James Meets Lori

I step quietly through the door of the pub, my head low and my hands on the hilt of my daggers strapped to the sides of my leg. The loud voices of drunkards and merry gamblers can be heard shouting throughout the air, and the dim lighting of the room lends a hand to the damp and wearisome atmosphere.

What a strange place to find a target at. But also the perfect place to silently kill them.

I work my way around a crowd of inebriated men, who stand swaying and staring stupidly off into space. My eyes scan quickly around for my target, while simultaneously watching for fools who inadvertently stumble in my path. I have the drawing of my target in my pocket, though I’ve memorized her face already. Long dark hair, angled eyebrows, high cheekbones, and pointed nose. Though she may have cut her hair, I figure it won’t be hard recognizing her.

As I continue to scan the bar and its surrounding tables, I worry that I may have missed her. The general did say that she was a slippery fish and hard to grab. Which is why he hired me, I tell myself. She won’t slip away from me.

Then I spot her. At the end of the room, sitting solitarily at a table with a mug of beer in front of her. She leans forward with her elbows on the table, and her hands clasped in front of her face. She stares off towards the ground, dozing off, though it almost appears as if she’s praying. Bingo.

I begin slowly making my way towards her, grabbing a half-empty mug of beer from the hands of a random man who has fallen asleep at his table, snoring peacefully away. I change my step, to a half stagger and bend out my arms awkwardly to imitate drunkenness. Finally, when I reach the table she’s sitting at I plop down in front of her, causing her to jump, startled.

She looks up at me and I get a good look at her features. She has long black hair, which is pulled back in a braid, and the same almost elven features from the drawing in my pocket. But now, I can see her blue-green eyes, which remind me of the color of the ocean just before a storm. And I get a prime view of them as she stares, astounded at me.

“Wellgoooddaymizz,” I say, slurring my words. Bending over the table and bumping her beer.

I watch carefully as she leans away from me, unsure of what to do. She eyes me uncomfortably with her ocean-colored eyes and pulls her hands away from the table.

I lean even closer, half standing up from my chair. “Misss...iz a lovely day ousside, whutter you dooin here?” I get even closer and smile idiotically before leaning back and taking a swig of beer. She studies my face, her eyebrows knit. Then suddenly she goes stiff and her gaze hardens. She hesitates before saying quietly. “You’re not drunk.”

Damn. But maybe I can still save this. “Whutter you talkinn ‘bout?”

“You don’t smell of alcohol,” she says icily, keeping a calm demeanor. Her hands pull away from the table and fall to her lap, where they tug nervously at her grey shirt.

Damn. Again. I stare at her for a moment before letting my drunken façade melt away. I frown and narrow my eyes. “Observant.”

“Yes,” she immediately says, an edge of aggression in her voice, her scrutinizing stare unwavering. “Who are you?”

“Who do you think?” I reply back, a sneer curling onto my face. For a moment I wonder if I could just do it now and end this quickly. A job well done. But then another shout from behind me reminds me that there are innocent eyes watching. I shouldn’t make a scene, lest I want to draw attention to myself and be on the next Wanted poster for “Murdering an Innocent Lady”, though she’s hardly innocent. At least, I think she is.

She licks her rosy lips and her eyes dart about in search of an exit. Typical. Then her eyes return to me with a hint of worry. She presses her lips into a thin line as a vein pulses in her forehead. “The General sent you, didn’t he?”

“Inquisitive, I see,” I say, sardonically, reaching into my pocket to pull out a small, corked vial with a clear liquid in it. I swirl it around and hold it out to her. “So then you can guess that what this is, too.”

The girl’s gaze turns to the vial in my hand and momentarily looks saddened. She looks back to me and swallows, pushing a hair out of her face. She sighs. “Poison.”

I nod and swirl it one more time. “You might be wondering why I’m showing you this.” I say, slowly watching her figure and making sure she isn’t reaching for a weapon she may have hidden beneath the table. But she only stares dismally at me. I continue. “And you’re probably wondering why I haven’t just waited and killed you in your sleep.”

