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Heckno12
His companions thought it was so exciting, but Ferrel personally hated this part. The waiting could take hours, it could rain while they were freezing their asses of in bushes next to the road. Sometimes the tip was fake, and they returned to the shack emptyhanded, hungry, cold and pissed off. Ferrel hoped that this would not be one of those days, because the road from Akarath to Ruvale has been empty so far. At least it wasn’t raining.
There was some movement on the other side of the road and a head popped out of a bush. “Where are they?” the man yelled in Ferrel’s direction.
Ferrel just rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to bang his head against the nearest tree. “Get back inside you faggot!” These new people were as dumb as they come, but this prize was too big for Ferrel to take on with his usual crew. The mark would have armed guards as he was told, probably two or three armored knights.
Finally, the sound of hooves started to echo from behind a road turn and the first horses appeared. Two, three, Ferrel counted. Five, six, seven. “Fuck!” he growled. So much for three knights. Five heavily armed men, the mark and one cargo horse. There wasn’t time to call of the plan and those dumbfucks wouldn’t listen to him anyway, blinded by the prospect of the gold. Hell, in their minds, they’ve probably spent half of it already.
The rope went up right before the first two knights arrived on the spot, just as they planned. But then again, he entrusted this part of the plan to his regular crew, Marve and Isri. Two men and two horses went down in one pile of entangled bodies and armor. The target – youngest son of some baron from east flew over the head of his horse as that came to a sudden halt, cargo horse stopping next to it.
Arrows started flying from both sides of the road, hitting the remaining three knights. The first two managed to climb back on their feet and a quick brawl ensued as several bandits jumped out of the bushes on the roadside and attacked them. The fight was short but bloody, Ferrel waiting until the last possible moment to join in, putting his short sword into back of the last knight standing. As he expected, nearly half of the new recruits was bleeding into the dirt, either dead or wounded.
The man that shouted at him from the bush earlier was trying to hold a long cut on his leg together and stopping the stream of blood from it. “We did it, eh?” he grinned. Ferrel nodded and smiled, bending over to him, extending one hand to help him up. The moment man grabbed it, Ferrel’s left hand darted forward, slitting man’s throat in one clean cut.
“Finish the wounded,” he ordered to Marve, who quickly ended the lives of two other men on the ground. Only three recruits remained now, stunned by the quick turn of the events. Isri moved behind them, quiet and elegant as always, thin dagger in each hand as she waited for the order to get rid of them.
One of the men stepped forward. “Ey man, we had a deal!”
Ferrel shook his head and Isri leaped forward, the tip of her blade coming out of the front of man’s throat. He gargled blood for a moment before his body joined the rest of the corpses on the ground. Other man turned to flee, stopped by a dagger that somehow moved from Marve’s hand into man’s back. The last recruit frowned, tightly gripping his bow handle, his other hand ready to reach for an arrow, even though he had no chance of even drawing the bow. Ferrel watched him with a smirk. “I think I like you.”
Isri grinned and stepped towards the archer. He tried to lift the bow, but she laid one of her hands on it, gently pushing it down. Her other hand grabbed man’s hair, pulling his face closer to hers and sticking a tongue into his mouth. “Welcome,” she smiled, licked her lips and danced off down the road.
Ferrel and Mavri shared amused looks. “Get back to the fucking job,” Ferrel laughed and patted the archer on a shoulder.
Mavri caught the cargo horse and started searching through the satchels on its back. A few satchels of coins were quickly moved into his backpack before he finally pulled out a leather document case. “I think this is it!” He peeked inside.
“As if you could read, you dipshit.” Ferrel took the documents and went through them. He didn’t really understand why they were so important, but someone was willing to pay money for them and that was good enough for him. “All right, we got it. Grab anything useful and let’s move before someone shows up.”
“Is this useful?” Isri returned, dragging a man by a collar of his expensive shirt.
It was the noble boy, son of someone, who seemed to have survived the fight without any injuries, side from a big bruise on his forehead. Ferrel shook his head. “Sadly, no. The buyer clearly said no survivors.”
