by V. C. Willis
“It wasn’t a lie. I said only two men,” she corrected. “And I suppose I can confidently say two men still can.” She picked up the claymore and offered it to me. “Keep that dagger. It helps to counter, but only switch the bigger weapon to your right hand when you’re desperate. You have a lot of power behind that left arm, and if you clock them in the gut or jaw, you can throw the fight in your favor.”
“How did you figure out I was left-handed?” Mud caked everything. Icy and slimy, I sighed in regret. And we still have at least two or more days of riding on horseback...
“That wasn’t hard. You favor that hand when handling the reins and when using a smaller weapon. Try to shift those behaviors or even them out at the least.” She used her cloak to wipe mud from her gauntlets and hands. “Though it seems you’ve had deeper training than I had expected. Would you like me to teach you more about using that claymore as a bloodeater?”
“I’d be a fool to say no, but may I ask who taught you to use it like that?” Perhaps this will give me some inkling as to who the hell you are.
“My father,” she answered without hesitation.
She’s definitely not Lillian. My sister favored the bow more than anything, but something tells me Red Wine can match even the best marksman if need be. Plus, my father thinks little of the claymore and calls it a pissing contest for size.
“And for the record, yes, Lord Knight Paul’s scar was my doing. Granted, he surprised me with it. I nursed him back, trained the farm boy further before I left, though he learned much of it on his own. Humans have limitations that you and I don’t have.” Her words sent a chill across me.
“Why would you…” I slid the claymore into the halter and pulled myself back onto Basque. “What benefit was it to save him and train him?”
“I secretly hoped he would face Viceroy Falco one more time and end him. He had the best chance of it, should the need arise. That is, until he became too old. I sometimes forget how fleeting a human’s lifespan can be.” She pulled herself onto the dainty horse. “Let’s catch up before they make it to Tavern Way. I didn’t take the time to scout the town, so we may not be completely out of danger’s way.”
Basque thudded up beside the tiny mare. “How old are you?”
“That’s rude of you, Dante.” She pouted. “Besides, I lost count. I’m younger than your father, and older than you.”
Seeing I would get no straight answer, I changed subjects to the more pressing matter at hand. “Do we know who they are looking for?”
“You,” she replied. “The reports are showing that out of all they were able to question, it seems they were under the orders of killing you if you left Glensdale or returning you alive to Falco for a bigger bounty. It seems the Viceroy couldn’t get over his taste for you, Dante.”
A visible shudder shook my shoulders. “I was made very aware of that when we crossed paths my first day back.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t around to stop it. I had matters to attend to in Winter’s Perch,” she sounded sincere about the statement.
“Not your responsibility,” I remarked.
She rode ahead as if her mask couldn’t cover the expression she made under it.
“Wait.” Basque picked up speed, closing the gap between us. “Isn’t Winter’s Perch in the Perines mountains? Who would want to go there?”
“That’s a story for another day.” She slapped her legs, and the horse took off.
Who in the hell are you, Red Wine? More importantly, who exactly was your father? Falco? No... couldn’t be. Did one of his mistresses manage to give birth?
Chapter 5
Tavern Way Inn
The sun had set, and cold nipped at our backsides as we entered Tavern Way. It seemed our presence spooked the townsfolk as we made our way down the main stretch toward the inn and stables. Shutters slammed shut, and shops flipped their signs and locked their doors. We all shuffled in our saddles, looking to one another with unease. The reaction was highly abnormal for a band of clergymen travelling through, a common enough occurrence since this was the eastern main trading hub. They’ve been expecting us. The sounds of laughter started to fill the air as the Tavern Way Inn came into view with doors open and golden light cast across the snowy intersection. And they seem too drunk to care.
“I’ll stay with the horses,” offered Valiente. “At least I have a better chance of surviving an arrow to the back.”
