by Travis Kerr
"I didn't murder him, technically," Garan answered. "A murder is committed by someone who wants a person dead. I didn't want him dead. I wouldn't care less. However, someone else wanted that one dead, and that person is paying me quite well to kill him. So technically this was an assassination, not a murder. Look, I would love to stand here explaining the difference to you in greater detail, but the guards will be here soon. As my companion so kindly pointed out a moment ago, they don't care for me much, and no one is paying me to kill any of them. So I'm leaving. Come with us or not, it's your choice, but I simply don't have time to discuss it any longer."
Garan pulled his blade out of the trog's neck, wiped it off on the dead man's trousers, and returned the weapon to its sheath. Without another word he headed out of the inn into the night. Drom paused for a moment or two, then, realizing that he really had little choice in the matter, hurried out into the night to follow him.
Garan and his unknown companion were waiting for him outside of the door. The dragonling ruffled its wings, as if impatient to be off.
"I was starting to think you weren't going to come," Garan said. "I would have been gone in another minute. You've made the right decision. You've just increased your chances of survival considerably. Let's get going. We'll talk more once we put a few miles between us and the city. There's a place we can get over the city wall not far from here."
Without another word he strode off into the night, with Drom following close behind.
Chapter Two
The three of them traveled nearly half the night before stopping to rest. Drom guessed they had gone perhaps five miles, though he couldn't know for certain. He was not used to traveling so hard in the dark of night. By the time they had stopped his wide, hairy feet were already incredibly sore. He had been traveling all day before reaching the city, and had not rested at the inn for nearly long enough before the three of them fled.
He had also not eaten much that day. The plate of greens he had paid for at the inn was only partially eaten before the chaos at the inn had forced his flight from the city. Not nearly enough to sustain a large sorvinian, even a half human one.
Garan and his companion did not seem to be tiring at all. Drom thought that, had he not been with them, they might very well have continued that pace for another day or more without stopping. More than once he considered changing direction and leaving the two, but he barely knew where he was. They had not kept to any of the roads after leaving the city, and Drom suspected that if he went off on his own he might never find his way.
He believed they were heading south, though he was not even certain of that. Neither of his parents had ever taught him to navigate by the stars. People who never left their farms did not need to know how to find their way. They knew every tree, rock, and bush on their land. What use could they have for knowing how to navigate outside those borders?
They didn't stop for long. Drom would have built a fire and set up camp for the night if it had been his choice, but these two didn't seem to have any intention of doing that. They rested in silence, and after about fifteen minutes set off once again. They didn't stop moving again until mid-morning.
When they finally stopped Drom had no idea how far they had gone. He had even less of an idea as to where the two planned on going. They had indeed been traveling south, he had known that for certain once the sun rose that morning, but he knew nothing beyond that.
"We should be safe here for a few hours," Garan announced. "If we travel due south from here we will be close enough to the trade city of Lando by nightfall that I can point you in the right direction. You shouldn't have any problem finding it. Once there you should be able to travel with one of the merchants heading toward the sorvinian farm lands. I am right, aren't I? You are a sorvinian boy?"
“How did you guess that?” Drom asked. “I know how I look. I don’t look like other sorvinians.”
Or anyone else for that matter.
“It was your ears that gave you away. The rest of you looks, well, I’m not sure actually. Human maybe? Still, those ears are pure sorvinian, through and through. Regardless of your lineage, you’ll be better off going back home. The world is no place for a young boy, especially one that stands out as much as you do.”
"I'm not going back there," Drom replied sternly. "I didn't want to live the life of a farmer, and I'm not going to run back with my tail between my legs now."
Not that I have a tail. Just one more thing that makes me different than everyone else back home.
"What do they call you boy?" he asked, ignoring Drom's statement. "I'm assuming there's a story behind you, and I would be interested in hearing it."
"My name is Drom," he replied, moving over to sit on a large fallen log. He felt like he needed to sit down before he fell down. "There's not really any story behind me though. I didn't want to be a farmer so I left. That's really all there is to it."
"You don't look like any other sorvinian that I've ever met. You look like you should be old enough for your horns to start coming in, yet you don't seem to have any. Surely a hornless child shouldn't be out on his own in the world. I would think that it would be better for you to go back home. Once you're old enough to make such decisions, after your horns grow in, the farm might seem like a safer, better place for you than it does now. For young boys such as yourself adventure seems like a grand thing, at least for humans. I'm sure it's no different for sorvinian boys. However, as you can see, the world is far more dangerous than you realized when you left. I'm sure your parents miss you very much."
Garan came over to sit on the log next to him. The strange hooded woman, who had hardly said a word since they left the inn, sat directly on the ground several yards away and began cleaning her sword with an oiled cloth she pulled out of a travel pack on her back.
Drom noticed that the two carried only a small amount of gear with them, far less than he would have expected for people who obviously planned on traveling at a moments notice.
Perhaps the packs they used were magicked to carry more than they appeared to, he thought. Such things were very expensive, but not impossible to acquire for those who had the coin to pay for them.
