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Nattas
The long knives & two nights of summer
Part I
-Have you a shovel, good man?-
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“Do it,” Storm said loud enough for his men to hear, just as the leading armed monk reached for his reins. The man paused and stared at him amused, Nattas returned his stare with a half-smile of his own, then unsheathed his blade and swung at him. The soldier of the Golden Spears recoiled, pulling his arm back and Storm that had aimed for his face, caught him under the rising forearm instead, the blade sliding on his mail sleeve, riding it all the way up and severing the Order's soldier pinky finger away.
Storm cursed, the blood spurting out appearing black in the dark. The Order's man howled in pain and tried to stop the bleeding, but Lord Nattas’ horse bumped the soldier’s shoulder and shoved him back, as it turned. All around them a nasty scrap erupting. One of Nattas’ hired guards got a spear through the neck, grabbed at it with both hands, somehow still conscious and then was hurled off the saddle by his attacker, who used the spear as lever to bring him down.
Nattas kicked his legs, head snapping this way and that, then down as someone grabbed his right leg and tried to push him off of his horse. Storm downed his sword, heart pumping blood through his veins too fast for a man of his age, but his opponent was faster and heaved his boot up, messing up with his aim. Storm dropped from the saddle, the world turning all around him as he tumbled after landing on the muddy ground. The terrain slippery, the downwards slope leading his rolling body towards Maiden’s waters.
Abrakas you decaying shit! He prayed fervently, when he stopped one boot inside the water, mud on his face, on his expensive doublet and pants. Storm staggered up, more shaken than hurt and saw the armed fanatic charging him –not the one with the chopped off finger- boots skating down the slant, teeth clenched into a manic grin and long knife in hand.
Lord Nattas, in the process of climbing up the riverbank, made to cut left hard, stepped on something slimy –probably a soft turd in the fuckin’ dark- his left leg going sideways, right staying back and his torso stumbling forward. Storm’s head connected with his opponent’s stomach, mail shirt under the robes roughing him up, the Golden Spear –the Order’s gold talisman- almost taking his left eye out. The monk himself doubled over, the momentum as he was rushing down the slope too big and hugged a dazed Lord Nattas, before pushing him unwittingly, back down the slippery bank.
They tumbled towards the river’s waters together, limbs entangled, leaves and mud raining on them, heads banging alike bucks, before they landed in it. Storm had a mouthful of it, murky and tasking like rotten piss.
“Argh!” He cried and spat it all on his opponent’s face, the man turning his head away to avoid the foul torrent, swinging at him blind with his right hand. Storm used his own hand to block putting a palm on his punch, eyes gawking seeing half a fuckin’ foot of blade popping out his skin, blood covering his hand.
“GAAH!” Storm bellowed, clenching his ruined hand’s fingers on the monk’s blade, using his head as a real ram this time –more instinct than skill- in vengeful retaliation. His forehead caught the member of the Golden Spears right at the bridge of his nose, as he turned his head to see where he’d knifed him. Lord Nattas head bounced back, a nasty cut on his forehead and as dazed as he’d been after that night with Flavia almost a year back, the man’s face in front him distorted, his nose flattened, blood spurting out and leaking down his chin.
Hah!
Fuck you!
The monk stumbled back, long knife forgotten and still stuck in Nattas’ left hand, tried to find his nose, realized there was nothing there, the bones splintered and let out a drawn out pained bawl, lots of anger underneath.
“Vile whore’s spawn,” Uher’s soldier cursed and reached inside his robes, Storm desperately trying to extricate the long blade out of his own flesh, teeth clenched, blood running down the tip of his nose and soaking his right eyebrow. The armed monk got a cleaver out in the meantime with his right hand, wooden pommel, sporting a small iron hook and wiped his crimson lips with the other.
Tight mouth drawing an evil smirk.
Fine, you rotten fiend of a god, I take it back! Storm prayed and cursed feverishly, realizing the nasty blade on his opponent’s weapon was impossible to block with his remaining hand. It wasn’t a matter of bloody skill. Unsheathing the knife he’d stuck in him almost at his pain tolerance limit and he’d enough of that too, but getting it out haphazardly meant worsening the wound and could ruin his hand completely.
Of course if it came down to it, Storm would’ve sacrificed it.
Both hands really.
Another mouth had opened under his opponent’s chin, the grotesque wound going from ear to ear and the looping cut perfect, done with a foot long razor, the blood gushing out in an arch that reached beyond Storm, all the way into Maiden River’s black waters.
Had he been a more religious man, Storm would have called it a fucking miracle.
