Night Blades and Morning Blood

Chapter 11

Barrett was in shock.
“You want me to kill your son?” It was the assassin who couldn’t find the words now. “Your first-born son? Your heir?”
“I know what I ask is unforgivable but if he is allowed to return it will mean my death and who knows what else. Already his band of savages’ rape and burn all I cannot protect.”
“You misunderstand my lord. Your son may be worthy of a blade but I cannot give it to him. It is forbidden. We cannot kill men, only inhumans, monsters, beasts and the like can taste our steal.” Barrett said quoting straight from the book of life.
“I had heard as much.” Lord Higar retorted. “But the man who came to this very room said things in your world were changing; your book was changing.” He could not know about the book surely?
“You have been misinformed, my lord. I took an oath.”
“That cannot be!” The old man slapped his hand on the desk and the candles wobbled feebly.
“Be still my lord, I may not kill you but if I choose you will never walk again.” He bluffed, re-positioning the knife a little lower into the top of his spine.
The pair were silent as Higar attempted to catch his breath.
“I am sorry, assassin, but I am desperate.” The Lord pleaded, his desperation plain. Barrett mused and sucked his teeth.
“Very well, my lord, I cannot kill your son, Sir Leegar, but I swear he will never lift a sword against you. I am sorry you were given false promises but this is all I can offer. Will that satisfy your need for vengeance?”
“Very well.” The old man said through gritted teeth. “When I find him in the days to come, after you have done your part, one of his brothers will do your dirty work for you.”
The insult made Barrett's temper bubble but he held his tongue.
“I accept your contract lord Higar, such as it is. Where will I find your son? This leader of bandits?”
“My scouts report that he has taken a tavern on the road west and is attacking passing riders.”
“So be it. By morning it shall be done. And the payment?”
“The payment… is all I have left.” He raised a shaking, bony hand and pointed. The gold and black armor, its ornate swirling patterns glinting in the candle light.
“Cavalry armor.” Lord Higar explained. “Light and flexible, over two-hundred separate pieces all forged by the greatest smith in Iron Mill over a century ago. The helmet alone should cover the debt.
Goods were not the preferred method of payment but the lord was correct, it should more than cover the price. Perhaps it would be ransomed back to complete the set when times were better or would set a pretty price in a market somewhere.
“Very well. By the morning, it shall be done. I have business further west but I shall return to collect the fee.”
“Thank you, assassin and good luck.” There was no reply. “Assassin?” lord Higar turned but was once again alone in his study.

Barrett left quickly, slipping past four grumpy looking gaurds and silently exiting through the rear sortie that butted close to the cliff face. The wind continued to slice at him as he left the shelter of the castle and leapt quickly over the short wooden palisade where it met the cliff.
His horse was as he left it, tethered to the tree huffing in annoyance at his return. An apple and an apology later, stead and rider were back on the road, saddle bags jingling. Heading for what, Barrett could not be sure.
A thick cloud rode the slow, cold breeze from the south and promised heavy snow in the night, but Barrett some had time. The added problem of promised flurry forced Barrett to think hard as the horse trotted merrily along the slushy path. What would he be facing at the inn? Bandits were usually no more than poor kids fed up of starving and angry at the world as a result. But these could be different. Had they all departed, armed and trained from lord Higar’s host? He should have asked. And with a sanctified knight at their helm too? Barrett would have to fight hard, fight fast and most of all fight smart. Or should he just try talking to them? Maybe he could convince Sir Leegar of the error in his ways. The assassin chuckled to himself at the thought, he knew Leegar’s type; entitled, spoiled and deaf to anything but their own wishes. And after all there was no fun in that.
It had been early afternoon when he’d left the confines of the castle and as the sun began its decent in earnest his mount carried him within sight of a tavern in the distance, his goal.
The clouds now blocked the winter’s sun, removing the shimmer on the snow and re-casting it to the color of faded silk. The wind had also increased its pace but was had its teeth pulled as he led his horse into the pine forest on the south side of the road. He traveled deep into the trees until he reached a small pool of water covered in a thin, almost invisible sheet of ice. Relived of its burdens, the horse tentatively broke the surface and began to drink. The animal should be safe and hidden here.
The assassin strapped on his vambraces, slotted his daggers back in place below his back and sheathed his sword between his shoulders before hobbling the horse and tethering him to a sturdy evergreen.
Barrett trudged through the snow, his hood up, keeping the lane just in sight to the north. When he could just see the dimly glowing windows of the tavern in the failing sun he walked away from it, into a small, undisturbed glade and began his preparations.
