Rog Daltrist woke up with a start and sighed in frustration. His sleep had been fitful for the past week, and he was exhausted. He was once a knight who had deserted Sentinel, the mountain fortress that defended the main pass into the County of Norrow. The intimidating fort controlled but one pass through the White Mountains formed the border with the Veiled Forest to the west, and for months, the forces of House Balith had used the lesser passes to filter soldiers past the fort to wreak havoc in the moors that lay beyond the mountains and cut the defenders off from their lines of supply.
By concentrating the bulk of his forces at Sentinel, Mendel Verini, the lord of Norrow, had doomed the defenders. Raids on their supply caravans coming from the Finger had been constant, and precious little had been able to reach the fort. Despite a ban on messages, manyof the defenders had learned that Balith infiltrators had taken over their fiefs to the rear, driving many to desert and attempt to reclaim their lands. However, as a hedge knight, Rog had no lands to reclaim and at the same time no real allegiance to House Verini. He had no regrets. All that waited for him at Sentinel was death. Either rather from starvation or in a pincer attack on the fort.
Despite being a fugitive, his fortunes were on the up. He had fallen in with several other deserters, and together, they had easily taken control of this small town. Sir Unster, the local lord, had taken all his bannermen to Sentinel where they were still holding the walls, leaving his own castle undermanned. Soon, their preparations would be complete, and Rog’s gang of bandits would be able to capture the castle, giving them control over the fief, which they would then partition amongst themselves. He was promised lordship over a small village three miles down the road by their leader. With a fief, all they had to do was wait for House Balith’s forces to arrive and swear oaths of fealty to their Count, Gordon Balith.
There were risks, to be sure. The Count might not accept their oaths and might have set the fief aside for his own men. However, it was a risk worth taking. War had engulfed the realm of Essica since the death of King Jeremiah Kintran at the hands of his most trusted lieutenant twelve years ago. In taking this province by the sword, Rog and the rest of his band hoped to prove their worth to their future lord.
Rog smiled to himself. Yes, this was a golden opportunity to move up in the world. Count Mendel, his former master, the lord of Norrow, and master of House Verini, was the weakest of the four Counts fighting for the throne. The victim of several defeats, opportunities to advance in House Verini had been slim. Count Gordon of House Balith, on the other hand, was the richest man in the realm. He and Count Heidel of House Vaint were seen by many as the favourites to win this long war. Perhaps with his help, Gordon Balith would be the one to claim ultimate victory. However, first, there was a castle to be won. With luck, several of his comrades would fall, and his share of the spoils would grow larger.
No, he corrected himself. They needed to show a powerful and united front to Count Gordon when he inevitably took control of Norrow, in order to make the taking of this minor province more trouble than it was worth. That was their best bet for them to be accepted into his ranks. Rog was still lost in thought when a dagger plunged into his heart. The last thing he saw was a teenaged boy looking down at him.
“Thirty six,” the boy thought to himself as he watched the life leave the man’s eyes. His name was Gavalan Rinwil and he was sixteen years old.
Once the boy was sure the man was dead, he jerked the dagger out of the man’s chest and covered the body with a blanket. He closed the man’s eyes to make it look like he was sleeping before inspecting the blade. The man’s ribcage had nicked it slightly, so the boy wiped it clean with the blanket before replacing it with the pristine dagger at his latest victim’s belt.
This band of rogue knights had recently terrorized the local blacksmith into repairing their weapons, and they were all in perfect condition. The boy glanced out the window at the sleepy town that lay down a short rise. It was the dead of night, and not a single light was visible. None wanted to attract the attention of the town’s newest residents.
“Soon, you will be free from their tyranny,” the boy thought to himself as he walked past the bodies of seven men lying in bedrolls around the room.
Each appeared to be sleeping but had died so quietly and suddenly that they hadn’t roused the man next to them. Another twenty three men lay dead in three other bedrooms on the upper level. The manor had once belonged to a wealthy merchant who had died terribly when these forty three hedge knights came riding through his gates a month ago. They had terrorized the town ever since, stealing food and having their way with any woman that caught their fancy. All who resisted were killed mercilessly. The town was populated mainly by women, children, and the elderly, and could do little to resist. Most of the men of fighting age had been pressed into the Count’s army and were off defending his fast shrinking borders.
Gav shut the door silently behind him before padding into the corridor, keeping his senses tuned. The master bedroom had been empty, meaning that the band’s leader was in the kitchen downstairs, together with five others. From his week long monitoring of the manor, the boy knew that there were night owls among this group of bandits but couldn’t be sure of their numbers until now. Taking five on at the same time was a risk, but it couldn’t be helped. He would just have to trust in his abilities.
His pulse quickened as he padded down the stairs. His clothes were a little large. They had been taken from his first kill of the night, one of the bandits guarding the rear door, which was all according to his meticulous plan.