She purses her lips. “Does the General want me alive?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Alive?” I let out a laugh. “Oh no, unfortunately it’s the opposite for you. You, my friend, aren’t going to live.” I pause and point to the vial with my free hand. “And this is my peace offering.” I offer it to her. “I promise you that you can’t win against me. If you choose to peacefully die, I shall respect you and let you honorably drink this. It is quick and painless and will feel like falling asleep. If you choose to fight me, I can only tell you that, and I repeat, you can’t win.”

Now she looks mad. Her eyebrows slant downwards in a sharp V and she glares at me, her eyes ablaze. She sits up straighter and looks at me straight in the eye. “Unfortunately for you I haven’t done anything wrong. So I’m going to ask you to leave and return to the General and ask him the truth as to why he wants me dead, you blind, obedient dog.”

A pang of guilt hits me, but I quickly repress it. This is my job. I do the dirty work whether I like it or not. I sigh and tuck the vial back in my pocket, reaching for my dagger strapped to my leg. “Well, I gave you a chance.”

“Do you know why he wants me dead?” she demands, her voice raising, eyes radiating anger. For a moment it looks as if she could catch fire and burn the whole pub down.

“I’m following orders,” I say back boldly, knowing fully that I don’t know the answer to her question. “So I apologize, but I did offer you a chance of a peaceful death.”

She stares indignantly at me. Again, the guilt in me rises. I shove it out of my thoughts. I pull my dagger from its sheath. “Sorry, I’m an assassin. Not a saint.”

Then suddenly she reaches for the table and flips it towards me, knocking me backwards. Before I can react and get to my feet, the body of a fat drunkard trips over and falls, smashing me to the floor beneath him. I growl, reaching to push the man off of me.

Then I see the girl soar above my head, her legs outstretched like a gazelle, landing nimbly on a table behind me. She takes one quick glance down at my figure and takes off, quickly dodging people and sprinting out the door.

I growl and shove the drunkard off my stomach, scrambling to my feet, dagger still in hand. All eyes in the pub have flown to me and I scowl, prompting half a dozen men to avert their gazes in fright.

You’re not getting away. I tell myself. Not under my watch.

I spring forward onto a table beside me, kicking off a couple beers and sending them splashing to the wood floor. Then I bound across the room towards the exit, leaping from table to table over flabbergasted faces.

“Move!” I yell, my boots grazing the backs of heads. The whole situation is already messy enough. I don’t need more dead bodies to deal with. When I reach the doorway, I bend down in time to see my raven-haired target sprinting away towards the forest edge. I jump down from atop the table, nearly knocking down another person. Angry shouts erupt around the pub, most directed at me. Ignoring them, I turn and sprint out the door.

I’m blasted with a wall of fresh air, much more breathable than the dank pub air, and have to squint from the brightness of the sun directly perpendicular in the cloudless sky. In front of me, an old lady wrapped in a green shawl squats down, sorting flowers from a basket. Villagers walk casually about, some carrying buckets and baskets, others shaking out dust from old rugs and mats. None pay mind to the ruckus in the pub.

In the distance, roughly a hundred meters away, my target continues to make her way towards the line of trees. I tighten my grip on my dagger and take off after her, leaping over the pile of flowers the old lady has laid carefully on the ground. She shrieks and squawks something unintelligible, and if I could look back, I’d imagine she’s probably waving a bony fist at me. But I don’t as I’ve got more pressing matters at hand.

The dry dirt crunches under my feet, barely providing enough traction for me to run without slipping. I grumble at my loss of speed and begin pumping my arms harder, taking longer strides. Up ahead, I see my target glance over her shoulder, a half panicked look on her face. She stumbles, nearly falling, and then regains her footing, sprinting off again.

