Chapter 16 - The Whispering Pass
Two weeks later, Queen Clara’s small retinue wound their way through the treacherous gorge known as the Whispering Pass. Towering cliffs of jagged, grey stone rose steeply on either side, casting deep, freezing shadows across the narrow mountain trail, while the wind howled through the rocks like a chorus of ghosts.
Clara rode at the front, her horse stepping carefully over loose gravel. A strange, cold prickle ran down the back of her neck—an instinctive warning that something was deeply wrong.
"Halt," Clara whispered, raising her hand.
General Marcus reined his horse in beside her, his hand dropping instantly to his sword hilt. "Your Majesty? What is it?"
"It's too quiet," Clara said, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the high ridges above them. "Where are the birds? Where is the wind?"
Before Marcus could answer, a thunderous roar echoed from the cliffs ahead.
Boom!
Massive boulders, dislodged by hidden ropes, came crashing down from the heights, smashing directly onto the trail and blocking their path forward and backward. The trap had sprung.
"Ambush!" Marcus roared, drawing his blade.
From behind the rocky crags above, dozens of heavily armed mercenaries—wearing no colors, but bearing the unmistakable mark of professional assassins—aimed heavy cross-bows down at the royal party.
"Protect the Queen!" the royal guards shouted, forming a tight defensive cluster around Clara’s horse.
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"Surrender the crown’s bloodline, and we will make it quick!" a harsh voice shouted from the ridge above.
Clara looked up, her expression hardening into absolute ice. She didn't cower. Instead, she urged her horse forward, stepping out into the open space between the fallen boulders.
