Val woke with a start, unsure for a moment what had disturbed her, then there was a second muffled thud in the room next to her. She exploded from the bed and crashed through the doorway separating the rooms, throwing the door off its hinges.
A masked figure had a thin cord around Dorius’ neck and had him pulled up against the head of the bed. The prince was shirtless, clawing at his neck with both hands, and kicking the bed canopy which had been shaking against the wall.
Val dove at them, breaking through one of the support beams of the bed canopy. The assassin fumbled, loosening his grip on Dorius enough for the Prince to pull away gasping as Val and the canopy came down on them both.
Val felt the bed curtain tangle around her horns, something tugging it towards the window. She grabbed towards that motion, finding a limb and dragging it back towards her. Hot pain suddenly ran down her forearm but she resolutely did not let go, using her other arm to try and untangle the curtains off her head and horns to make sense of the chaos.
“Val!” gasped someone underneath her, and she felt a body pull close beneath her feet.
Val finally pulled the heaping fabric off her head and caught a glimpse of the masked figure at the end of her arm, just as tangled as her, a splintered cludgel in hand from a shattered fragment of the canopy. Realizing she had him by the ankle, she righted herself and spun, throwing the man easily against the wall and away from Dorius. The assassin crashed sideways into the wall and crumpled to the ground stunned, followed by half the fabric tangled around them and several shattered smaller wooden pieces from the canopy. Val pulled herself fully free of the mess, shaking her head and bumping her horns against the ceiling, not realizing she was standing on the bed now. Dorius was beneath her, gasping and pale, eyes wide with fear, his fingernails blooded where he had clawed at the cord and bright red welts already forming around his neck.
Reassured he was alive, Val turned her attention to the figure who was now attempting to scramble to his feet under the mess of splintered wood and fabric. With a few steps she closed the distance, grabbing an arm and pulling him upright. The assassin swung his improvised weapon with his other hand at her face but it caught on a chin horn and bounced out of his hand. She caught sight of his eyes growing wide with fear and confusion, and she growled, lifting him upwards and completely off the ground. He kicked, but the mess of bed canopy hanging from him muted any blows that made contact with her. With her forearm she pinned his torso against the wall, and she smashed her head forward, heavy head horns embedding into the wall and caging the man's face just before her forehead made contact with his. Shaking with rage, she roared, face locked within inches of his, nostrils flaring like a bull. The figure's eyes darted around desperately underneath his mask, trying to make sense of the creature that had him pinned, and the chaos seemed to finally quiet for a moment.
Somewhere behind her, Bastian had come running into the room, and had gone straight to Dorius, helping him to the edge of the bed where he was doubled over still desperately gasping for air. Someone from the inn wasn’t far behind, holding up a lantern to illuminate the aftermath.
The bed still stood, but the canopy had been torn down and shattered into several pieces, strewn about the room with the tangled mess of the curtains. Val’s black blood was splattered in several places, and smeared glossily all over the assassin, the wound on the arm she was pinning him with still lazily dripping blood.
“Poison!” gasped Dorius between a breath. Val paused, then understanding in a sudden rush, unpinned the man and grabbed his jaw roughly, fingers in his mouth. It was too late, between her fingers he was already gargling up a foaming spittle. He coughed and she dropped him in disgust, tearing her horns free from the wall in a shower of wood. Bastian scampered to the body, propping it up, but the assassin's eyes were already rolling and his fingers twitching in seizure. Barely a moment passed, and the movement stopped, his eyes beginning to glaze.
“He’s already dead,” announced Bastian. Val seemed to finally shrink then, looked weakly at the mess beneath her and the blood dripping from her forearm, then stumbled back to sit on the bed next to Dorius, head in her hands to steady herself as the rush of adrenaline ebbed into exhaustion.
“I’ll wake a stable boy, he can get a surgeon!” offered the innkeep, and leaving his lantern he slipped from the room.
Bastian stood, glanced at his two friends, and retrieved the lantern, bringing it close to the assassin’s body and beginning to search through his clothing. Dorius seemed to finally catch his breath and watched the dead man as Bastian turned out his pockets, just to be sure he didn’t spring to life again.
“Anything?” he asked, his voice ragged.
“Nothing,” said Bastian, letting the body slump to the ground. The mask removed revealed an unremarkable face.
“He had a garotte,” said Val, face still hidden in her hands, “I don’t know where it went.”
Bastian stood, looked at her, and began to search the wood shards and curtains trying to find the weapon. Val took one deep breath, and finally raised her head to properly look around. She stared blankly at the assassin's body for a moment, then looked at Dorius. He had his legs tucked against his body, one arm wrapped around them and the other tracing the welts on his neck. His eyes were cloudy as if his mind was miles away. Val studied him for a moment, reassuring herself he was mostly unharmed, and gently retrieved the blanket from the bed behind them, wrapping it loosely around his shoulders. She then stood, Bastian was shirtless but had managed to hang a belt with his daggers across his chest in his rush to the room, one which he was using to fish around the mess of curtains and splintered wood for any clues.