But she’s no match for me. By the laws of genetic attributes and capabilities, she can’t outrun me. She may be in top condition, but so am I. I begin rapidly gaining ground, almost effortlessly, and fix my grip on the hilt of my dagger. My target gives another panicked look over her shoulder and makes a go for the forest edge, which is only a couple yards ahead of her.

I quickly stop sprinting and skid to a stop, a cloud of dust thrown up around my feet. I raise my arm over my head, aim, and then throw the knife at her. But the moment I let go of it, I know it’s going to miss. The blade swiftly spirals through the air, skimming past her ear, burrowing itself into the trunk of a tree ahead.

I curse silently at myself for making such a simple error, then curse at myself again when my target wastes no time and immediately runs to the dagger and rips it from the tree. She stops running and then turns around to face me, brandishing the dagger in her hand. Slowly taking steps backwards, she retreats in the safety of the trees.

For a moment, I can’t tell if she’s going to throw the knife back at me or if she’s going to hold her ground and fight. I reach for my other knife strapped to my other thigh and slide it out of it sheath, tossing it into my dominant left hand. I take a step towards her and she mirrors my movement, taking a step back. She spreads her feet apart and bends her knees, her elbows out and hands up in a fighting stance. The solid position of her arms and small movements in her steps betray evidence of training in the royal legion. I take note of the observation. So she was part of the legion, presumably under the General himself.

Wait, the General? I ask myself, slightly thrown off by my own realization. She’s one of his fighters. Why would he want to kill one of his own? I pause for a moment, pondering the question before scrapping the thought. It’s not my place to question his motives. He asked me to eliminate her, so I will.

I bend down into a fighting stance and lock my eyes on her. It’s time to get this over with. Without a second thought, I lunge forward, covering the couple of meters of space between us with a single bound, and stab at her torso. To my surprise, she quickly parries the attack and steps to the side, making a quick swing with her blade at my abdomen.

I jump backwards, barely missing the tip of her knife, and bring up a kick to her chest. Her eyes widen as she sees the move coming and she bends sideways in attempt to dodge it, but my heel catches on her shoulder and she’s sent stumbling backwards, her arms pin-wheeling as she tries to regain her balance. I take advantage of the moment and bat at her arm, sending the dagger flying out of her grasp. It tumbles to the ground a full body length away.

She regains her balance and looks in the direction the knife flew, calculating if she can grab it in time. Her eyes fly to the knife, then back at me, then back to the knife.

I spring forward, swinging my arm towards her head. At the same time, she dives to side, her arm outstretched for the dagger. She lands on her side and grabs the blade just in time as I jump towards her, flipping my knife in my hand and stabbing downwards at her head.

She rolls sideways, my blade hitting the ground inches from her face. She stabs upwards with her blade at my stomach and I bring down my other elbow to block it. Then she pulls up her knee and kicks my abdomen, sending me stumbling backwards.

She pulls back her legs and rolls backwards over her shoulder, landing in an upright stance. Her face is twisted in a mad look of concentration and focus. Sweat beads up on her forehead and her chest expands rapidly as she pants. We charge forward.

She leaps and swings a fist through the air, I duck and in turn swing my knife across her abdomen, hearing the fabric in her shirt tear. A small cry escapes her throat and her brows furrow in pain. I throw another punch, but she nimbly spins backwards to avoid the blow and swings a heavy kick into the side of my head.

I’m butted to the side and let myself fall to the ground, immediately tucking and rolling, letting my momentum bring me back up to my feet. The girl puts her hand to her stomach and the pulls it away, glancing down at the red blood on her fingers. Her eyes snap back to me and she crouches down back into a fighting stance.

Not gonna give up are you? I nearly murmur out loud.

She lunges at me, eyes wild, her raven hair flying behind her head. She cuts through the air with her knife as I bend back, watching the silver blade curve over my nose. I knock her hand away and yank her arm, pulling her towards me. Quickly, I twist my torso and ram my elbow into her head, feeling her muscles straining against my grip. I twist my arm back and ram my elbow into her head again, feeling her body momentarily go limp as the force of my elbow throws her sideways.

