Six days after setting sail from Meridium, Ronan and his newly assembled team of assassins followed in their wake, their ship propelled by favorable winds and a thirst for vengeance. The journey was swift, and they soon arrived at the island of The Isle of Whisper, a paradise of emerald waters, golden sands, and vibrant coral reefs.
Malik's informant at a local pub revealed that a group matching Iskander's description had arrived five days prior and headed towards the ancient site of the Stone Rings, located in the heart of the island.
"We might catch them here!" Malik exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement.
Ronan agreed, believing their targets would likely rest in The Isle of Whisper before venturing into the perilous Ashen Wastes. They rode towards the center of the island, following Adok, who knew the terrain well. As they entered a dense forest, a volley of arrows rained down upon them.
Zog was struck in the shoulder, falling from his horse, while the others scattered for cover.
Ronan and Malik, their instincts honed by years of combat, swiftly eliminated the attackers, their movements precise and deadly. Adok dispatched the bandit who had targeted him, while Damia's poisoned throwing knives found their mark with deadly accuracy.
Malik, emerging from the undergrowth after silently eliminating the remaining archers, surveyed the scene. "Odd. This place is usually deserted. Why would bandits attack here?"
"Who knows?" Damia shrugged.
They regrouped and tended to Zog's wound. Ronan, remembering his injury at Tamsin's hands, felt a pang of empathy for the wounded swordsman.
"How bad is it, Zog?" Damia asked, her voice laced with concern.
"Just a scratch," Zog grumbled. "But I must be getting old. How could a band of bandits wound me?"
"It happens to the best of us," Ronan admitted.
"You'll be fine, old dog," Malik said, his voice gruff but kind. "Damia, treat him while we retrieve the horses."
They continued their journey, reaching the center of the island where the Stone Rings stood, a vast and enigmatic structure of interconnected stone pillars.
"We're here," Adok announced, pointing towards the ancient site.
Ronan marveled at the strange formation, its purpose and origin shrouded in mystery. Malik and his team, however, seemed unfazed, suggesting they had been here before.
"Who built this?" Ronan asked, his curiosity piqued.
"No one knows," Adok replied. "I once escorted a scholar here who believed it was built by people from the sky. Turns out you can't trust everyone's judgment."
"A scholar? Why would a scholar hire you?"
"Scholars in Meridium can be quite paranoid," Malik explained. "They fear their ideas will be stolen, so they hire us for protection. Keeps us fed and our pockets full."
"I see," Ronan mused, recalling Theron's caution. "I wonder where the builders went."
"Dead," Adok said bluntly. "The scholar told me the rings were built two thousand years ago. No one lives that long."
"I know," Ronan muttered under his breath, the image of Iskander flashing in his mind.
They followed an old trail, leading them to a large stone altar covered in strange symbols.
"Can you read those writings, Adok?" Ronan asked.
"No. Neither could Eldrin."
"We didn't come here for sightseeing," Malik reminded them. "Did the trail go cold?"
"They stopped here for a while," Adok replied. "Probably to examine the stone."
"Any idea why they would come here just to see this?" Malik asked, turning to Ronan.
"No. I still don't understand why they deviated from their path."
"They continued onwards," Adok reported. "Looks like they weren't looking for a guide after all."
Ronan felt a pang of unease. He knew Iskander would not need a guide, but he could not reveal that to his new companions.
Just then, a one-armed old man with piercing green eyes and a weathered face approached, his expression wary. "You trespass on my land!" he declared.
The assassins reached for their weapons, but Malik stopped them. "We apologize for the intrusion," he said calmly. "We simply came to admire this place. We didn't know it belonged to anyone."
"It is my land," the man stated firmly. "And these Stone Rings were built by my clan long ago."
"I've been here many times and never seen you," Adok challenged.
"Are you calling me a liar, young one?" the man roared. "I am the chief of the Yalis clan!"
"The Yalis clan?" Adok scoffed. "The fools who guide people into the Ashen Wastes?"
"Enough!" Malik interjected. "Forgive his manners, Chief Yalis. My name is Malik, and we mean you no harm."
"I don't like strangers," Yalis grumbled. "Leave."
"We will," Malik agreed. "But first, did you see a group of five pass through here? Two women and three men?"
"Aye, five days ago."
"Did you happen to learn where they were going?"
"Nay. One of them reeked of death, and not the kind you reek of."
"So you know what we are," Malik observed.
"Aye. Only a fool wouldn't recognize assassins. Except for the bald one, of course," he added, glancing at Ronan.
"Yet you speak to us without fear," Malik noted. "But you were afraid of that man. This Iskander of yours is becoming more intriguing by the minute."
"I've answered your questions. Now leave!" Yalis demanded.
"I have more," Malik said, his voice cold and menacing.
