"So you missed him?" said Allen.

"Hardly," said Rua. "My shot was perfect, the boy got lucky is all."

"Whatever you say, boss," said Allen. Rua didn’t like the way he said ‘boss’.

The common room of the Dancing Stone was dark, crowded, and stunk like sweat and piss and beer. Or maybe it was the beer that smelled like piss and sweat, Rua couldn’t tell. Across the table from him, the northerner, Allen chugged his down greedily, then slammed the table calling for another one. He had chosen this place to meet for its charms, it would seem.

Rua had to admit the mistake to himself though. He had led the boy too little, and the arrow went right past him. Master Omaras would be furious at the news, but Rua had no intention of returning to the east until he had good news and a trophy of the duke’s grandson's death. He had not failed, not yet.

“That really was quite the commotion you stirred up today,” said Rua as the barmaid set down two more beers at the table. He still had more than half of his first beer left.

Allen tipped his golden-maned head and his beer in a faux-gracious gesture of thanks, then took a giant gulp, and another. “It was nothing really. Me an’ a few of my boys just went and stirred up the boys from Southriver. Then one of ‘em pulled out a sword! Lucky me!"

"Yes," said Rua. "His fortunate for you." Even after these past few weeks, he still found nothing redeemable about his contact in this city.

“What do you even have against the kid anyway?” Allen asked.

“I was told he had to die,” he pushed his chair back from the table as if to stand. The whole bar was silent for a moment at the great creak it made, watching the thin stranger in his large dark cloak for a sudden move, and returning to their own drinks and distractions after a moment of inaction.

“That so?” said Allen.

Rua had enough, and turned his back to the northerner.

"Ahem," coughed Allen and stared Rua dead in the face. His right hand was stretched out, with a light grip on the hilt of his sword. "What about my money?"

Of course, thought Rua. All these northerners think about is money and violence. They're practically Rgahzi. He pulled a small purse from his pocket and dropped it onto the table with a thunk. Even before the purse hit the table he was leaving the Dancing Stone and stepping out into the evening sunlight..

The street outside was hardly more than an alleyway, yet people milled in and out of the shops and stalls located throughout while carts wheeled down the center of the lane. Drawing up the hood of his cloak to cover his face, Rua began to make his way southwards through the sea of people. As he walked, he looked all around him for any sign of trouble, a remarkably easy task when standing a head taller than most of the crowd.

He could not afford another failure. The last attempt had taken weeks of planning and almost all of his travel cash, and yet the lucky boy still lived. He had relied on the chaos in the plaza to distract the boys guards, and Rua didn’t know the next time Henric Aldrimar would be seen in public. Perhaps I could infiltrate the castle? he supposed. He would need at least three weeks of observation to figure out the best way in, and a few more still to discover the young lord’s patterns. But before any of that, he would have to send a report.

Killing the boy’s father had not caused him half the trouble. Sickness had done most of the work, striking the whole camp. It had been triflingly easy to slip past the token lookouts and into their captain’s tent. Rua hadn’t seen the duke’s son leave his tent in the last day, and was not surprised to find him sleeping soundly. To the steward that found Gareth Aldrimar the next morning, it looked as though the sickness had killed him in his sleep.

As Rua came around a bend, he saw two men armored in matching black and crimson surcoats with a white lion on the breast, Aldrimar’s Watchmen. Rua stepped back and his around the bend, peeking out just enough to spy on them and the woman they seemed to be questioning. She turned, and pointed down the street directly at Rua, and he saw the guardsmen’s eyes follow. He slipped back behind the bend, and went back northwards up the street. He slipped into a small alcove where one building jutted out further into the street than the one next to it, and waited for the guards to come.

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Their heavy footsteps and clanking armor parted the crowds at their approach, and Rua was grateful for a line of people between him and the watchmen. Who was that woman? How did she know I was there? One watchman pointed, and the other followed him to the doorway to the Dancing Stone. Now’s my chance! Run!

