Brannok remained crouched on his rooftop, a shadow among the chimneys, until the dead of night. The moon, veiled by clouds, cast a sickly glow on the deserted alleys. The smell of incense had become an invisible thread he followed with his eyes, tracing the comings and goings of the beggars. They all converged on a low, dilapidated building, seemingly abandoned, which adjoined an old open sewer.
The nest.
Brannok was no vigilante. He was a hunter. His instinct urged him to swoop down, finish off this vermin in the shadows, and claim the bounty alone. But something held him back. The smell of the cellar, the murmur of the priest in rags... It reeked of a trap, of fanatical fervor that could turn into desperate violence. And then, there was the Queen. Presenting her with twenty beggars' heads wouldn't have the same impact as delivering the organizer, the real poison.
He descended from the rooftops with the same discretion he had used to climb them. His steps led him not toward the lair, but to the nearest guard post, a small gray stone barracks where a few lanterns glowed.
Two guards, bundled in their armor, were dozing near a brazier. They started upon seeing him emerge from the darkness.
"Halt! Who goes there?" growled the taller one, his hand on his sword hilt.
Brannok stopped at a safe distance, hands open in a sign of peace. "I'm here about the bounty. The Children of the Serpent. I know where they gather."
The second guard, younger, rubbed his eyes. "You have proof? A symbol? A prisoner?"
"Not yet," Brannok replied calmly. "But if you send a dozen men with me now, you will. A building near the tanners' sewer. There are about twenty of them, maybe more. Their priest is with them."
The two guards exchanged a look. The bounty was tempting, but this barbarian with cold eyes could be leading them into an ambush.
"How do we know we can trust you?" asked the first.
Brannok stared at the man, letting the silence hang for a moment. "Because if I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. And I'd be gone with your armor to sell it. I want the Queen's gold. Not your lives. Alert your captain. Tell him the falcon has spotted the nest. He'll know the time for action is now."
There was such raw authority in his voice, such absolute certainty, that the guards' doubts crumbled. The younger one nodded and disappeared inside the barracks.
A few minutes later, half a dozen additional guards, led by a gray-moustached sergeant, hurried out, shields and swords in hand. The sergeant eyed Brannok.
"You're the falcon? You're going to show us the way?"
Brannok nodded. "Follow me. And be silent. They have wretched sentries, but alert ears."
The small troop plunged into the darkness of the tanners' quarter, guided by the silent shadow who had decided, for once, to hunt with a pack. Brannok led, his senses alert, pointing out details invisible to the others: a chalk mark on a wall, a scrap of black cloth caught on a grate.
They stopped at the corner of the alley facing the suspicious building. A faint light filtered from under the door.
"There," Brannok whispered. "The priest and his little serpents are inside."
The sergeant gritted his teeth. "Good. In formation. We take them alive if possible. For questioning." He turned to Brannok. "And you? You coming with us?"
Brannok shook his head, a fleeting smile on his lips. "My job is done. The bounty is for the information. The rest is your business."
Before anyone could protest, he had already vanished into the shadows, climbing back to the rooftops to watch the assault from afar. He was not a soldier. He was the hunter who had scented the trail and loosed the hounds. Now, he would see if the Queen's dogs knew how to bite.