Osmal patted the neck of his horse, his own neck throbbing from the action. The salve had helped, but the swelling would take more time to fully fade.
What hurt worse was his purse, having been fully emptied. Even with his daring raid on the cane killer wasp hive, the umbric bark, and jade dust had tapped him out—both in sect merit and crowns. He was officially a pauper, nothing but lint lining his purse. Unfortunately, he would have to cultivate his new manual on the move. Not ideal, but at least he had the required supplies.
Captain Tommy looked equally drained, like a waterskin squeezed to extract every drop. That could be explained by his regrown arm. Regrowing a limb was expensive and physically taxing. Tommy caught his look and walked over, leading his horse.
"Captain! Thought you were sitting this one out," Osmal said.
Captain Tommy grunted, raising his freshly regrown arm, still wrapped in a heavy bandage. "If I had a choice, I would. Those weasels who regrew it might cut it back off if I don't gather enough money to pay them back soon," he said.
"I see," Osmal trailed off, as more riders led their horses into the staging yard. Leading the group was Kathrine, Elder Fu's disciple, flanked by a mix of sect soldiers and middling members, including Lina and Harold.
Everyone's attention was drawn as a second group rode in, a nobleman from Adro in the lead. The man locked eyes with Kathrine, the two sizing each other up. A sudden surge of hostile energy made Osmal's chest tighten. To his mind's eye, they were like shining beacons, their presence dominating the square—a pissing match if he ever saw one. After a few tense seconds, both retracted their energy. It wasn't a pleasant sensation.
Osmal wasn't a fan of the predicament. Kathrine didn't seem pleased either, as the nobleman—clearly one of Wastroll's top supporters—rode over to her. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he imagined it was all barbed words. A few tense minutes of conversation later, they were back in business. From an original thirty strong, their group was now fifty.
Lord Finlar made up for what he lacked in numbers with quality: soldiers who would give Osmal pause, and a few Red Sky sect members in tow. It was officially a joint operation of all three factions in the fort.
Of course, the Red Sky wouldn't be left out. One member in particular drew his attention: Ash rode with the group. She hadn't told him she was going on this caper, but after peeking at her journal, he understood why—her ability to decipher ancient Sumatran script would be invaluable. He quickly averted his gaze and scanned the rest of the strike force.
Quite the group they had assembled. Enough to bring some confidence in a successful trip. Only problem was there were two rival sects traveling to ransack ancient ruins, and a nobleman pursuing his own objectives.
A shit show if he ever saw one. Like herding a bunch of rabid jackals. Osmal didn't envy that position. No, he was perfectly content staying right where he was. Strong enough to be useful, but not powerful enough to be seen as a direct threat to the two heading this expedition.
After a solid half hour of pointless pleasantries, the group rode out the gates. Back into the wilds, deep into the blade mountains. The first few days were surprisingly pleasant, probably due to their larger numbers.
Most monsters avoided them, with only a few being sighted. Given their larger size, the group reached the base of the Platea after nearly three full days. Thankfully, even the arrogant nobleman wasn't willing to take on the apes at night time.
Tartus dying such an ignoble death must be weighing on his mind.
Osmal was no different. He had drawn the short stick, and so was on watch duty for the first part of the night. If you could ignore the constant drone of cicadas and distant call of birds, the jungle wasn't half bad.
He sat perched on the branch of a tree, back to the trunk. The elevated vantage didn't offer much in terms of visibility, however, it did give him a decent backrest.
He could overlook the camp, as well as let the tendrils of his iron web technique spread into the forest. The camp was dark, no fires, but still he had no doubts they had been spotted. That was the trouble with large groups.
Osmal took a deep breath, swatting at a bug as it buzzed near his ear. Reclining on the branch, he looked up, the stars visible through the canopy. At least it wasn't raining.
As if to spit in his face, a steady pour greeted the camp at dawn. The small deer path up the plateau was a muddy soup. After a few riders were thrown when a horse slipped, the group dismounted and walked.
It was a long walk up the slick path to the summit. A cautious group entered the ruins, spreading out to form a perimeter as the rain came down in sheets. It appeared that not even the apes wanted to fight in this downpour.
Or perhaps it was their greater numbers. In either case, they took full advantage. The apes were not the only reason they were in the ruins. Osmal and Ash stood guard as a soldier stuffed a waxed sack in a gap in the stone and mortar. The man unrolled about a foot of rope, dipped it in some oil, and lit it.
The acrid stench of burning oil filled the air as the flame hissed to life, catching despite the downpour.
"We better hurry, get to cover," the man said, gesturing to a half demolished building nearby.