Her body tenses up again and she tosses her knife to her other free arm, slicing the blade through the air towards me shoulder. I push her away and bring up my arm, blocking her blow. She reaches up with her other hand and tries to sock me in the jaw. I bend back, ducking, and kick out with my heel, hitting her square in the chest.

An audible crack rings through the air and she falls back to the ground, the knife falling out of her grasp. I immediately run forward and kick it away before she can grab it once more. She coughs and scrambles to her feet, her breathing labored and husk.

I rush at her and bring up my knee into her stomach. She doubles over, losing her balance.

Time to finish this. I think to myself.

I bring up my fist under her chin and then pick up my foot, slamming it down on her leg. She cries out as the bone snaps under the force of my boot, and she collapses to the ground. I look down at her figure, her face bloodied with a gashes and scrapes all along her arms; a weak hand futilely is pressed against the wound in her stomach.

She attempts to get up and frantically begins crawling away, dragging herself with her arms. She looks over her shoulder at me and tries to push herself off the ground, but her broken leg buckles beneath her weight.

Without wasting a second, I bolt forward and grab her by the neck, picking her up and slamming her back into the trunk of the nearest tree. An outcry escapes past her lips and she begins clawing at my hands, attempting to loosen my grip. Her face begins turning blue as she strains to breathe.

Don’t kill her yet, I remind myself. The routine isn’t over yet.

Forcefully, I grab both her hands and pin them against the trunk above her head with a single hand, hearing the bark being scraped off. She glances up at my firm grip, realizing she can’t break free, and quickly kicks outward into my stomach.

I grunt, the wind knocked from my lungs, and slam my boot down on her foot, holding it to the ground so she can’t kick me anymore. She growls furiously at me and squirms around, trying to break loose.

Realizing my dagger is still in my hand, I swiftly slide it back into its sheath along my leg. She squirms even more. I quickly jab at her stomach with my fist and I hear the air rush from her lungs. Her struggling weakens as she coughs, wheezing for air.

I raise my free hand and place two fingers gently against her temple. The General didn’t specifically ask me to search her memories before finishing her off, but it’s part of the routine. I do this to everyone. Plus my profits generally raise when I can provide more information about my victim’s associates. It only helps me.

I take a deep breath and begin reaching out with my mind. It gently probes along the edges her conscience before slipping in. The sensation is like diving into a deep lake of water. Suddenly I see memories swarm before my eyes, each specific moment flying by in a fast blur. I see the faces of loving family and the smiles of friends from the general’s legion. Conversations about quests and heroism float through my brain, like strange echoes in my head. A memory floats by and my conscience grabs it, opening it up to my mind.

“Momma! Momma!” A tiny girl with a high voice screams. She’s running down a grassy hill, her black hair billowing behind her head. She’s laughing wildly, her face set in a wide smile. She’s no more than three or four years old, telling by her tiny size and wobbly step. The sun shines goldenly and small wifty clouds float in the blue sky. At the bottom of the hill stands a tall, lean figure of a woman with the same black hair and blue-green eyes as the little girl. Her face grins in an elegant smile, the look of unconditional love radiating from her eyes.

“Catch me!!” the small girl squeals through her laughter. She takes a leap through the air and flings herself into her mother’s outstretched arms. They both laugh some more, embracing each other tightly. The little girl burrows her head into her mother’s chest, her laughs turning into hiccupping giggles. Her mother leans back and looks endearingly down at her daughter at plants a kiss on her forehead.

“Love you, momma,” the girl murmurs quietly, her voice muffled in her mother’s shirt.

The memory ends.