Frequently glancing in the direction of his quarry, he withdrew his sword and took it swiftly to the smaller trees in the surrounding area. As darkness began to consume him, he piled the mass of fresh timber into a pyre as tall as himself spiced with a collection of twigs and dry tinder. He wiped his brow, replaced his hood around his head and marched back towards his horse.
At the water’s edge the horse was nowhere to be seen. But the beast had not gone far and in a brief shaft of moonlight the hoof prints were not hard to follow. The chestnut steed had found a small patch of grass and was just stripping the few light green shoots when its master drew it back towards the frozen expanse of liquid.
Deciding caution was best he bribed the horse with a carrot before tying him with a long rope to a fallen elm and enjoying a crisp apple for himself.
The time for action was upon him. Barrett paused only briefly to concentrate, run over his plan again and focus on his goal. A deep breathe steadied him and stymied the shake beginning in his fingers.
He walked back through the trees towards his pyre. A look up out of the clearing showed clouds rolling in afresh across the sky, thick and white. Moonlight would be out of the question. Good.
He lent against a tree and watched for signs of life in the far-off Inn. Aside from the steady stream of thick smoke that drives lazily into the night air, all was still. As he watched, a lone crystal flake floated down and Barrett felt its cool kiss on his exposed hand. It had to be now.
He crouched low and struck up his tinder. The fire quickly spread through the kindling but was reluctant to catch on the fresh wood of the pyre. It took careful coaxing but as the snow began to drift carelessly down, the saplings smoked and an orange glow began to spread. Barrett withdrew to the shadows and waited.
He did not have to wait long before the first lumbering beast trampled through, crunching snow and scattered twigs.
“See!” The pop bellied goliath bellowed as he entered the fires light. “There’s no-one here! Just like I said!” he belched loudly and took a swig from the flask in his hand.
“That is because, you, drunken oaf, have the grace of a dying ox.” A slimmer man replied, edging round the opposite side of the fire. “Whoever started this fire must be around here somewhere. Look over there.” He gestured towards Barrett.
“Yoo-hoo!” the brute shouted waving a cleaver in his flaskless hand. “I’m telling you, Dreever, there’s nobody here, can we just go back to the warm now? We could just…”
Barrett cut him off, sprinting out from behind his tree and planting his fist in the giant’s temple. Like a falling sack of coal, the giant thudded into the snow, both cleaver and flask falling from his hands.
“Borus?” Dreever whispered from his side of the fire. “Borus, what’s happened?” He kept his guard high and shuffled around the fire to see the devastation. “I know you’re out there! Show yourself coward!” He shouted, seeing his concussed partner face down in the snow.
Barrett sprinted from the darkness once again and swept his enemies legs away with one of his own. Dreever’s sword span from his hand and landed point down into the frozen earth. Then Barrett was on him. He drove his snow caked boot into the back of his neck and twisted his arm towards the sky. The thin man squirmed like a pinned weasel but a firmer grip and a tighter twist made him freeze and call for mercy. Barrett began his persuasion.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Panicked the hostage.
“Who I am is not important but I have questions for you, Dreever was it?”
“What sort of quest…” Barrett gave another twist and Dreever squealed. “Yes, yes anything!”
“Good. Now tell me, is Sir Leegar in that tavern?” Barrett began.
“Yes, yes, he is, please don’t kill me.” Barrett smiled to himself. What a pathetic excuse for a man. Did he have no pride?
“Sir Leegar, son of lord Higar?”
“Yeah that’s what he says. Walks around giving orders like he’s emperor of the world.” Barrett increased the pressure on his foot.
“Excellent, now scream for me!” Barrett commanded through gritted teeth.
“Wha…AHHHHHHHH!” Dreaver screamed loud into the night as Barrett bent his wrist unnaturally. It Gave a crunch and the hostage screamed louder and shriller. Satisfied, he drove his knee hard down into the back of Dreever’s head, burying his face into the frozen earth. Silence was restored.
He quickly dragged the unconscious Dreever and snoring Borus into the woods and threw their weapons onto the fire. Their friends would soon follow.
Positioned behind a large tree stump Barrett pulled his hood up again as a fresh gust of freezing wind whipped through the clearing fanning the fire and inducing a large gulp of white smoke. Far sooner than Barrett expected he heard a cough in the distance and then another much closer.