The boy’s eyes widened as he finally realized what was happening. “No! Wait! My father will pay for me whatever you say!”
Ferrel shrugged. “Sorry kid. Hey, new guy! Put an arrow into him and let’s go.” He scratched his head. “Actually, wait a second,” he added quickly. The boy sighed in relief. “I really like your coat.”
“It’s yours!” He took it of fast, handing it over to the bandit. “Whatever you want, you can have a hundred more like it!”
“Thank you, it would be shame to get blood on it. Now you can shoot him.”
“WAIT! THE KING WILL GO AFTER YOU IF…” words were cut off by an arrow that pierced boy’s chest, directly where the heart was.
A laugher escaped Ferrel’s lips. The king. “Fuck the king. He can come and blow my dick if he wants me so much.”
The shoes were polished so well be could almost see his reflection in them. Janril admired them for a second before moving to the last item on the list - his sword. A quick look around confirmed that the barracks were empty, his colleagues probably out drinking or playing cards. Janril shook his head with a disgusted look at the empty beds, for sure not made up properly. The regulations clearly stated that the sheets should be folded in half, placed in the middle right under the pillow, exactly as Janril’s were.
He sighed. The other men didn't take their duties in service to the king seriously enough. But back to the sword. After checking he was alone again, he suddenly drew the it, jumping up to his feet, trying to copy the stance he had seen swordsmen use at the latest tournament. “Sir Allaway, I challenge you to a duel!” he yelled at the empty beds. “The winner shall earn undying fame, the loser will perish. Let the best man win!” Janril swung a sword, imagining how he would fight the famous knight. He attacked, lounging forward and hitting a bed frame with his knee. A few curses escaped his lips, but he kept the fantasy going, stumbling back and making a few feeble defensive movements, imagining deflecting powerful strokes from his opponent. He suddenly ducked and jumped back up, hitting the enemy with the hilt and finishing him off with a fast and deadly direct strike right under the helmet.
The crowd roared as Fenros went to the ground, blood running through gaps in his armour. Janril turned to see the king, looking pleased and impressed. King nodded and Janril knelt in front of him. A sword softly touched his shoulders. “Arise, sir Janril!” the king exclaimed and the crowds cheered again. Princess Eleanor was coming, beautiful as always. “My champion,” she leaned towards him, “I have a special gift for the tournament winner,” she whispered right into his ear.
A burst of laughter interrupted the fantasy at the best part and Janril opened his eyes to see two other men watching him, grinning. “Ermmm… I was just about to polish my sword,” he mumbled.
That only caused another laugh. “Sure, sure, go ahead and polish all you want, just don't make us watch it.” One of the men jumped right into bed, not even taking of his shoes. “If you went with us, you wouldn't have to polish your sword yourself. Nancy at the Yeruvian rose can do things with your sword you wouldn’t believe it.” He yawned and closed his eyes.
The other man came closer to Janril and spoke quietly. “Look, kid, I know you are new here and want to make a good impression, but you should get some rest. The king is returning to the capital tomorrow and the city guards have been tasked to keep order in the streets. That's where you can prove yourself, not by folded sheets and polished boots. So go to bed now.”
Janril stood at attention. “Yes, sergeant! I will do my best to serve the king!”
The older man just shook his head, mumbled something about kids being unbearable these days and headed into his bed. It took Janril a while to fall asleep, thinking about all the kinds of reward the princess would give him in her own chambers.
The next day city guard was at full strength, placed along the kings route through the city, trying to keep the crowds at bay. Janril was stationed at a smaller square along with the sergeant that talked to him previous day. He felt like living a dream - wearing a beautiful uniform, carrying a sword and most importantly, protecting the king himself! He could hear the crowd cheering down the road as the convoy was getting closer to the square.