I feel the girl squirm some more beneath my grip. She looks up at my concentrated face, realizing what’s happening and begins trying to pull her head away from my hand. Her eyes scrunch up and her expression twists into warped grimace. Suddenly I feel her conscience fighting back, pushing back against mine. I growl and push back, speeding up my search through her memories.

“Get out of my head!!” She screams, trying to pull her arms down. I feel the force of her mind strengthen, building up like a stone wall, slowly pushing me out.

I begin sorting through her memories faster. I feel them rub past my own conscience, each like a bubble containing a single moment in time. Some are larger than others, carrying the weight of more significant times. I feel for a more recent memory and pick one at random.

It’s dead of the night. Shadows blend into shadows and the wind stands still, as if holding its breath. There’s a small tent set up bearing a legion flag. From inside glows the blue light of glow stones, casting fuzzy silhouettes onto the canvas walls. Low voices can be heard from the inside, along with the sounds of panicked breath and a muffled cry.

At first I can’t spot her, but eventually my eyes roll over a dark shape perched quietly in the tree hanging above. In the dim lighting I can discern the figure of a lean figure with long hair, her blue-green eyes illuminated by the light from the tent. She’s tilting her head sideways, keenly listening.

“…how many do you lead?” A young male voice says from inside.

“Almost three thousand,” a low deep voice that can only be identified as the General replies coolly.

“Only three thousand?” the young voice replies, a hint of surprise in his voice. “That small?”

I hear a scoff come from the inside the tent. “This army doesn’t recruit random villagers. We train only elite fighters. They’ll be enough to help with your plan.”

“And overthrow the king’s personal army of ten thousand?” The young man’s voice is skeptical. “We’ll be outnumbered by almost three to one!”

“My legion can handle it. There will be casualties, of course, but we’ll have the remaining survivors of the king’s army at our disposal once we eliminate him-“

“No.” the man says almost immediately. “We cannot kill the king. Not at once at least. He is the sole bearer of the knowledge of the whereabouts of the Avonclair.”

There is a pause of silence. Then, “The Avonclair? I thought it was disposed of long ago in the Berdate Sea.”

“No,” the young man says, his voice lower but filled with more vigor. “It is somewhere here in this land, just waiting to be found. And the king knows where it is.” Another pause. “If you help me I’ll promise you some of the powers of the Avonclair.”

“…I don’t need the Avonclair,” the General scoffs. “However, I will work with you... if you agree to make me your second in command once you replace the King.”

There’s a long silence. The figure dangling in the tree above holds her breath, steadily gripping the branches. The shadows inside the tent remain unmoving.

“My second in command?” The younger voice questions hesitantly. “I’ve already promised my-”

“Dispose of him then,” the general says in a pressing voice. “You know you can’t win without my legion. And no other army is going to help you.” There’s a threatening edge to his voice.

Another long pause. The silhouettes in the tent shift uncomfortably.

“Alright,” the young man finally answers. “It’s a deal.”

Suddenly the memory begins fading. I look up to where the girl was perched in the branch, but she’s not there. Then out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark figure silently disappear through the thicket of trees. It’s the girl. I’m surprised at her seemingly mute exit. She’d be a good assassin.

I look back to the tent, which has slowly begun fading into darkness. So the General was going to assist in the usurp of the King. The Good King. The Bringer of Peace. Father of the Golden Age. Why’d they want to end such a perfect era is beyond me.

It's times like these that I wish I could overcome my remorse for my dishonorable job.

The memory ends and suddenly I feel the guilt return to my gut. It was obvious she was spying on the General. Throughout the entire memory I could feel her emotions coursing through my mind. Horror, hate, astonishment. She had felt betrayed beyond compare because she had joined the legion to be the hero and subdue the villain, only to find out that her leader was the villain. And even as the memory had started fading away, I could feel her want to make change. Her want to finally do good for the world.

My thoughts return back to the present, where the girl is pinned beneath my hand and foot, struggling to free herself. The wall she has put up in her mind has begun gaining mass and strength and I briefly wonder how she ended out here in this town. Then a voice in my head reminds me that I have a small window of time before she pushes me completely out of her head.