“He’s got a point.” Red Wine chuckled. “And I’m going to scout the town out.” She unmounted and waited for me to do the same before slapping my shoulder. “I’ll leave the tavern arrangements to you, my apprentice. You can do that much, yes?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Master.” I shot a look at John and Sonja. “I suppose we might be sharing a room as busy as this place is. Maybe split it up between two rooms: Mother Superior and the knight to one room and us in the other?”
“I’ve made arrangements for my own room. Worry about you four.” Red Wine trotted off back the way they came.
She’s seeing if anyone followed us, I imagine. Didn’t even think about it. Was that why she really wanted to spar? See if someone would jump out at the arguing stragglers or come out of the woods to follow them over the bridge?
Turning to John, I asked, “You’ve stayed here before, right? Any idea how to persuade the inn keeper?”
John shrugged. “I didn’t even stop here on my way home—I kept walking and slept in the woods when I came home.”
“Of course you did, farm boy.” I nudged him as I walked past and through the door.
“We did the same, but by then we…” Sonja’s words were cut short by John as he pushed her to walk between us. “Well, I mean, it’s not too horrible of a walk in good weather.”
“Don’t worry, Mother Superior.” John cleared his throat, looking at the quieting patrons. “I’m sure we’ll find a room for at least you and your knight. We can take to the stables if we need to.”
People were scattered throughout the modest establishment, seated at tables or the bar. The bustling variety of men and women seemed to be there for a drink or food, enjoying one another’s company for now and later. Their chuckling had dwindled, and now they whispered among themselves as we pressed farther inside beyond the roaring hearth. All eyes were on the assassin leading a pair of clergymen to the far end of the horseshoe-shaped bar top. The bartender wiped his hands dry, motioning the patrons to get back to their laughter and mind their own business. He had four-knots in his short braid, making it clear he owned this plot and business.
Good, I’d rather deal with the owners. It’s easier to work deals. “I need a room for my clients.” I motioned to Father John and Mother Superior Sonja. “If possible, two rooms.”
The man with dark rings under his eyes sucked on his cheek, looking over the clergymen before snarking, “And what kind of clergy travel with an assassin?”
“One’s who paid enough to contract one for protection from Viceroy Falco.” Who cares if they know that much? Everyone knows he’s hired headhunters for clergymen and even stablemen over the decades. Nothing surprising on that note. “Do I need to go fetch her Captiva City sanctioned knight for service here or no?” Anger rose in my voice as I slammed the bar top with my palm, the clap loud as thunder. The whole place jerked and fell silent once more. “How much for a room? Do you even have any available?”
“W-we have a-a few.” He pulled open a book, flipping through it as he plucked the quill from the ink bottle. “I can’t give you both a room for free. Sorry, Father.” He gave John an empathetic look, acknowledging the hierarchy between them. “Fifty gold for the other room.”
John reached for his coin bag, but I gripped his wrist. “Are you kidding me?” I let the anger seep back into my voice. “I bought a horse in the capital for that much, one that could pull the walls down if it wanted to.”
“We’re desperate.” He shrugged, swallowing.
“Then you must be giving the mead out for free with this many here.” I motioned to the room which burst into laughter. So, they’re just locals with that reaction. “Look, I don’t see anyone manning the stable out there. I’ll get it swept and cleaned and tend to all the stock there including our four. All I need is a room in trade.” I softened my tone, “And we’ll pay for all our meals and drinks. Or do you tend to hunt someone down to help us with our tack at fifty a night and reshoe all four horses while they’re at it?”
“His boy came down sick,” offered the woman serving a drink to a patron. “He’d be a fool not to take you up on that offer since it’s been three nights since the last cleaning. Jacques here isn’t known for getting his hands dirty or tending stock. He’s got too many knots tying him up, sir.”
Another round of chuckling made the man shove the quill back into the ink bottle. “Woman, I don’t know why I even keep you around here!” He turned back to the shelves of liquors and wines. “I’m going to keep this one off the books as a favor, assassin. Don’t think I don’t know what that fucking mask on your face means.”
