When he was first teaching Caj to kill, Narm had warned him about blood. The old man had informed Caj, at the tender age of 13, that blood could kill a man. The smell of it in the air, the feel of it on your skin, the taste on your lips…

Human beings aren’t meant to know what that feels like Caj. Narm had said softly. We’re not meant to know what it means to be soaked through with another man’s lifeblood. To be bathed and baptized in it. We’re not meant to, and deep down, some part of you is always going to know that. It’s uncomfortable, and feels like you’ll never manage to scrape yourself clean of it. You have to learn to ignore it. If you don’t, it’ll distract you, and you know what we say about distractions, Caj…

“Distractions kill.” Caj murmured as he came to his feet, forcing himself to ignore the sopping nature of his face and torso. He kept the knife gripped tightly in his hand as he scanned the surroundings for any sign of discovery, thinking it wise to keep a weapon in hand perchance his killing of Sven had woken anyone. His survey showed sign of naught but stillness, the world seemingly silent and uncaring towards the untimely end of Sven Asplundh. But then, that was the way of things, wasn’t it? The race of life cut short at an unexpected finish line, the chariots of time screeching to a halt forevermore, disqualified by some cruel twist of fate, some unknown rule of the gods which governed the world.

For all the violence which had just been committed, the world around him was oddly silent. No one stirred in the camp around him, and no prisoners roused themselves from their slumber to examine the scene heralded by the sounds of violence.

Caj looked down again at the body of a man he respected, liked even, and grimaced, then snarled silently, hearing Bietre’s voice in his mind.

Lesson Number 13: Never think your enemies name, Solnysko. Better yet, never learn it. It makes death easier.

As he looked at Svens body, he felt self-disgust more keenly than he ever had before. He had killed this man, and hadn’t even thought twice about it. His heart hadn’t raced with indecision. His eyes hadn’t widened in panic. Even now, as the violence faded from his soul, his breathing remained steady, untroubled. His hands were steady, his grip on the knife firm, but gentle. An artists touch. Caj’s gaze lingered steadily on the form on the ground before him, and he felt oddly calm all things considered.

Damn Donovan, his mind whispered, What kind of monster are you? No answer came.

Caj heard a shaky inhale behind him, and he pivoted around on the balls of his feet. Smooth and steady, and sharp as a razor fresh from the strop. His steady gold-brown eyes latched onto the turbulent green waves of Rob’s gaze. Caj’s eyes flicked down to the Captains hands, habitually tracking nervous movement. The Captain’s right hand was slick with blood, although the rest of him was clean; unlike Caj. In his left fist, he tightly gripped an iron ring with a set of four keys on it, knuckles white. Caj looked down at his own hand, and studied the knife in his right. It was the standard military issue weapon for a Vencheng soldier, like a million others he had seen in the past month. His eyes narrowed as he put a few things together. Clearly, Rob had stolen this knife, then attacked Sven in a desperate bit to get his keys. The fool had apparently decided to do this without coordinating with Caj at all, them mucked it up so badly that Caj ended up having to kill a man whom he respected and liked. Caj felt the cool of his calm spirit deepen into a chill regard, then an cold, icy rage. When his eyes met the Captain’s again, the red-haired man stumbled back, thumping into the bars of the cage behind him. Caj strode forward, murder in his heart for the second time this night.

***

Robert O’Donnel swallowed quietly as he stared at the back of Caj MacDouglas. The violent story of Sven Asplundh’s life had reached its closure some 30 seconds before, the final chapter written by Caj’s hands, the ink Sven’s own blood and Robert’s guilt. In the past half a minute Caj had simply stood still, staring at the fallen form of the Northman, breathing evenly, seeming to inspect his handiwork. Blood, black in the light of the full moon and twinkling stars, fell from the fingers of both hands in a steady drip, drip, drip. The man stood with an eerie stillness that disturbed Robert. No human being stood that still naturally. When Caj finally moved, it was a small thing, a nervous patter of his fingers over the small knife in his blood-slick hands, readjusting his grip. He went still again.

Robert realized that he hadn’t breathed since Caj had tackled Sven Asplundh, and his chest was beginning to ache. He took a rattling breath, and squeezed the keys that had found their way to his left hand at some point during the conflict that he couldn’t remember. Caj spun around in a manner that was so smooth and fast that it Roberts shaky mind to register that the tall, broad-shouldered young man had even moved.

Caj’s face looked like something out of one of the terrifying stories that Robert’s first Staff-Sergeant used to tell around the cook-fire. Blood covered Caj’s face in streaks and dots, and it was caked into and dripping from the short beard that had filled out across his face over the last month without a razor. His eyes looked like pools of darkness, shadowed by his heavy, furrowed brows. Even though he couldn’t see Caj’s eyes clearly, Robert felt them lock onto him like the points of a thousand arrows at full draw, ready to let fly. Caj’s face gradually shifted from his calm, if somewhat troubled expression to a silent snarl of feral rage. Moonlight glinted off of his white teeth, a slash across the tan skin that made up his face, and the blood-soaked mask of his expression. Robert stumbled back as Caj stalked forward, the essence of a predator that had found its next meal.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

In three long steps and half a second, Robert had a hand wrapped tightly around his throat for the second time this night, and a blood-soaked face inches from his own, sour breath washing over him. A lightly accented hiss reached his ears, Caj’s rage apparent.

