9. A Thieving of Lives
The hooded shadows were as quiet as the wind spoke. They stepped on twigs and leaves, but no noise was heard. They drew their daggers and swords, but no sound was sung. Noctus' sword glowed with red shine, lighter than blood but dark as ruby. They crept past the snoring tents in a single-file line, Noctus at the front with their heads low and orderly fashioned. He held up a fist, and they squatted and stopped dead.
Two more shadows could be seen on the rocks above, watching like owls over the camp site. The Brotherhood was already waiting to spring their trap. The line of three kept going forward, with Karliah moving past the campfire and blowing on it with icy breath, and the fire dwindled to dim light until the wood shone with black char.
Noctus' hand signals were clear and sharp, directive and fast. Karliah took her arrow out of the Stormcloak's skull and dragged the body through the thin snow, whilst the two men slipped into the individual tents. They came out again with steel and iron swords, axes, bows and arrows strapped around themselves and rendezvoused back to the charcoal in the centre. Karliah joined them, carrying a large bulging satchel of gold around her shoulder, still not a jingle nor jangle of coins wafted through the breeze. The camp was stripped of worth, and the three slithered back away into the shadows of the surrounding forest, not before Karliah turned back around for a short moment. Fire grew in her left hand, casting a blast of hot flame through her arm and at the docile looking wood in the middle. It ignited in a rush of heat and bursting life, alighting the area with orange brightness. In the sudden inflame, the two assassins hopped down from the rocks and scuttled into the tents as the not so deafened noise of slashing throats and stabbing rang out. The Nightingales looked back suddenly, to watch the carnage. The two of them swept from tent to tent, more and more sounds of death whispering in their ears, as if Sithis was telling them sweet words in their ears.
The assassins soon finished up as they popped out of the tents, covered in splattered blood.
"Noctus! Buddy! Get over here!" the bosmer cried, waving her hand. The Nightingales flicked their eyes at one another in suspicion. Noctus soon rose from his lurking crouch, still the weapons strapped all over him, and strolled back to the camp. "Oh don't be so grumpy, my scaly friend!" she smiled as she hugged him around the neck and smeared her blood stains onto him.
"Good evening, Gritia." he replied, delicately and reluctantly putting an arm around her as well. "Lovely... to see you again."