by Travis Kerr
The swine dropped its head and charged at once, its long, thick tusks leading the way. Drom had seen animals like this before. His father had often caught them rooting through his fields. He knew just how dangerous they could be, and the larger the animal the more dangerous it was. This boar was easily four hundred pounds, and Drom knew it would be more than capable of killing one sorvinian alone by himself, especially one that didn't know the first thing about how to defend himself against it.
He remembered what Garan had said to him that morning.
Never run from an enemy. If you're going to die, do it with dignity and face your enemy head on.
Drom realized belatedly that he wasn't carrying any sort of a weapon, but he still had his strength. If he had to be, he could be just as dangerous as this wild animal. He braced himself and held his ground.
Drom heard a strange sound, which he realized only afterward was the singing of a bow string being loosed. Only a few feet in front of him the huge hog toppled and, snout first, skidded across the ground to a halt. The animal screamed and squealed loudly. The arrow Garan had fired from his unseen position had gone through both of its back legs, pinning them neatly together.
As he came out of the brush into Drom's sight he pulled a long dagger and tossed it on the ground in front of Drom. He stared at the weapon at his feet, not comprehending.
"Slit its throat," Garan instructed, already unstringing his bow.
"Why didn't you kill it?" Drom asked, perturbed. He hadn't expected to have to kill one of the animals they were hunting. He had thought he was being brought along to carry the carcasses back to camp. Surely a killing shot would have been easier to accomplish than the one the assassin had made.
"Because I want you to kill it," he replied casually. "Remember I told you that you would have to follow my instructions? Well, now I'm instructing you to kill that boar. You should do it quickly. That animal's in a lot of pain right now. It would be cruel not to put it out of its misery."
"I've never killed anything before," Drom protested. "I won't be eating it, so why should I have to be the one to kill it?"
Garan stepped right up to Drom, ignoring the injured boar behind him. Even though Drom was at least six inches taller than him, it seemed as if Garan loomed over him. He stopped only inches from Drom's body.
"You say you want to learn to become an assassin, and yet you balk at killing this animal? What makes you think you'll be able to kill a man, one who might be able to fight back, when you can't even kill this boar that's trapped in front of you? Well, this animal isn't going anywhere, so until you're ready to kill it, you're going to stay right here and listen to it scream in pain. If you want it to stop, if you want its pain to end, it's up to you to end it."
Garan stepped back and refused to say another word. Drom stared down at the dagger at his feet in horror. He was not certain he was ready to kill anything, even to defend himself, but it was much harder to think about killing a defenseless creature. Had the boar still been able to stand and was still charging him as it had been only moments ago, he might have felt differently, but this poor creature could not harm anyone in its present state.
The boar continued to squeal, a high pitched sound that echoed loudly in Drom's ears. It tried to rise, but with both of its back legs pinned together it was not going anywhere. Drom knew that in time, if left on its own, it would likely die from blood loss, or simply from the shock and pain of its wound. It was just in so much pain, the sound of its screams so loud, that Drom began to feel ill. When it became unbearable he reached down and picked up the knife below him.
He bent down over the boar.
I'm just going to put it out of its misery, he thought to himself. Put an end to its pain.
He stood behind it, careful not to let the boar gouge him. At this distance it could still be dangerous if he wasn't careful, he knew. Though the animal couldn't stand or move forward it still thrashed its head back and forth, gnashing its teeth at him and trying to pierce him with its tusks. Moving quickly, he pulled the dagger across its throat and stepped back. The squealing turned instead to a low whistling sound. Thankfully that only lasted a few seconds before the noises ended completely, and the boar stopped moving.
"Death comes to all things, Drom," Garan said softly, coming up behind him. "Whether it's an old man dying in his bed as he sleeps or a stillborn child who never takes a breath, they are going to die. It's the only thing anyone can ever be certain of. An assassin chooses the death of those he kills. Should you become an assassin, you'll see more death than you could ever wish for. Unless there is a reason to choose otherwise, it's always best to choose a quick death, and to make it as painless as you can. Remember that Drom. Come. It's time we get back to camp. The longer we take the worse Raine is likely to be, and we're still going to have to cook this beast. Pick it up and let's get going."
Drom felt numbed by everything that had just happened. He had just killed. What it was or the circumstances behind it didn't matter to him anymore. The boar could not have hurt him as it was when he killed it, and yet he was forced to kill it anyway.
He was not certain if he would ever be able to do something like that again, and yet he knew if he stayed with Garan he would have to. He would kill and kill until rivers of blood ran deep from all the lives he would be forced to take, not only animals like this, but also men.
Perhaps some of those men would deserve that death, but that did not matter to him. No amount of bathing could ever clean all the blood that would be on his hands.
For a brief moment Drom was certain that he might retch right there on the ground next to the slain animal, but with some effort he managed to get control of his rolling stomach. With a heave and a grunt he picked up the carcass of the boar and wordlessly followed behind Garan as he led the way back to the camp.
