CHAPTER 16: THE WIND THAT CUTS
The contract never made it to the board.
A runner found them at dawn—kid no older than fifteen, panting, eyes wide. Message sealed in plain wax, no guild stamp.
Meet at the old windmill outside Crow's Fork at midnight, sharp. I would appreciate if you come alone. The pay is 800 silver for one hour's work.
—W.
Torven read it over Kael's shoulder. "This trap smells like three-day fish."
Lysa checked her quiver. "Or it could be a job the guild doesn't want traced."
Dren just smiled, already counting the coin.
Kael folded the note. 'Interesting enough. Windmill huh. Someone's feeling poetic.'
They went anyway. All four. Alone was never in the plan.
The windmill stood on a hill like a broken finger, sails long gone, stones bleached white. The door hung open. Inside, a single lantern burned.
A woman waited in the circle of light. Tall, hooded, cloak snapping though there was no breeze. Her face was half shadow, half scar—old burn from chin to brow.
"You brought friends even though I said to come alone," she said. Voice like dry leaves.
"A little insurance never hearts you know," Kael replied.
She shrugged. "Doesn't really matter. The job is simple. Kill the man who hired me. Bring back proof. You, I and your group walk away clean."
Torven snorted. "And we should trust you why?"
She tossed a purse on the floor. It landed heavy—800 silver, counted and tied.
"Half now. You'll get the rest when he's dead."
Lysa picked it up, weighed it. "Who's the target?"
"Guild factor. The sun of gun's name is Corren. Usually runs the south ledger. Been skimming contracts, selling routes to bandits. My last employer didn't like competition."
Kael felt the wing-shard at his belt twitch. 'Inside job, that's new. Guild is eating itself. Kinda not my problem though.'
He looked at the woman. "You're the wind-cutter. Three C-ranks dead last month. Throats opened from twenty paces."
She smiled. "Four now. But yes."
Torven's axe was half out. "We're not assassins."
"You're whatever the coin says," she replied. "Tonight it says justice."
Kael considered. 'Corren. I've seen the name. Fat man, soft hands. Signs the pay chits.'
He nodded. "We'll talk to him."
The woman vanished—literally. One blink, gone. The lantern guttered out.
Outside, the wind picked up.
They rode south.
Corren's office was a squat stone building behind the guild stables. Windows dark. Door barred.
Dren picked the lock in six seconds.
Inside: ledgers, coin boxes, a desk stained with ink and fear-sweat.
Corren was there, tied to his chair, gagged, eyes bulging.
A second figure stood behind him—hooded, same cloak. The wind-cutter.
She raised a finger to her lips.
Then she moved.
Not walked—slid. The air folded around her like paper. A blade of wind took Corren's ear clean off. Blood sprayed the ledgers.
Kael was already moving.
He dodged the second cut—felt the wind kiss his cheek, part his hair. 'Fast. Sharper than steel.'
He let the third graze his forearm. Skin parted, blood welled, closed in the same heartbeat.
'Patterns is in the breath. Inhale, twist then release.'
The woman laughed. "You're the one. The guild's pet monster. This should fun."
She vanished again.
Torven roared, axe sweeping empty air. Lysa loosed an arrow that shredded into confetti mid-flight.
Dren appeared behind the chair, knife at Corren's throat. "Talk or bleed."
Corren mumbled through the gag. Dren ripped it free.
"She—she hired me to sell the routes! Said the guild was rotten! I didn't know she'd—"
The wind-cutter reappeared behind Dren.
Kael saw it coming. 'Too slow.'
He threw the wing-shard.
It spun, caught the wind, 'rode' it. The assassin twisted, but the shard adjusted—followed the current like it belonged.
It took her in the shoulder, punched through cloak and flesh.
She hissed, vanished.
The room went still.
Corren babbled. "I have proof! Ledgers! Names! Please—"
Kael ignored him. He walked to where the woman had stood, picked up the wing-shard. It was warm, humming.
'Wind remembers direction. I will make sure to emember too.'
Lysa's face was pale. A thin line of blood ran from her hairline to jaw—wind-cut, shallow but clean. It would scar.
She touched it, fingers trembling. "Missed my eye by a finger."
Kael met her gaze.
The wind-cutter's voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
"You can't catch what isn't there."
Kael smiled.
He pressed the wing-shard to his lips and blew.
The shard sang—a high, keen note that bent the air. The wind in the room reversed, howled, searched.
The assassin materialized mid-dodge, cloak shredding. The shard flew from Kael's hand, guided by its own echo, and buried itself in her throat.
She dropped, gurgling.
Kael walked over, knelt.
"You sold the routes," he said. "Who bought?"
She smiled red. "Everyone. The guild's a carcass. We're just the knives."
She died.
They burned the body, took the ledgers, left Corren tied for the guild to find.
Back at Branch 17, dawn was breaking.
Captain Rhen met them at the gate, face grim. "Corren's screaming betrayal. Claims you tried to kill him."
Kael dropped the ledgers on the ground. "He's half right. But I wouldn't take what he says at face value if I were you."
Rhen flipped through pages, eyes narrowing. Names, dates, coin. Half the south branch implicated.
She looked at Lysa's face, at the blood still crusted on Kael's sleeve.
"Guild's convening a tribunal," she said. "You're suspended until it's done. Next time, think about your actions before actually following through with them."
Torven laughed, bitter. "For cleaning your house?"
"For doing it without permission," Rhen said.
Kael untied his armband, dropped it in the dirt.
"Then we're done asking."
He walked away.
Lysa followed, touching the scar. "Where now?"
Kael looked south, where the wind still carried the taste of blood.
"Where the knives are sharpest," he said.
'If I'm being completely honest I have no idea what to do,' Kael thought with something of the likes of an inner wry smile.