In the bright morning sunlight Drom could see sparkling emeralds along the crosspiece of the thin blade the woman cleaned, and a large ruby sat at the very base of the pummel. He knew almost nothing about swords, though he had seen a few amongst the traders that came through the farm. From what little he knew of such blades he would have thought that such a large jewel would have upset the balance of the light weapon.
It must have cost her a small fortune, Drom thought to himself.
The dragonling, who had alternated between sitting on Garan's shoulder and flying above them in the trees while they had traveled, flew off his master's shoulder to land on the branch of a tree nearby and began cleaning its scales, as if it were a bird preening its feathers.
Drom had been picked on all of his life by the sorvinians around him. He knew when he was being baited, and wasn't going to let it get to him now. He knew that the man could tell that he was already an adult, and yet he purposefully continued to call him boy.
"I am not a child. I will never grow horns, because only my father was sorvinian. My mother was a human woman named Katrina. I never got along much with the sorvinians around me. I looked too different. I didn't belong there, so I decided to leave. Maybe I'll find a place where I do belong, or at the very least a place where I don't feel so out of place as I had there."
Garan paused, looking hard at Drom's face, though what he was looking for was anyone's guess. "Any one of the port towns or the trade cities would take you in," Garan said after a moment. "Outside of those cities you'll find that the different races pretty much keep to themselves. They won't chase you off or anything, at least not most places, but you'll never really fit in. What you need isn't a place where you belong, but a lifestyle you can fit into. Can you use magic?"
It was a question Drom had not really considered much
since his childhood. His mother had a only small amount of magic. Most humans did. Outside of human kin though, very few of the races had any magic. For those races that did have magic it was very weak, and was generally specific to that race alone. Certainly no sorvinian that Drom had ever heard of had magic.
"Not as far as I know," he answered finally. "My mother only had a little bit of magic. She almost never used it. I always assumed that my father's blood would prevent me from having any. When I was a kid my mother always told me that I would never have any. I would think that if I had magic I would have seen some evidence of it by now."
"That's fine. Few of the races have it after all. There are still plenty of things you can do without magic." Garan absently pulled an apple out of the pack he carried and threw it to Drom before pulling one out for himself. "You already know that you don't want to be a farmer, but have you given any thought to what you do want to do?"
"Not really," Drom answered, taking a large bite out of the apple. He had only finished half his meal the evening before, and had already been hungry then. "I just sort of figured I would find a job once I reached the port. I hadn't really thought about what job that would be. I'm young and strong. I'll find some sort of work for now, and can decide on a career sometime later. There's plenty of time. Isn't your friend hungry?"
The woman glanced his way, knowing somehow that she had become part of the conversation. Drom would have thought that she had been too intent on her cleaning and too far from the two men to have heard his inquiry, but perhaps he was wrong. He heard her chuckle, and could see her amber colored eyes shining out from underneath the hood that she wore.
She really had heard me, he realized.
"I'm not interested in eating apples," she said, sheathing her freshly oiled weapon. She stood up and walked a little closer so it would be easier for her to join the conversation. "There's a small waterway a few miles ahead. I'll catch us a few fish there. That's a bit more to my liking. I know that such a meal won't interest you, but I'm sure Garan will join me."
She reached up and pulled back the hood that had, up until that moment, hid her features from Drom's eyes. Short, tan and black colored fur covered her entire face in an intricate pattern, with white around her eyes and the inside of her sharp, pointed ears. Her ears were black along the backs, with bright white tufts of hair at the very tips. The black lines continued passed her face to the back of her head, changing from lines to spots as they progressed, continuing on until they were obscured by her clothing. His mother had taught him about this race in her histories, and one of the books she had spoke briefly of them as well, though he had never expected to see one.
"You're a feral!" he exclaimed.
"Thank you for noticing," she replied sarcastically. "I don't think I ever would have known if you hadn't told me. The name is Raine by the way."
"I'm sorry," Drom said sheepishly. He hadn't realized how rude that must have sounded. "It's just I never thought I would meet a feral. What little I've read about your race said they all keep to the jungles on the other side of the world, and don't have much contact with outsiders."
"That's mostly true," she replied. "I'm one of the few to leave the jungles. I, um, had some disagreements with my elders. They make all the decisions for our people. In our culture it is thought that the elders can do no wrong. They are considered the wisest of our people, simply based on the fact that they have lived longer.
“They were fools, in my opinion. Following them would have had us worshiping long forgotten gods again and working in stone instead of steel. Our people would have regressed as a culture, simply on the belief that tradition was more important than progress. Don't misunderstand me, I agree that traditions are important. Knowing our past allows us to learn from the mistakes of our ancestors. Our past traditions make up an important part of our culture. Who we were helps us to define who we are, and allows us to consider who we should become. However, it shouldn't mean that we should go back to old ways that were discarded once before, with good reason.
“Our elders wanted to go back to those ways, simply because they were unable to look forward. I couldn't do that. In the end they agreed that it would probably be best for everyone if I were to leave."