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“Keep the cloth on it,” Maja advised, not the fairy of myth, but the assassin, hair hidden under a hood, tense mouth the only thing, Storm could make out. Had he been less injured, Lord Nattas would’ve kissed her. “Keep pressure on it. Are you with me?”
“Gratitude,” Nattas said hoarsely meaning it, feeling emptied. The sudden exertion had wiped him, or it was the blood loss.
“You’re not saved yet, Storm,” Maja replied and turned hearing someone coming down the riverbank, right next to the bridge’s heavy shadow. The dark so thick you couldn’t tell land from water and man from horse. “Griet,” She said simply.
Wow.
“They are all dead,” The young woman reported, the river’s noise almost covering her voice. “Ard is asking about the gate guards.”
“What about them?” Maja signed for him to climb up the muddy slant after her and towards her pupil.
“They might have seen something.”
“Did they sent anyone?” Maja asked, helping him navigate the last couple meters.
Griet appeared on Nattas other side, face hidden behind a hood, long black cape reaching her soft boots.
“They haven’t.”
“They’ve seen the monks heading for the bridge,” Nattas said, with gritted teeth, his hand killing him.
“You wish them gone?” Maja queried, hint of razz in her voice.
Storm grimaced and started walking towards the bridge, both his legs hurting, his back feeling broken, hand on fire, sporting a chasm the size of a mature cunt and his head heavy and bleeding.
Other than that, he was fine.
“No, I will deal with them,” He said simply regaining his composure.
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“The ruffians? Like brigands, milord?” The shift sergeant queried blinking, trying to gauge whether Nattas was pulling his leg.
“Villainous scum!” Storm snapped, in too much pain to be more diplomatic.
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“Right, milord,” The man replied, crooking his mouth. “At… this bridge you say?”
“No, the one on the other side of Alden, we haven’t built yet!” Nattas taunted.
The man blinked, it took him too long to think it through.
“So they attacked you?”
Storm took a deep breath and stared at a wide eyed Maja, playing the scared victim. She got Nattas worried about her for a moment, before he remembered she was faking it.
Good grief.
Girl should be a thespian.
“You didn’t see anything?” He asked, grimacing at a fresh jolt of pain.
“Heard some commotion, but the bridge is too far milord,” One of the guards said.
Right.
Kilometers away, but Nattas was more worried for any nosy bystander seeing the scrap and running to inform the guard. The city was teeming with ruffians. The late of the hour had worked in his favor. It could have easily gone the other way, with him laying cold, half-sunk in the muddy dung and rotting.
“Do you want us to send a patrol out?” The sergeant asked.
“Well, they are gone now,” Storm replied, thinking it through. “I’ll return there to see to my men. But do keep your eyes open sergeant.”
“Will do, milord,” The sergeant replied and Storm hoped he did as poor a job as previously. “Do you want an escort for yer daughter?”
Storm blinked taken aback, then glanced at a blushing Maja, his cock stirring at a nigh inopportune moment. “That won’t be necessary. I shall… escort her,” He said. “But gratitude, for the offer sergeant.”
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Maja rode next to him and slipped a hand between his legs to grab his cock, the moment they were out of sight, on their return to the bridge. A smile on her lips, seeing its state.
“My, my. Lord Nattas,” Her shameless purr, not helping him calm down at all. “Knowing what you know, after almost getting murdered and injured, I’m impressed.”
Storm cleared his throat.
“You don’t have to play me, it won’t work,” He said lamely and Maja stared into his eyes, hint of smile on that wicked mouth.
“Why would I want to?”
You’re a murderus cunt?
“You followed us,” He stated instead, diplomacy the safer option, when addressing said murderous cunt.
“Thank Oras I did,” Maja replied, letting go of his throbbing rod, much to Storm’s displeasure.
“Did you know about this?”
“Don’t be a petty idiot, Storm. I warned you, free of charge,” She said and raised the hood over her blond head. “You are thinking of another,” The assassin added. “If I had a romantic heart, I’d be insulted.”
“People know I don’t have a daughter,” Storm croaked, a little shaken.
She chuckled at that. “You’re still trying to save it. People will know whatever you tell them. You don’t exactly have a stellar reputation. Who is she?”
“No one important,” Nattas replied.
Maja nodded seeing the river and the lights on the bridge approaching.
“I need a roof and a bed,” She replied, steel in her voice. “For me and for my pupils.”
“You’ll have it,” Storm replied quickly.
“A good shagging, to get it off my system,” Maja added and Lord Nattas gulped down. “So I can help you, outside our contract.”
