The other sentry frowned.
Already? That was early.
Kael stepped inside his reach. A hand over the mouth.
The knife slid up under the ribs and stopped.
The sentry's eyes went wide in blank confusion. His mind stalled. The body failed.
Kael held the weight as the man went limp, then lowered him quietly to the shale. He left the body where it lay and stepped over it.
He moved to the second man.
The sleeper was turning at the sound, shoulders shifting against the rock. His head came up, eyes cracking open as he looked toward the body on the shale.
Kael was already there.
He knelt. He placed the cold edge of his knife against the man's throat, just enough to break the skin. Then, he clamped his hand over the man's mouth.
The man jerked under the blade. "Mm—?"
His eyes snapped open, wide with terror, fixing on the dark silhouette looming over him. He held still. The blade bit deeper, a line of hot blood running down his neck.
"Easy," Kael whispered. "Move, and the head comes off."
The man froze. He nodded frantically against Kael's palm.
Kael shifted his weight, reached down, and slid the man's sidearm free from its holster. He set it out of reach on the shale.
He loosened his grip on the mouth slightly.
"How many in the canyon?"
"T-twenty," the man stammered, his voice a wet whisper. "Maybe twenty-two. Plus two women.""
"Where's your head man?"
"In the big tent. The one with the… the drying racks."
"Good." Kael leaned closer. The man smelled of stale sweat and fear. Perfect.
"Last question." Kael spoke even and low. "What did you have to do to get in with them?"
The man blinked, tears welling in his eyes. "If I tell you… you'll let me go?"
"I came looking for them," Kael whispered. "Figured I'd join."
He glanced back once, toward the body on the shale.
"That one," Kael nodding at the corpse. "That counts as my proof. Enough, right?"
The sentry's eyes widened. He studied Kael again, slower this time, then nodded once.
"Enough—yeah, enough," the man rushed out, desperate to please the new monster. "Once you've killed, they don't ask more. Just go down there. Tell them you did it. They'll take you."
Kael tilted his head. "So killing someone's enough?"
"Yeah," the man breathed. "That's all it takes."
"Good." Kael tilted his head. "Then what did you do to get in?"
...
When Kael walked away, the canyon was quiet again.
The man lay where he had been left.
His mouth hung open, tongue gone. Large sections of skin were missing from his arms and legs, red muscle fibers exposed and uneven, cut too deep in places. Whoever worked on him did it clumsily, taking too much meat with the skin.
Blood soaked the shale around the body, pooled thick and dark, smeared where he had twitched at the end.
[Aether: 1]
No difference. Close or distant. Slow or clean.
The yield was the same.
Either the method didn't matter—or they were simply worth very little.
Kael wiped the blade clean. He stood and moved toward the ridge.
Below him, the canyon opened up.
The camp lay quiet.
Most of the tents were dark. Fires had burned down to embers. Only a few men remained awake near a shallow pit, voices low, unhurried.
At the center of the camp stood the largest tent. It was impossible to miss.
The pavilion rose higher than the others, its poles wrapped and bound with pale strips. Shapes hung from the frame—long, uneven pieces that caught the firelight dully.
Some still bore marks: a stretch of inked skin, a warped nipple, the curve of a shoulder taken wrong.
Human skin. Other parts with it. It was on display.
Kael understood without seeing the man himself. That was where the head man stayed.
A madman, rotten to the bone.
Men like that drew others to them. Violence bred followers. Followers bred bodies.
He checked his revolver, then his knife. The metal felt right in his hands. Familiar. His eyes moved over the camp again, slower this time.
Lanterns hung from posts, their glass filmed with soot. Each one threw a shallow pool of light, leaving long stretches of shadow between. Crates were stacked near the cook fire, lids warped from heat and use. One had split at the corner, grain spilling out onto the dirt, already trampled flat.
Off to one side, near the horses, stood a pair of barrels. One had leaked. The ground beneath it was dark and slick, the smell faint but unmistakable.
Oil.
Kael filed it away.
The camp breathed in its sleep. A horse stamped once and settled. Somewhere deeper in the tents, a man muttered, then went quiet. Embers shifted in a fire pit, collapsing in on themselves with a soft hiss.
Too many places to watch. Not enough eyes.
Kael slid down from the rocks, boots finding shale and dirt, letting gravity finish the descent. He didn't rush it. A fall would carry sound. A stumble would carry worse.
He reached the canyon floor and stayed there, crouched low, letting the night accept him.
No one noticed. They were loose.
By the fire pit, two men sat with their boots out, passing a bottle back and forth.
"Hell," one of them muttered, staring into the embers. "How long's it been since we had any real fun?"
The other snorted. "Too long."
He tipped the bottle, shook it, frowned at how light it felt.
"Ain't much left around here," he went on. "We picked this stretch clean. Folks hear our name, they turn around or run dry."
"Yeah," the first said. "Word travels."
He spat into the dirt. "Guess that's what happens when you do the job too well."
They laughed, low and tired.
Kael moved while they weren't looking.
He crossed one dark stretch, then another, timing his steps with the murmur of voices, the crackle of dying wood. Every shadow had weight now. Every shape could turn into a man.
A dog lifted its head near one of the tents.
Kael froze.
The animal sniffed the air, ears twitching. A hand reached down and cuffed it without looking. The dog whined once and curled back in on itself.
Kael let his breath out, slow.
He adjusted his grip.
It had already begun.