15th Trial, Cylus, 706a
South-West outskirts of Middlecleft
16th Bell
South-West outskirts of Middlecleft
16th Bell
Continued from here
They were tired and hungry and ached in places watchmen the world over were familiar with, but all these things went with the territory of being such. What did not, however, was the covert nature of this particular job. They were men whose goal was, largely, to be seen. Their presence alone, the sight of their rough features and the weapons they carried, was a walking deterrent that could do as much as shouted orders or swinging blades. Old Larks from the Big Rock knew the concept very well. He was familiar with intimidation, from both sides of the law, and always said "sometimes standin' there and lookin' tasty is all the job requires, boys".
No-one to bloody well see us now, though, is there?
"Wish you'd bought that flask along." The man with the too-large helmet grumbled and pushed it back on his head for the thousandth time. "Gonna get cold soon, be nice for the warmth."
"No drinkin' on the job, remember? Gotta be pro-fresh-unul."
Too-Large rolled his eyes at Danny's words. Very eager, that one. Young enough to think a set of armor and a sword and the invisible authority of a man like Larks added inches to his cock. But he'd only been with the firm for a season, so he was entitled to his delusions. He'd like to see if that lasted past the arc. After he'd spent night after night watching grain silos, or sat out in the rain outside Mister Yeomann's spacious farmhouse, which at times seemed more like a mansion. Ah, the joys and tedium of a guard. Fearful looks, regular pay, boring work, and a constant deficit in-
Steps, behind him, hand on his sword before he'd even fully turned aro-
"He moaning again?"
"Wouldn't be Too-Large if he wasn't."
"Look, you don't like it, you can pay for a new one, a'right? Sarky cunts..."
They let him grouse and grumble and laughed it up and Jonas warmed his numb fingers by the fiery brazier the other two guards were huddled around. He'd been against it, personally, but Cylus was a sunless season and the cold never truly went away. A few more breaks and the night breaks would be upon them, when the temperature plummeted and it might as well be Z'da again. They were meant to be subtle, on this job. Quiet and unseen. A big bloody fire on an abandoned farm was none of those things... but watchmen frozen and weakened were no use at all.
"Anything to report?"
"Sod all," Too-Large said, summing up the last break since the question had last been asked. "Some animals movin' around out there, but nothing else. No horses or men on the road, just... nothin'."
"Yeah..." Jonas said, looking back at the farmhouse and the dim lights inside. "Let's hope it stays that way."
"Who are these people, anyway, Jay?" That was from Danny, of course. Always inquisitive, as befit the young and new. "City folk, I can tell. Old boy reeks a' Blackjack, kinda like Old Larks used to."
Jonas hurrumphed and smirked, face hellish in the glow of the flames. "Not anymore, he don't. Been a country boy for the last five arcs, 'asan'ee?"
"Yeah, s'pose. But these folk, well... they're fresh, like." Danny paused, as if unsure about what he was about to say. "They look scared. Not the kids, but the woman and the bloke. Like they're runnin'."
A brief, grim silence enveloped the three men getting warm around the fire in front of the farmhouse. Larks told them what they needed to know, and little else, which was strange. Their assignments and contracts weren't usually so secretive. It was obvious what they were doing, for whom, for how long. Need-to-know shite was... suspicious. There were no names given, and the three of them were told to bring personal fixings to last five days, at least. Food would be provided where they were going, but once they arrived, they didn't leave. Only Larks and his nephew Fields would leave.
Jonas shook his head and pondered deeper and darker than the men who flanked him. "Buggered if I know, lads. Job's just a.... job."
Too-Large frowned at the expression that seized his friend's face. His amiable features and wandering attention suddenly snapped into something singular. Focused. Intent. He followed his gaze out into the vast blackness surrounding them, and the frown only deepened. Did he just imagine that? A flash, a flare of metallic light in the midst of it? Was it the fire playing tricks on his eyes? He peered deeper, hoping it would appear again, but...
"Somethin' up, Jay?"