Loud voices swapping friendly insults came from behind the shut kitchen door. Gav took a moment to focus on the light that came spilling out of the cracks. Once his eyes adjusted, he made sure his footsteps could be heard as he strode across the opulently decorated dining room. As he approached the door, the voices stopped. The boy drew his sword and held it behind his back. It was a single edged weapon, and the length of its blade was somewhere between a long dagger and a short sword. The weapon measured two feet from the tip of the blade to the base of the hilt. It lacked the reach of his opponent’s longswords, but fighting with it would be less awkward in these enclosed spaces. He took a deep breath before opening the door and entered the room with his head bowed.
“What’s the matter Nick?” one of the bandits asked as Gav entered the room. “Lou’s jokes getting on your nerves?”
In the periphery of his vision, he could see that four of the bandits had taken their attention off him and resumed their conversation. However, the fifth and closest looked confused as he stared at him. He knew something was off about their fellow, but he couldn’t tell what in the dim light. He was still wondering what was different about Nicholas Gremier, the youngest member of their band, when Gav flicked his sword across the man’s throat, severing his jugular.
Moving with the grace of a dancer, Gav slew another two before they could draw their weapons. The closest survivor jerked his blade out of its sheath and lunged at him, but his swing was clumsy. Gav avoided his blade easily before piercing the man through the neck with the tip of his sword.
Now, only one bandit remained. His clothes were in decent condition unlike those of his fellows, and he wore a jewelled ring. He was probably Sir Lincoln Ruthrie, the leader of this band. According to Gav’s research, he was once the master of a minor fief that had been lost to House Balith’s forces due to Count Mendel’s incompetence. He had broken his oath of allegiance and gathered these men, mainly deserters from Sentinel, and targeted this province to take as their own.
Sir Lincoln let out a roar before aiming a savage two handed swing of his sword at the top of the assassin’s head. The man’s swing was quick, but Gav was quicker, and side stepped it neatly before sending the man’s head flying with a flick of his sword. As the head clattered off a cupboard door, the boy inspected his blade and was pleased to see that he had done his work so quickly that no blood had stained it.
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“Forty one,” he thought to himself. The remaining two were guarding the main gate and the hard part of the job was over. However, he had been trained too well to let his guard down. Leaving the bodies where they were, Gavlan walked back into the darkened dining room, closing the kitchen door behind him. He took a moment to recover a little of his night vision before heading out of the front door.
The air was filled with the sounds of night insects as Gav strode swiftly across the manor’s grounds. He made his way towards the manor’s main gate which was set in a wood fence that circled the estate. He climbed the fence nimbly, and from there, to the top of the gatehouse where he peered over the side to see a pair of sentries watching the road and the surrounding forests.
If there was one thing these bandits were serious about, it was security. They were all too aware that the people of the nearby town would seize any opportunity to rid themselves of their new neighbours. They were both alert despite having been on duty for four hours, unlike the guards at the rear door, which was why Gav had saved these two for last. If these two were able to raise the alarm now, the only harm done would be to his pride.
He dropped down from the top of the gatehouse, using his legs to cushion his fall so that he landed without making a sound. Looking up, he saw that neither of the sentries had noticed despite him landing less than three feet behind them. They were making a mistake common to soldiers, trusting their comrades completely with their backs and focusing their senses outward. Each wore a hauberk protecting his chest and was armed with a spear in one hand and a longsword at their hip.
Holding his breath, Gav crept up to the closest man and skewered him through the side of the neck with a dagger. The man clutched his wound and gurgled as he collapsed. His partner was quick to react and instinctively knew that they had come under attack. He leapt back and readied his spear. Gav drew his sword and leapt forward in the same motion, forcing the man to act.
Gav had spent years learning the art of reading his opponent and knew that the most the sentry’s most likely move was a quick thrust. His foe seemed to move in slow motion, and Gav saw it all, from the twitch of his opponent’s shoulder to the tightening of his triceps and forearms as he readied the thrust. When the spear came flying at him, Gav was able to sidestep it easily. His sword swung from below, severing the man’s left hand at the forearm.
The man attempted a horizontal swing of his spear to smash Gav aside, but the boy’s cut had been so clean that he hadn’t noticed his hand had been severed. The spear’s shaft bounced harmlessly off Gav’s shoulder as the boy sprang forward, thrusting the tip of his blade through the man’s neck. The boy stopped his sword short of nicking the man’s spine for fear of damaging the blade and pulled it out quickly. The sentry slumped to his knees as Gav darted away just in case the stricken man attempted anything before succumbing to his mortal wound.
The man willed his body to act as he lay on the ground, choking on his own blood. He had to kill this assassin, but his body would not listen to him. He tried to shout a warning to his comrades inside the manor, but all he could do was gurgle softly.
“Forty three,” Gav breathed as the man expired.
Now that the last bandit was dead, the job was over. Gav felt a tightness in his chest, and he began to tremble. A wave of nausea hit him as the realization sank in. He had just murdered forty three men. Forty three men who had lives, families, and ambitions. Their lives ended in the blink of an eye by his hand. It was the first time he had killed so many on one job.
“We’ve done a good thing here,” he reminded himself. “You saw how terrified those villagers were. And if these men were left unchecked, they would have spread that misery to the entire province. You’ve made the lives of hundreds, if not thousands better tonight.”
