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A blood stain smaller than a pinhead smeared the palm of Shaw’s hand. A drop of John’s blood. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now he couldn’t tear away his eyes from it.
He wiped it away, but he didn’t feel at ease. He had missed one, there could be more. Small clues of the crime he had committed. He scrutinised both his hands, his knuckles, his bruises, and scars. But he found nothing.
Delirious. Shaw scoffed. But that seed of paranoia had already been planted. He couldn’t help himself. He scrutinised everything.
His eyes itched from smoke that crowded the common hall. A brother coughed and Shaw snapped his gaze towards him, a frantic stare, then he had to remind himself that there were nothing to fear. None of them knew what he had done, none of them would know because they were trapped, trapped inside this keep, trapped inside their minds. They feared the cold. Hoped that it would end. Dreading that the hope they had was a lie. Even when a brother vanished, they continued to drink, gamble, and pray. All to feed that lie.
They huddled around the lie like a fire, huddled around it for its warmth and its escape. They were devout followers that believed that it would save them from this terrible and miserable existence. They prayed to crackling flames, sacrificed what could be sacrificed to whatever existed after all the gods had abandoned them. But like the fire, the lie wasn’t their saviour. It was an hourglass, and the sand was running thin. For when the flames died out, the cold would continue its terrible march without opposition, and everyone would know how hollow that lies were.
But they couldn’t see it. They didn’t want to. They were trapped and desperate, and desperate men desired its warmth. And so, they didn’t care if a brother vanished, they just continued to drink, gamble, and pray. All to feed that lie.
Shaw understood that. But the second seed of paranoia had already been planted.
He let his eyes prowl between his fellow brethren. Eyeing them as they sat huddled around their tables; smoke pouring out from their pipes; Dice clattering against their tables which spawned cheers and arguments; hushed conversations laced with drink.
Did they know what he had done? Where they all waiting for the opportunity to kill him? He didn’t know, but his fingers gripped the hilt of his long knife.
‘Thirsty?’
Shaw stabbed the table, wedged it between the middle and index finger of familiar giant.
Shaw sighed and relaxed. ‘same old piss-water?’
‘Nothing better,’ Aike said, looking down at the knife that missed his fingers by an inch and put down two tankards. ‘Impressive trick.’
Shaw didn’t say anything, sheathing the knife.
The giant’s features were as blunt as the weapon of his choice, but behind his eyes lay a sharpness reserved for its edges.
‘We will probably have starved or frozen to death before this shit ever runs out on us,’ Shaw said as he swirled the poor excuse for ale.
‘A little counting error and here we are, more barrels of ale than anything else.’ Aike chuckled. ‘Oh, what I wouldn’t do for Asterion wine. For the touch of a woman, the warmth of the sun.’ He smiled, his eyes recalling a fond distant memory. ‘What I wouldn’t do for so many things…’
He sighed. ‘I know that you don’t like talking about these sorts of things, but—’
‘But do I believe that the storm will pass?’
Aike laughed. ‘Asked it before, have I?’
‘You have, and to your question, I don’t know.’
‘Ah. It seems that our conversations have worn out. Guess that was inevitable. Everything is doomed to echo after all. Like philosopher I read once professed, time is a flat circle. Everything is bound to repeat.’
‘You read?’ Shaw almost chuckled. Aike, a beast, a warrior, hunched over old tomes, the thought amused him. ‘Didn’t know you could.’
‘I was tutored. Hoped to be a scholar once. But the road was slow, uncertain. I decided to earn my coin through blood instead. It was the easy choice…’ Aike’s jaw clenched. ‘At the time.’
Shaw sat silent for a moment. To spend time isolated with a man for so long and still peel away new layers and secrets.
‘Here I thought no secret survived between these walls.’
Aike smiled ‘Most don’t, but a few do, but not for long. And yet we seem determined to harbour them.’ The giant swirled his ale, weighing a question.
‘Shaw?’
‘What?’
‘What were you doing out there in the cold?’
Shaw hadn’t released his grip on the knife, now hidden beneath the table.
‘Menial tasks, Aike, nothing more, just menial task. Got some supplies for Cook, that’s all.’