"Wait a minute," Garan interrupted, looking at Drom. "Did you just say you can read?"
"My mother taught me since I was young," Drom answered. "I was never very good at it, at least not as good as my mother would have wanted me to be, but I know my letters and can read most words passably enough."
Garan looked thoughtful for a moment. "Can you read me this letter?" He asked, handing a small note to Drom. He looked over the note.
"Two thousand gold pieces for removal of Brill Darkheart, trog guard in Port Dayton. likely to frequent...."
"OK, that should be enough," Garan said quickly, taking back the note. "I'm impressed. There are not many men who can read or write. You should have no trouble finding work in any port you want to visit. Merchants would pay good money for a worker who can both handle the heavy labor and read the ledgers."
"Did you really get paid two thousand gold pieces for killing that trog?" Drom asked, fascinated. "I've never heard of anyone making that sort of money at anything. My father would be lucky to make five hundred gold for his entire season, and most of that would go to paying the workers. Do you think maybe I could learn to be an assassin?"
Garan gave Drom a hard, harsh look. "Anyone can kill a man," he said seriously. "Killing is easy. As easy as it is to kill a man though, few people could ever hope to become an assassin. Most people could never handle killing like that, which is probably for the best. Unlike most men in my trade, I can pick and choose the contracts that I take. I only kill those men that deserve their deaths, like that trog certainly did.
“Even for someone like me it's far from being an easy life. I live outside of the law, and that means that at any time I could be set upon by guards, should they learn that I'm in their city. Also I've had assassins sent after me on more than one occasion. I could die at any time. I live for the excitement, and a few other reasons of my own, but few others could do what I do. I wouldn't suggest this life for anyone who had the opportunity to do otherwise."
"I could do it," Drom declared defiantly. "I already don't fit in anywhere I go. I can't live as a sorvinian, and I don't look human enough to live as one of them either. I'm already living on the outside. I have to admit though, I can't fight the way you can. If you can teach me to fight, I will do whatever you tell me to. Just give me the chance to prove myself."
Raine walked over to Drom, looking him over closely. "He looks fit," she declared. "With a bit of training he could potentially become a competent swordsman at least."
"She thinks I can do it," Drom said hopefully. "All I need is a good teacher."
"A man who’s nothing more than a competent fighter is a dead one!" Garan yelled, pulling his blade from its sheath in one smooth motion. Too fast for Drom to see, nothing more than a blur, Garan attacked. Even if he had a sword to defend himself with, Drom wouldn't have stood a chance. He raised his hands over his face in fear and closed his eyes against the inevitable blow.
Several seconds had gone by before he was willing to open them again. The first thing he saw was Garan standing over him, his blade inches from Drom's throat. Raine was chuckling under her breath.
"First rule of combat, whether you're an assassin, a soldier, or a guard. No matter what happens, you never show fear to an opponent. I could have killed you right then without you even making an attempt to defend yourself. If you're going to die, and that's always a possibility, at least have the decency to die with a little dignity. Look your enemy straight in the eyes, and do whatever you can to stay alive. Never forget that."
The fierce look in Garan's eyes frightened Drom so much that he, for several seconds, didn't realize that Garan had just given him his first lesson in combat. It wasn't until Garan pulled back and sheathed his sword that what had just happened hit h
im. Garan took several steps back and waited for Drom to speak.
"I didn't even have a weapon!" Drom said at last. "Even if I had already been trained in combat, how could I possibly have defended myself against you?"
"You didn’t see me use a weapon when I fought in the bar, did you?" Garan reminded him. "Here." He pulled his sword back out of its sheath and held it out, pommel first, to Drom. "Let's try things the other way. Go ahead and attack me. Show me what you can do."
Drom had seen Garan in the bar fight back in the Staghorn, and didn't fear that he might harm the wiry assassin. Still, he felt a certain hesitation in attacking an unarmed man. The assassin saw that momentary pause and moved in at once, almost disappearing from Drom's sight, reappearing behind him with a single finger placed lightly on Drom's neck.
"Never attack a man without the intent to kill," Garan informed him sagely. "And if you intend to kill someone, never hesitate. A moment of hesitation will kill you." He stepped back to where he had been standing before. "Try again."
Drom took the assassin's advice and charged quickly, putting all of his weight behind his attack. As he expected, the striking sword fell on nothing. As before, the assassin had disappeared from his sight.
But Drom knew that Garan was going to be able to dodge the strike. Without hesitating he immediately spun and stuck again behind him, thinking that Garan might attack from there as he had seen him do before. The swing struck nothing but air. Garan wasn't there. Drom heard Raine chuckle again.
"Who were you swinging at?" Garan asked from his left, a few feet away. The man had moved so quickly that Drom didn't even know where he was until he spoke. "There wasn't anyone behind you when you swung the sword."
"You move too fast for me to see," Drom admitted hopelessly. "I've seen you attack someone from behind like that twice though, so I thought maybe you might come at me from that direction. I guess I just don't have any talent for this."