The dirty tiles precluded the destruction that awaited within the foyer before the jeweled vault. Owing to the thorough search of the remainder of the estate, he expected to find devastation within, yet the scope was startling nonetheless. Even in the bowels of the mansion, each tile had been polished, perfectly squared, and laid with deliberate intent by the hands of dedicated masters of their craft. The Brand of the Hewed Stone flashed into mind, its perfectly shaped grid-work of squares forming an impressive pattern along the muscled forearm of its bearer. The massive stone slabs fit together with a precision that belied the fact that they were not one solid slab.

  A great swath of muddy tracks curved out of the arched doorway before running up the stone stairs. The pristine white marble tiles were stained with a dirty reddish brown path of sediment and boot prints, and the yawning entryway before the Gilded Cage was an utter disaster. When he’d departed after his first clandestine trip to the chamber, the center of the flooring had been crushed, cracked, and charred from his battle with the sentinels. He hadn’t lingered to see the wreckage that ensued as the mechanisms sought their emotionless vengeance on the vile Sir Korning.

  Now, the great statues with their massive blades had been disassembled. What had appeared to start as careful work had devolved into mere spoliation. Likely borne out of survival, the sentinels, no doubt, had rebelled against their dismantling. Even as deadly as they were, he would not have been surprised if more traps beyond their blades met any who sought to circumvent their designs.

  Piece by piece, they had been torn apart, thrown carelessly into piles that lined the walls. To the left, the cracked remains of a massive shielded face stared at him. Deep, hollow, blackened voids of its lifeless eyes watched his stealthy movements with silent scorn. The sensation was faint, little more than a rumble in his mind, though it imbued a curious and potent reminder of the ever-present eyes of the stone ravens that judged him within the hallowed confines of the Roost.

  Joining the stone were piles of bent and scarred metal flotsam. It was clear that a battle, fierce and deadly, had taken place as the smaller sentinels served out their purpose. Black burns marked the walls. Bright slashes revealed the unblemished tiles beneath where errant blade strikes had scraped through the soot. In the end, whether it was sheer overwhelming force, the magi’s strength, or the withering of extreme age, the ancient mechanisms had failed in their prescribed task.

  Likely, it was a combination of all three.

  The damage to the floor had been centralized when he had exited during his last visit, though now, little of the original stone remained. Most of the meticulously fitted tiles had been removed, stacked against the rear wall, giving berth to the wide pit that had been bored into the center of the room. The king’s soldier worked diligently away, digging feverishly, searching for unprotected access to the sealed vault from below.

  Only the statue of the butler remained undisturbed a few paces into the entrance to the room. It stood, perched precariously atop an island in the surrounding void. The pathway to his ear was a hastily cobbled-together bridge of reclaimed wooden planks and beams dragged from the destruction somewhere in the grand estate. That they had not deciphered the code was clear, though they’d likely surmised that the waiting statue was connected to egress to the vault.

  The faithful servant would pine away as it waited to hear his master’s words one more time.

  There were half a dozen of the King’s soldiers in the room. All but one worked steadily, digging away to widen the pit. The other, armed with a pickaxe, chipped at the wall, trying to gain entrance around the side of the sealed vault.

  Risens was relieved to see that the jewels that gave the Gilded Cage its name had been removed. The image of the raven trapped behind golden bars had been picked apart along with the precious gems. Now, the wealth was the property of the King, likely already hoarded in the castle’s storehouse.

  From the long flowing cloak, smaller stature, and a general air of superiority, the magus in the room was easily identifiable. Though he was certain that it was not Magus Pol, he expected the man would be unusually skilled if he found his employment in the ranks of the King’s magi.

  The man’s back was turned to the room’s entrance, yet Risens pictured the frown that marred his furrowed face as he stood with his arms crossed, glaring at the locked vault with obvious consternation. As skilled as they were, all of their efforts had been in vain.

  Only he knew the truth behind the riddle that would open the vault.

  With the execution of Lady Myrenas, only he could gain access.

  From his hidden position in the shadows beneath the spiral stairs, his vision darted carefully around the room, calculating the best approach for his assault. The soldiers would be skilled, but so had the others rummaging through the estate. It was the magus who presented the greatest threat. He would be the first to feel the deadly sting of his blades.

  Even if the silencing ward failed, there were none alive upstairs to know that a battle had been joined. Their screams of alarm and pain would only echo in their own ears before being silenced.

  Ignoring the expected taunts and judgment of the Raven Talons, Risens settled on the silent steel of the kingdom-issued blades. His movements were intentional, his arm cocked back as he strode forward through the threshold of the silent protection.

  The echo of a pick on stone, and the grading of shovels against earth filled the chamber, shattering the quiet that existed outside the silencing ward. The auditory assault on his senses only served to cover his movements. There were five soldiers and one magus before him, and the high-pitched whistle of the knife cutting air was lost in the rabble. So too was the thunk as it landed hilt-deep into its mark.

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  The second blade was already airborne as the soldier standing to the side of the magus reacted to the man’s sudden, uncoordinated movement. His lifeless body pitched forward, blood splattering the ground as he crumpled to the dirty stone. As crimson poured from his mouth, the soldier turned to react, and the other twisting blade found its target. Like the magus beside him, the man was dead before his body reached the floor. The second soul faired no better than the first, a blade buried deep into the side of his skull.

  Having used his crown-issued blades, Risens pulled free the Rave Talons.

  “Waste our blood again, and we will kill you in your sleep.”

  Every word that screamed through his mind dripped with jealousy and animosity. The deaths caused by the other blades were abhorrent to the sentient weapons. They deemed them far less worthy, far less deserving of their gory, yet noble cause.

