To the Trickster Go the Spoils
To the Trickster Go the Spoils
The young man slipped into the tavern, and immediately threw himself against the doorframe as a body was flung past him into the street. Glancing around, he squeezed through the bodies near the door, his small frame essentially disappearing among the crowd. Moving between the patrons of the bar, the young man heard a familiar voice ring out over the commotion of the crowd.
Ehren ex Cursori groaned inwardly. Not again. Max was going get them booted from all of the taverns around Alera Imperia with his antics.
Glancing around, the he wove his way through the patrons, catching the barkeep’s eye. The stout man just nodded once, jerking his head slightly to one side. They were here, then. Good. Ehren hated it when he had to go through official channels. He flicked a gold piece to the barkeep, who palmed it as he moved aside to reveal a doorway. Ehren strode through it like he owned the place.
And stopped in shock when a cloaked figure appeared in the candlelight.
*****
Antillar Maximus was in a fine mood. Well, finer than usual. He always enjoyed a job that allowed him to knock some skulls around, but when said job also included one of the finest brews in all of Alera Imperia, Max enjoyed himself even more. Though having to wait for Ehren to finish his business was wearing on him. It meant having to take more time than he liked in a brawl. People might think he was getting complacent.
Max grimaced once, and took another swig of ale. A lady sitting in the corner table may have swooned because he winked at her while doing it. Though it could just have been the heat, Max liked to think it was him. A more reasonable explanation to his mind.
He’d seen Ehren slip into the tavern, which had, unfortunately, reminded the young Antillan of his duty. Max turned to look toward the brute he’d singled out as the ringleader only to find a fist grabbing him by the front of his tunic. Max wasn’t exactly burly, but he wasn’t a slouch, either. Yet this bruiser lifted him clear off the floor before Max could focus the earthcrafting that would have given him the strength to break the man’s grip.
Max struggled, groping for the short Legion-issue gladius at his side. Two more pairs of hands grabbed him, and Max felt himself being hoisted outside. The cool air buffeted his hair as they exited the tavern-as did the stone of the street when he was thrown down onto it. Max felt more than heard his face crunch.
Not the nose again. Max started yelling.
“Crows and great furies, not the bloody crowbegotten nose, you…“
Howling expletives, Max drew strength from the furycrafted stone beneath his feet and lashed out against his attackers. Twisting his upper body, he drew upon earth and wind, breaking the grips of those holding him and eliciting a cry of pain as a shoulder was dislocated. He rolled to his feet, sword slithering out of its sheath as he suddenly found himself surrounded. Letting out a laugh, he lifted his gladius in a fencer’s salute before dancing into the fray.
He met the first man with a high parry and a drunken bellow, the steel of his opponent’s blade sliding down the length the gladius. As his attacker overextended, Max whipped his blade to the left, slapping the man to the ground as he passed. Sensing movement, the young Antillan spun, drawing on the speed of the wind, and slammed into the figure coming up behind him. He crossed, and met the blade with his own. Moving past his opponent with a pirouette, the hilt of Max’s sword smashed against the man’s skull, sending him to the ground. Letting out a bellow of triumph, he broke into a Legion drinking song and proceeded to go through the rest of his assailants. For none of them were a match for Antillar Maximus with cold steel in hand.
But that was when he was sober. Against a drunk Antillar Maximus, things became much more straightforward.
Max suddenly found himself backpedalling, being driven toward a wall. Forcing his mind to think about the possibilities, Max did something that he rarely did.
He shut up. He forced away the drunken buzz with an effort, his mind clearing. Drawing upon his metalcraft, the young Antillan pushed back the pain, his sword becoming an extension of his being. His stance shifted, drawing his assailant forward.
As the thrust came in, Max drew upon wind and earth and flung himself backward, hitting the wall behind him and immediately dropping into a roll. His attacker drew up, startled, sword weaving a wall of steel between them. Max let out a rumbling laugh and darted forward, his sword meeting his opponent’s in a shower of sparks.
As Max evaded a quick series of thrusts, he noticed some of the men on the ground coming around. Resolving to end it quickly, he tensed to bound forward.
And felt a slight tickle at his throat. A cold tickle. The curved knife pressed tightly enough against Max’s neck that should Max have attempted an escape, he would rip his own throat open.
“Well, well, well, chums. Looky what we’ve got. A right upstart li’l Citizen’s brat, ain’t ‘e?” The voice was rough, yet polished. Max couldn’t quite place the accent. “Li’l bastard thinks ‘e can just come onto our territ’ry, drink our ale, sweet talk our women. Li’l brat ain’t getting away wi’ that.”