But curiosity got the better of him. Instead of taking off down the street, he crossed ut and slipped back inside the stink of the Dancing Stone. With Rua’s money Allen had ordered large plate of pork, and was now shoveling it greedily into his face. The disgusting display was by the guardsmen approaching the table.

“Allen,” said the taller of the two watchmen.

“Washman Theric! Fancy sheeing you here!” slurred Allen.

“It shouldn’t surprise you too much,” said Theric. “When there’s trouble in town, you’re usually not far from it.”

“I’ve no idea what choo mean, sir. I’ve been here all day.”

The Dancing Stone had fallen silent again for the second time that evening, its patrons rapt in the unfolding scene. Theric leaned in, placing his gauntleted hand firmly on the table.

“Don’t play dumb with us,” said the watchman. “We know you’re lying. Plenty of people saw you picking a fight with those men from Southriver in the Plaza this morning.” He nodded to his partner.

The other watchman shifted between Allen and the door, blocking Rua’s view of his contact. Damn this dark place that hides from the Sun! No fortune could find a man in a place like this where torches burnt through daytime. Rua stood helpless as Allen went for his sword, and found a heavy mailed fist restraining him against the thick wooden pillar at his back. Both watchmen were speaking loudly at him while Rua slipped back out onto the street again.

Rua moved as quickly as he could through the quickly darkening canyon-streets of the city below Zakaran’s Rock, the city under the protection of the Aldrimars. Careless, he bumped into a someone, and thought he felt a pickpocket’s groping hand. A quick check confirmed he still had his shortsword and his two hidden daggers, his knives, his coinpurse, and most importantly the vial, his way out should he be captured. He would die before giving up his secrets.

But he didn’t have his bow or arrows. He left them high in an empty attic he had found while exploring the city’s rooftops. He wanted to get them, but they were just under a mile away and he had no time. If Allen said anything, the Watch would have the whole city watching for him, and he would be forced to drink the vial. Or flee, he could always try to slip away and spend his life moving from city to city, always looking over his shoulders for Master Omaras’ knives. What kind of life would that be though? No. He would just have to make sure Allen said nothing.

“Let me go!” shouted Allen as the two guards dragged him kicking out of the Dancing Stone.

“Shut it,” said Theric. “You’re coming with us”

Allen gave a mighty thrash, and almost broke Theric’s grip on him. The other watchman struck him hard on the face, and Allen went limp in their arms.

“Shit,” said the watchman. “Now we’ll have to carry him the whole way.”

They dragged him back northwards through the streets as the fireboys ran through lighting torches. Rua followed, pressed against walls and keeping the Watchmen in eyesight. They turned down an alley heading into the base of the Aldrimar’s rock.

“Stop,” said Rua. The watchmen stopped suddenly. They had been sure they were alone with their prisoner.

“Who’s there?” asked Theric. He let go of Allen’s arm, letting him slump down onto the cobbles. He loosed his sword in its sheath, and his partner did the same.

Rua had his own sword in hand, a throwing knife in the other. He felt his muscles coiling, ready to spring when his opponents moved. Theric’s partner drew his blade and approached.

“Ah!” he shrieked with Rua’s knife sticking out from his eye. The tall man was on the watchman in an instant, and drove his blade through the man’s armor and deep into his gut. The shortsword dripped red blood on the cobblestones as its owner turned on Theric.

“Mik! You bastard!” Theric came in fast and swung hard. With all his years of training, it was a simple thing to slip into the opening left by an opponent overextending himself. It was a simple thing for Rua to slide his blade along the man’s exposed neck, cutting deep and spraying blood all over.

He knew someone had likely heard the watchman’s scream and he had only a few more moments before they would come looking. Rua looked at his contact laying unconscious on the ground. He’s been nothing but trouble. I can leave no witness. He flipped the broad man onto his back, thrust the shortsword through his ribs, and placed one of the watchmen’s swords in his hands. Rua looked around at his work and grinned. He allowed himself only a moment before disappearing into the crowded streets of the city below Zaksburg, nowhere to be seen when his handiwork was discovered.