Janril could barely hold his excitement. What if the princess notices him? The noises got louder and sergeant frowned, listening carefully. “Something is wrong,” he said at the same time as a galloping horse, carrying a beautifully dressed woman and a knight ran through their section of the route. “Come on!” the sergeant yelled and sprinted towards the source of the noise. Janril’s excitement was dulled by confusion, but he followed the older man.
They ran a few hundred yards until the couldn't continue anymore - a huge crowd was blocking the path. “The king is dead!” someone yelled. “No it was the prince who died!” other voice responded angrily. “Shut up, you haven't seen anything!” Janril couldn't tell if it was the first man again or someone else, they were all hidden in the crowd. “The armies are marching onto us!”
Three other city guards have joined them, all looking as confused as Janril was feeling. “Everyone calm down,” the sergeant spoke calmly. “Please return to your homes, the show is over.”
“What do you know?” “You all serve the blood king!” “They took my SON!”
Janril was terrified, but he couldn't just stand by when they insulted the king. He stepped forward. “Who said that? You are under arrest!”
“Fuck you!” “Go back to kissing the tyrant’s ass!” “Fuck the king!”
Anger took control of him. How dare they say such things? He drew the sword. “I command you to stand down.”
The sergeant jumped to him, trying to pull him back. “Are you insane? Put that sword away or you are gonna get us all killed!”
That sentence caused Janril to snap out of his state of righteous fury. He looked back at the other men. Five guards with swords, two of them also had worn shields. Against a huge angry mob. They exchanged clueless looks, waiting for someone to decide what to do. The crowd solved the problem for them. A stone hit one of the guards right into face, who fell to the ground, covered in blood. The sergeant jumped to him, trying to help him up, but the man was unconscious. “Help me with him!” he yelled at Janril who was standing by with his mouth wide open, unable to move. The other two guards quickly raised their shields over their fallen friend, protecting him from more rock that came from the crowd. “Don't just stand there boy, MOVE!”
And Janril did move, although not in a way the sergeant expected. The sword clanged loudly when it hit the ground, the boy who held it already on the run through a side alley. “Get him!” someone yelled which made him increase the speed. He could have gotten away had he not made a mistake of looking back. While checking on how far the pursuers are he tripped over an abandoned cart and came tumbling down onto the dirty ground.
He stared in horror on the men that ran after him, carrying sticks and stones, fury and hatred clearly visible in their eyes. Sudden warm wet feeling spread from his crotch as he squealed, trying to get back up to his feet. He moved into a smaller alley behind some inn, startling the horses stabled there. His eyes desperately searched for a place to hide, finding only a huge pile of horse manure. The shouts were getting closer, so he jumped in, burying himself deep into it. The men following him moved past and continued through the alley.
Janril’s heart was pounding heavily accompanied by the sound of soft sobbing. The fact that he had just ran away and failed his duty didn't really concern him. But this was real fight? Being scared and running away for his life, hiding in a pile of shit? There was nothing noble, nothing heroic here, it was not at all as he had imagined it. And the king? Part of the crowd seemed to believe he was dead. And even if he weren't, what could one young boy really do to protect him? “Fuck the king,” Janril mumbled and started to unbutton his uniform.
They wouldn't even let her bury her father. Karina furiously kicked a stray cat, lounging towards its prey. It was a rat, dead for at least a few days, judging by the smell coming from its opened stomach. The girl swallowed a desperate scream, it wouldn't do her any good other than alarming the city guards who would beat her up and kicked her out of the city. Her stomach grumbled and she looked down at the carcass again before turning away. She wasn't that hungry. Yet.
How much can your life change in just a few days, she thought as she wandered the streets aimlessly, hoping some miracle would happen and she would wake up from this horrible nightmare. Just three days ago she was sitting at that bench, holding hands with Olaf and exchanging stealthy kisses when they thought no one was watching. And now?
She was all alone and scared, the paper that had been nailed to the bakery door crumbled in her hand. The men at the smithy gave her side glances, whispering amongst themselves until she walked closer to them. When she asked to speak to Olaf, they looked at each other, frowning. “He's not here,” one growled. “You should leave.”