At the word “bastard,” Max’s blood began to boil. It was truer than his captors knew. The illegitimate child of High Lord Raucus Antillus, Max had always been subjected to hostility from others. It was why he’d run off and joined the Legions. Max struggled against his captor’s grip.
“Ah, we gots ourselves a feisty one, lads.” The knife cut deeper into Max’s neck. He could feel the trickle of blood. “Feisty li’l Citizen’s bas-“
A blur of grey, weaving between the conscious men, sent them to the ground with a few quick jabs. The figure appeared, wraithlike, prying the knife from Max’s captor’s grip. A quick blow behind the ear left the man lying unconscious on the ground, and Max scrambled for his gladius. He grabbed it and spun to face the cloaked figure, prepared to strike. As he recognized his rescuer, Max lowered his guard.
“Bloody furies, Ehren! Where the crows were you? Sure could have used that back in the bar!” Max grumbled. “Damn it, now I’m sober again.” He glared at Ehren. “I’m blaming you.”
Ehren disappeared the knife. “Can’t have you drunk, Max. We’ve got a job.”
“I’ll tell you where you can shove your job,” Max grumbled, tightening his belt and moving past Ehren. “Well? You coming?”
“Presently, presently.” By the great furies, Ehren thought. I’m even sounding like Sextus.
Max frowned. “All right. I’ll check and see if the Guard has gotten word yet.”
Nodding as Max moved off, Ehren knelt down and left a bag in the folds of the ringleader’s cloak. Glancing around, the small Cursor moved over to the downed swordsman. The man’s eyes flickered open.
“He gone?” His voice was raspy. “You have it?”
Ehren pulled an envelope from his cloak, and slipped it to the man. “You’re free to go. You have a berth on a ship heading down to Parcia.” Ehren swallowed once. “I ever see you again, I have express orders to kill you.”
The man laughed, wheezing slightly. “Boy, you are an assassin. Whether you want to admit it or not. Get used to killing.”
Ehren rose. “No. I don’t have to.” He turned and walked away, leaving the man staring after him.
*****
Max stood by the Guard outpost, looking longingly at the taverns across the street.
“Don’t even think about it.”
The young Antillan jumped, startled, as Ehren stepped out of the shadows. “Bloody crows, Ehren. Where the furies did you come from?”
“Just taking care of-” Ehren coughed delicately, “-business.” Max blinked.
“Business? Who’d you kill this time?”
Ehren blanched. Max promptly grimaced. Open mouth, insert boot. Well done. “Sorry. I know how you feel about all that.”
“S’okay.” Ehren’s voice turned bitter. “I’ve just got to come to terms with the fact that my job is to kill people. If need be.” He looked down at his boots. “Yeah.”
They started walking along the street. “What you need,” Max said, drawling, “is a woman.”
Ehren kept his face nonresponsive. “Heh.”
“No, seriously. You’ve got good features, you’re witty, intelligent, all of those things that I’m not.” Max squinted at Ehren in the dim light of the furylamps. “Hell, with a few drinks in me, I might even kiss you.”
Ehren finally broke a smile as he burst into laughter. “Remind me never to go into a bar with you, Max.”
Max grinned, and they walked in silence for a ways. Reaching a seedier section of Alera Imperia, Max asked quietly, “We’re heading for the docks, aren’t we?”
Ehren nodded.
“Trouble?”
Ehren nodded again.
Max cursed. “Can’t the job be a fun one every once in awhile?” he whined.
“Don’t worry, Max, it’ll probably come to a fight.”
The young Antillan grinned. “Oh. That’s better, then.”
Ehren snorted. “Yup. Which is why you’re going to handle it,” he said, nonchalantly, continuing down the street. Max stopped and stared incredulously at his smaller counterpart before jogging to catch up with him.
“Um, you were joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Why, no, I wasn’t-“
Max pounded on Ehren’s shoulders excitedly. “Ha! This never happens. Must be my lucky night.”
“…Yeah. Exactly.”
“So I just walk in and bash a couple heads together? Crows, but I love jobs like this.”
Ehren didn’t say anything. Losing the grin, Max asked, “So what exactly is this job?”
“Um.” Ehren paused but kept walking. “You’ll see.”
“Damn it, Ehren. You know how much I hate surprises!” Max thought about that for a moment. “Well. From Calderon, anyway. He’s got a crowbegotten tricky mind.”
