It was hardly a clear sky when Mira reached the wooden palisades of the old Seawatch keep. The weather threatened to worsen any moment, Mira knew that from experience—the cold wind washing off her face, the falling snow and the grey skies—better settle into the keep then.

Well, calling it a keep she reckoned would be a bit too generous. One had certain expectations attached to the word, for one, stone walls that would give armies pause and second, people—either residents or a garrison.

And from what she knew the place, Seawatch had nothing of the former and barely any of the latter. Not even a big enough fire for her to see the smoke trail in the sky. Heck, there was not even a single noise, just the animals.

Though what she thought hardly mattered, orders were orders and she had hers. With one hand holding the saddle and the other keeping the reins she dismounted the mare, her leather-bound feet hit the dry snow-caked ground one after the other, carefully.

Keeping the reins firmly in her hand she moved up the animal trail, walking up to the drawbridge that was set up over the three feet trench dug all around the keep.

It was then that her feet froze, where are the guards?

Every drawbridge, no matter the significance, no matter the situation must maintain a sentry of two at all times as taught by the master of arms of her family. It was a necessity in this wilderness. Bandits, raiders—worse.

So she asked herself again, where are they?

Then her eyes went to the horizon above the keep, the smoke was not there, of course, she had noticed, why did she not think of it? No smoke meant no fire and in the winter…no life.

A spark raced through her spine. It straightened. She swore she could even hear her heart. Fuck!

Should she check it out? No, her mind barked back, not a second thought needed. But what choice did she have? None.

She had a job and she was told to do it. And going back without completion or a good reason why. That did not bode well for the coin she needed to further her magic.

And if she went back and this was just her overthinking then…fuck! After all, she was a bastard and bastards don't get nice things. Not for free.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

No, don't panic. Think.

The fires were out. If that meant that the garrison was dead. No, there were no ifs or buts, the garrison was gone, this deafening silence…this quiet. It told her all she needed to know. Fifty men were here. That number is anything but silent.

But then again, all those things also meant that whoever killed the garrison is gone too. For who could survive this cold without a fire? Nothing alive.

Then the winds began to whistle against the angles of the blade settled by her side. They were picking up. The skies were turning darker with each blink and they looked heavy with snow.

She had no choice but to go in, shelter from the storm would be a rare necessity in the wild—but she was not going unprepared.

Sliding her hand under her cloak over the back of her hip, she unhooked her catalyst bone and brought it forth. Her eyes went over it, checking for a flaw in the carving on the deer breastbone once over, [Fire]+[Direction], all in perfect runic.

It wasn't necessary to check it, she had tested it a hundred times and it had yet to fail her but she had also seen what overconfidence did to rune casters a hundred times her skill, nothing good. And so, this ritual of hers.

Still, a smile laced with pride surfaced over her lips but she pushed it down as she slid the rune underneath her glove adjusting it till it fell into the precut spot on the palm area of the glove. There it sat snuggly and ready to put to use.

Ready as she could be she stepped forth, one step at a time on the wooden drawbridge, it did not move, managing to remain still, and on her last step, she realised why it was all so quiet.

Red snow. Blood-soaked snow. Dead bodies lay naked on the floor, stabs and lacerations all over them, headless stumps. All without armour were thrown into a mountain heap, blood still dripping blood as red as a summer wine.

They were fresh bodies. Recent kills.

She swallowed. Her hand let go of the rein and instinctively reached for the blade resting on her side.

The doors to the wooden stay houses had all been broken and many things were there scattered on dirt and mud.

Cutting through the snow she reached the other end of the keep, a small dock for a few cannons. The heap of corpses was there, their necks severed, all clean and sleek, even the spine and skull were cleaved clean off—Only a few things did that to bones. As for what exactly Mira didn't want to know.

She needed a plan to deal with it all, but she did not have the time. A swipe of cold wind ran over her skin, reminding her of her situation. If she didn't want to freeze to death she better find a good hole to hide in.

Ignoring the raven feed around her she once again went for the reins of her mare, grabbing them and tugging the beast along with her to the biggest shelter that her eyes could find, the Keep Lord's residence—not that the wooden patchwork was worth the words.

Reaching the fence of the residence she stopped again, on the door that led to the building proper was the corpse of a woman, and judging by the few scraps of fine cloth on her back, she was a noblewoman and if those red markings were anything to go by…

"So rapists and looters?" Mira muttered to herself, "Well, well, well…" She continued her march. Reaching the gate she gave a callose kick to the woman's body sidelining it to make space for the mare behind her.