Karina was confused, she could clearly see his silhouette through the window, but when she took a step forward to explain it, the man yelled at her. “I said get lost! We don't want anything to do with you,” he added loud enough so everyone on the street could hear him.
Trying to hold back the tears, she sat on a bench on the other side of the street, determined to wait for her boyfriend. Maybe he was just too busy and didn't want any disturbance. His apprenticeship was nearly over and his master was now deciding whether to offer him a proper job or not. Yes that must have been it, he was just too nervous right now.
She waited for hours, trying to hold back the tears. The sun was nearly setting and all the other men had already left the smithy, before he finally showed up. She walked towards him, looking forward to be held in his arms, but he took a step back the moment she moved closer, his eyes ice cold. Never in her life had she felt more lost and alone. Even him. She knew what he was going to say, but it still hurt beyond imagination to hear those words from him.
“We can't see each other anymore. You have to stay away from me.” He just turned around and left her there, standing alone in the middle of the street. She could not hold the tears back anymore, whole streams were running down her cheeks, while people walked around her, careful to not even look her way.
Karina was confused, she could clearly see his silhouette through the window, but when she took a step forward to explain it, the man yelled at her. “I said get lost! We don't want anything to do with you,” he added loud enough so everyone on the street could hear him.
Trying to hold back the tears, she sat on a bench on the other side of the street, determined to wait for her boyfriend. Maybe he was just too busy and didn't want any disturbance. His apprenticeship was nearly over and his master was now deciding whether to offer him a proper job or not. Yes that must have been it, he was just too nervous right now.
She waited for hours, trying to hold back the tears. The sun was nearly setting and all the other men had already left the smithy, before he finally showed up. She walked towards him, looking forward to be held in his arms, but he took a step back the moment she moved closer, his eyes ice cold. Never in her life had she felt more lost and alone. Even him. She knew what he was going to say, but it still hurt beyond imagination to hear those words from him.
“We can't see each other anymore. You have to stay away from me.” He just turned around and left her there, standing alone in the middle of the street. She could not hold the tears back anymore, whole streams were running down her cheeks, while people walked around her, careful to not even look her way.
The memory came uninvited and didn't want to leave her. She decided to go back to the Mounted mufloon inn, perhaps Raken will be in a better mood this time and at least gives her some leftovers from the kitchen or lets her sleep in the stables.
It was early morning, the sun had barely risen over the horizon, but Karina had already been up for a few hours. It was the tough life of the bakers, in order to have fresh pastry for sale in the morning, he and her father had to get up long before sunrise each day. Today it was just her, preparing the dough, heating the oven, her slim fingers carefully twisting and weaving until the buns and pretzels were in the right shape. She knew her father went to the tavern last night and most likely returned very late, so she let him sleep in. When the first batch was ready, she pulled it out of the oven, enjoying the beautiful smell of fresh-baked pastry. She took a few pieces and a mug of water and knocked on father's door. As there was no response, she quietly opened it.
A small frown appeared on her face - the bed was intact as she had made it previous morning, meaning her father didn't get home at all. Perhaps he and his friends played cards a bit too long and decided to sleep at the inn? Or he had one too many ales and is now sleeping it off somewhere next to the street on the route home? She sighed and decided to go look for him. Fresh pastries would be late today.
She headed to the Mounted mufloon, asking some people along the way, but no one seemed to have seen her father. The young girl, who was cleaning the floor let her inside the tavern, giving her strange looks, as she went to get Raken.
Karina smiled at the man and went to hug him, confused when he grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “What are you doing here child?” He wasn't looking at her, but at the front door to the inn, which were still open. He maneuvered Karina into a corner, so they wouldn't be visible from the street. “Your father isn't here, I thought they would let you know,” he hesitated, looking somewhat guilty. “They took him last night. The inquisition.” He was now just whispering. “Arrested for treason, that's what I've heard.” he stepped away from her, his voice now louder. “You can't be here. I don't want any problems and I certainly don't want any traitors parading about in my inn.”
