Chapter 464: Fear and Doubt
While most of Challwala's citizens were peacefully sleeping in their beds, they were completely oblivious to the spy war which had been taking place throughout the city just outside their windows.
By now, the warmth of dark night had begun to make way for another stuffy day in the north, yet Inkasius still remained at the Terminus compound. Of course, he wasn't staying here out of choice. After all, this was hardly a pleasant environment.
Like most courtyards in Challwala, the center of the compound was a massive open space, where Inkasius had been forced to remain, since he hadn't been allowed to enter any of the surrounding buildings. Yet unlike most of the inner yards in the city, it didn't contain a Chutwa-style garden. Instead, the yard was covered in simple sand, like a warrior's dueling arena.
Indeed, he could see traces of blood left all over the yard, which laid proof to the kind of grueling training — or punishment — the members of Terminus were subjected to. Worse yet, there was this constant sickly-sweet scent in the air, as if something was rotting in the distance.
Maybe that's corpses, or they are fumes from tonics, a way to numb the pain of the warriors after training in this yard, Inkasius speculated wildly.
While he remained to indulge in his imagination, the warriors in question had left the compound for the most part, out to hunt the lords of the north without any remorse or hesitation. Though of course, they had only gone because of an order Inkasius had delivered, so he had no right to condemn their actions.
A handful of warriors were still here, though he could barely tell. Sometimes, he could see bent over figures shamble past one of the many dark windows facing the yard. The only people he had seen clearly had been so-called 'trainers', scholars in white robes who had only appeared when Inkasius had tried to enter one of the buildings, to prevent his snooping. Thus, he could only sit in the one chair they had provided him, and await the return of the commissioned warriors. From the environment, to the secretive actions of the trainers, everything in this courtyard screamed suspicion to Inkasius, yet he still couldn't just leave here.
For one, he was rather happy that he could dodge the 'senior brother' for a while. Although this place was unpleasant, it wasn't as bad as that arrogant foreigner's presence.
More importantly though, King Amautu had ordered him to remain behind, and wait for the return of the assassins, to confirm the success or failure of their mission. Regardless of the final outcome, Inkasius would carry this information up the Sky Ziggurat and to his master as soon as possible.
Thus he sat there, in this creepy place with nothing to do. As time went by, his mind played ever more fanciful tricks on him, and created horror scenarios to reinterpret even the most harmless of impressions.
When he looked at the blood on the ground, he no longer saw intense, ruthless training, he saw warriors lined up to await ritual sacrifice.
When he saw a bent shadow walk past a window, he no longer saw tired servants cleaning the building, he saw warriors who had been so abused that now, all they could do was wander these halls endlessly, like ghosts, always observing him from the shadows.
When he smelled the sweet scent in the air, he no longer imagined medicine or corpses, he imagined vicious scholars using their knowledge of drugs and poisons to make the brave warriors of Medala meek and obedient.
Despite the rising heat of a classic Challwala morning, his body began to freeze up as his thoughts spun in endless, ever-escalating circles. More and more, Inkasius felt uncomfortable in his chair. More and more, he felt like he didn't belong here.
Worse yet, he thought more and more that, should he stay any longer, he may never be able to leave. His heart cramped in his chest, and he had trouble breathing.
No, he had to get out of here, his orders be damned.
Yet the moment he jumped from his seat, the main door to the inner yard opened. Before he could react, a number of masked figures entered, lined up in front of Inkasius, and went down on their knees. Of course, the warrior knew that they weren't bowing to him.
They're bowing to the king's seal on my waist.
After all, he had officially come to relay the orders of the Scholarly Court, since 'senior brother' had no legal power over him. Without such a seal, Inkasius wouldn't have been let into this secretive place in the first place, not even into this empty yard.
"Rise," Inkasius ordered, since the deferential treatment he received from fellow warriors made him uncomfortable. In response, the four men stood up like a single entity. Once they were upright, he could see that two of them had their robes ripped, and that they were bleeding through the cloth. Yet despite their wounds, they stood straight, without any concerns for their health. Again, the creepy feeling from before returned.
"Take off your masks," he squeezed out, despite his shortness of breath. Maybe if he could see their faces, he would no longer feel so uneasy. Maybe then, they would start to feel human again.
However, the men did not respond immediately. They simply stood there and looked at each other.
Hesitation. At least a human reaction.
Still, it wasn't enough to dispel Inkasius' unease. Thus, he pulled the king's seal from his waist and held it in his hand, stretched out towards the killers, for them to see.
"This Disciple has come on orders of the scholar king! In presence of the king's seal, This Disciple's word shall be the king's word!" he shouted, and took a step forward. "Whoever fails to heed the king's word shall be a traitor upon the kingdom!"
Finally, the killers raised their hands to their faces and took off their masks. Yet the reveal didn't ease Inkasius' anxiety at all. Their faces were shocking. Milky eyes, age spots and wrinkles; compared to their upright posture, the faces of these men looked way past their prime. Not only did they look old, their pale, sallow skin looked sickly as well, as if all of them were plagued with unspeakable disease.
What is this? Who are these men? What happened to them?
One question after another swirled around in his head, yet no answers were forthcoming.
Instead, the earlier tightness in his chest had returned with a vengeance. Once again, he felt like he was being observed from the shadows. All around the yard, he felt shadowy figures stand behind the dark windows and observe his every move, just out of sight. Inkasius had to take three deep, stuttering breaths before he managed to act calm on the outside.
