Over a dozen had been slain in Arrowhaven over the last few days. All burned alive. The few witnesses that dared come forward spoke of a pale man dressed in black robes, carrying a stave and able to command fire.
The Grandmaster of the Order of the Seven sat in a dark corner of the Scholar’s Hall under the light of a single candle, quickly penning another order on parchment so it could be out for delivery before dawn. He rubbed his eyes and sighed in frustration as he thought of the destruction ensuing and the bodies piling up.
At least his officers were safe together, hidden in the Kingsfell. Most of them anyway. Eckardt was still missing. Captured apparently. Perhaps sending a giant to tread softly and move in silence was not the best strategy.
No matter, this was not the time to second guess things. Not when lives hung in the balance. The Order was under siege, beset on all sides. Dwelling on a minor miscalculation would only waste time. Besides, everything was moving exactly as the Old Crone said it would. Down to the last body it seemed.
This included the Half-sight’s indiscriminate kill. Killing a child under any circumstance was forbidden. However, the kin were under duress and as such, any and all chivalry was suspended. No quarter was to be given to enemies of any age, nor those that shelter them.
Duramarth finished writing the last few words of the letter and paused to reflect at all that had transpired and of what was yet to come. He wondered how the girl and the hobbit were faring. Would the hunter make it to the others, or would she succumb to her own fear and abandon them?
The Grandmaster stamped his signet into the warm wax, sealing the paper. Moments later, a figure emerged from the shadows and took the letter. The messenger started to leave but froze as the four-fingered hand of the Grandmaster clutched his own with an icy grip.
“Wait,” Duramarth commanded.
The messenger obeyed and dare not move. Had he done something wrong? He waited nervously as he met eyes with the uncomfortably, strange and enigmatic grandmaster.
“This goes with it,” Duramarth explained as he reached under the desk and retrieved a small package, securely sealed with silver bands that shone unusually bright.
The Grandmaster handed the messenger the package but cautioned him, “This is only for the hands intended. Under no circumstances are you to open it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, of course Master”, the shaken messenger promised him.
“Good. Because if I hear otherwise, the crows will thank you merrily.
The man shook his head, “Master I don’t understand?”
“They’ll thank you as they’re feasting on your remains,” the Grandmaster explained.
“Eh, y…yes, yes Master. I, I mean no Master. I won’t betray you. I will make sure the package is delivered as ordered.
Duramarth’s expression relaxed and he released the man’s arm.
“Go now. Leave me to my thoughts,” said Duramarth.
With that, the man tucked the package in his robe and hurried up the stairs and out of the Scholar’s Hall.
