Mark of the assassin - a Shadowbane tale

The mountain shudders again, and the iron scroll case in Lord Markul’s hands gives a sharp crack. Its lid splits, spilling sealed orders across the dust at their feet.

Slaan sees Kolaur’s name on the lead page, then the Church seals beneath it. The words are plain, cold, and damning, the Chaos node is to be awakened and shaped into a weapon.

More sheets slide free, maps and timing marks, routes into the Highlands, names of clerks and inquisitors, all tied to the same hidden hand. The case was never a relic, it was proof.

Dust hangs between them as the chamber groans. The hunt changes shape in that instant, from a mystery in the dark to a charge laid squarely at the Church’s throat.

Slaan leaves Inner toll cairn chamber behind and arrives at Dragon Scale.

Dragon Scale returns in a rush of cold stone and wind. Slaan lands with Bram and Lord Markul amid a scatter of ash and clipped breath, the evidence still clutched close as the mountain gives a distant, rhythmic thud beneath them.

The travel gate stands a short distance off, its frame stark against the pale shelf. Across the landing, a few cloaked figures in the mist turn at the sound, their attention snagging on the papers and the iron case.

Slaan shifts the bundle in one hand and reaches for the others, using her body to shield the sheets as she steadies their passage toward the gate.

A breeze skims the landing, lifting one corner of the ash-stamped scroll before Slaan catches it. The nearest watcher holds still, waiting to see whether the truth is carried onward or swallowed whole.

Slaan leaves Dragon Scale behind and arrives at King's chamber.

King Steven's chamber opens around Slaan in cold stone and torchlight, a high room that throbs faintly with the same deep tremor felt on the ridge. Courtiers and guards turn as one, their attention snagging on Bram's bundle and the iron case in Lord Markul's grip.

Slaan steps forward and thrusts the confession into the room's center, placing the sealed orders where the nearest hands and eyes cannot ignore them. The ash-stamped scroll slips free beside it, its mark black against the pale floor.

Bram squares himself beside Slaan, ready to back the words, while Lord Markul keeps a hard hand on the scroll case. Several nobles lean in, and a pair of guards drift closer to the door as if to trap the moment in place.

Slaan flicks the ash-stamped scroll open with one clean motion. A margin note catches the firelight, and one listening clerk goes pale as the word "watchers" appears again in the margins.