Ehren just nodded as they neared the wharf. “That he does. Excuse me.” He ducked into the shadows and disappeared, making Max jump.
“Great furies, I hate it when he does that,” Max muttered. “One of these days I should just bloody pin his feet to the fl-“
He broke off as Ehren reappeared. “Bloody crows and furies above, Eh-“
His voice cut off as Ehren slipped a hand over his mouth and spoke in a low whisper. “This is the place. Shut. Up. Any excess noise could get us killed, now.”
Ehren nodded toward a seedy-looking inn. Loosening their weapons, they slid up to the door. Motioning for Max to pause, Ehren tried the handle. It opened. Ehren slipped inside, glanced around, then slid silently back to the street. “All right. Have at it.”
Max nodded, and slipped inside. Then suddenly found himself being pushed to the floor as a voice muttered, “Light.” Max stared in shock. “Ehren. I hate you. You dirty, rotten, lying piece of sneaky, clever idjit.” He got up, dropping his gladius. “Hello, ladies. What a pleasant evening it is-”
And promptly got himself dragged into a dark room, door slamming shut behind him.
Ehren laughed. “Happy New Year, Max. Do what you do best.” He laughed again, this time to himself. Whatever else Max was, he was very good at Cursor work. In bed. Still chuckling, Ehren drew up his hood and set off through the shadows.
Time to get to work.
*****
The next morning, Ehren was idling cleaning his knives in the bar of the inn. A door opened behind him, and heavy footsteps reached the bar, settling on a stool, grunting.
“Yes, job’s done,” said Ehren. “You?”
Max grunted again. “Hrnn. S’done. Bloody hate you.”
Ehren laughed and slid him a plate of breakfast.
“Well? Anything?”
Max took a moment to draw his thoughts together. “A couple sailors on some boat out of town. Called the Slive.”
“The Slive isn’t a boat, Max, it’s a ship,” responded Ehren absently. He suddenly realized what he’d said, and thanked the furies that his friend was probably still too intoxicated to notice.
Max grunted. “Bloody details. Who needs ‘em?” Ehren snorted.
As he continued eating, a thought struck Max.
“Where the bloody crows did Calderon disappear to? He was supposed to be with us yesterday,” he said, tearing into a bit of sausage.
Ehren smirked, picked up two more plates and walked over to a door. Knocking, he called, “Wakey wakey.”
A few moments later, the door opened to reveal a very disheveled Tavi. “What d’you want?”
“Your breakfast, sir, miss.”
A loud roar sounded in the background as Max burst into laughter. Tavi stared at Ehren, then covered his face with his palm. “Crows. Damn it, Ehren. What did you do?”
Max rumbled, “Got me bloody drunk, almost had me killed, made me sober, then dumped me here with a couple of ladies.” He shot Ehren a glare. “Dumped me with a job. Bloody annoying. Bah. Takes the fun out of everything.”
Ehren shrugged.
Tavi frowned, sensing something amiss. “What did you do?” he pressed.
“I got my friend drunk, nearly got him killed, sobered him up, scared him half to death, and dumped him with a job.”
A voice sounded from behind Tavi. “Enough. Ehren, tell. I am hungry.”
Ehren sighed. “Job wasn’t too bad. Only took out a nest of Kalaran bloodcrows.” He sat down, and checked his knives as the others just stared at him.
Tavi turned to look at Max in disbelief. Then back at Ehren. “You took on a… Crows, Ehren. You should have at least took one of us with you.”
Ehren shrugged. “You would have blown everything. Max would have stood out like a sore thumb, and you, quite frankly, would have over thought it.”
Max opened his mouth to give a retort then closed it, shaking his head. “Bah. He’s got a bloody point, Tavi. Though I never pegged you for a killer, Ehren.”
Ehren turned away, head bowed. “…I did my duty. It had to be done.”
Tavi and Kitai emerged from their room. “Ehren,” Tavi said. “There’s no point dwelling on the past. You’re not a killer. You did what you had to for the job. Doesn’t make you a cold-blooded murderer.” Max grunted his agreement.
Ehren nodded slowly. Then got a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You know, taking on an entire nest of bloodcrows? That was easy. It was making your bloody breakfast that that was the difficult part.”
They laughed, and Ehren slid a giant plate of eggs among them. It was a good day, with good friends, and Ehren smiled to see it. So maybe he really hadn’t staked out a nest of bloodcrows. So he’d deceived his friends.
But they were better off not knowing the truth.
