Page 32 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Mariana might’ve worn a black breastplate and carried a deadly blade, but that barbed tongue of hers was her true shield. Faren was momentarily overcome with a sense of compassion—but he wasn’t here to make jokes. He was here to find answers and face the truth.

He glanced around the square. The cobblestones were discolored, sticky under his boots. Blood, and far too much of it, for how empty the place was. “Where are all the bodies?”

Mariana’s gaze—which had been fixated on him—flicked to the side. In a flash, her sword ignited, and she swung the blade at his head. Faren ducked instinctively, and something thudded behind him.

He turned slowly. A wolf was slumped at his feet, its antlered head hanging at an unnatural angle, black blood oozing out of the gaping wound. Mariana had nearly cleaved its head right off—mere moments before it’d done the same tohim.

“Fuck,” Faren burst out as adrenaline belatedly hit his bloodstream. “What the fuck?”

“There will be more,” Mariana said, extinguishing the blue flame of her shortsword. “Come.”

She led him out of the square, down an alley, moving silently but swiftly.

A chorus of howls filled the town, pinging off the crumbling stone, echoing confusingly. Mariana picked up her pace as she turned down the next street. Faren glanced over his shoulder, panic rising as he spotted another cursed wolf a block back. Its head was low, tail tucked, stalking.

“Mariana.”

“Shh.”

“Mariana,” Faren insisted. “Behind us.”

She hooked right, leading them through the front door of a shop. Inside, shelves were toppled in a heap of wreckage, and tiny vials littered the floor. The scent was herbaceous and astringent. Faren closed the door behind them with a click. Yips and snarls gathered outside. Mariana did not slow, did not pause. She walked into the back room, out the back door, and into the night once again.

“One nook down, a thousand more to go,” she whispered.

Half a block down, a hanging sign above a pub door dangled crookedly from a single hook, squeaking as the breeze stirred. Mariana smoothly led him into the pub, where tables and chairs were strewn about the bar room, splintered wood poking out everywhere. Broken bottles littered the floor, along with large puddles that—in the darkness of indoors, absent of moonlight—were hard to identify as ale, blood, or ichor.

Mariana stepped around the pools, leading him into the kitchen. A body was slumped against the far wall, and judging by the rancid smell, it’d been there for a while. Faren did not look too closely as they slipped through the back exit and into an alley.

“Two nooks down,” Mariana announced quietly. “Or was that a cranny? I don’t actually know the difference.”

“Do you want me to respond? Because before we got here, you made it sound like you preferred that I keep my mouth—”

A howl from the west.

“—shut,” Faren finished quietly.

Mariana was already hurrying east. Faren followed, his heart rate rising. When they reached the end of the alley, Mariana dared a peek out at the next street.

“Two to the south,” she whispered, then angled her chin up, her attention sweeping the surrounding rooftops. Faren caught a glimpse of her Oath tattoo above the top edge of her breastplate. “On my count, we’ll turn left and run.”

“Run?”

“We’ll head for the bell tower,” she said. “Unless you’ve seen enough?”

It was a fair question. What constitutedenoughin a monster-infested town? Faren had reviewed his orders numerous times over the past few nights, seated across the campfire from Mariana in less-than-amiable silence. The blank report he’d been tasked to fill out seemed rather asinine now that he was here.

Assess the damage, evaluate the remaining threat, and report on the severity, Lord Haron had said in the throne room. It all seemed irrelevant when there were no survivors and packs of abominations roamed the streets.

The Valiant already sent reports, Mariana had argued.There’s nothing left to see.

Surrounded by gore and destruction, Faren had the sinking sense that he’d been sent on a fool’s errand.

“Faren?” Mariana urged.

Fool’s errand or no, they’d come all this way. He had to report onsomething.

“Romantic view it is,” he replied.