“You have five words, O’Donnel. You’d better make them threshing good.”

The grip on Robert’s throat lightened enough for him to choke out an answer.

“Braxton… Attack… Tonight…” he gagged on his words, but continued “Need keys to-” His voice cut off again as Caj’s hand tightened one more, then released him and stepped backwards. Robert stood up straight as he caught his breath, rubbing his bruised throat. He started to croak out a thank you when Caj’s right cross caught him in the side of the head, hard. It opened a cut along his cheek, and dazed him badly. He started to moan, but a bloody hand clamped itself over his mouth, squeezing hard. Caj knelt over him now, and growled.

“What the hell is your problem, Captain?” Caj’s face was so close that their noses were almost touching. “Do you realize how threshing stupid this was? Thresh you, Rob. Thresh you twice, and thresh you three times!” Caj gritted out. “You bastard.” Caj released Robert’s mouth, and smacked him across the face, hard. Robert didn’t even have the heart to resist, as tears leaked out of his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Caj scoffed, still to quiet for others to hear.

“You’re sorry? You’re fucking sorry?” Caj spat in his face, demonstrating a disgust that Robert didn’t know that the man had in him. “You should’ve talked to me. We could’ve planned something Rob! We could’ve found another way, but now Sven is dead, I killed him, and it’s your threshing fault.” Robert tried to look away, but Caj grabbed his face in a fury yanking it so that their eyes met, his voice raising to a pitch that a little louder than wise. “He’s dead Rob. Dead. He had a family. Children. A wife. He was good to us-good to me- and you made me kill him. You didn’t even give me a threshing choice you-”

Caj’s voice cut off as shuffling came from the inside of the cage, the noise they were making having woken its occupants. Several forms stood and made their way cautiously towards the open door. Caj let out a low growl from deep in his chest, and leaned back over Rob.

“This isn’t over Rob. I don’t know what’s going on, and you do, so I need you alive. This group can’t afford to see their leader die, but we aren’t done. You understand?” Robert nodded numbly and Caj stood abruptly, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and yanking him to his feet by the front of his shirt, then shoving him away, as he turned towards the door to the cage.

***

Natalia had been woken by the sound of angry voices. Or rather, one angry voice, and telltale smell of something metallic in the air. She stood, and kicked Maxim, who was already half awake. He rose quickly as the hiss of the voice rose in pitch and ferocity. Other forms in their cage started to stir, bodies sensing something was wrong. She and Maxim shuffled towards the door, which she could now see was open, tripping over half-awake forms as they went. By the time she reached the door, Natalia could hear the quiet grumbles and murmurs of people coming awake behind her. A small hand latched onto hers and she looked down to see Emma, followed closely by the Middle-Aged Elforian woman she had befriended over the past month, Maya, the woman had said her name was. Natalia tried to smile reassuringly at the child, managed a somewhat hopeful grimace, and decided that would have to do. She pushed Emma behind her and Maxim, as they came to the entrance of their prison. The sight that awaited her, nearly stopped Natalia’s heart.

Two familiar figures stood a scant two meters from the entrance of the cage. Caj’s glaring form was as imposing as ever, all broad shoulders and lean muscle, although he had been somewhat diminished by this last month of malnourishment. Across from him the shorter, but still well-built Captain O’Donnell, who appeared to be the object of his displeasure. Caj was covered in blood, almost as drenched as he had been after the battle on the barge. Behind the two men, on the ground lay another familiar form, this one with a long beard and hair.

Natalia experience a brief moment of cognitive dissonance as she looked at the body of Sven Asplundh, the side of one of his eyes caved in, and his throat so thoroughly mangled it looked as though it might’ve been ripped out. The blood covering Caj, and the knife in his left hand told the story of what happened clearly enough. But Natalia couldn’t believe it. Not just some six hours previously, those two men had been laughing together over that stupid game of stones they played every blasted day, and bid echother goodnight, promising to play another game tomorrow.

And yet, she thought, Caj killed him… Was he planning it, even then?

Had he decided, so callously, to end the life of this man, then proceeded to smile at Sven’s face while he planned his end all the while? Natalia looked closer, trying to find another way to interpret the situation. The Captain looked sickened, clearly regretting whatever small part he played in the Northman’s death, but Caj just looked angry, his eyes as dead as those of a fish. She looked again at the knife in his hand. That couldn’t have been easy to come by, and neither could finding an opportunity to use it. It had to be planned, and judging by the O’Donnel’s sickened expression, she doubted he was the one to do the planning. He looked into Caj’s face, and wondered, was this man, grown from the polite young man she met some seven years before capable of such a thing? Was the man with whom she had shared a bed this last year, the man she might’ve once loved, capable of that? She looked at those dead eyes of his, and knew the answer.

Yes. Yes, he is.