They didn’t need to know that it had taken him bloody forever to catch those chickens.
The young man slipped into the tavern, and immediately threw himself against the doorframe as a body was flung past him into the street. Glancing around, he squeezed through the bodies near the door, his small frame essentially disappearing among the crowd. Moving between the patrons of the bar, the young man heard a familiar voice ring out over the commotion of the crowd.
Ehren ex Cursori groaned inwardly. Not again. Max was going get them booted from all of the taverns around Alera Imperia with his antics.
Glancing around, the he wove his way through the patrons, catching the barkeep’s eye. The stout man just nodded once, jerking his head slightly to one side. They were here, then. Good. Ehren hated it when he had to go through official channels. He flicked a gold piece to the barkeep, who palmed it as he moved aside to reveal a doorway. Ehren strode through it like he owned the place.
And stopped in shock when a cloaked figure appeared in the candlelight.
*****
Antillar Maximus was in a fine mood. Well, finer than usual. He always enjoyed a job that allowed him to knock some skulls around, but when said job also included one of the finest brews in all of Alera Imperia, Max enjoyed himself even more. Though having to wait for Ehren to finish his business was wearing on him. It meant having to take more time than he liked in a brawl. People might think he was getting complacent.
Max grimaced once, and took another swig of ale. A lady sitting in the corner table may have swooned because he winked at her while doing it. Though it could just have been the heat, Max liked to think it was him. A more reasonable explanation to his mind.
He’d seen Ehren slip into the tavern, which had, unfortunately, reminded the young Antillan of his duty. Max turned to look toward the brute he’d singled out as the ringleader only to find a fist grabbing him by the front of his tunic. Max wasn’t exactly burly, but he wasn’t a slouch, either. Yet this bruiser lifted him clear off the floor before Max could focus the earthcrafting that would have given him the strength to break the man’s grip.
Max struggled, groping for the short Legion-issue gladius at his side. Two more pairs of hands grabbed him, and Max felt himself being hoisted outside. The cool air buffeted his hair as they exited the tavern-as did the stone of the street when he was thrown down onto it. Max felt more than heard his face crunch.
Not the nose again. Max started yelling.
“Crows and great furies, not the bloody crowbegotten nose, you…“
Howling expletives, Max drew strength from the furycrafted stone beneath his feet and lashed out against his attackers. Twisting his upper body, he drew upon earth and wind, breaking the grips of those holding him and eliciting a cry of pain as a shoulder was dislocated. He rolled to his feet, sword slithering out of its sheath as he suddenly found himself surrounded. Letting out a laugh, he lifted his gladius in a fencer’s salute before dancing into the fray.
He met the first man with a high parry and a drunken bellow, the steel of his opponent’s blade sliding down the length the gladius. As his attacker overextended, Max whipped his blade to the left, slapping the man to the ground as he passed. Sensing movement, the young Antillan spun, drawing on the speed of the wind, and slammed into the figure coming up behind him. He crossed, and met the blade with his own. Moving past his opponent with a pirouette, the hilt of Max’s sword smashed against the man’s skull, sending him to the ground. Letting out a bellow of triumph, he broke into a Legion drinking song and proceeded to go through the rest of his assailants. For none of them were a match for Antillar Maximus with cold steel in hand.
But that was when he was sober. Against a drunk Antillar Maximus, things became much more straightforward.
Max suddenly found himself backpedalling, being driven toward a wall. Forcing his mind to think about the possibilities, Max did something that he rarely did.
He shut up. He forced away the drunken buzz with an effort, his mind clearing. Drawing upon his metalcraft, the young Antillan pushed back the pain, his sword becoming an extension of his being. His stance shifted, drawing his assailant forward.
As the thrust came in, Max drew upon wind and earth and flung himself backward, hitting the wall behind him and immediately dropping into a roll. His attacker drew up, startled, sword weaving a wall of steel between them. Max let out a rumbling laugh and darted forward, his sword meeting his opponent’s in a shower of sparks.
As Max evaded a quick series of thrusts, he noticed some of the men on the ground coming around. Resolving to end it quickly, he tensed to bound forward.
And felt a slight tickle at his throat. A cold tickle. The curved knife pressed tightly enough against Max’s neck that should Max have attempted an escape, he would rip his own throat open.
“Well, well, well, chums. Looky what we’ve got. A right upstart li’l Citizen’s brat, ain’t ‘e?” The voice was rough, yet polished. Max couldn’t quite place the accent. “Li’l bastard thinks ‘e can just come onto our territ’ry, drink our ale, sweet talk our women. Li’l brat ain’t getting away wi’ that.”