“Shush! You know you ain’t cleaning up after this lot every night.” Her words incited another round of laughter from the locals, the bar owner’s face reddening.
“The stables better be spotless when you leave. Two rooms, and you pay for your food and drink.” He pointed at the clergyman. “This man is worth his weight in gold if he’s risking his life and reputation at inns for you.” He slammed the book closed, grumbling as he put it away. “I might seek him out next time I travel. What name do you go by?”
“Bloody Half-pint.” Red Wine came marching through the door, motioning for a pint from the woman. “He’s my apprentice, Jacques. Now you have two favorite assassins you know by name!”
“Not you again.” Jacques scoffed. “Please tell me you plan on leaving in the morning with this Half-pint of yours.”
“Aw, Jacques, I thought we settled this last time I came.” She chuckled, slipping her mask off. A scar ripped across her lips, disrupting the cupids bow, and her maroon stare was striking. Freckles painted her cheeks and nose, and dark eye makeup made her seem like an enchantress while strands of brown hair clung to the sweat on her face. “Didn’t I save your ass twice now?”
“I’m still not convinced you didn’t set me up, Red,” he mocked, shoving two keys to me. “Here. Just be sure to take her with you in the morning.”
“Don’t worry. She goes where I go.” Sniggering, I turned to John and Sonja, giving them each a key. “Let’s go deliver the news to Valiente, and I’ll start tending to the horses. Looks like I get to sling shit for a little longer.”
“Do you have a bath?” John asked, pulling two gold coins from his pocket.
The woman offered out her hand. “I’ll get it going, but it’s gonna take me a while, Father. We don’t keep the water heated, so it’s always poured fresh.”
“I prefer it that way.” John winked at her. “Here’s another coin then for a mead while I wait here next to Miss Red Wine.”
“Why don’t you sit and have a drink with us, Dante? On me?” Red Wine had spun on her stool, leaning on the bar with her legs crossed and raised her mug high.
“Can’t. I have to go to my second job.” I narrowed my eyes at her. “But after that, maybe you can share the story behind that badge of honor.” I motioned to my lip to imply her scar.
“Ah, that old thing.” She gave a fanged grin. “I suppose I can share that story with you when you finish tossing the trash out. Try not to get too dirty.”
Cursing my luck, I was back out into the freezing night air. Valiente had started gathering a few items from his saddlebags when he greeted me. He nodded, and I began collecting reins in silence, shoving my mask into one of Basque’s saddlebags as I worked down the row. Valiente finished grabbing the essentials and disappeared inside as I led the horses to the stable beside the tavern. I froze. The stable was a complete abandoned mess. Tying the horses by the water trough, I kicked loose the ice trying to settle back across the surface.
Well, she did say it’s been a few days, but this place needs entire rafters replaced.
It took a few minutes to locate all the tools, and I was thankful they weren’t in the same shit-covered state as the stalls. Basque snorted and stomped. I halted, still half bent over two stalls from where I started at the entrance. He only did that when someone approached, a way of warning them not to come close. Another loud thud on the mud and Basque whinnied. A shuffling of hooves made it clear he was ready to bow-up on someone and had rattled the other horses. Cussing came to my ears, and I stepped out of the stall, leaning on the pitchfork. Two men cloaked in all black wearing tricorns were backstepping as Basque put himself between them and the other horses.
I really think he will kill a man for a peppermint. Perhaps these are just thieves? Glad to see the big guy is going to play protector, though Colonel seems annoyed.
I watched in silence as the men were too distracted by the giant horse to pay heed to their surroundings. They reached again for the old mare’s saddlebags and were nearly clipped by Basque’s front hoof. Again, the man jumped back, shoving his friend to give it his try. Basque locked eyes with me, nodding his head and curling his lips.
Yeah, yeah, I know. You want me to do something about it. Steam rolled out of him like he was some kind of demon, but I knew he was fussing at my lack of action. Clearing my throat, the men turned to face me. Each of the intruders pulled out a dagger and rapier. Take out the trash, huh?
