Sneak
The Grey Crown, The Grasping Isle
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/876104022833127448/1090253066231627816/leonardo-yip-lVEp3uuoSI0-unsplash.jpg]By Leonardo Yip, Unsplash, Unsplash Licence
Laying in his bedroll, Sneak tossed and turned in the night, trying to stop himself from sleeping. Sneak’s head was full of thoughts. It was missy Trïeste’s turn to keep watch, all of the others sleeping soundly. Their guide was snoring like a rusty saw, making an impressive amount of sound for a woman her size. Sneak could see why Master Rove was somewhat shy around her. Such powerful snoring would have that effect on any man. It would probably be good for Sneak to go and sleep too, as he had the early morning watch to worry about. Didn’t want the sleep clouds to dance on the inside of his skull.
But Sneak didn’t want to sleep, not yet. He had something to do. And missy Trïeste was in the way, stopping Sneak from doing what Sneak had to. He called her out on it too, back in town. The woman had denied everything though. But he knew better.
However, Sneak didn’t think she was all bad. Sneak found her to be quite the pleasant girl, and her cheerful demeanour had put several smiles on his face the last couple of days. Eighteen to be exact. Like a nice little uncle and niece kind of relationship. But something in her eyes had Sneak worrying. It felt as if she didn’t mean her jokes and laughs. Something was hidden, like a dead rat covered by pretty roses. And that meant he couldn’t do what he had to do. Because of the dead rat hidden by the flowers.
Five days, seven hours and eleven minutes had passed since Sneak, Master and Master’s comrades had left the town he’d lived in for two years, seven days and two hours. There were mountains and trees for miles and miles. Everywhere was the same, everywhere the same. Same sun, same wind. At least the leaves were different everywhere they went.
And mistress Ayuen could cook nicely too. Not the same food every day, something Sneak very much liked. They had set up camp in a small clearing, a nice little river clattering softly nearby. The sound of running water soothed him. The separate clatterings were too fast for Sneak to count, even if his brain desperately wanted to. The sun had gone under some three hours and forty-four minutes ago and still, he couldn’t get to sleep. In his head, he counted his breaths instead. Five-hundred-and-four, five-hundred-and-five… But it didn’t work. Counting and remembering information had always come easily to Sneak. Ever since that one incident. Stupid thing was, he couldn’t remember the incident or anything before that. Sneak only knew that there was something that had happened to him long ago that made Sneak Sneak. What he did know though was that the sight of fancy clothing and swords made him uneasy. Sneak didn’t know why. It was like something stirred right under the surface of his chaotic and fractured psyche when he laid eyes on a blade. Something that desperately wanted to jump out of him if ever let himself touch such a thing.
Their guide, miss Tira, had gone ahead for the night to scout out the road ahead, having promised to return in the morning. Although Sneak didn’t like her, he felt like she could be trusted for now. She wanted Master Rove, after all. Not that she would get him, but it was a good carrot for the stick.
Sneak’s jumbled thoughts were interrupted by the sharp snap of a breaking twig from outside. He laid still under his covers, ears perked as he tried to pick up every sound he could. Alas, Sneak heard nothing but silence. The night was silent like a mouldy blueberry pudding. Sneak waited for exactly a minute before he stirred once again. Something wasn’t right here. Trouble was on his foot. Or was it under his foot? Next to his foot? Didn’t matter now. He poked his head out of his tent, sneakily looking around for the source of the sound. To his surprise, Sneak found something else. Or rather the lack of something. Trïeste was gone and the campfire was left unattended. Sneak felt excitement boiling up from within him, like the burps of fish floating to the top of a boiling pot. The sound had to have been her! This was Sneak’s chance to deal with missy Trïeste. Quickly, he got dressed in the plain clothes his M’ster gave him, leaving his tent as quietly as a dead eagle. Grinning into the nothingness of night, Sneak quickly looked towards the tent of the M’ster and Mistress Ayuen. Nothing but soft snories and breathings. Sneak stood still, letting himself think for a second and remember what way the snap came from. His eyes drifted towards the sound of the river. There. Sneak’s sharp eyes scanned the undergrowth in the fading fire’s light, his fingers brushing the leaves and branches, looking for clues to where missy Trïeste could’ve gone.
It wasn’t long before he found what he needed. Trampled grass and a larger broken branch. Sneak’s eyes glinted in the light of the smouldering fire as he started to step through the undergrowth. The night was thick and oppressive, its tendrils and fingers grasping hungrily at his clothes. Trying to take him away as usual, haunting him. Stupid night, didn’t understand Sneak was already used to its shenanigans.
Outside the camp, the perceived silence of his tent turned out not to be so silent. There were crickets, owls and other creatures that crawled through the night as they vied with the mountain’s strong winds for the dominance of their sounds. All so busy, all so active, constantly battling. Sneak kept his eyes and ears peeled for anything that might leap out to him from the darkness, not allowing anything to escape his notice. He kept creeping forward, softly putting down his feet to make as little sound as possible. Sneak was following the river now, making his way downstream. The rushing and grumpy sound of the rushing waters concealed his sounds, allowing him to make a bit more haste. He did keep close to the undergrowth though. If you tried to Sneak, you did that. Sneak like a snake hungry for forest food.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
He silently made his way further down, until a strange thing suddenly stopped him in his tracks. Sneak blinked a couple of times in confusion. He saw a faint light up ahead, where the river began to curve to the right. But it wasn’t the red light of a campfire blushing in the night. No, this light was white. White like the teeth of a wealthy trader. Sneak found it rather weird. Where did that light come from? A wealthy trader with glowing teeth? Surely not.
