The messenger, his face streaked with sweat and mud, stopped before Cliff, panting hard.
"The direct route's blocked, Commander. Collapsed rocks, swamps… The scouts suggest we divert north. Pass through the Manticore's castle. The path's faster, and—"
Cliff cut him off with a sharp gesture. The Manticore. Just the name brought back the scent of dried blood, the screech of claws on stone. They had hunted it down and slain it in its den just a month ago. But the beast wasn't the only thing haunting those ruins.
"The scavengers are still there," murmured Dahlia, catching his thought. "The ones that fed on her remains. They guard that place as if her death changed nothing."
Rahkan growled, his hand tightening around the hilt of a khopesh. "Wasps without a queen. Aggressive. Unpredictable."