However, the argument that had convinced him to take this job on now rang hollow as an overwhelming sense of guilt engulfed the boy. Then, he became aware of four men emerging from the forest behind him. To most ears, they were moving silently, but to Gav’s trained pair, they sounded like elephants trampling through dry brush.
“Good work as usual, eh, boy?” a familiar voice whispered.
“Hey, address him with the respect he deserves, Murdyn,” a husky voice growled.
“Sorry, Whisper,” the first voice said.
Gav grunted and turned to face the owner of the second voice. He was a thin, middle aged man with a cruel scar across his face. Gav knew him only as Urt. For security, none of them knew anyone else’s real name. Urt was the leader of the Cleaners, a gang of men whose work was no less grisly than Gav’s. They cleaned up after him and collected heads so that bounties could be claimed. It was menial work, but Gav was glad to leave it to them.
“I don’t see why I need a name like that,” Gav frowned.
Urt smirked. “The war’s heating up and the frontrunners are pulling ahead. Nobs will be worried less about the stains ordering assassinations will leave on their honour when faced with the obliteration of their Houses.”
Gav looked up at the gaunt faced man blankly. Urt shook his head and sighed. “We’re in a competitive game, and branding is important, otherwise how will people know who they should hire, eh?”
“I will only take work that frees people from suffering,” Gav reminded the lanky man.
Urt winked at the boy. “All the more reason for us to market ourselves, eh? Not many looking for ethical killers. We need to let those few know about us.”
Urt paused before giving Gav a sideways glance. “By the way, are you hurt anywhere?”
Gav shook his head, and the lanky man broke into a toothy smile. “See, what did I tell you? You owe me three shillings!”
Murdyn out a low whistle and shook his head. “Forty three men without taking a scratch? That’s something else.”
“Say, Whisper,” Urt said as he eyed the gate. “Could you let us inside?”
Gav nodded and leapt over the fence before unbarring the gate from the inside.
“Much obliged,” Urt said as his two companions dragged the bodies of the sentries inside.
“There are two in the trees just beyond the back door, five in the kitchen, and another thirty six in three rooms on the upper level,” Gav said.
Urt touched his forelock. “We’ll be busy tonight. Might not be done before dawn.”
“No one from the town comes up here unless they are summoned,” Gav replied. “You have plenty of time,”
“All the same, we should get cracking,” Urt said and stretched his arms as his men closed the gates behind them. The lanky man then leaned in close to Gav, who backed away instinctively. Urt smirked and said in a hushed voice. “The old man wants to see you. He says it's important.”
Gav raised an eyebrow. “A new job already?”
Urt shrugged. “Probably.”
Gav looked at the bodies of the two sentries on the ground and shuddered. Soon, he would have to kill again.
“It’s for the greater good,” he thought to himself.
“Seven days, at a waystation called Pebblefeld. It’s on the Eastern Trunk Road five miles from the base of the Finger,” Urt continued. “He wants to see you there at noon in ten days.”
Gav’s eyes widened. “That soon?”
Urt shrugged. “You can make it easily if you hurry.”
“Do you know what this new job is, Urt?” Gav asked, trying to hold back his tears. He was deeply distressed by what he had done tonight and now he was going to be asked to kill again.
The lanky man shook his head. “The boss doesn’t tell me much, but it feels like it’s going to be a big one.”
Gav nodded numbly and turned to leave. Ten days wasn’t much time, and he felt like he putting as much distance between himself and this manor as possible.
“Hey,” Urt called out.
Reluctantly, Gav turned around.
The lanky man held up a bulging purse and pretended not to see the tears streaming down the boy’s face. “Expenses for the trip. The old man will pay you for tonight’s job when he sees you at Pebblefeld.”
Gav took the purse and ran for the fence. Urt and Murdyn exchanged a look once the boy had disappeared over the other side.
“He’s a funny one, that boy,” Murdyn remarked. “Cold blooded killer one minute, blubbering like a little girl with a skinned knee the next.”
“Can’t complain about his work though,” Lun, the third member of their group remarked. “He does his work clean. Sentries aside, all the bodies are in four places. Incredible, and makes our jobs simple, it does.”
“You have a point there,” Murdyn allowed. “I’m just worried how long he can last in this job.”
“Aren’t we sounding compassionate tonight?” Urt remarked dryly.
“It’s like Lun says, innit?” Murdyn retorted as he chopped the head off one of the sentries. “He makes our job easy. I’m just wondering how long before I’ll have to find a new line of work.”
“Hey, do that inside so we can have all the bodies and all the heads in one place when we’re through,” Urt groused. “And a word to the wise. If you want to quit, just don’t show up one day and for heaven’s sake don’t tell me you’re quitting. I don’t want to have to clean up your fat arse.”
“Do you think the boss will send Whisper after us if we tell him we want to quit?” Lun ventured idly.
Urt shrugged. “All I know is that he is completely ruthless, and I wouldn’t want to put my life in that man’s hands.”