At the word “bastard,” Max’s blood began to boil. It was truer than his captors knew. The illegitimate child of High Lord Raucus Antillus, Max had always been subjected to hostility from others. It was why he’d run off and joined the Legions. Max struggled against his captor’s grip.
“Ah, we gots ourselves a feisty one, lads.” The knife cut deeper into Max’s neck. He could feel the trickle of blood. “Feisty li’l Citizen’s bas-“
A blur of grey, weaving between the conscious men, sent them to the ground with a few quick jabs. The figure appeared, wraithlike, prying the knife from Max’s captor’s grip. A quick blow behind the ear left the man lying unconscious on the ground, and Max scrambled for his gladius. He grabbed it and spun to face the cloaked figure, prepared to strike. As he recognized his rescuer, Max lowered his guard.
“Bloody furies, Ehren! Where the crows were you? Sure could have used that back in the bar!” Max grumbled. “Damn it, now I’m sober again.” He glared at Ehren. “I’m blaming you.”
Ehren disappeared the knife. “Can’t have you drunk, Max. We’ve got a job.”
“I’ll tell you where you can shove your job,” Max grumbled, tightening his belt and moving past Ehren. “Well? You coming?”
“Presently, presently.” By the great furies, Ehren thought. I’m even sounding like Sextus.
Max frowned. “All right. I’ll check and see if the Guard has gotten word yet.”
Nodding as Max moved off, Ehren knelt down and left a bag in the folds of the ringleader’s cloak. Glancing around, the small Cursor moved over to the downed swordsman. The man’s eyes flickered open.
“He gone?” His voice was raspy. “You have it?”
Ehren pulled an envelope from his cloak, and slipped it to the man. “You’re free to go. You have a berth on a ship heading down to Parcia.” Ehren swallowed once. “I ever see you again, I have express orders to kill you.”
The man laughed, wheezing slightly. “Boy, you are an assassin. Whether you want to admit it or not. Get used to killing.”
Ehren rose. “No. I don’t have to.” He turned and walked away, leaving the man staring after him.
*****
Max stood by the Guard outpost, looking longingly at the taverns across the street.
“Don’t even think about it.”
The young Antillan jumped, startled, as Ehren stepped out of the shadows. “Bloody crows, Ehren. Where the furies did you come from?”
“Just taking care of-” Ehren coughed delicately, “-business.” Max blinked.
“Business? Who’d you kill this time?”
Ehren blanched. Max promptly grimaced. Open mouth, insert boot. Well done. “Sorry. I know how you feel about all that.”
“S’okay.” Ehren’s voice turned bitter. “I’ve just got to come to terms with the fact that my job is to kill people. If need be.” He looked down at his boots. “Yeah.”
They started walking along the street. “What you need,” Max said, drawling, “is a woman.”
Ehren kept his face nonresponsive. “Heh.”
“No, seriously. You’ve got good features, you’re witty, intelligent, all of those things that I’m not.” Max squinted at Ehren in the dim light of the furylamps. “Hell, with a few drinks in me, I might even kiss you.”
Ehren finally broke a smile as he burst into laughter. “Remind me never to go into a bar with you, Max.”
Max grinned, and they walked in silence for a ways. Reaching a seedier section of Alera Imperia, Max asked quietly, “We’re heading for the docks, aren’t we?”
Ehren nodded.
“Trouble?”
Ehren nodded again.
Max cursed. “Can’t the job be a fun one every once in awhile?” he whined.
“Don’t worry, Max, it’ll probably come to a fight.”
The young Antillan grinned. “Oh. That’s better, then.”
Ehren snorted. “Yup. Which is why you’re going to handle it,” he said, nonchalantly, continuing down the street. Max stopped and stared incredulously at his smaller counterpart before jogging to catch up with him.
“Um, you were joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Why, no, I wasn’t-“
Max pounded on Ehren’s shoulders excitedly. “Ha! This never happens. Must be my lucky night.”
“…Yeah. Exactly.”
“So I just walk in and bash a couple heads together? Crows, but I love jobs like this.”
Ehren didn’t say anything. Losing the grin, Max asked, “So what exactly is this job?”
“Um.” Ehren paused but kept walking. “You’ll see.”
“Damn it, Ehren. You know how much I hate surprises!” Max thought about that for a moment. “Well. From Calderon, anyway. He’s got a crowbegotten tricky mind.”