Bubbles of memories race past my conscience as I begin rummaging through, trying to look for more recent ones. Then suddenly a rather large, prominent memory brushes past my mind. Feeling the pressure of our battling minds, I seize it and am immediately sucked into the memory, as if it were a whirlpool dragging me in.

There’s a small group of seven or eight young legion soldiers standing in a circle around the girl with the blue-green eyes. They’re standing in the middle of the forest and the sky is darkening, casting a shadow over the faces of the soldiers. Most are lean, muscular young men, each brandishing a sword or knife in their hands, nervously pointing them at the girl in the center. Beads of sweat drip down their faces and their eyes flick about, waiting for someone to do something.

The girl, however, stands tall with a sure grip on her own sword. Her head swivels around, carefully watching everyone surrounding her. Finally she stops at a boy, who stands two heads taller than her and is abnormally skinny. He has an angled face with dark eyes that draw a remarkable resemblance to a skull. He licks his lips and stares painfully at her.

“Eric,” she says breathlessly. She gazes back at him with the familiar look close friends and family look at each other with. Except now they’re also filled with terror. She attempts to keep her voice steady, but her voice cracks, revealing her true feelings as she says, “Why are you doing this?” She looks at him hopelessly.

The boy, presumably named Eric, shamefully averts her gaze and turns his head to the side, staring off at the trees. He bites his lip and says quietly. “I’m sorry.” He spins his sword, gleaming in the light of the setting sun, and composes himself, his face going stony.

“Eric,” the girl says again, this time more unease in her voice. “Did the General make you do this?” When he says nothing she continues. “Eric, listen to me. Whatever he told you, you don’t have to follow. You don’t have to-”

“He has my family!” Eric nearly shouts back, his breathing growing loud. His face contorts into a half-sob-half-disgusted expression. Then he repeats in a quiet voice. “He has my family.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this. For them.”

The girl’s eyes well with tears. “Please, Eric. We don’t stand for this.”

He looks to her in the eye and swallows nervously. “I’m sorry.” Then he looks to the rest of the soldiers in the group and gives a nod. And they charge.

Everything seems to go by in a blur. One moment the girl is being swarmed by other soldiers, and the next moment I see her emerge ferociously from the pile, battling wildly for her life. The soldiers, one by one, are sent stumbling away from the fray as they clutch a slash in the arms or legs. Then, regaining their strength, charge back forward.

At first I think she’ll win and crush her opponents, but then I see the move that she doesn’t see coming from behind her. She suddenly cries out as the sword stabs her from behind, her back arching into a sharp curve. Time seems to stop as the attacks suddenly cease and I watch in horror as her sword falls out of her hand and her mouth opens in a silent scream. The man who had stabbed her, yanks his sword out, and she let’s out another cry, her hands reaching for the open wound on her stomach.

Then out of the blue, another blade is planted in her abdomen and ripped out. She collapses facedown onto the ground, her breathing becoming quick and shallow as she lets out a cough from her already cut lips. Her cheek rests softly on the ground and I see her fist curl over the dirt as she tries to handle the pain.

Straining, she lifts up and turns her head to the soldiers, her eyes searching. They stop and rest on Eric, the look of utter betrayal in her eyes. She coughs again, this time blood coming from her trembling lips. She sucks in a trembling breath, her chest shaking as she sputters out more blood.

He looks down remorsefully at her and kneels down, propping up her torso gently in his arms. He whispers something into her ear and then takes his own knife and stabs her one more time, closing his eyes. A final cry escapes her throat. Then he drops her roughly and turns away, sheathing his bloodied knife.

“Let’s go,” he barks to the group, before stalking away, refusing to look back. The soldiers look down at the girl and then back to Eric before quickly following him.

