“Who'r you ta tell me where I should be? You ain't in charge,” Green snarled as he swaggered forwards.
Betrim said nothing, his hand inching towards the dagger hidden in one of the many pockets of his coat. Boys like Green never lasted long in this game.
Bones sprang to his feet in between Betrim and Green, towering over them both. He shook his head. “None of us is in charge but that don't make him any less right, Green. You hang back here with us. Swift'll be here when it's time ta move.”
Green stopped moving but kept staring at Betrim, he snorted then hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat it on the ground; it landed three inches from Betrim's boot. Bones winced. The boy was lucky he missed. Betrim had only just got those boots, took them off a drunken sailor, damned good leather too. The sailor hadn't even put up a fight he was so drunk, Betrim had only hit the sod once.
Bones put a big arm around Green's shoulder, one massive paw dangling at the end, and turned him, steering him away a little. Green sneered over his shoulder at Betrim.
“Look lad,” Bones said to Green, “ya new ta this game and new ta this crew so I'm gonna impart a little bit o' my friendly knowledge, eh. Experience ya might call it.”
“What?”
Bones sighed. “Don't piss off the Black Thorn.”
Green looked over his shoulder again, his sneer was gone now replaced by what looked to be worry, or fear. Betrim could never be arsed figuring out the difference between the two.
“He isn't,” Green said to Bones.
“He is,” Bones said to Green.
“Shit.”
“Yep.” Bones sat back down and looked around for his discarded spit-covered rag. “So whiles he ain't in charge, that's true. Don't piss him off.”
Some men might have grinned, showing Green an almost full set of not quite pearly whites. Some men might have threatened, making sure to put the little shit in his place. Betrim Thorn was not those men. He was more than happy to go back to watching the tavern and leaning on his strip of wall.
It was the salt air, Betrim reckoned, put him in a somewhat thoughtful mood, reminded him of home. Not that salt air was pleasant. It stung the eyes, turned the throat raw, made skin all... salty. Not that home was a welcome memory either, nothing there but ghosts.
Betrim decided then that he did not like port towns. Not that Korral could really be called a town, it was little more than a large collection of decaying wooden shacks and a few better faring stone shacks all clustered around a large harbour like flies cluster around a fresh shit. Despite that, Korral had the stones to call itself one of the free cities. All that meant was that it didn't belong to any one kingdom or another, which in Betrim's mind meant somewhere between little and fuck all considering Korral was perched on the southern edge of the untamed wilds and no kingdom wanted shit to do with the wilds anyways. Still, it was as good a place as any to get drunk, to get hired or to get stabbed.
Green leaned against the wall not a foot away from Betrim and eyed him, nodding to himself as he did. “You really him? The Black Thorn?”
“Aye,” Betrim responded, one hand still hovering over his hidden pocket, the other over the shaft of his axe. He didn't reckon Green would try anything but he wouldn't be the first prick to try and make a name for himself by killing the Black Thorn. If Betrim had been just a little more cautious last time he might still have all nine of his fingers. And a couple more of his teeth. And a less bent nose.
“Did you really do it?” Green asked.
“Do what?” Betrim growled back.
“Did you really kill all five o' 'em?”
“Six.”
“What?”
“I killed six, everybody always forgets 'bout the first one.”
“Shit.” Green's sneer had been replaced by something else now, something that looked a lot like awe. Betrim reckoned he preferred the sneer. “Is that how ya got the burn?”
Betrim ran a three fingered hand over the left side of his face, smooth skin where it should have been rough, puckered where it should have been stubble, pitted where it should have been smooth and tugging where it should have been slack. Not an overly large burn but large enough considering it wasn't an overly large face. “Yeah, got this from the fourth one.”
“Wow.”
“I told ya not ta piss him off, didn't say ya had ta lick his arse.” Bones laughed from the floor.
Swift rounded the corner at break-neck speed and slowed to a halt; bastard wasn't even breathing hard. He grinned from ear to ear showing a full set of white teeth; bastard had some good looking teeth.
“You boys ready then?”
“'Bout fuckin' time, Swift,” Bones said rolling onto his feet, “I'm freezin' my stones off out here.”
“Ya ain't got no stones, couple o' shrivelled pebbles maybe,” Swift shot back at the giant, still grinning.