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Determined to get to the bottom of this, Sneak snuck closer. When he did, he saw a silhouette standing on his side of the river, holding a fist-sized orb made of that same white light. They leaned against a big rock beside the stream, the light making it impossible to make out their clothing or features. A sound tickled his ears and Sneak closed his eyes, focusing on it. With a bit of effort, he could make out what was being said.
“…-old your side of the bargain.” The voice said. It was feminine, sounding eerily familiar. But it also didn’t. It sounded cold. Icy. Emotionless. It sounded like how an old murderer’s eyes looked.
“They’re travelling to the northeast, following the smaller paths there.” The voice continued, waiting for a while before it spoke again. “No, I have no idea where exactly. Ayuen is rather paranoid. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a scapegoat in mind. And mother better not be hurt even a hair, otherwise you’re next...”
Another pause. Scapegoat didn’t sound too good though. Sneak snuck closer, using the undergrowth as cover. By the looks of it, he couldn’t get much closer. The figure knew exactly where they were standing, picking a position where nobody could sneak right up to them. Clever, but not clever enough. Sneak strained his eyes, squeezing his eyelids to see some details on the figure. Not able to see enough details, he focussed more on the voice itself.
“We’ve got two new travelling companions. Although for one of them ‘companion’ would be giving him too much credit. More like a travelling slave. Sneak is his ‘name’. If you can call it one. Shady as one can be. He’ll take the fall, get killed by Rove and I’ll keep my cover. Simple as that.” The figure laughed, and the way the figure laughed froze Sneak’s blood solid in his veins.
It was missy Trïeste’s laugh. Wouldn’t have guessed it from the tone though, just the way of laughing. The accent was gone, together with all the joy and giddiness that she normally displayed.
A rush of indignation rushed through Sneak, hot like magma. Even to his chaotic nature, these words coming out of the mouth of somebody whose company he had come to enjoy stung like a blade through the heart. Unacceptable. Sneak clenched his fists to the point his nails almost drew blood from his palm. To go back and warn the M’ster and Mistress, or to try and cut down the threat here and now. Those were his options. Silent like a loaf of stale bread, Sneak unsheathed his daggers, eyes scanning for a way to get close without getting spotted. He found none. To get to her, he had to dash a good five meters and twenty centimetres through the open and over the riverbed. If Sneak wanted to move quickly, he’d be at risk of stumbling over the many rocks and pebbles too. It was better to retreat, for now, and warn the M’ster. He’d be able to take Trïeste down. Sneak stepped backwards, keeping his eyes on the silhouette. And that was his mistake. His foot hit a twig and before he knew it, his weight caused it to snap.
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It sent a lone, loud crack through the dark. The woman’s head whipped towards him and Sneak could practically feel the gaze lock on to him, like a madman’s hand around an unsuspecting throat. His eyes widened in panic as a sudden rush of clarity suddenly overcame him. He knew he had to run. No counting, no doubts. His head was clear as the veil of his madness got lifted a slight bit thanks to the sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins. Not caring about being stealthy any longer, he turned around and broke into a breakneck sprint through the undergrowth. His steps thudded onto the ground, branches breaking off all around him as he ran with reckless abandon. Behind him, he heard Trïeste giving pursuit, angrily cursing into the night as she ran after him. A dagger thudded into a tree next to him, a mere thirty-four centimetres away from hitting him in the neck. Sneak didn’t slow down in the slightest. Since when was she this accurate with daggers?
“Shit, shit, shit on a blue-painted stick.” He muttered under his breath while he poured all his energy into running. Despite his best efforts, the woman was slowly gaining on him. Sneak whirled around, whipping out a dagger and throwing it towards the sound in retaliation. A split second later, he heard a thud when the dagger collided with wood, followed by a louder stream of curses. Sneak’s throw had been close, but not close enough. It did buy him some time. For a few precious moments, the gap between them grew. He heard a heavy thud of something hitting the forest floor, leaves rustling in protest of being squashed. Then, through the undergrowth, he saw the soft glow of the campfire. Sneak yelled without words, attempting to wake his companions up. Just a small eleven meters, ten meters… Another dagger flew by, nicking his arm and leaving a nasty gash as Sneak gritted his teeth. As he approached, Sneak saw M’ster Rove rushing from his tent, his mighty sword Stormgrinder in hand. He burst out of the treeline, skidding to a halt two and a half steps in front of the gracious Herhor. M’ster Rove had raised his blade, almost attacking before he saw it was good old Sneak.
“Sneak?” Master Rove said, quirking an eyebrow at his battered and leaf-ridden form. Almost like he’d seen a chicken made of leaves.
“M’ster Rove!” He said, panting. “Sneak was bein’ followed. M’ster Rove and mistress Ayuen are in danger! Sneak came to warn you. That woman Trïeste wants to kill us with dagger and fire and light!”
He turned around, held out a dagger towards the undergrowth and waited for Trïeste to burst out of the shadows. But nothing happened, with only the normal sounds of the night reaching Sneak’s ears.
[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/554030201789743105/1028654515798409237/Grasping_Isle_Final_V1.0.png]Map made by Mark Evegaars, writer of this story