All of a sudden, the memory ends abruptly as the girl gives a powerful shove and pushes my mind from her own. I’m caught off guard and loosen my grip on her hands, my ears ringing from the force from her mind. She slips her arms down and punches me right between the eyes. I grunt, feeling my nose break, and growl angrily.

I grab her throat and pick her off the ground, slamming her back to the tree again. Her fingers begin clawing at my hands, attempting to pry my fingers off, but to no avail. Her good leg kicks out at my gut, but she’d have better luck kicking a brick wall. Her face begins to turn a bright crimson red, then slowly fades to a pale blue. Her mouth is gaped open, like a fish gasping for breath, and a vein bulges on her forehead. But she’s not breathing and her lips are turning purple.

Then suddenly I picture the young girl, dreaming of being a hero and joining the land’s most prestigious legion. I remember her dreams and aspirations, and how it had all been crushed the day her friend had betrayed her. And then I look into the girl’s face, seeing the same hopeless countenance that she had when she was left to die in the forest. Except now I’m squeezing the life out of her.

Her clawing begins to weaken. Damnit just kill her already! I hold my grip, but then I feel the pain she felt when she was backstabbed. The utter feeling of betrayal.

Her face is nearly purple now and her eyelids are struggling to stay open.

Just kill her already!

But as I look into her eyes, I see the young warrior, fighting for good. She never did anything wrong. She never deserved this.

Kill her!

How can I do this? Am I really that cold hearted of a person to not just kill an innocent, but the hero who could save us? What will happen to me if I don’t kill her? What happens if I don’t finish the job? Is this a mistake?

Kill. Her.

But I can’t. I open my hands and drop her to the ground, where she crumples and lies, gasping for air, her raven hair falling over her face. She lets out a shaking cough and reaches down to her broken leg in obvious pain.

I stand where I am, my arms still outstretched, unmoving. I take deep breaths, my hands trembling, and let my arms drop to my sides. A drop of sweat rolls down onto the edge of my nose.

Another rattling cough comes from below and I look down at the girl, wondering if I should have let her die. She wheezes for air and slowly turns her head to look up at me, red veins lace around her blue-green irises. A mixture of curiosity and venom in her eyes makes her unrecognizable from the girl I had seen sitting alone in the bar just several minutes ago. She uses an arm to prop herself up as she stares at me.

I wipe my forehead and spit off to the side.

“Thank me later,” I say gruffly, looking into her eyes. Then I bring my heel down onto her head. Her arm gives way and she falls into a limp heap on the dirt, her eyes closed and her face looking peaceful, as if she were asleep.

Bending over, I scoop her off the ground, her body surprisingly light in my arms. Her hair is pasted over her forehead, half covering her elven face. Her broken leg rests awkwardly against my arm and I gingerly position my arm as to not further exacerbate her injuries.

Looking over my shoulder, I notice the small cluster of villagers standing in the distance, staring horrified at me. I roll my eyes, sighing, and begin to walk towards them.

By the time I reach them, the crowd somehow has grown and all eyes are glued to me. A stout man holding a thick wooden club steps forward from the crowd, a challenging gleam in his eyes.

“Make a move and you’re next,” I snarl at him, giving him an icy glare. He immediately backs down and melts back into the crowd. I stop where I am and glare at the all of them. “Any of you try something funny and you’ll wish you were never alive.”

Grumbling, I push through the crowd (though many move aside out of fear) and walk to where my black stallion is tied to a fence post alongside the pub. I carefully lift the girl up and lay her gently over my saddle. I untie my horse and pat its nuzzle.

I look at the limp body of the girl hanging over the back of my horse, wondering if I’m making a mistake.

“This better not be,” I mumble to myself, swinging up onto the saddle, the girl in front of me. I adjust her body, making sure she won’t fall off and click for my horse to go. Giving another menacing scowl at the villagers who haven’t left yet, I ride off, leaving the mess of the fight and dual behind me.

Damn. I think to myself bitterly. I’m a terrible assassin.