“I wouldn’t aim to steal from any of those horses. That one has taken out guardsmen and broken down city gates simply for being in his way. He’s just being polite with you before snapping that reign and trampling you at this point.”
They looked to one another, then back at me. “You’re the one travelling with the clergymen.”
“I am.” I narrowed my eyes at the hilt of the claymore still on Basque. Good thing Red Wine gave me that dagger earlier. “You got business with them?”
“Not quite.” He rolled a shoulder and settled his stance, both their faces obscured by black masks across their nose and mouth. “We’ve been hired to take out the assassin travelling with them.”
I nodded. “I think everyone in town is a little annoyed by her. If you’re looking for her, she’s in the tavern, but I wouldn’t fuck with her unless you know how to fight like your life depended on it because it will.”
“Not her. You,” clarified the other, pointing at me with his dagger. “You’re the one we need to bring back alive to Arbre Tombé. That prince posing as a bodyguard assassin.”
“Shut your trap,” hissed the other.
I paled. Fallen Arbor. If they are looking for me... “And what would they want with an apprentice who tends to the stalls? Do you really think a prince of bloodeaters would be out here shoveling shit for a living?” Take the bluff. Please, take the—
“Who cares…” a voice hissed from behind me.
I dropped the pitchfork and did a wide sweep with the dagger. The third attacker was dressed very differently. Is he a member of Arbre Tombé? He seemed graceful, his attire fitting of a businessman or high nobleman complete with a cane and bowler hat. Even his moustache was styled small and tight, but more notable was the fact… He’s braidless? With a twist of the cane knob, it broke apart to reveal a hidden rapier. And armed with some hidden weaponry. Shit. A slice in his coat revealed how close he’d managed to get to me without me knowing. It was too shallow for skin.
This shithole has muted my sense of smell! I would be a dead man between that and the distractions his underlings caused. Should have stayed hidden a moment longer in the stall, really take a minute to assess the situation. Next time, I’ll know better. I knew we were being hunted but not by the likes of Arbre Tombé. I know, old man, I made the
same mistake twice today: underestimating my enemy. Dammit.
The two men behind me launched into a direct attack, drawing my attention back to them. A jab of a rapier came first. I sidestepped and aimed to slash at his side. He ducked under my initial sweep; his partner’s dagger dug deep into my torso. Gritting my teeth, I managed to grab his wrist and wrench it, so he would abandon the lodged weapon. I pulled it out, blood splattering against the hay laden floor. I was now armed with two daggers; this should give me better odds against three foes. Blocking the next rapier jab, I managed to slice the cheek of the assaulter. He retreated. The two fussed on who would try next.
Spinning back to the bowler hat, I saw he had come rushing in sooner than expected. “You’ll be ours next, child of Traibon.”
I rolled my torso down the blade, spinning myself like I would if I had been swinging the claymore. He ducked the first strike, and the jab from my second dagger dug in his shoulder. He grunted, taking the blow, and not flinching. By this point, I had rolled to his arm and my first dagger ran across his wrist and fingers. Too busy taking the first strike like a man to see I was aiming to maim your hand, jackass. It was too dull, unlike the one from Red Wine. The rapier dropped.
“Keep him busy,” spat the bowler hat.
A shout and thudding of boots from behind told me volumes. I ducked. One of the assaulters toppled over me, their dagger missing its strike. I flung him up and over. Twisting back to their partner, I leapt forward, not missing my next target. Both daggers dug deep into the man’s chest; he gurgled, blood spilling from his lips. With a sickening suctioning sound, the blades pulled free. I locked eyes with the Arbre Tombé man holding his bleeding hand. He had managed to tie a hay string around his arm to slow the bleeding from his wrist. Resourceful and smart. I expected nothing less from the ones Ashton disappeared chasing.
“Dammit, can’t you imbeciles stand your ground!” he shouted, trying to heat a small blade in the stable hearth.