“I'll bloody show ya I got stones!” Bones started reaching for his belt buckle so Betrim shoved himself off the wall and glanced out of the alleyway.
“Everythin' in place?” he asked Swift.
“Aye. Guards is paid off. They won't be comin' round here tonight. Boss an' Henry are inside waitin' fer us.”
“Oh very fuckin' nice for them,” Bones whined in a deep voice. “We sit out here in the cold while they get ta 'ave a nice drink.”
“They can afford a drink,” Swift muttered.
“Good point,” Bones said and nudged Betrim in the ribs. “They here yet?”
“No.”
“Should be here real soon. I weren't too far ahead of 'em,” Swift said from behind having taken to leaning on Betrim's spot of wall. Something about that pissed the Black Thorn off but he kept silent.
“How d'ya wanna do this?” Bones asked.
“Flip a coin?” Betrim suggested.
“You got a coin?”
Betrim grunted and turned to Green. “Gimme a coin, lad.”
“What for?”
“Just fuckin' hand me a coin!”
Green grumbled and shoved his hand into a pocket, pulling out a bronze bit. He stared at it for a moment and then slapped it into Betrim's waiting five fingered hand.
“Heads or tails?” Betrim asked.
Bones squinted at the Black Thorn. “Tails.”
The coin flicked into the air, spinning and glinting in the dim lantern light before slapping back down into Betrim's waiting hand. Bones peered over.
“Shit!”
“Always bet heads,” Betrim sneered and pocketed the coin.
“Hey wait a sec...”
“Shut the fuck up, Green,” Bones snarled. “Target's here.”
Eight men were walking down the street. Six of them were big lads, looked like they knew how to handle themselves and how to handle others if it came down to it. One was smaller, well dressed and walking at the head of the procession. The last of them was cloaked and hooded, all in black, shuffling along in the centre of the group, protected. None of them looked too worried about an ambush. A calm, unhurried stroll to a tavern is all it was. Except that the hooded one had a price on his head. A price large enough for the Boss to risk long odds in getting it. They entered the tavern with no rush and were gone from sight.
“Right then,” Bones said rubbing his hands together, “five minutes?”
“Give or take,” Betrim agreed.
“Good. Green, you stand outside, watch the door, and kill anyone who tries to leave who ain't us. Swift...”
“Yeah, yeah. I'll take the window.” Swift strolled off towards the tavern, taking his bow from his shoulder and fingering his quiver of arrows like as if it were a woman. Something about the sight disgusted Betrim.
“Why do I gotta stand outside?” Green complained.
“Cos me an' the Black Thorn know what we doing. First time here with us, ya get the shit job.”
Green grumbled but didn't argue any further. Everyone knew their job, there was nothing left to do but wait.
“YOU SON OF A WHORE! OOOFF. CALL THAT A PUNCH?” Bones always did have a flair for the dramatic. Betrim's performances had always lacked a certain passion in comparison, something to do with not liking being hit, he reckoned.
Bones burst through the door to the tavern backwards, stumbled a few steps caught his feet on each other and tripped, flipping a table over as he fell. The two occupants of the table sprang up from their chairs, faces somewhere between scared and confused, and backed away from the giant sprawling mess now groaning on the floor.
Betrim followed through the door a moment later growling low in his throat as he stalked towards Bones. All eyes in the tavern turned to him, as good a distraction as he'd ever made.
“By Pelsing's golden tits. It's the Black Thorn!” shouted one of the eight, the little well-dressed one. “He's here for us. Kill him!”
Not the best of outcomes but a good distraction all the same. Two of the eight were dead before they'd gained their feet; one with the Boss' axe splitting his skull from top to jaw, the other with Henry's daggers in his neck. The crazy bitch grinned as she drew them out, cutting the man's neck open from the inside, spraying bright red gore all over the table.
Betrim roared, axe in hand and charged at one of the eight. There was a dull thud and the man looked confused, reached up to find an arrow in his neck and stumbled a step. Betrim's axe bit deep into his face, dropping the corpse and spattering himself with blood.
He turned just in time to catch the wrist of a man swinging a heavy-looking sword at him. A punch to the face sent Betrim reeling with bright lights in his eyes and the taste of blood in his mouth and he found himself being pushed backwards by a bigger man than him. He caught the man's other wrist just as he hit the wall, hard.
