Of Ice and of Fire

The Inquisitor

Clunk.

The sound of metal upon hardened earth seemed loud and intrusive to Korvo's sensitive ears. The Dragon Slayer looked down with distaste, contemplating the gauntleted hand with distaste, limp now, where moments before it had clutched a fine sword in a white knuckle grip. That weapon was destined never to see its intended purpose; the well honed blade it boasted would never be turned upon Kingdom soldiers, not the monarchy, not any other unfortunate soul. The sticky pool of garish vermillion that licked at its steel made certain of that.

The Ice Dragon took a slow step back as the red puddle advanced, moving out of its reach once more. If anyone found this gory scene, he did not want them to link it back to him. Raising pale, glass blue eyes to survey his work, the young man allowed himself a small grimace. He told himself over and over that it was for the good of the Kingdom, for the good of people, that he dirtied his own hands, but it didn't make the killing any easier.

This group had done quite well. Convincing- or threatening, who could know- some poor sod to forge them matching sets of weapons and armour, so that when they attempted their takeover, they looked ceremonial. From the colours, white with inlays of elegant gold, they had no doubt intended to claim that some god or other fueled their cause. Perhaps some of them had even believed it. A large number of men, some women, in all about one hundred and fifty people. Small for an army, certainly not enough to change into Crocus and expect to win, but with enough planning and attention to detail, they probably would have had some chance at actually achieving their goal. That is, if they had ever been allowed to begin their march towards Fiore's great capital. Thinking about it now, Korvo realised that he probably ought to have kept some of them alive, for the sake of questioning. However, it was too late to dwell on that fact now. Giving the bloodbath one last glance, just to make sure he hadn't missed anything, Korvo turned and began to pick his way through the rocks, his path taking him on the very same route the traitors would have taken.

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The crunch of soft soled boots on broken rock chips was barely audible, had there been anyone there to hear it. Strong arms pulled a lithe form up onto a ridge, overlooking a small valley that was hidden from almost all angles but this. Crimson eyes, twin orbs that seemed to swirl like a mixture of fire and blood, scanned the area with obvious interest, looking over the mangled corpses of what looked to be a small army. Whatever they saw there apparently pleased their owner, because after several moments of intense observation, thin lips parted, baring two rows of white teeth in a wide, savage grin.