Tales of the Vangen: The Black Ministry's Betrayal (Book 1)

Chapter 3: A Midnight Visit

The rebels pulled to a stop before their former compatriots, silent as the grave as they tried to process Culter's art. Did any of them know the dead personally, Culter wondered atop the nearby tree branch. Maybe a friend, perhaps, or family? Keeping his smile close-lipped, he slid the stiletto from his sheath and held it close to heart. Closer. He needed them to be just a little bit closer.

The rebel at the head of the pack, a big man with a long, red top knot, began to bark orders in his native tongue. He pointed a finger at the furthest rider in the back, gesturing towards the corpses.

After a few mutterings back and forth, one of the rebels hitched his horse forward, pulling a thin blade from his sheath. With a quick swipe over the rope, the first of the dead men plummeted like a stone, hitting the dirt with a gut rolling crunch. The rebel gave an audible wretch before moving  towards the next one.

 Right below where Culter stood.

He never saw it coming. Culter jumped from the branch, slamming ass first into the saddle behind the rebel. The man's scream turned into a rattling gurgle as Culter drove the stiletto up and into his lungs. Grabbing hold of the reins, Culter whipped the frightened horse into a frenzy and took off into the forest.

Screams of shock and anger bellowed after him, the pounding of hooves following soon after. "How noble of your friends to give chase," Culter patted the rebel on the shoulder, but the man merely slumped further into his saddle, blood dribbling from his mouth. Pressing his lips into a thin frown, Culter pulled the stiletto out, grabbed hold of the reins and jockeyed the horse onward.

It was the big man with the topknot that was first to reach him. He howled after Culter, his thin blade gleaming from the thin fingers of moonlight breaking through the forest canopy. Culter pulled hard to the left, the horse braying as it leapt over a small stream.

"Just a little bit closer, my friend, and then he's all yours." Culter counted under his breath before he pulled the reins hard. The horse ground to a stop, bucking like mad before the albino could take back control. The dead rebel, however, had no such luck, sliding off the saddle and hitting the ground with a jingling clang.

Culter noticed Topknot closing in, only to stop just a few fingers out of reach. The others saddled up beside him, eyes all wide with furry, their fear long since congealed into rage. Topknot pointed his sword at Culter, snarling something in that wispy language of his.

Culter, however, merely smiled and held up his hands in surrender. The rebel narrowed his eyes before kicking his horse into a whooping gallop. 

Choom!

A crossbow bolt the length of a man's arm shot out from the tree line and punched the man square in the chest. He flew off his saddle, screaming all the while before he struck the ground hard. He didn't get back up. Horses and men flew into a frenzy as Culter kicked his own steed into action. He reached the closest rebel and opened him up with the stiletto, blood glinting like rubies in the moonlight. Seconds later another bolt whizzed past, catching a rebel in the shoulder and blowing his arm clean off.

The world fell into chaos. Culter jumped off his horse and took a rebel with him, the albino stabbing violently as they both hit the ground. One of the horses reared back, pitching its rider off before kicking another square in the chest.  A bolt went streaking past and struck a nearby tree, impaling a rebel like some bloody decoration.

It was over as quickly as it had started. Culter stood up, ready to open up another rebel, but there was no one left now.  Only the dead remained, scattered across the ground like tin soldier's abandoned by their child. Most of the horses had run off as well except for Culter's, calmly grazing next to a dead rider as if nothing had happened.

"My, my. Aren't you just an iron nerved beast," Culter stepped towards the horse, sheathing his stiletto before patting the creature along the neck. "Perhaps I should give you a name. Terror? No, that would just be silly. Ah, Grief, maybe? What do you think of the name Grief?" The horse  cocked its ears and continued grazing. "Grief, it is then."

Something rustled from the nearby bushes. Culter pulled out his stiletto, ready to open up another rebel but instead Nox appeared wielding that massive crossbow of his over one, sinewy shoulder.

 If anyone had ever asked Culter to describe the man, he would simply call him dark. Dark skinned, dark-eyed, dark-haired and dressed in similar dark leathers, the man was darkness personified.

Nox flashed Cutler a full, ivory toothed smile. "Talking to the horses, eh?" His mouth worked awkwardly to speak in the Byzan tongue, a language that all the Vangen shared. Even after three years, the Austerlander was still having trouble sounding out the words.

Culter worked his own mouth, thinking hard on what to say. "Perhaps," was all he could muster. Nido's tits but it was a lot easier talking to horses. Most of the time they just ignored you.

Nox chuckled and rested the crossbow over his other shoulder, eyeing his work. "Good catch tonight. Caught a big one. Leader, maybe?" Nox turned over a rebel with his boot, the one with the red top knot.

Culter shrugged. "Maybe."

"Hmm," Nox looked up to where the dead rebel hung from the tree. "It was good work, regardless. Shall we go?"

Culter grunted his approval and took Grief by the reins. The horse gave a shadow of resistance, but with a quick tug the animal soon relented. They stalked back through the forest, over the stream he'd passed earlier. till the song of groaning rope could be heard faintly in the breeze. Off in the distance he could just make out remaining men hanging from the branches. He stopped for a moment to admire his work, unlike some people he knew. The other brothers had such weak stomachs for such things. Oh sure, brother Regis could kill and gut and maim as he pleased, but dress a few bodies up in macabre poses, and suddenly Culter was the bad guy. Hypocrites the whole lot of them.

A flash of light shot up from the south, bathing the forest in violet light, casting shadows in all directions. Culter's horse whickered and tugged at the reins, but a few gentle strokes across its flank had the creature calm in no time.

"Magus?" Nox turned to Culter and asked. He merely shrugged. "Guess we should double-time it then. The Captain must want us for something?" Again Culter shrugged. "All right. I'll go on ahead then." Nox waved goodbye before cantering off into a run and disappearing into the thicket beyond.

"Oh yes, the Captain will want us indeed. I've only ever seen that flare twice before in my life." Culter said, addressing the horse. "Both times were never good. Both times a lot of blood was shed." He felt his smile return, dark and sinister, and full of entertainment. "And both times, I had a lot of fun."