"Nah, nah," the man said, taking a step or two away from him and working the stiffness out of his shoulders. "Just seeing things, I think. Y'know how it is."
"Aye, well, if you'd-"
TWANG
Too-Large heard what killed him. The heavy strum of a taut string going slack, releasing all that incredible energy with the pull of a trigger. Too-Large knew a crossbow when he heard it. He knew the sound but he was older and slower and he died with his hand on his sword-
-and a bolt slamming into his chest, knocking him back like a sledgehammer to the heart. Danny wasn't sputtering or cursing. He was just... stunned. Jaw hanging slack as his friend backpedaled and then collapsed onto his back with a short shaft of wood sticking out of his ribs. But Jonas was with him, so he wasn't panicking yet. Jonas, who was drawing his dirk and they'd fight side-by-side, against whoever it was who-
SHUNK
That didn't happen. That dream died, along with whatever naivete Danny had inside him. Such tended to happen, when your friend whirled on you and shoved a foot of sharp steel into your heart. Danny coughed and Jonas saw it. Saw the pain that contorted his features, and knew that it wasn't of the body. It was the mind. The spirit. The soul. The heart. Betrayed and unwilling to believe it... until the boy slumped to his knees. Looking down. One hand weakly grasping the metal impaling him.
"J... Jay?" He whispered wetly, as the shadows came alive behind him. "Wh... Wh-"
The short man with long hair gripped a handful of Jonas', yanked back his head, and drew the gladius across his throat with all the ceremony of a man squashing an insect. Even the traitor flinched at the sheer, heartless speed of it. Danny's eyes popped open, body finally catching up to the pain of his spirit, but by then it was too late. His eyes went glassy even as the bloody came forth. Spewed and spilled and the little man let go of his hair, yanking him roughly to the side as he did.
Jonas flinched again as his friend thumped onto the hard ground, next to Too-Large. Whose wife had made him supper more times than he could count. He could hear his master, his employer, his friend Old Larks in the house behind them. Not just him: them. The three men that drifted from the darkness as if made from it, born of it, soulless and inhuman as the stuff of children's terrors.
The little man with his gladius, eyes not shining, eating light and reflecting nothing.
The crossbowman with a shaved head bedecked with ink that seemed to writhe as he walked.
The swordsman that had bought him like a whore in the tavern, with a bright, genial smile and a hole where his heart was.
"Rest're inside?" Carrow spoke and nodded behind them. "All of 'em?"
"Y... Yes. Larks and Fields and the family."
"These were the only two you bought with you?"
Carrow toed Too-Large with one boot and Jonas felt the urge to slap him. He beat it back. It was too late now. For them, for him... for the people left alive. He'd sold his soul and not cheaply, either. No more long nights outside silos or mansions. No more aching and stiffness for barely more money than he'd make milking cows or tilling earth. He swallowed hard and steeled himself, shaking his head and drawing himself up.
"Aye. Just these two."
Carrow regarded him as a hawk would a sparrow, then nodded. "A'right. Kas? Stay wiv' Cobbles an' our friend, here. I'mma go round the side."
The little man nodded and Jonas watched Carrow leave. Then he made a mistake. He assumed too much. He looked down and he shook his head at the young boy who still gazed up with glassy, disbelieving eyes. Who called out at him from across the gulf, and damned him for a traitor.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and he saw the little man cock his head like a curious dog. "I... It was-"
"No-one cares, boy."
Such coldness. Such indifference. He wiped his blade on the back of his sleeve and yanked Jonas' own from Danny's dead chest without pause. Handed it back like he was returning cutlery from a kitchen table.
"Not us. Not the dead. Get yer mind on the job."
Jonas hated him in that moment. "Kas", or whatever his name was. Hated him and ignored the voice that told him he was doing so to blind and eclipse the larger, toxic disgust he felt for himself. But he did as he was told. His course was fixed and chosen now. He took the blade, stood between the two distant assassins, and waited for the farmhouse door to open.
