Chapter POV -> Corian

  The weather fared well for the morning’s travel. Not that Corian could tell beyond the blankets that covered the carriage’s windows. It was dark, like it always was. The only light that had joined him was Justin.

  To avoid full-blown suspicion, Justin would alternate with various members of Inprobus’ squadron, complaining about the hot sunlight in the peak hours, and then his sore feet as it started to dip. He was the somewhat magically demented son of an Archon, and the spoilt behaviour flew over most heads as entirely expected. During his watch over Corian he would chatter, and plot out their plan. Justin’s squadron already knew the details, faithful to their commander and sympathetic to Corian’s situation.

  He had shown Corian a map of where they planned to camp, the directions to run, and the overall order of events.

  In a perfect world, they would escape while Inprobus slept, and shirk the gaze of Quibbis or any patrols. Justin and his squadron would sleep in their armour to avoid the noises and wasted time that would come with packing. Corian and Justin would handle taking Rikka with them, either willingly, or unconscious.

  If Inprobus awoke, they had bigger problems. However, his incantation to call upon Ra’zerun’s blessing, the Eternal Flame, needed two hands to work. He would be limited in the spells to choose, and Justin would act as a frontal defense with his magic - that he wholeheartedly did not believe in - deflecting the attacks. The key was to stay back from testing the Archon’s swordplay, and to avoid noises that would awake his squadron.

  Corian felt hope for the plan. Hope that his father would be awake and he would be able to drive a blade through his chest.

  But he also felt guilt.

  In the way Justin smiled at him and patted his shoulder. The way he always remarked that Corian didn’t have it in him to burn that village to the ground.

  But, even if it wasn’t exactly the same, he had taken lives. Traded them for signatures on a piece of paper. What would Justin think of that? Did he already know?

  It ate at him as the morning turned to afternoon. Gnawing worse than the physical hunger that rumbled his stomach. It had its hands wrapped around his very soul and left his body feeling suffocated.

  Until Justin made another remark about the village, and the words simply slipped out.

  “What if I did?”

  Justin stopped, his smile falling to confusion. "Did what?"

  “Killed people that didn’t do anything yet.”

  Justin paused, his brow furrowed as he toyed with his gauntlets. “Yet?”

  Corian stared at the ground. “Or ever.”

  ━━━━━━ ? ? ? ━━━━━━

  The horse had refused to kick through some small bushes, and now he could feel at least three burs that had crept their way into the lining of his boots. It was going to be an itchy and uncomfortable night in another mud village with skat for amenities. But they were the perfect targets. The only targets.

  They barely knew magic. Had no blades, no travelers. Trusted folks that came with gifts, and barely had the wit to question facts thrown to them. He was immediately greeted by two men in rags when he approached the huts, gently led inside with smiles of welcome. They always smiled when he came in, hovering in crowds and whispering. And they smiled when he left, waving and cheering.

  They brought him to a stage, a couple dozen gazes fixed upon him in wonderment. They had likely never seen so much gold in their life. Let alone so much clothing to cover one person.

  It seemed a sad life. But they were always happy.

  Always welcoming.

  Always idiots.

  Their leader approached, an older fellow who seemed to struggle on the steps to the stage. He made his remarks to the crowd, and then Corian made his own. “Good Day! I am here to slay the beast that plagues this town!”

  As he watched the shocked crowd, his eyes rested on a young girl at the front. There was an old crone muttering things in her ear, but she seemed distant to whatever she was being told, dazzled by his armour.

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  Or maybe the horse beside him?

  Regardless, she would make a perfect alibi to tell everyone where he was at night.

  The murmurs rose, but their leader did not seem so convinced. “What beast?”

  Corian frowned. This one was going to be a hassle. “The beast! Has it not stolen a victim yet? Then you're in luck, for I've been tracking it for days! It smells of iron…” his thoughts fluttered about as he made up an excuse on the spot. He looked at the bewildered girl again, her eyes shining like emeralds. “With piercing green eyes! A creature born of wicked witchcraft. I'm sure you've heard the rumours on the wind, the Witch of the Westlock has been spotted at the northern pass.”

  “We've never heard of this beast, and we're far too humble to have spurred the wrath of a witch.”

  Corian kept his smile rigid, considering simply walking out at this point. They were usually begging him to go look for the monster at this point, not squinting at him and whispering.

  But if he left now that would be suspicious.