The fire had already burned down to a deep bed of coals by the time they arrived. Raine looked like she was about to say something, perhaps a word of complaint for the length of time they had taken, but promptly closed her mouth when she saw the burden Drom carried. He set it down in front of her and she set to it with her own knife, cutting off the first few pieces and placing them on a thin metal grill she placed over the coals before cutting more off the animal to store for later.
They won’t be able to take all of the meat with them, Drom realized, but what they can carry should last them a few days at least.
Drom eyed the fruit hanging on the tree above him, but just couldn't bring himself to eat anything right then. The coppery smell of the blood from the boar he had killed still filled his nostrils, making his stomach turn. He knew he should be hungry, knew that once the sun came up in the morning they would be heading out again at the hard pace they had been keeping all that day and he would need his energy, but he couldn't even think about eating.
"You don't really think I can be an assassin, do you?" he asked Garan. "You said before not everyone has what it takes to do the work that you do, and you don't think that I do."
Garan looked at him sternly, as if studying Drom's expression. "No, I don't. I didn't think you could do it before, and after what happened with the boar I'm almost certain of it. You shouldn't think of that as a bad thing. Few people could do what I do and still sleep at night. Even those few that can rarely last long. Some wake up screaming in the night, haunted in their dreams by the men that they've killed. Those that can handle it are either evil, vile men who should not be allowed to walk the earth, or they find some way to live with what they do, like I have.
"Even though I only take contracts to kill men who deserve their deaths, I still find it hard to do sometimes. Killing someone like that trog from last night is easy. That one had more blood on his hands than I do, and he deserved his death a thousand times over. Some, however, were not as bad as he was. I've seen decent men do horrible things, and perhaps they deserved their deaths, but there are times I wonder if I would have done differently in their place. I don't always have an answer."
>
"How do you do it?"
"I know that all of the people I kill have done something that deserves the death that's coming to them. I know that if I don't kill them, someone else is going to, and I at least will try to finish it quickly and painlessly. Even the trog was killed painlessly. Not all assassins are like that. There are some that enjoy killing. They want those they kill to suffer as much as possible before they die. Sick bastards like them give a bad name to the entire profession."
"If you don't think I'll become an assassin, why did you agree to take me with you?"
"I watched you for a minute when you came into the bar last night. It was clear to me you didn't have a clue what you were really doing. You were the only person in that bar that wasn't carrying a weapon. Even the bartender knew enough to be armed. He had a short sword hidden underneath the bar. If I had left you there the guards would have thrown you in the prison and you never would have seen the sunlight again.
“Even if they hadn't, someone like you wouldn't have lasted a day in a port city, any port city, and Port Dayton is one of the worst. You would either have found yourself in prison or dead within the first week or two. You had given me an excuse to pick a fight with that trog, who I was going to kill anyway, so I figured you earned a trip to a different city; maybe even a little training to help you take care of yourself once you're on your own again. At least somewhere else the guards wouldn't have been looking for you, and you might have found some way to get by."
"You still haven't really answered my question." Something had been bothering Drom since they had changed direction and headed west. That feeling only grew when Garan had first agreed to teach Drom to become an assassin. Garan had acted as if he had already made the decision to take him with them before they had talked about anything. He had planned on leaving Drom at Lando, or so he had said, but Garan and Raine already seemed to have made plans to head west instead, with Drom in tow.
"You were going to be our decoy," Raine said from her place by the fire, turning over her thick slab of sizzling pork. "The mage who controls Port Dayton also controls Lando and all the land between. There are dozens of small towns along the way, where people would remember someone as noticeable as you passing through. I've told you once before, Garan and I can walk without leaving a trace behind. You, on the other hand, leave a trail a blind child could follow. The guards in Lando would have seen you passing through the gates, and turned you right over to the men from Dayton.
“Had you managed to avoid the guards hunting you and made it into the city it might have taken them a week to find you, which would have been even better for the two of us. You wouldn't have known to hide yourself, or how to do so if you had. By the time they found you we would have been long gone, assuming they believed enough of your story to even bother looking for us at all.
“Garan took a liking to you, and decided to let you join us if you wanted. Honestly I think you're a pretty good kid too, though I don't know if I would have taken you along had it been my decision. That's pretty much everything. Now if you don't mind, please stop grumbling about it. I would like to eat my meal in peace."
Garan laughed. "I told you she can be irritable when she's hungry," he joked. Raine's ears folded back along her head but otherwise she ignored the comment. "I'm sure she'll feel better after a good meal. You're right, you're not the right type of person to become an assassin. Still, you can be useful while we travel. On the way I'll teach you the basics of combat and those skills you'll need to survive in the cities. You can find yourself a decent enough job once we get there, maybe as a bookkeeper or, if you learn to be good enough with a blade, a guard for some minor merchant. We'll talk more about it in the morning. Until then, try to get some sleep."
Drom was not at all inclined to disagree. He was exhausted, and not just from the travel. Everything that he had just been told was swimming through his mind.
I was nothing more than a decoy to these two.