Whatever was happening here had nothing to do with him, he told himself. However these old people had come to be members of Terminus, it wasn't any of his concern. Rather, he felt like if he continued to dig any deeper, he would simply disappear one night and join them as well. Thus, he ignored the pain in his chest, and pretended to be calm as he continued to fulfill his orders. The sooner he got done here, the sooner he could leave.
"Report on the results of your mission. The great scholar king needs to be informed immediately," he asked towards the man who looked least marred by life.
"Yes, great disciple," the man said. Before he spoke, he went down on one knee and bowed his head once more. The others followed as well. This time, Inkasius didn't ask them to rise again. Although he felt bad about treating fellow warriors like this — elders no less — he really couldn't stand to look at their faces any longer.
"The mission of Team Namachtli has been a success. House Caecina's representative has been eliminated, and his body disposed of, as ordered," the unmasked elder warrior explained. "During the mission, there was interference from an unknown enemy. As a result, six Markers of the Way have terminated their path. That is all."
According to the report, this man had just seen his battle companions die, yet his voice was devoid of any emotion. Again, Inkasius' chest tightened. However, at least when it came to the results of the mission, he could relax.
Seems like there was some resistance, but so long as they were successful, it should be fine.
After all, bringing good news was always preferable to bringing bad news. If he had to report a failure to the king, he had to fear punishment again. Thus, he was satisfied to send these killers away, so he wouldn't have to look at them any more.
"Very well. You may leave and rest until-" before Inkasius could finish his sentence, the door to the yard swung open once more. This time, a single figure entered, his robes ripped and soaked in blood. He could barely walk, with his left leg dragging behind him. Every step created a red streak behind the warrior, like brushstrokes which painted a picture of the man's defeat.
Yet as if his injury didn't exist, he walked straight towards Inkasius and went down on one knee. In the process, his left foot angled off at the shin, clearly broken, yet the man didn't care.
"Report, great disciple," he said. "The mission has failed. Lord Gratidia has escaped the End. Team Miktika has been wiped out in the process, there is one survivor."
Again, Inkasius was shocked, this time from the words he heard, rather than the people he saw. Before he could gather himself, another team entered the yard to report, and then another.
The longer this went on, the more Inkasius realized that this mission had not only failed, it had failed catastrophically. Out of all the teams which returned, only two had managed to fulfill their orders, and even they had suffered heavy losses in the process. Meanwhile, three other teams had not returned at all.
They were either still out there, trying to hunt down their targets, or they had been wiped out. Considering the determination of the other teams, and their general state of injury, Inkasius was convinced that the latter was true.
What is happening here!?
Utterly paralyzed by shock, he could only watch as the yard slowly transformed from a training place into a field hospital. More and more killers appeared, with various degrees of injuries, and sat down in the yard. By now, bloody streaks had turned the sand into a canvas.
At some point, servants had appeared from within the dark buildings around the yard. They began to treat the wounds, though it could not prevent the losses the men had already suffered. In the end, only one out of three people whom Inkasius had sent out on the mission had returned to Terminus, many of them with injuries so heavy they would never heal.
For a while, no more groups showed up. As the warriors were suffering all around him, the one who had sent them just stood there. Right in the middle of the yard, Inkasius was rooted on the spot, struggling to form any coherent thought, and then struggling to find excuses for his swift escape.
Maybe, he convinced himself, the last three groups had really been wiped out. In that case, he could finally leave this hellish place and report to King Amautu. Yes, surely that must have been the case. The last groups were long dead. Thus self-hypnotized, he took the first stiff step in an hour, to leave this place behind, forever, he hoped.
Yet when Inkasius thought that the nightmare was over, one last group entered the yard. Again, the king's disciple was rooted on the spot. Though as he listened to the report — this team had failed to catch their target after a long chase through the city, which was why they had been late — he was distracted, even more distracted than before.
Somehow, one of the bent figures felt familiar to Inkasius.
"You! remove your mask," he ordered. As he watched the old man uncover his face, the tight feeling in his chest grew again, to the point that he thought his heart would burst through his rib cage.
"I know you," he whispered, barely able to breathe. "What is your name?"
"All of Terminus is one, a mere Marker on the Way. Terminus carries no name," the man replied, without a hint of emotion in his voice.
However, while Inkasius didn't remembered his name, he still remembered his stature, and the cut of his face, with the sharp chin and drooping eyes. Several years ago, he saw this man stand next to King Amautu. Back then, he had envied his privileged position, and vowed to achieve the same one day.
At first Inkasius thought it was just mere resemblance — possibly an older relative of the warrior he remembered — yet the more he looked at the man's features in detail, the more certain he was: This old man was King Amautu's former attendant, and former head disciple, who had suddenly disappeared two years ago.
If he remembered correctly, the king's last attendant had been only a few years older than Inkasius himself. They were members of the same generation. Yet what knelt before him was an old man, his body mangled by time.
Unable to think, unwilling to imagine the consequences of his discovery, Inkasius stumbled past the kneeling killers, and out of the bloody yard. Before any of the resident scholars could stop him, he had left the cursed compound and its cursed inhabitants behind. Without a plan, he simply rushed through the claustrophobic streets of the city, as he struggled to accept what he knew to be true.
Maybe his earlier fantasies had been closer to reality than he was willing to admit. Maybe, Terminus was not only the greatest shame of the northern kingdom, but also its greatest sin.