Karina stared him, unable to speak. “You knew my father since you were children. You must know…”
“I don't know anything!” he shouted. “And I don't want any problems. Leave!”
She was stunned as he pushed her out of the building, took a quick frightened look on the street, and slammed the door behind her. Even though the street was busy, people moved around her as if she were contagious.
A small frown appeared on her face - the bed was intact as she had made it previous morning, meaning her father didn't get home at all. Perhaps he and his friends played cards a bit too long and decided to sleep at the inn? Or he had one too many ales and is now sleeping it off somewhere next to the street on the route home? She sighed and decided to go look for him. Fresh pastries would be late today.
She headed to the Mounted mufloon, asking some people along the way, but no one seemed to have seen her father. The young girl, who was cleaning the floor let her inside the tavern, giving her strange looks, as she went to get Raken.
Karina smiled at the man and went to hug him, confused when he grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “What are you doing here child?” He wasn't looking at her, but at the front door to the inn, which were still open. He maneuvered Karina into a corner, so they wouldn't be visible from the street. “Your father isn't here, I thought they would let you know,” he hesitated, looking somewhat guilty. “They took him last night. The inquisition.” He was now just whispering. “Arrested for treason, that's what I've heard.” he stepped away from her, his voice now louder. “You can't be here. I don't want any problems and I certainly don't want any traitors parading about in my inn.”
Karina stared him, unable to speak. “You knew my father since you were children. You must know…”
“I don't know anything!” he shouted. “And I don't want any problems. Leave!”
She was stunned as he pushed her out of the building, took a quick frightened look on the street, and slammed the door behind her. Even though the street was busy, people moved around her as if she were contagious.
She took a longer route through the city outskirts so she wouldn't have to walk close to the House of Questions. Most people avoided the inquisition headquarters, but on that day she headed straight there, determined to find her father, to convince them that it was just a horrible misunderstanding. Her visit was short. When she said her name, the clerk at the desk searched through a pile of papers and then dryly announced her that her father had been found guilty of treason and the sentence had already been carried out. This body was to be burned and ashes scattered into the river. All of his properties are forfeited in favor of the crown. She was staggered, barely managing to stutter a few words before a guard kicked her out into the street.
She went home, the thought that she still had unbaked buns prepared for the oven now felt absurd. There was a new big lock on the door of the house she grew up in and an eviction notice nailed to the wood. Karina wasn't a great reader, it took her a while to go through it, even though she already knew what it said.
In just a few hours her world turned upside down. Yesterday she and her father owned a bakery, not exactly rich, but enough to make a decent living, befriended and respected by the neighborhood. Now she had a few copper coins in one of her pockets, not even enough to buy a proper meal. The only clothes she had was the dress she was wearing. Everyone avoided her as if she were a leper. Oh yes, and also her father is dead, executed for somehow committing treason against this monster of a king that ruled over Tricaelia.
She had no tears left, used them all to cry herself to sleep last night, shivering from cold and fear in some half-demolished hut at the outskirts. It was lunch time and Mounted mufloon was full of people, enjoying Raken’s delicious stew. She stayed away, watching from a side street, not wanting to go through the pain of being kicked out by a close friend again. One of the customers stumbled out to piss in the back alley. When he was done, he turned to her with a greedy look, gesturing her to come closer. Having a pretty good idea of what such man would want from her, she didn't move. At least until he reached into his pocket and showed her a few golden coins. Her brain immediately came up with an image of a hot meal and a bed and it was almost impossible to resist.
Cold, pain and the smell of sweat and ale, that was what Karina remembered from her ‘first time’, a moment she dreamt of sharing with Olaf at this year's harvest festival, when her father would finally let her spend the night away from home. She was, after all, only fourteen. She bit her lip to stay quiet when he turned her to face the wall, his drooling mouth kissing her shoulder, dirty fingers lifting her skirt, roughly forcing themselves between her legs. As the man was groaning and moaning behind her, there was only one thought in her head. ‘FUCK THE KING!’