Ronan, sensing the escalating tension, intervened. "Let's not escalate this. I didn't come here to kill an unarmed man."
"He has information we need," Malik countered. "Are you trying to sabotage your own mission?"
"No, of course not," Ronan replied. "But violence won't solve anything. He's the only one who can lead us to our prey."
Malik relented. "Fine. Be my guest."
"Thank you," Ronan said, turning to Yalis. "Please, bear with us for a moment."
"What do you want to know?" Yalis sighed.
"Tell us about the Stone Rings," Ronan requested, his curiosity piqued.
"They are a sign."
"A sign of what?"
"A sign to those who need help," Yalis explained. "A plea to guide the stranded back home. At least, that's what's been passed down through my clan for generations."
Ronan's mind raced. People from the stars? Could others like Iskander have come here and become stranded? He wondered if this was why Iskander had come to the Isle of Whisper, seeking clues to their whereabouts. If his suspicions were correct, their mission would become infinitely more complicated if Iskander reunited with his kin.
"This old man is as crazy as Eldrin," Adok scoffed. "You two would get along great."
"Did they speak to anyone else while they were here?" Ronan asked, ignoring Adok's remark.
"Nay. I am the last of my clan. The others died venturing into the Firefield."
"Good," Ronan said, a plan forming in his mind. "Now we need to talk about hiring you."
"Ronan, what are you planning?" Adok protested.
"We need him to guide us through the desert."
"Are you serious?" Damia exclaimed. "He's mad! And you want him as our guide?"
"If he were mad, he'd be dead like his clansmen," Ronan countered. "He's alive because he knows how to survive out there."
"Ronan is right," Malik agreed. "With his help, we might catch up to them before they reach the Obsidian Spire."
"You speak as if I've already agreed," Yalis grumbled.
"It's what your clan does. Or are you breaking tradition?" Ronan smirked.
Yalis hesitated, then said, "Follow me."
They followed him to a small hut outside the Stone Rings, where he offered them food and drink. Malik remained standing, his gaze watchful, but the others ate, their initial caution fading as they realized Yalis meant them no harm.
"I heard you're interested in the Obsidian Spire," Yalis said, his green eyes fixed on Ronan.
"We need to go there," Ronan confirmed. "Guide us there and back, and this is yours." He tossed a purse of rubies onto the table, his last remaining treasure from the tomb.
Yalis' eyes gleamed at the sight of the gems. "I've been there and back," he said, his voice low and thoughtful.
"Then we have a deal?"
"One condition," Yalis added.
"What is it?" Malik asked, stepping forward.
"No matter what I do, never ask why," Yalis stated, his gaze sweeping over the group.
"That's an odd condition," Ronan said, "but I accept." He extended his hand, and Yalis shook it, sealing the agreement.
"Now gather your things," Malik instructed. "We need to hurry."
Yalis prepared for the journey while the others retrieved their horses. As they rode towards the harbor, Yalis glanced back at the Stone Rings, a flicker of sadness in his eyes.
Ronan, lost in thought, reflected on his journey with Iskander and the others. His initial excitement had turned to regret, the memories of his friend's betrayal and the subsequent tragedy haunting his dreams. He knew this was a turning point in his life. A path he had chosen that would forever alter his destiny.
They reached the harbor and secured passage on a merchant ship captained by an old acquaintance of Yalis. The crew welcomed them warmly, treating them with kindness and respect, particularly Damia, who charmed them with her beauty and wit.
As the days passed, Ronan observed Yalis' fondness for ale, a habit that reminded him of Iskander. The old man often sat alone on deck at night, gazing at the stars while consuming vast quantities of alcohol.
One night, Ronan joined him, offering a bottle of ale. "The stars are beautiful out here," he remarked.
"They are," Yalis agreed, taking a long swig. "And even more beautiful up close."
"You talk like you've seen them up close," Ronan chuckled, assuming the old man was drunk and rambling.
"I have," Yalis replied, his voice filled with a strange intensity. "Words cannot describe the feeling of roaming the vast expanse of space, the void that connects everything. It is filled with a beauty that makes you want to dissolve into it, to become one with the universe. And the goddesses... the Celestials... they are the embodiment of life, of divinity. Their beauty, their strength, their perfection... the memory of them still drives me to the edge of madness."
Ronan stared at him, a chill running down his spine. Yalis' words echoed Iskander's descriptions of the cosmos and the Anima. How could this old man know so much?
"Old man... are you a god too?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Yalis' gaze sharpened, his drunken stupor seemingly vanishing. "Are you that drunk already, young lad? A god? Don't be ridiculous. But what do you mean by 'too'?"
"Never mind," Ronan mumbled, rising to his feet. "We'll talk another day."
He returned to his cabin, his mind swirling with questions and a growing sense of unease. Yalis remained on deck, his eyes fixed on the stars, his expression unreadable.