Ehren just nodded as they neared the wharf. “That he does. Excuse me.” He ducked into the shadows and disappeared, making Max jump.
“Great furies, I hate it when he does that,” Max muttered. “One of these days I should just bloody pin his feet to the fl-“
He broke off as Ehren reappeared. “Bloody crows and furies above, Eh-“
His voice cut off as Ehren slipped a hand over his mouth and spoke in a low whisper. “This is the place. Shut. Up. Any excess noise could get us killed, now.”
Ehren nodded toward a seedy-looking inn. Loosening their weapons, they slid up to the door. Motioning for Max to pause, Ehren tried the handle. It opened. Ehren slipped inside, glanced around, then slid silently back to the street. “All right. Have at it.”
Max nodded, and slipped inside. Then suddenly found himself being pushed to the floor as a voice muttered, “Light.” Max stared in shock. “Ehren. I hate you. You dirty, rotten, lying piece of sneaky, clever idjit.” He got up, dropping his gladius. “Hello, ladies. What a pleasant evening it is-”
And promptly got himself dragged into a dark room, door slamming shut behind him.
Ehren laughed. “Happy New Year, Max. Do what you do best.” He laughed again, this time to himself. Whatever else Max was, he was very good at Cursor work. In bed. Still chuckling, Ehren drew up his hood and set off through the shadows.
Time to get to work.
*****
The next morning, Ehren was idling cleaning his knives in the bar of the inn. A door opened behind him, and heavy footsteps reached the bar, settling on a stool, grunting.
“Yes, job’s done,” said Ehren. “You?”
Max grunted again. “Hrnn. S’done. Bloody hate you.”
Ehren laughed and slid him a plate of breakfast.
“Well? Anything?”
Max took a moment to draw his thoughts together. “A couple sailors on some boat out of town. Called the Slive.”
“The Slive isn’t a boat, Max, it’s a ship,” responded Ehren absently. He suddenly realized what he’d said, and thanked the furies that his friend was probably still too intoxicated to notice.
Max grunted. “Bloody details. Who needs ‘em?” Ehren snorted.
As he continued eating, a thought struck Max.
“Where the bloody crows did Calderon disappear to? He was supposed to be with us yesterday,” he said, tearing into a bit of sausage.
Ehren smirked, picked up two more plates and walked over to a door. Knocking, he called, “Wakey wakey.”
A few moments later, the door opened to reveal a very disheveled Tavi. “What d’you want?”
“Your breakfast, sir, miss.”
A loud roar sounded in the background as Max burst into laughter. Tavi stared at Ehren, then covered his face with his palm. “Crows. Damn it, Ehren. What did you do?”
Max rumbled, “Got me bloody drunk, almost had me killed, made me sober, then dumped me here with a couple of ladies.” He shot Ehren a glare. “Dumped me with a job. Bloody annoying. Bah. Takes the fun out of everything.”
Ehren shrugged.
Tavi frowned, sensing something amiss. “What did you do?” he pressed.
“I got my friend drunk, nearly got him killed, sobered him up, scared him half to death, and dumped him with a job.”
A voice sounded from behind Tavi. “Enough. Ehren, tell. I am hungry.”
Ehren sighed. “Job wasn’t too bad. Only took out a nest of Kalaran bloodcrows.” He sat down, and checked his knives as the others just stared at him.
Tavi turned to look at Max in disbelief. Then back at Ehren. “You took on a… Crows, Ehren. You should have at least took one of us with you.”
Ehren shrugged. “You would have blown everything. Max would have stood out like a sore thumb, and you, quite frankly, would have over thought it.”
Max opened his mouth to give a retort then closed it, shaking his head. “Bah. He’s got a bloody point, Tavi. Though I never pegged you for a killer, Ehren.”
Ehren turned away, head bowed. “…I did my duty. It had to be done.”
Tavi and Kitai emerged from their room. “Ehren,” Tavi said. “There’s no point dwelling on the past. You’re not a killer. You did what you had to for the job. Doesn’t make you a cold-blooded murderer.” Max grunted his agreement.
Ehren nodded slowly. Then got a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “You know, taking on an entire nest of bloodcrows? That was easy. It was making your bloody breakfast that that was the difficult part.”
They laughed, and Ehren slid a giant plate of eggs among them. It was a good day, with good friends, and Ehren smiled to see it. So maybe he really hadn’t staked out a nest of bloodcrows. So he’d deceived his friends.
But they were better off not knowing the truth.
They didn’t need to know that it had taken him bloody forever to catch those chickens.