Betrim spat into the face of the big man, sent a thick, metal-plated knee into his crotch and then butted his scarred forehead into the man's face once, twice, three times. The big man stumbled backwards clutching at the bloody ruined mess of his nose and then froze. He gurgled, bloody froth issuing from his mouth and then dropped to the floor in a messy heap. Betrim saw Henry standing there, cruel smile on her scarred lips and dark red blood dripping from her twin daggers.
“Crazy bitch,” Betrim said as he started forwards, giving Henry a shove with his shoulder as he passed her. She stumbled a step then grinned up at him, full set of teeth, some yellowing but most good.
Only two of the eight left now. One of them was a giant, towering over everyone but Bones who was, it had to be said, not a small lad. The other was the smaller, well-dressed man, the one who'd recognised the Black Thorn.
“Don't just stand there,” the well-dressed one screeched at the giant, “fucking kill them!”
The giant looked around, didn't like the odds and tossed his sword onto the floor. “Bollocks to that,” he said and held up his hands, began walking for the door.
Bones moved aside to let the man pass but watched him all the way. Henry looked as if she wanted to stab him but she held back. The Boss was advancing on the well-dressed man.
“Shit!” he hissed as he tossed down his sword. The Boss herded him against the wall, mouth full of metal grinning out of his black-as-night face. It was a tough man that could stomach having metal teeth, Betrim reckoned, and the Boss was all sorts of tough
“Hold up,” Betrim called from behind and moved forwards. “Mind if I have a word, Boss?”
The Boss looked sideways at Betrim and shrugged. “Suit ya'self, Thorn.”
Betrim stared at the little well-dressed man pressed back against the wall. He was rightfully nervous, sweating dark, wet stains into his fancy clothing. His light, greasy hair was plastered to his skull and his bloodshot eyes flicked about from one member of the crew to the next.
“How is it you knew me so quick?” Betrim asked.
“You kidding me? Burnt up, scarred face like yours? Be a bloody prick not to know you.” The little man sneered up at Betrim. “Inquisition is after you something fierce, Black Thorn. If I'd knew you were here I'd have told that Arbiter.”
“There's one here? In Korral?”
The little well-dressed man grinned.
“Fuck! Ya need this one, Boss?”
“Nope.” The Boss shrugged and turned away.
Betrim swung a heavy, five fingered fist into the little man's face, felt a satisfying crunch and a just as satisfying squeal of pain cut off as his axe chopped into the man's neck. There was a quiet hissing noise accompanied by bulging eyes and a spurt of blood and the body dropped to the floor.
“What happened ta the target? The hooded one,” asked the Boss.
“Urghh.”
“Ummm.”
Henry just shrugged, wiping her daggers on the tunic of the tavern owner as he stared at her in horror.
“SHIT!” roared the Boss. “C'mon. We don't kill him, we don't get paid!” He began storming for the door. “Leave that, Bones.”
Bones was busy collecting fingers from the two men he'd killed. He spat on the floor and hurried, unwilling to let two new additions to his collection go.
Outside, two bodies were sprawled on the floor; tavern patrons, the two Bones had scared. They had nothing to do with the matter at hand but died just the same.
“Got them two, big one made it half way down that way 'fore Swift took him in the back. Dumb bastard.” Green had the hooded target by the neck. “But look what I found, target's a fuckin' bitch!”
Green gave the hooded figured a shove towards the Boss and she collapsed at his feet. She was terrified but to her credit she didn't cry. Betrim hated the sound of women crying.
There was an uncomfortable silence as all looked down at the target, broken only by Henry sucking at her teeth, a cruel glint in her eye.
Betrim took a step forward and knelt by the girl. Dainty little thing, pretty little face, looked as much like a doll as a person. She glared at him through terrified eyes.
“Damn shame but here it is. Dunno what ya done, maybe nothing, ain't really important now. Chances are ya a good person, or were anyways; certainly better 'an me. But the nature of the game means we do bad things fer bad people an' the good ones is usually the ones that get hurt... or stabbed. Thing is, we been hired fer a job an' you're that job. Ain't gonna say sorry but... well.”
Betrim raised his axe and the woman's pretty green eyes went wide. A moment later and it was done. He picked up the severed head and held it out to the Boss. “Be needin' this I reckon, Boss.”