Aike didn’t bite. ‘I don’t know what you were doing out there, Shaw. But whatever it was I bid you to be careful. You said it yourself; no secret survives between these walls.’ He drank.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Shaw took a swig of his own. It was insipid, disappointing if he hadn’t expected it. But it was liquor, and it calmed the nerves.
They drank in silence, emptied their cups, filled them again. Their silence became an island, surrounded by the rattling of dice, shuffling of cards, quiet conversations, and tense laughter. It was peace. A fragile peace.
The cold waited outside. It had them besieged.
Fear grew when the cups were empty.
‘Do you ever feel guilty, Shaw?’ Aike were staring towards the fire. ‘For the violence you have done? The people you have killed?’
Shaw saw the fear in John’s eyes, felt the pounding of his hands on his chest. ‘No,’ he said, and drank. ‘Why?’
‘I’ve let myself remember things. Things I wanted to forget. Things I once concealed in drink, in the medicine the madman gave me. I let myself dream.’
He turned his gaze towards Shaw, there was a sorrow there.
‘A hired killer can’t have a conscience. He can’t feel guilt for each man he shoves back into the mud. You march on. But here, stuck here in the storm, between these walls, I can’t run. I can’t march on. I have learned that my demons haven’t forgotten me, they shouldn’t forget me… they will not forget me…’ Aike slummed. Shaw thought he had never seen the giant so small. ‘I’ve done things… things that shouldn’t be forgiven. I have murdered for a piece of gold. I have hanged a man for my own pleasure. I have…’ His hands were trembling.
‘We do what we must to survive,’ Shaw said.
‘That is what I used to tell myself. I Justified and justified. I murdered a mother because she wouldn’t stop screaming, murdered her son to spare him from being alone. I justified and justified. But what reason was there? Was my life worth more than theirs? Was it, Shaw?’
‘They’re dead, Aike. What does it matter?’
‘Dead? Dead?’ Aike gave a broken laugh. ‘They are a part of me, like everyone else. I kept them quiet. Muffled their screams. But they never stop...’ His gaze sunk to his hands.
‘I wish knew back then. Found a good rope and a nice tree before I could have hurt anybody else. Maybe it’s not too late, the rope and tree, I mean.’ His gaze vanished into the unknown. ‘Maybe it’s not too late…’
Shaw let the silence creep back in between them. He didn’t know what to say, thought it best not to say anything. He drank but caught nothing in his mouth; the cup was empty. He felt John slamming against his chest. Heard his heart thump loud, afraid that Aike could hear it.
‘Do you ever hear them, Shaw? Hear their voices?’
Shaw, Judge whispered from a place in his mind he had left buried, closed.
‘No,’ Shaw said and shut that place, buried it deeper.
‘They don’t let you forget,’ Aike said to himself.
There was a fierce banging on the door, and Shaw felt the air in the hall tense. The banging continued, but no one rose, none wanted to wander to fringes of the hall where the cold was held at bay.
‘Someone has to do it,’ Aike muttered, action freed him from the bog of remembrance.
Shaw didn’t follow, his eyes veered towards the door. It consumed his attention. Fear sprouted in his mind. The fear wasn’t a question. It was a name. Darshan. The Grey Wolf.
Aike pulled the door open and icy wails stormed into the hall. The fire in the hearth roared, spewing embers in rage.
Then the cold crept inside.
Shaw’s breath turned to icy smoke, but he was fixed on the man that loomed inside.
Darshan was buried in furs crusted with white, not even his grey beard and hair was spared from the frost.
The Grey wolf strode up to the hearth without saying a word; Aike closed the door. The cold retreated.
Shaw’s grip on his long knife tightened; he didn’t know what he would do with it. Killing Darshan here, in plain sight of the whole garrison would be suicide. But it felt good holding the knife, he felt that he had control. A little lie of his own.
The stage had already been set, and Shaw could only react.
Darshan continued his silence and the hall resumed back to its prior state. But Shaw couldn’t tear his gaze away; he watched his old master of arms pry off his moleskin gloves. His eyes surveyed the hall, and they gleamed golden in the haze.
Their gazes met, briefly. Shaw tightened his grip further on the knife.