  He just had to make sure his example was the one with the smart mouth.

  ━━━━━━ ? ? ? ━━━━━━

  The night moved along. The girl he had chosen as an alibi was unfortunately somewhat insane. But she nodded along to his every word, and that was all he needed. If suspicions ever arose while he did his work, she would be a fine candidate to fight his case.

  He didn’t want to stay here for more than two nights if he didn’t have to. One night would have been ideal, but that was not a risk he was taking with the village being so skeptical. He had to put their skepticism to rest.

  Rombel looked to have less than three winters left in him anyway.

  He found the village leader had waited for him to stable his horse. Fate smiling on Corian as he learned his lodging would be in the man’s house. He walked side by side with the village leader, trying to warm up the man with small talk that he graciously accepted.

  “Oh, I have no doubt you are tracking something. But I do not wish to waste your time here.” Rombel remarked, his hand finding Corian’s shoulder with a firm squeeze.

  “I do not wish for you to be wrong though. Perhaps we can watch together for a few hours with some tea? I have the cups and ingredients, just water would do. If anything, you can try to bore me to death with stories of this place.”

  Rombel chuckled, accepting Corian’s arm to assist him up the steps to his house. “Tea is nice.”

  Corian worked away at setting up the tea. It was a ritual at this point, one no one ever refused. He knew how to make it quick, how to colour it right, and how to mask the flavour with the perfect amount of honey. In Rombel's cup, he discretely dropped an extra plant to steep. A white flower that almost resembled a dandelion before its second bloom. It was called a ferryman flower, its poison slowed the heart, and turned deadly once it lulled its victim to sleep.

  And with their cups of tea, they talked. Mundane stories about the village that made Rombel laugh, and stories of another’s travel that Corian took as his own. After an hour, Rombel yawned, his eyelids drooping as he nursed the brew. “I am very sorry, it’s not your conversation putting me to sleep, lad.”

  Corian nodded, keeping his smile strong. “I know.”

  Rombel fell asleep at the table shortly after. And in mere minutes, his heart stopped.

  Corian hated this part.

  He wrapped the body in his cloak, and waited for every torchlight in the village to fade. With only the moonlight to guide him, he carried Rombel to the woods. The man was light, which helped him not to think about what was in his arms. When he reached a spot far enough away, he rolled him out of the fabric and laid him in the dirt. He moved his dead face from a peaceful slumber to a wide-eyed scream.

  And then he started to carve. He closed his eyes, humming a tune as he drew three long cuts along the man’s torso. He cleaned the blade in the dirt, and clipped the cloak back on.

  The ritual was done.

  The village was harder to spot without any lights to guide him, but after an aimless journey, he could eventually make out some huts, bunching up his cloak to avoid snagging branches as he neared the homes.

  He braved one last wall of poking hedges, his cloak snagging on a dry branch while he tried to awkwardly step over it. He struggled to see where the fabric was tangled, his eyes travelling around his clothing, and then the ground. And then to a shape. Feet?

  His heart stopped when he saw the outline of a man, and he nearly fell the rest of the way. He fumbled around for his sword as the figure moved, only stopping in confusion when a small halo of light sprouted around him, the villager holding a torch they had freshly lit.

  He looked up at the taller man, still trying to swallow his leaping heart as he picked himself off the ground. “I…” He stared at the bush and the pitch black beyond. He had been disoriented without a torch to lead the way. He did not know how close the light was to illuminating Rombel’s carved-up body. “I heard noises.”

  The man did not speak, weighing him with a strange and dark look.

  How long had he been standing there?

  Corian hesitated under his gaze, looking around the dark huts for something else to grab at. An excuse. “Where are your bathrooms?”

  The man pointed to the bushes in the pitch black beyond.

  Corian hid a grimace. “Ah…” the excuses ran laps in his skull, inspiration striking him just in time. “That’s where Rombel went? Those were the noises?”

  The man nodded. “Probably. He’ll be back. Sleep.”

  Corian chuckled nervously at the order, and complied with a wave goodnight to the mysterious guest.

  But he did not sleep that night.

  In his mind, every snapping twig was the man rounding the house to break in and slit his throat as he slept. Or perhaps a mob of villagers quietly grouping up to beat him to death. The shadows in the small room danced whenever he opened his eyes, specters hiding in the corner of his vision to keep his heart racing.

  It was going to be a long night.