Another pair emerged into the fire lit clearing. Again, they separated and began to edge slowly around the pyre. The first walked straight at him, passing so close that Barrett could smell his unwashed stench, but he did not see the dark clad assassin in the shadow.
He stepped further into the darkness, a pitch fork held ahead of him. Barrett stood and moved quietly behind him. He leapt like a silent predator onto the reaver’s back and locked his arms around the man’s throat, his forearm pressed hard against his targets wind pipe. Dropping the pitchfork, both men fell forward and snow covered Barrett's face. Nails scratched his arms furiously but the silence was undisturbed. As suddenly as the attack began the choking man lay still and limp.
Barrett took up the pitch fork and scurried, light-footed through the darkness to a wide tree. The smelly man’s partner strode confidently around the fire tapping his hand with a short, thick club. The fresh target walked in front of him, perfectly positioned. Jumping from the darkness once again he wrapped the forks handle hard across the small of the man’s back. He screamed and dropped to his knees. By the time the scream had faded the steel was at the downed man’s throat.
“How many men are in that tavern?” Barrett questioned quickly. The bandit only stuttered in reply. “Answer, scum, or die.”
“Fifteen.” Winced the downed man pressing the back of his hand into his kidneys.
More information gathered, Barrett spun the wood and snapped it across his opponent’s temple.
Three times more the pairs advanced into the fire light and each time Barrett dispatched first one then the other without mercy until ten men lay concussed in the snow. Then the punching bags stopped.
He spent minutes waiting in the darkness, bathing his hot knuckles in the snow. He stretched his cramping thighs but still no-one came to fight him. Barrett sighed. Resolved that this tactic was thoroughly worn out, he snapped the head off a stolen spear and began to stride towards the inn.
At the edge of the woods a snap of moonlight revealed a guard on the porch dressed in mismatched armor, a sword on his hip. He stood solemn and unmoving, staring out towards the fire.
“My quarrel is only with sir Leegar, friend.” Barrett called from his hiding place. “Send him to me and no more of your brothers shall be taste my blade.”
“And who are you,” The guard bellowed back. “to demand such a challenge to a knight?”
He took long steps into the road. He was at least a foot taller than Barrett and walked like he was made of solid muscle.
“Mercenary?” He said with a step. “Cutthroat?” With another. “Coward?” With a third, the mockery rife in his tone. “Sir Leegar hears your challenge and by his honor must attend, but first we shall fight and I shall mount your head on a pike.”
“Very well.” Barrett muttered to himself, dismayed.
He stepped from behind the tree and shrugged his cloak to the ground. As he stepped into the wide road, the frozen wind licked at his hot skin.
“A stick?” Another burst of moonlight. “Draw your sword coward and let us fight to the death like men.”
As Barrett strode proud to meet him, the size of the man became more impressive. He was the tallest man Barrett had ever seen, his unarmored chest thick with black hair. The assassin said nothing.
“Very well, a stick it is.”
The giant screamed as he ran at Barrett, his sword held high, the snow providing little cushion from his pounding feet.
The assassin side stepped as the colossal great sword slammed into the frozen dirt and wrapped its wielder fiercely across the hands. For a second the blade seemed stuck but Barrett was close enough to receive a hammering back hand across his cheek. He rolled away from the blow and tumbled to regain his footing.
A ducked slash and another chop resulted in another knuckle wrap but this time he kept out of reach and as the giant fist swung through the night air. The giant over balanced and Barrett slammed the broken shaft up under his jaw.
The clouds continued to shift and the feuding warriors were plunged into complete darkness, the faint candles inside the tavern their only clue of direction. Barrett stepped quietly away and froze, he could feel the tiny eyes of the great beast searching for him. A rumbling growl rolled from the blackness and the oversized blade slashed blindly into the night far to his left. Barrett crept close as he watched the sky for a break in the overhead banks, the bestial panting of his quarry the only indication of his direction. Another random swipe, closer this time but Barrett kept his nerve, to panic was to betray himself. He circled and silhouetted the enemy against the dull candlelight.
Barrett swung his wood hard at where he guessed the foe’s knee to be. Right on target. Again, and again he struck, each time jumping back from the attack that immediately followed. With each blow the bandits grunts grew louder and his breathing heavier.
“Coward!” the bandit shouted into the empty night. “Face me like a man!”
But the darkness was his ally and only a fool would give up such an advantage. He fought the way he had been taught and he fought to win, that was all that mattered.