‘Shaw.’
Shaw snapped back, saw that Aike sat seated with him again.
‘I’m fine, Aike.’
‘Do you know how cold it is out there?’ The Grey wolf’s voice cut through the noise.
Shaw turned his gaze towards him, everyone did. He had thrown his furs at his feet, unbuckled his scabbard and held it in his hand. Ring mail gleamed in the firelight.
‘Of course, you do.’ He smiled and started to prowl between the benches. ‘You fear it. Dread it. Huddled around the fire to forget it, distract yourself with cards and dice, drink, and empty prayers — but you can’t escape it. The fear is always there, and fear makes man irrational, impulsive. We do things that we shouldn’t have done.’
‘What are you getting at, Darshan?’ A brother, Logan, asked. ‘If you have something to say, say it. Don’t waste our time.’
‘John is dead,’ his words were blunt.
Murmurs rose from every bench.
‘Dead,’ Aike whispered.
Shaw’s hand was trembling. Don’t act rash.
‘John were to inspect our stores hours ago, he hasn’t returned.’
‘You suspect murder?’ Logan said.
‘Aye.’
‘You suspect one of us.’
‘I’m afraid so, brother of mine.’ He raised his voice. ‘But to the man that lay his sin bare, I shall be just and merciful. I promise a quick death, a clean death.’
‘How can you be sure that it was murder!’ a brother shouted, Shaw couldn’t see who it was.
‘What else? Do you believe that he vanished into thin air?’ Darshan scoffed. ‘No, I promise you, brothers, a murderer prowls in our midst!’
‘He could have taken the white path,’ Shaw said. He needed to control this, he had to try.
‘The white path?’ Darshan said and started to walk towards him. ‘The white, fucking, path!’
‘Brothers have done it before—’ Darshan grabbed Shaw by the collar.
‘Calm, Darshan.’ Aike tried to interject, but to no avail.
‘You think he killed himself, Shaw? Do you?’
Shaw fought back the urge to stick the long knife in his gut. How good it would feel. ‘We can look for him when the weather has settled. When there is a break from the storm.’
‘And then we will find him with his throat silt, won’t we? Who to say it wasn’t you who killed him, Shaw? I wanted to speak to you earlier, but you were nowhere to be found. Where were you?’
‘I was helping Cook’s boy. He can testify.’
Darshan grinned. ‘Digging your own grave, Shaw. Bring the boy!’
They brought the boy into the common hall, the Cook close behind holding the clever, ready to make bloodshed if anyone hurt his apprentice.
‘Boy,’ Darshan said. ‘Was Shaw with you down in the cellar? Was he helping you?’
The Boy looked at Darshan then his eyes veered towards Shaw, he bit his lip, then spoke. ‘He was with me, helping.’
A crack in Darshan’s grin. ‘Did you see John?’
‘I didn’t see him down there. Isn’t he here?’
‘You didn’t see him…’ Darshan stared at the boy. ‘Are you sure that you didn’t see him? Tell me, boy!’
‘I didn’t.’
‘I was right, Darshan,’ Shaw said. ‘John took the white path.’
Darshan snapped.
‘You coaxed the boy, you bastard!’ He drew his sword.
‘Darshan!’ Aike moved himself between Shaw and the Grey Wolf.
‘Move Aike, I don’t want to kill you!’
‘I won’t. You know our laws; no blood can be spilled in the hall.’
‘Laws are for men, but he is no man, he is savage! Out of my way!’
‘Don’t be foolish, Darshan.’
‘Last warning.’ The Grey Wolf showed steel.
‘You don’t give me a choice. Brothers!’
Brothers rushed forwards to restrain him. It took more than five of them to contain the grey wolf’s fury.
‘I know what you did, Shaw!’ Darshan screamed as his brothers forced him out of the hall. ‘I know you killed him! And I promise that I will see you hanged or worse! I promise you!’
Shaw watched them drag Darshan away, but he felt no sense of relief. This can turn very ugly if he is not dealt with. He sheathed the long knife and looked towards the boy; he was speaking to his master. Shaw would need to talk to him, he still had a use for him.
Goodnight, Darshan.