Silencing the truth 3

It wasn't until the early morning that the thick scent of smoke still lingering in the corridor alerted the other soldiers to something amiss. At first, they thought it was just another extinguished fire from the night torches, but as one of them passed by the room, a strange, acrid stench clung to the air—burnt flesh.

"Something's not right," murmured one soldier, furrowing his brow. He pressed a hand against the charred wooden door, and as it creaked open, the remnants of the blaze revealed themselves. The room, mostly made of bricks, had contained the fire, but the destruction inside was unmistakable. The floor was scorched black, the table and chairs reduced to embers, and at the center lay the unrecognizable remains of five soldiers. Their bodies were curled and twisted, as if they had desperately tried to escape the flames before succumbing.

A wave of murmurs spread among the soldiers as they gathered around.

"By the gods…" one whispered, covering his nose against the stench.

"What happened here?" another asked, his eyes darting between the scorched corpses and the smoldering remains of the furniture.

Martis arrived among the gathered men, feigning confusion. "What's all this noise?" He stepped forward, his expression carefully composed as he surveyed the carnage he had caused. He crouched near the bodies, pretending to inspect them closely before glancing at the remains of a broken oil lamp on the floor. "Looks like an accident," he muttered, loud enough for the others to hear. "One of them must've knocked over the lamp while reading maps and books."

A few soldiers exchanged wary glances.

"Five men burned alive from a simple lamp fire?" one of them questioned. "That's odd, don't you think?"

"Yeah," another added. "The bricks contained most of the flames, but it burned hot enough to kill them all? Sounds strange."

Martis shrugged. "You know how oil catches fire fast. And if they were all deep asleep, it would've spread before they even realized."

Before the suspicions could grow further, a commanding voice cut through the chatter. "What's going on here?"

Lord Nyxthorn had arrived, his imposing figure casting a long shadow in the dim morning light. His piercing gaze swept over the scene before settling on Martis. "Report."

Martis bowed his head slightly. "It appears to have been an accident, my lord. An oil lamp was likely left burning while they read maps and books. It must have tipped over during the night, and the fire took them before they could escape."

Nyxthorn clicked his tongue, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. For a moment, it seemed as though he might question it further, but then he sighed. "A waste of five good men," he muttered. Then, turning to the gathered soldiers, he ordered, "Bury the bodies immediately. No point in delaying. And let this be a lesson—no more careless fires at night."

The soldiers obeyed, though some still murmured amongst themselves as they carried the burnt remains to a burial site outside the fortress walls. The ground was hard, but they dug until the bodies could be laid to rest, their charred forms wrapped in cloth. A few men exchanged wary glances, still unsettled by the incident.

As the final shovelfuls of dirt covered the graves, one soldier whispered to another, "Something about this doesn't sit right. But who's going to question Lord Nyxthorn?"

Martis stood by, silent, his face unreadable. His work was done. Nyxthorn's secret was safe—for now.