Everything he had been told before that moment had been a lie, he realized. He had killed that animal, slit its throat, and it was all for nothing. He could still smell the blood on his hands.
No, that's not true, he told himself.
Perhaps they had planned on using him as a decoy, but they had changed those plans. The blood he smelled was not on his hands, not any longer. It was coming from the boar's carcass, and while its death may have been regrettable it did serve a purpose. It was being used to feed those that traveled with him. And although he was not likely to become an assassin, he would at least gain training that would help him in the future.
Drom watched as Garan cut off strips of meat from the boar, slowly feeding Trick one small strip at a time. The dragonling took each piece into its claws, daintily pulling the meat apart with its bird-like beak before swallowing it, little by little.
Drom turned away from the sight. After everything that he had been through, in only that one day, he strangely no longer felt horrified while watching the small creature eat, but was still somewhat disturbed by it. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. Though it didn't come easily to him, after a time he succeeded.
Chapter Four
Drom woke, sweating profusely. Horrible nightmares had plagued him as he rested, dreams of death and blood, only half remembered in the light of the morning sun. He sat up and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Looking around him he saw that the fire had been smothered sometime recently, small wisps of smoke still curled up from underneath the dirt that now covered it. His companions were no where in sight.
They're gone!
Realizing he now found himself alone, in a place he knew nothing about, he jumped to his feet and looked around. The carcass of the boar was gone as well, he saw. He couldn't find their packs either. It seemed they had left him behind, though his pack and what little he carried was still where he had left them when he fell asleep. He heard a sound, like a small chirp, from somewhere in the tree above him, and looked up into the branches, searching.
After perhaps a minute or two he heard the sound again, and finally pinpointed the source.
There!
Nestled in a nook formed between two of the uppermost branches, Trick slept in a curled ball, oblivious to Drom watching him from below.
Surely Garan wouldn't have left without his small friend. They must still be around somewhere.
Now certain that Garan and Raine hadn't left him behind, he was able to relax a little. He heard a low growl from his stomach, protested his fasting from the night before. Thankfully this was something that the campsite Garan had chosen could cure him off. There was more than enough to eat in the trees right above his head.
He pulled an orange off of one of the tree directly above him, easily within arms reach. He peeled the thick skin off the fruit, shoving two wedges into his mouth in his first bite. The juices from the ripe fruit dribbled down his chin, but he didn't care. Not bothering to wipe it off he finished the orange, barely taking the time to chew. He was already greedily devouring his third fruit before two newcomers stepped into the camp.
Drom looked up, barely recognizing Raine. Gone was the black uniform the feral woman had been wearing. Now she wore a long tunic of a dark green color that hung down almost to her knees, held up at the waist by a thin, black leather belt. She no longer wore trousers at all. The thick black boots she wore, however, came so high up her legs that only her kneecaps were left exposed.
She had also spread something into her fur, changing its color as well. Now every part of her exposed fur shone jet black, reflecting blue hues where it caught the sun, like the wings of a raven. Were it not for the ornate sword she still wore at her hip, Drom might not have known for sure that it was really her at all.
Not that it's likely that there would be another feral woman anywhere nearby, he thought.
The man with her was about the same height as Garan, and also had the assassin’s dark, deeply tanned skin, but the similarities between Garan and this man ended there.
This man had short, reddish hair, with a thick mustache and goatee of the same color. He wore a dark green tunic with well worn, dark brown leather trousers, and black deerskin boots. His eyes and face pinched up in a strange parody of a grin, and his ruddy, heavily blushed cheeks gave his thin face the look of a man who enjoyed too much drink.
"If you're finished with your breakfast you should fill your pack with as much fruit as you can carry," the newcomer announced, the thick accent in his high voice making it difficult for Drom to understand. "There will be more places like this one along the way, but there could be three or four days of travel between them. It's always a good idea to gather supplies where you can find them. Places like this are open for anyone who knows them, so you never know if someone else might pick it clean before you get there."
Drom looked questioningly at Raine. "What, don't you recognize me?" the stranger asked cheerily. Now the voice that came out of his mouth was clearly that of Garan. "You know me as Garan, the assassin. However, I wouldn't be a very affective assassin if I looked the same everywhere I went. It wouldn't take people long at all to know me, and I would be enjoying the hospitality of a prison cell within a month.
“From now on, or at least until I tell you otherwise, you should call me Malik. I'm a merchant with a slightly disreputable reputation. I trade in spices, though those who really know me, that is those who have seen me in this guise and know the man I now appear to be, are likely to know that my real trade is in jewels and other valuables that are generally not obtained by legitimate means.
"Raine here will be going by the name Tara," he continued, while Drom stared at him blankly. "You will be posing as our guard. Merchants rarely travel without some sort of an escort, even those that operate outside of the law. You can keep your name if you want. No one knows you yet, so you don't really need to hide it. I'll leave that up to you. You will need this though, at least until we get to the next city and you can get one of your own." He tossed Drom his sheathed sword, still attached to his sword belt. "You won't look like much of a guard if you're walking around unarmed."