laauar Plains. Edge of Ortega's territory. There's a small keep there."
"Why?"
"I don't know. We follow orders. That's it."
"You care about your son?"
"I do. I swear. But I'm not lying. I don't know the whole plan. Mirel's the one who speaks with the higher-ups."
"Mirel?"
"Our captain. He handles details. We carry blades."
"How many of you were sent?"
"Fifteen stayed at the keep. Fifteen came to the monastery."
They hadn't come in full force. Most likely, they thought fifteen would be enough to capture three men alive.
"And Matthias? Who is he?"
"I don't know. We were told to follow his lead. That's it."
"Do you know anything about a man named Sebastian?"
There was a pause. Only the wind answered at first.
Then Rannon exhaled, a dry shudder in his breath.
"I don't know much," he said. "But… he's captured. Like you were meant to be. In the same keep. Laauar Plains. I swear I don't know why. We weren't told anything."
Vencian said nothing for a long beat.
Then slowly, he straightened.
That was it.
The missing piece.
A detail too important to forget, yet neither of them had said a word.
Sebastian.
Now he had a location.
Jackpot.
Sarvos Ortega had Sebastian. That was clear now.
And if Ortega had gone this far to silence things, then Sebastian knew something dangerous.
Something connected to the war two years ago.
This could be the thread that unraveled the charge of treason hanging over Caesor Vicorra.
Rannon's voice came low, hoarse. "We told you everything. Now let us go. We won't fight. You have my word."
Vencian didn't look at him right away.
He cinched the last knot tight, double-checking the length of rope that ran from Drek's elbow to Rannon's wrist. The two of them sat back-to-back now, their arms tangled in a way that made it possible to move—barely—but not easily. And only together.
Their coats were gone. Vencian had taken them. They had boots and underlayers, but no warmth, no steel, and no backup.
The snow around them thickened.
Vencian finally turned, sword still in his hand.
"I never said I was going to let you live."
Rannon flinched. Drek tensed, but said nothing.
"You've got information. That's all you're worth right now. And maybe not even that much." He stepped forward. "You say Ortega sent you. That Matthias gave the order. But how would I know if you were sent to mislead me? Send me chasing phantoms in the Laauar Plains while the real plan unfolds somewhere else?"
He knelt by them again, blade tapping once against Rannon's knee.
"Do you have a rendezvous point if the hunt fails?"
"No," Rannon said quickly. "There isn't one. We were told not to return if we lost you. Just vanish."
"You sure? You hesitate for half a second before answering."
"I didn't—" Rannon stopped himself. "There's nothing. Mirel might have one, but we weren't told."
Vencian stared into his face. Then into Drek's.
"Is that true?"
Drek held his gaze. "It's true."
Vencian rose slowly.
"You lie like it's muscle memory. It could be true. It could be something I'll regret later. But I'm tired of guessing."
He stepped back.
"You said you won't fight me. But you fought men better than me, and you killed Larik without a second thought. Talor too. Both of them gave their lives so I could stand here now."
His voice tightened.
I'm supposed to slit your throats. That's what I told myself before they woke up. Just clean. No chance for them to get up and try again. But here I am.
He looked down at the sword in his hand. Let out a breath.
I'm not soft. But this... this isn't justice. It's just blood.
Quenya hovered nearby, silent as the wind.
Vencian stared at the two bound men for a long moment. Then turned and walked several paces away, hands clenched at his sides.
Quenya finally spoke.
"You're letting them go?"
"No," he said. "I'm letting the cold decide."
"They'll live."
"If they work for it. If they don't turn on each other."
She floated closer. "You're not wrong. But you're not right either."
"I know." He exhaled through his nose. "I'm stupid, aren't I? I should've killed them. They didn't spare Larik or Talor."
"They wouldn't have spared you."
"I know."
He turned back toward the men.
"I can't be what they are. Even if part of me wants to."
He yanked their coats from the pile, then tossed them several feet away, out of reach.
"Try crawling. Try trusting. If the cold doesn't take you first."
Neither man replied.
He might be doing a disservice to Larik and Talor's loyalty. But he'd rather kill the root of their deaths than murder these men in cold blood.
He walked to the remaining horse and mounted quickly.
Quenya rose to match his pace, silent again.
They left the ridge in silence. The pale light above began to shift, signaling the first breath of morning.
Behind them, the wind picked up, pulling at the rope knots and sending a flurry of snow drifting across Rannon's face.
Vencian didn't look back.