He had time for one last strike before the clouds parted. A solid kick to the side of the knee brought the bandit down to his level. For the briefest of moments, the two men stared into each other’s eyes, victory in the blue set, illuminated by distant orange light, defeat in the other, brown and shadowed by the moon. Barrett grasped the giant by his bald head and slammed the solid bone of his knee like a hammer into downed man’s mouth. It was oddly satisfying, the crunching of breaking teeth, the popping sensation as his nose exploded.
The beast gave a whimper and fell lifelessly into the remnants of the trampled snow.
“Sir Leegar!” Barrett shouted. “I have slain your guard dog. It is time to meet justice.”
Snow fell heavy around Barrett now as he slowly drew his sword and waited in the cold.
Just as he had caught his breath the door burst open with a crash and Sir Leegar stepped out, his breath steaming into the cold night air. He was dressed head to toe in solid plate that reflected the light from his torch perfectly. Burning beacon in his left and giant, spiked mace in the other he crunched through the snow towards the battle.
“Who sent you, boy?” Asked Sir Leegar through his grilled helmet when the torch light touched Barrett's boots.
“That is not important, sir. I am here now and that is all that matters.” Barrett replied flatly.
“Very well, keep your secrets. It will not matter when you bleed at my feet.”
Without another word, he drove his torch down into the ground, illuminating the battlefield. He turned his back on Barrett, walked back towards the inn then turned again to face him.
Sir Leegar had been taught to spar from a young age, no doubt. Knights of great skill and men of great experience would have rallied at the chance to train a future lord. His stance was rigid, the deadly mace held high. His feet were splayed. There is only one way to defeat such an opponent; to fight to win, to fight without honor.
The two combatants circled the torch. Staring and waiting for the otjer to make the first move.
Barrett drove in first with a flurry of low, one-handed blows. The knight was fast. Then he came in hard, attacking the chest and shoulders with savage, double handed slashes. The knight was strong too.
Leegar replied with prods and slashes from every angle until he used the one Barrett was waiting for. The shinning spiked mace came down in a long arc at the assassins unarmored chest. Barrett feigned a block, rolled away and let the momentum carry.
The knight fell forward and tried to run out of the swing but Barrett grabbed the steel grate across his mouth and Leegar pulled off his own helmet. He spun and growled back at Barrett.
The swings were harder now but Barrett took each one as best he could. Leegar’s temper boiling now, Barrett could feel it in his attacks. The spit flew over his neatly kept beard with each grunt, his teeth gnashing together like a rabid animal. Barrett knew the knight’s skills would soon be fall away.
Barrett kept hold of the helmet and as the volley came to an end he brought it down hard on its owner’s head. But Leegar didn’t fall. The Knight  blinked with the vacant eyes of someone who could not believe they were being insulted, shook his jowls and came back to focus.
The knight attacked again and when Barrett saw an opening he slammed the helmet once again down into the mass of black hair. The same vacant look and Barrett struck.
A kick to the side of the knee made it buckle and with a stamp on the same ankle a groan became a scream. He backed away.
The resemblance to a crazed animal was now complete; blood trickled down through the coal shaded hair and mixed with the sweat covering the knights face. He spat and cursed and swung his mace wildly towards Barrett although he could not reach him from one knee. Barrett discarded the helmet to the new layer of snow and circled the wounded beast.
“You have no honor, cutthroat.” Leegar screamed through gasping breaths.
“Honor is only found in the manner of one’s death, Sir Leegar, and for the two of us, that must wait a little longer.” Barrett said with a mirthless grin.
Immobilized by the pain, Barrett kicked his enemy’s weapon away and carefully lifted his right arm high. The knight winced and drew a sharp breath as his weight shifted onto his broken ankle. Delicately, he twisted the metal gauntlet over so that the arms soft, linen underbelly faced the moonlit sky and the knight bent forwards. The snowfall had now become so heavy that as Barrett stared the frozen flakes began to gather on the brown cloth. The fallen knight looked at him with eyes that begged for mercy, but Barrett would give none.
The final blow was hard and fast, Barrett drove his fist down, towards the frozen earth and the elbow broke into an unnatural shape with a soft click. The knight’s screams were renewed, shrill and piercing.
“Never again will you raise a blade to your family, Sir Leegar. Whether you want to or not.” Barrett told him with a triumphant smile. The knights only reply was to scream louder as he turned his eyes to look at the disfigured limb that had once been his sword hand.
Barrett took up the torch and beat his enemy square in the nose for good measure. The snow began to settle on the broken, whimpering Knight almost inatantly. The assassin tossed the flame into the forest and darkness was restored.
His business here at least, was over.