“Found one.” The younger soldier holds up a soot-covered sword. He twirls the weapon in his gauntleted hand, showing it to his companion.
“Looks good.” The other man removes his helmet and shakes out his red hair. He squints his blue eyes and inspects the impressive sword. “I claim it.”
“Fuck off. I found it.” The blonde soldier tucks it behind his back like a petulant child. “That makes it mine.” Then he nods at a small scattering of swords half-buried under scorched straw. “There’s more over there, but I’m not moving him to get them.”
Himbeing the blacksmith.
“Squeamish, that’s what you are,” Red grumbles. “If you won’t do it, I will, and I’ll keep the fortune we’ll get selling them to those knights-errant in Loslow.”
“If they’re still there by the time we get back up north.” The blonde is still examining the sword, too smug for his own good. “We could try selling them in Leighton Falls. Although we scared those skittish folks something fierce when we marched through there waving the king’s standard.”
“Aye, we did.” Red puffs up proudly—the fucking prick. “Nothing like the power of the crown to frighten lesser men.”
There is no power on Rygard’s throne. Nor is there power in this hut. There are only two scavengers who are a blight upon humanity.
Everything within me demands I kill them slow. Make it hurt. But I hold myself in check and watch as the blonde places the finely crafted sword across the cold forge. He snickers, picking through the debris as Red marches toward the blacksmith and grabs the dead man’s arms. I grit my teeth against a wave of fury as Red hauls the body across the hut, pulling it over rubble as if the man were trash.
The disrespect is irritating but not surprising. In John’s court, honor is a wasted word. His courtiers don’t dare turn their backs on each other for fear of getting a dagger stabbed between their shoulder blades. The garrison is a pack of heathens with little training. They’re plucked from the trenches of Rygard, handed a sword, a tabard emblazoned with John’s standard, and unleashed upon the kingdom. As much as I want to rip their souls from their bodies, these miserable lumps of pig shit aren’t worth the pain and energy it would cost me.
Instead, I inch inside the hut, weapon at the ready, and intrude on their little pillage party. “Hate to interrupt. However, I would advise against touching one more fucking thing in this village.”
Red stops dragging the blacksmith and drops the dead man’s arms. He blinks at me once, twice, before it registers that someone would dare interfere with their looting. “Get a load of this one’s audacity.” He jabs a thumb at his companion, emboldened by the apparent misconception that I’m outmanned. “Have at him, Osric.”
Osric, the fool, pulls his sword from its sheath. It’s the last thing he does. I have no time for games and make quick work of opening a deep gash across his abdomen.
His intestines spill at his feet.
Glorious.
Stunned by the speed and force of my attack, Osric drops his weapon. He clutches his disemboweled body, futilely trying to stuff himself back inside the cavity. I would hang him from a tree by his entrails if I had more time, but unfortunately, I don’t. Instead, I grunt out a disgusted laugh and kick him backward. He slips in his mess and lands on his back. His eyes roll in their sockets, and he gargles on a mouthful of blood.
With blade in one hand, I hover it over the man’s chest. In my peripheral, I see Red charge for me. Brave fucker. I stay focused on the felled soldier and, quick as a blink, extend my left arm. My hand clamps around Red’s throat. I lift him off his feet and dangle him like a doll. I finally give him my full attention, relishing the sight of him gasping for breath. Then I carry him across the hut. A cloud of soot puffs out from behind him when I slam his back against the nearest wall—hard enough to crack the scorched timber.
I bare my teeth in a snarl. “You’re regretting your entire life right about now, aren’t you?”
His terrified gaze searches my face. I know what he sees when he looks into my eyes.
The promise of pain.
So much pain.
“What are you?”
I draw back my arm. Plunge my blade so deep into his chest, it pierces the wall. Red gasps. His eyes bulge. He glances down, sees my sword protruding from his body, then slowly drags his gaze back to my face.
“I’m a fucking monster.” I pull free my sword. He lands with a thud on the debris-strewn floor, barely alive and sucking in labored breaths. Hands over his bleeding chest, he stares up at me, but I’m already done with him. I glance at Osric and crook a grin when I see he’s dead in a mess of bowels. His empty eyes stare back at me. Good. I was the last thing the prick saw before death took him. And when I shift my gaze back at Red, I shake my head as I watch him attempt to level his weapon at me. “Noble effort, but foolish. And futile.”
I kick the sword out of his hand.
“Fuck you.” He spits at my feet.
Sneering, I place my booted foot on his chest, directly over his wound. I step down, putting enough weight on him to crush bone. His howl of agony sings throughout the hut. “Save a place in hell for your king.”
With my need to find Warrick paramount in my mind, I’m already thinking ten steps ahead. Focused on where I’m going to—
“Hello, Quinn.”
If it were anyone else buthimbehind me, I would have detected the threat. But this motherfucker always threw me off balance. That’s the way of it, I suppose, when you once trusted someone with your whole self.