  Ascending a ladder to assess the commotion above, the heel of Risens’s boot connected with the face of the soldier who poked his head from the depths of the dirt pit. With an unsettling crunch of bones and a pathetic groan, the soldier’s grip failed, sending him flailing downward. He spilled into the dirt below, raising a cloud of dust and cries of alarm from his companions down below.

  Curses as fierce as their accompanying threats and just as hollow echoed through the chamber, yet that’s where the alarms ceased. This wasn’t a fair fight. Forgoing their insults only moments earlier, the Talons rejoiced at the upcoming bloodshed. Facing soldiers, shirtless and unarmored, equipped with nothing but spades as weapons, it would be over in a matter of breaths.

  Risens would grant them as much mercy as they had shown the unarmed staff of the Lady’s estate.

  None.

  His feet had only planted on the floor of the earthen pit when the attack was joined. Instead of ducking the vicious swing meant to crush his skull, the Dull Wind took him in a blink behind his shock-paralyzed victim.

  The blades reveled in the destruction they wrought. Like oars cutting through water, they sliced through flesh and bone with ease, spraying sanguine mist instead of clear liquid. His newfound skill shifted him beyond their reach and behind their defenses before they could react to the changes.

  The sheer impotent ease of this fight was unfulfilling. He shifted through the space with the flutter of wings and the deadly sting of steel. He was untouchable, his movements unseen until it was too late. This was merely practice, a necessary warmup for the acts that would one day follow. He knew the skill would prove invaluable, especially when the experience, talent, and ruthlessness of his opponents increased beyond surprising a group of unprepared miners.

  He flicked the blood off the blades as he wrenched them from the final corpse. Expecting to see the flash of the symbols in the corners of his vision increasing, blinding pain caught him by surprise. It was a sensation that he’d felt before in the frozen pathway of Breakker’s Pass.

  The Raven Talons howled in delight as their thirst was satiated.

  After an excruciating moment, much like the searing of the Brands, his senses cleared with his vision. His crushing grip on the weapons loosened, though the howl of their desires was surprisingly muted.

  The voice that resounded in his mind lacked a noticeable touch of the unhinged malevolence and murderous desire he’d come to expect.

  Only a touch.

  Now it was far clearer, the intent more chilling and disturbing.

  “We are full!”

  “Not for long.”

  “Our promise remains.”

  “Ignore us again, and we will forsake you.”

  Risens pondered the warning as he collected the pair of feathers that still floated in the air. He’d test the quality of theiredges again soon, though it was clear that their voices had sharpened.

  He doubted they would truly murder him while he slept, but for the simple fact that he had used another blade, could they deny him their use in a time of need?

  It was a chilling prospect. He had been granted their use through the completion of their trial. Access to the testing chamber had come at the behest of one far greater, one whose voice he expected they would respond to without question.

  They were far superior to any blade he could commandeer from the castle, yet the pervasive, unrepenting desire for bloodshed still gave him pause. They teetered on madness, so potent that he feared it could be transferred to him. He would strive to utilize them whenever possible, though he would not leave himself unarmed or disadvantaged if necessary.

  Having sufficiently resolved the concern, he scrambled back out of the trench. The soldiers had been diligent in their efforts to try and breach the encased vault of the Gilded Cage, though their labors had been entirely futile. The massive pit and the narrow attempts at tunneling along either side had gotten them nowhere. They had left great jagged scars on the stones where they’d attempted to break through thick rock, and the wide patches of blackened stone were evidence of their failed attempts at accessing Lady Myrenas’s secrets with magic.

  The strength of the construction hinted at the use of magic in its making. The quality of work, along with the presence of retained energy of the sentinels, made him question whether ancient magic was involved at some point in the design and implementation. Unless this vault had been handed down her family line for generations, the suggestion was preposterous. The reclusive gnomes had controlled the secrets of the mechanisms, yet they hadn’t been heard from in ages. He knew of no others who commanded similar power, though he knew it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that some inspired magus could have figured out their secrets.

  Admittedly, his knowledge of the world of magic was limited.

  Back out of the pit, Risens returned to a room caked in utter silence. Only the soft patter of blood dripping from the stone into the hollowed pit below disturbed the calm.

  With no fear of discovery, Risens leaped over the gap to the butler statue, ignoring the rickety, makeshift bridge altogether. Leaning close to its awaiting ear, he focused on mimicking the shrill voice that still rang clear in his memory.

  “To dreams go the raven.”

  The tone of Lady Myrenas’s voice echoing through the room was alarming. As useful as it had proven to be, the Voice of the Raven was a skill he feared he’d never get used to. The foreign sound, the quality, and the timbre of another’s voice exiting his own mouth, was off-putting to say the least.

  In response to the command, the door to the Gilded Cage, free from the burden of the precious gems and jewelry that decorated its face, slid silently into the wall.

  The secrets that the King’s soldiers had worked so diligently to find were now laid bare before him.

  There were no obvious changes to the vault since Risens had last entered. Though he’d only searched a scant portion of the chamber, he questioned his current task. The wealth of knowledge here could take ages to sift through. Most was likely mundane, yet he had no idea where, amongst the files, the crucial information he sought could be found. Or if it was even contained among the collection at all.

  The idea that blossomed in his mind nearly made him laugh aloud: Time would be no issue sifting through the paperwork.

  Using the Quillkey, he carved a thin doorway in the air just inside the vault. Turning his head back to the ruined entrance to the Gilded Cage, once again, the voice of Lady Myrenas echoed through the chamber.

  With her words, the password was given, and the door to the Gilded Cage slowly closed, sealing him inside.