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Aware she herself was only wearing breast bindings and shorts, she returned to her room a moment to find something to cover herself. As she wandered back in, pulling a shirt on and starting to lace the front, Bastian gave her arm a meaningful look, brows tight. He’d found the cord and was carefully winding it in his hands. Following his look, the cut on her arm was ragged with tendrils of severed flesh hanging, a lucky hit as they flailed in the dark. There was a large splinter from the makeshift weapon still embedded, she’d leave it for someone who knew what they were doing. She picked up a scrap of canopy curtain to pull the wound closed and apply pressure, wincing.
Bastian abandoned the bundled cord on the bedside table, and began stalking about the room for further evidence. His fingers brushed the window sill, feeling the chipped wood where something had been used to climb the window. Just outside, he fished in the hook and rope cached there. The innkeeper returned then, hovering in the doorway looking at the chaos in confusion.
“Can you send a man to the southside of town?” asked Bastian. “Tell him to call for the Phoenix Company and a scout will spot him. There is a small force camped there, say Bastian sent for them and to get a contingent of men, armed. I don’t think they’ll try anything again tonight, but better to be safe.”
The innkeep nodded, “My daughter will go, there is a surgeon coming too, he knows to come straight up. I have to settle the other guests,” he then rushed off.
Bastian busied himself then trying to right the room a little, righting the door against a wall, gathering up the splintered wood and kicking the curtains over the body so no one had to look at it any longer. The rope and hook he deposited with the garotte at the bedside, before finally flopping backwards into the bed besides his prince. Val remained standing hunched against the wall by the doorway and grimly watched her black blood begin to spot through the cloth around her forearm in the lantern light.
“This is new,” said Bastian from the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Dorius was still distant. “It’s actually not the first,” admitted Val, sliding to the floor.
Bastian sat up in confusion, looking between the two of them, “Watcher!” he cursed, “You mean you’ve done this before?”
Dorius seemed to break his spell then, unwrapping his legs to gently place them on the floor. “It’s happened twice before,” his voice was strained, “After seeing family.”
Bastian’s mouth was agape, his expression horrified, “And Hart knows?” he babbled out.
“They didn’t get this close before,” replied Val, indirectly answering his question.
The surgeon appeared at the doorway then in a clean white apron, the stable boy at his heels with a lantern. Val gestured him towards Dorius and giving quick instructions to the boy for clean cloth and water, he took the lantern and unfolded Dorius to examine his neck and hands. After a moment the surgeon declared that he would be fine, and Val lifted her arm to show him the growing wet black spots, to which he swore and admonished her for not getting his attention first. He beckoned her to a chair at the desk in the room, and began to unwrap her arm, keeping the pressure on with fresh bandages. Fresh water was brought to the room.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Bastian finally, betrayal and hurt in his voice.
“Can we not… here…” groaned Dorius, drawing the blanket around his shoulders and folding inward again. The surgeon began to clean, extracting the single long shard of wood, Val hissing slightly as it emerged and drew Dorius’ eyes up to look around for the first time.
“You’re hurt,” he gasped, finally processing some of the chaos and he followed the trails of her black blood splattered on walls and sheets in growing horror.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she mumbled back, “I’m fine.” She determinedly chose a spot on the floor to fix her gaze on as the surgeon set to work stitching up the gash.
Bastian caught Dorius’ eyes as he gazed around and held them, betrayal growing to anger just beneath the surface.
“We will talk tomorrow,” Bastian insisted hotly, his expression dark. Dorius nodded in resignation, remaining quiet. Bastian then rolled to his feet, and moved to hover over Val, although a little uncertain of how close to her he should be. He settled on kneeling by the bed, trying to find her gaze while she avoided looking at the stitches.
“Can I get you something?” he asked, gentler with her than he had been with Dorius.
Val turned to look at him properly. Some of her long dark hair had come free from her braids that were usually wrapped around the base of her horns. It was almost to her waist and it spilled in front of her eyes when she moved, she tucked some of it behind a horn with her free hand.
“My jacket… and my axe maybe…” she responded.
“I don’t think I could lift your axe,” admitted Bastian, but he dutifully rose to scout through her belongings for her jacket in the other room.
Val turned to look at Dorius, “Shouldn’t we do something else, check outside maybe?” she asked.
Dorius shook his head, his composure slowly coming back to him. “If there were anyone else they are long gone.”
Dorius finally got to his feet, and carefully untangled some of the bed canopy to look at the assassin. He studied them for a moment, then re-covered the body and came around to stand by Val. The surgeon was finishing up, snipping his thread with small scissors and packing away his needles. Dorius placed a hand on her shoulder, “Thank you.”
Val shrugged, "There’s worse things you’ve asked of me…”
Bastian had returned and frowned at the statement. He watched Dorius remove his hand, and protectively placed Val’s jacket over her in its place. “You’ve chipped a tusk,” he commented, glaring at Dorius as he pulled away to continued studying the chaos now, seeking to make sense of the encounter.
Val lifted her free hand and traced a lower horn with her fingers, feeling a sliver of wood that the assassin’s cludgel dislodged when he’d swung at her face.
“It’ll grow out,” she commented absently, picking the splinter free, “it’s horn by the way. Tusks grow from teeth.”