Noting his urgency, Osmal and Ash rushed after the man. They reached the building, quickly ducking for cover.
It was just in time. A deafening explosion filled the air, rocks and smoke clattering around them.
Peering from cover, Osmal let out a soft whistle.
"With enough of that, breaking into all these buildings will be a piece of cake," Osmal said, peering at the smoking hole in the side of the ancient building.
Ash scoffed.
"Fat chance of that. See that smoke, that's from red powder. I bet they only brought a few such pouches," Ash replied.
The soldiers didn't reply, but his annoyed glance said more than words.
Osmal was already making plans to get his hands on said red powder as the dust settled. He wondered if rolling a barrel of the stuff under Elder Fu's bed might kill the man? A wall was destroyed by about a fistful of the stuff.
Surely even an elder couldn't survive being blown to kingdom come. He pushed aside the thought. The promise of ancient riches was on his mind as he looked back at the hole in the ground.
The dust quickly settled, the rain dispersing the cloud.
With some hesitation, the three approached.
"Shall we?" Ash asked.
"After you," Osmal replied, looking into the smoking hole.
No telling if the ward was still intact.
The soldier seemed to lack his caution.
"What a bunch of amateurs," the man muttered.
With a scoff at their caution, the man ducked into the hole, taking all of two steps inside the small chamber.
Over the patter of rain, there was a soft snick. With a rush of air and a wet sound, the man's head fell from his body. A shower of blood fountained out before the body fell onto the stone, filling the air with the stench of iron.
He threw Ash a sidelong glance.
"So much for that," Osmal said.
Ash shrugged. "At least he disarmed the trap,"
She was right. That killing blow had used up most of the ward's stored power. The stored energy in the building no longer made his skin tingle. Even so. That didn't mean there was no more danger.
He stepped past the body without slowing, eyes already scanning the room. The man had known the risks and foolishly gotten himself killed.
As he entered the basement, Osmal paused, taking a few seconds to let his eyes adjust. The place was about twenty feet across, dark and gloomy. Dust clogged the air, and coated everything.
Given they didn't have much time before the vultures arrived, the two spread out. Ash headed towards a few urns that lined one wall, while he headed towards a stone table.
His heart beat in excitement as the outline of several vials came into view.
He quickly tucked one up his sleeve, noticing Ash had tucked away what looked like a small stone table from an urn.
They were just in time, as voices filled the entrance.
Lord Finlar, bracketed by soldiers, strode inside torches lighting the chamber.
"What are you two doing?" Lord Finlar demanded.
Osmal adopted an obsequious smile.
"Ahh, my lord, you are just in time. We wanted to verify it was safe before reporting. As you can see, the ward was quite deadly," Osmal replied, gesturing to the dead soldier still bleeding from his neck.
"I see. Well your job here is done. Go make ourselves useful elsewhere," Lord Finlar said.
The two didn't need any further coaxing. Outside of the cellar, Ash gestured to him to follow. Uncertain of her motives, he did so.
"What?" Osmal asked.
"Remember that favor you owe me?" She asked, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to listen in.
"You want to give that up for a random elixir that might be useless?" Osmal asked in a hushed voice.
She scowled. "No, I don't give a damn what you just took. I'm talking about something else," Ash said.
"What do you need?" Osmal asked, eyes narrowed at her.
Ash hesitated. After glancing around again she pulled the stone tile partially from her sleeve. He caught a glimpse of a mostly faded bird carved into the tile.
"A bird?" Osmal asked dryly.
"No, it's a raven," Ash whispered.
He raised an eyebrow, her nervousness bringing back a seemingly insignificant detail. "You mean like the black raven in your notebook?" Osmal asked.
"Yes! It is the symbol for the Black Raven Cabal. The premier assassins of the Samatran empire," Ash said. She spoke in a whisper, her words faintly audible over the downpour.
Osmal raised both eyebrows.
"Makes sense then as to why that house was booby trapped. But they should be long since dead," Osmal said.
"Trust me, they are very much still alive. I have been digging and they have been busy. No one is talking about it, but our sect head has been assassinated," Ash said.
Osmal rocked back on his heels, frowning.
"I'm going to stop you there. I have no desire to get caught up in whatever mess you are speaking of," Osmal said.
"You may wish to stay in the dark, but something big is coming. Bigger than the tide, bigger than the sects," Ash said, turning on her heel.
Her words were not ominous at all. He swore inwardly. Why was she telling him this? Knowing this could get him killed.
He had absolutely no desire to get caught up in a conspiracy involving ancient assassins. No, Osmal was here to assist Kathrine, maybe to snatch a few ancient treasures and get out.
Risking his neck to root out a nest of assassins, no thank you.