Sorcerer… Cyborg???

Chapter 163: Thibault(2)

Now with a new face, Simon found a nearby stable, and purchased a mount, it was nothing impressive, just a hardy roan, the kind of horse that didn't need too much in the way of food and water and would suit most travelling across the arid lands of the Empire. 

Having shaken off his tail, Simon could move at a more leisurely pace, and rode out of Aznur at a canter, most people moving to make way for the viciously scarred stranger, nobody wanted to get into a fight that they didn't need to have.

The sun was high in the sky when Simon left Aznur, and it was low in the sky, almost setting, when he arrived at the ramshackle hut, northwest of the capital.

The hut was hidden from the road, locked within a narrow cleft in the rocky cliffs that were all around the south-western part of the Empire, and furthermore, appeared completely run down from a distance.

But this was not the case, the door was made of sturdy wood, and there was a heavy lock on the door, which would be enough to deter all but the most determined of curious passersby.

Simon unlocked the door, and entered the hut, he reached around in the darkness, only taking a few moments to procure a lamp and switch it on.

The room was lit by the soft glow of the Mana Crystal powered lamp, and lit up the piles of supplies and various odds and ends that Simon had stashed away.

Simon ignored all of these things, rummaging around in a small chest that was locked by a rune enhanced lock, before pulling out a bone white whistle, carved from a large hunk of ivory.

Then, Simon pulled out a trio of tiny leather scroll cases, as well as a roll of paper. On the paper, he wrote the same message, repeated three times.

"The forecast remains true, I look forward to our reunion." The message was not so cryptic that Tam and Anteris would fail to understand it, but it contained no real information on their plans, other than they would stick to what had been planned previously.

Simon stepped outside, the cleft he was in now completely cloaked in darkness, the light from the setting sun setting the clouds above him on fire, it made for an interesting sight, and Simon paused a moment before heading out from the cleft and blowing the whistle hard.

No sound came from the whistle, at least, none that humans could hear.

He waited a few minutes between each time he blew the whistle, and before long, the distant beating of wings could be heard.

Simon smiled as the hybrid birds flopped down and landed in front of him, each one lifting a leg towards him, waiting for the cases to be attached to one of their legs. They had been trained well.

The birds themselves were the first of an experimental cross, and as such had yet to be named, but Simon knew they would be popular, for their use in battle and for their passive nature.

They still retained much of the appearance of the messenger pigeons they were descended from, but were a bright green color, with an elaborate crest of yellow feathers that flowed down toward their equally flamboyant tails.

However, they were far larger than their pigeon counterparts, three or four times their size and with claws that looked as though they could do real damage if the bird was angered.

Once the messages were attached, Simon blew the whistle hard again, this time continuing to blow as long as he had breath, and the messenger birds flew away, heading north east, their silhouettes a beautiful sight against the red sky of sunset.

While Simon enjoyed a peaceful evening, bruised and battered Nighthawks filtered into an encampment. They were within the depths of a dense forest that most people avoided, thanks to the peculiar carnivorous deer that lived within. This meant that this forest was as far from civilization that one could get on the southern half of the Isle, and as such, was a perfect meeting place for the Nighthawks. 

Currently, less than half of their number had returned, and Docara had recently taken to anxiously pacing around their fire, peering out into the dark, for any sign of his missing comrades.

"You know that staring out into the gloom won't make them return any faster." Pony said gruffly to Docara, he had grown less uncomfortable with Docara's authority, especially with how well Docara had executed the orders given to them, sending the vassal states up in flames in just over a week. Everywhere Pony had looked, on his journey to their rendezvous, the fires of war had been burning.

Marching armies, entire cities a smoldering ruin, and the wailing and screams that accompanied the blazing fury of war.

"I know, Pony. But I fear we may have done our jobs too well. Even I struggled to get here, all the states have set up ridiculous amounts of checkpoints, and I swear you could spit and hit a battlefield. I fear for our comrades." Docara sighed and sat down on a log next to the fire.

"Staring out into the gloom won't do anything, but it sure helps me feel like I am doing something. We can only wait for another week, and then we have to leave, no matter how many of us have returned. The next phase of our mission awaits us, and if this invasion is to be successful we must carry out our duty." Docara adjusted his mask slightly, and in doing so was reminded of Lucio. Even Lucio, as strong as he was, hadn't returned, where were his men?

Docara swept his eyes around the camp, where the few that had returned were laughing and joking with each other, as part of their past missions, all these men had been to hell and back, and could remain lighthearted in even the most dire of situation. Who was he to doubt them, surely they would all return.