Well, if that’s what it takes, Storm thought, grimacing in pain.
“Wow, she must be special,” Maja jeered, seeing his expression. Getting it right nonetheless. “Now I’m intrigued.”
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Secundus saw them crossing Maiden’s Bridge and approached, the two assassins and one of his bodyguards visible behind him.
“Are they coming?” He asked, the black welt on his cheek huge, but it did cover up some of his older scars somewhat, so there was that.
“We have time,” Storm replied and accepted his help to get down from his horse. They walked silently where the bodies were placed, at the side of the road, behind the undergrowth. Titus sitting behind a tree, his back on the trunk, chin touching his bloody chest. Nattas grimaced and stared at Secundus, the experienced hand returning his stare, with a grimace of his own.
Abrakas strike this fool down!
Wait.
Belay that, I’m running out of lackeys.
“Is he dead?” Storm asked finally, not in the mood and in enough pain to have a shorter than usual fuse.
“He might pull through,” Secundus replied, as they reached the badly injured ex-buccaneer. He’d a knife stuck between his ribs, nasty long blade, sprouting out his back. His pants soaked in blood. Not the kind of injury one walks off. “Hopefully,” Secundus added, seeing his face.
“He’s… fuckin’ lying,” Titus rustled, what Storm was thinking, raising his head, blood leaking down the side of his mouth.
Storm clenched his teeth, his hand a right mess, hurting alike a ruffian being sodomized with a hot iron poker and kneeled next to him.
“We’ll find the King’s dottore, bring him here. Put a knife on his throat, if—”
Titus stopped him, eyes raised trying to catch a glimpse of the night sky.
“Ah… Eledra,” He gasped, chest shuddering trying to inhale. “Mermaid… I told ye…dead of night… light a light… at Talons.”
That story again, Storm thought disappointed. Then again, thinking about watermelon-sized tits, wasn’t half bad given his condition.
Lord Nattas gulped down and reaching, took his bloody hand in his.
“Abrakas daughters,” He said, low enough so only he could listen, to placate him.
Still a myth, you fool.
“Eh… aye,” Titus murmured, mouth split in a bloody smile. “…should’ve… gone wit her… yeah.”
Storm scrunched his jaw one way, mouth the other, a lump in his throat. He sighed and glanced towards Maja, the assassin standing close enough to listen. With a groan of pain, his hand throbbing, he turned back to the silent Titus, still staring at the night sky, as much as he could see it through the branches.
“You should have sailor,” Nattas whispered, atypically moved, but his man never heard him, so reaching with his good hand, he closed his eyes and sighed.
“We need to get rid of the bodies,” Secundus said, a short moment later, apparently not in the mourning business. “Petronius and… Titus as well.”
Storm nodded and stood up with another grimace of pain.
“Any suggestions mister Sorex?” He queried, wiping the blood off his brow.
“Ah, I don’t know,” The man shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Let’s get burning out of the fuckin’ way for starters,” Nattas taunted, not pleased.
“Strip them clean, then cut their heads off,” Maja suggested casually, sweetness in her voice, giving Storm pause.
He looked at a frowning Secundus, saw nothing there and nodded.
“You heard my daughter,” Storm said, “Can your… students help?” He asked Maja hopeful.
“Of course. It’s part of their training. You’ll find them fast and efficient,” Came her taunting response and Nattas grimaced again, a shiver running down his spine, keeping his legendary wit intact for a comeback.
“Know a couple of butchers like that, will do the job for a copper,” He retorted and Maja chuckled all flushed up, the subject matter lifting her spirits something fierce, as if they were arguing about produce cropping and livestock deliveries in the meat bazaar.
Or perhaps it’s the fuckin’ scenery, Lord Nattas thought, looking about them. This creepy night’s silence, the foliage next to the river, an old bridge and nine fresh corpses, some-fuckin-how makes her loins all wet and ready.
“It’s a finer art, dear,” Maja purred and seeing no one was watching her, stepped behind the tree that Titus had died under and by the time Storm had rounded it intrigued, she’d disappeared.
Annoying old cunt.
Secundus interrupting his inner cursing reflection, rather abruptly.
“Where do you want ‘em heads, boss?”
Storm blinked, stared right and then left, saw no one there and realized he’d no idea how to handle this kind of minutiae. Lord Nattas scowled the next moment, -remembering he was still injured and under threat of execution, so this was not the time for dragging his fuckin’ feet- then returned his eyes on the patiently waiting lackey, carrying two bleeding severed heads in his arms and queried nonchalantly with a merchant’s smirk.
“Have you a shovel, good man?”
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