Rosomil felt a certain apprehension well up within him the closer they came to the village. Upon entering the perimeter of the first houses he could hear someone shout for help. He and Lodwin looked at each other for a second and then, without hesitation, drew their swords and ran towards the shouts.

  Rosomil wasn’t in the least surprised when he saw Alistair standing above Hamish with a bloody axe in his hands. The priest crawled wounded across the ground and pleaded for his life as the fisher-boy walked calmly towards him.

  “Drop your weapon and back down!”, shouted Rosomil as they were close enough and turned for a second to Lodwin. “Go and fetch the others!”

  “Yes, Captain”, Lodwin replied and headed towards the inn.

  Alistair looked up for a moment. Regret was painted clearly on his face. Regret, pain, and something else. He suddenly shook his head as if denying something or someone. His hand with the axe trembled and for a moment, he seemed about to step away. But instead of dropping the axe, he slammed it into Hamish, killing him. Without hesitation, he pulled it free and ran with it towards Rosomil.

  He reacted immediately and deflected the first haphazard blow of the fisher-boy. But Alistair didn’t back down. He turned and again aimed for Rosomil’s neck and shoulders. However, it was clear he didn’t really intend to kill or even hurt him.

  Rosomil tried to offer him the same curtesy, but the moment Alistair noticed what he tried to do, he put more effort into his attacks. Rosomil realized his true intentions and accepted his decision, despite it being like a cold spike in his heart. With a smooth movement, he pushed past Alistair’s lackluster defense and plunged his blade into his heart.

  The fisher-boy gasped involuntary for air and dropped the axe as he slumped against Rosomil.

  “S-sorry… for forcing… your hand”, Alistair pushed through gritted teeth.

  “I promised you as fast and as painless a death I could manage, didn’t I?”, he replied dejected.

  “Yeah… Thank… You…”, he breathed with a faint smile and fell limp.

  Rosomil lowered him gently to the ground and pulled his blade from his chest. Then he kneeled beside him, making sure he was gone.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Rosomil? Are you alright?”, asked Lodwin worried as he arrived with the others of their group, Aswald and the mayor in tow.

  “I’m fine”, he replied and placed Alistair’s hands on the boy’s chest after closing his half lidded eyes.

  At that moment also the first villagers appeared in their nightgowns and long robes with lamps and candles in their hands. Upon seeing what had happened, they started to whisper in shock and disbelief.

  “Hamish!”, called out Iain and pushed past some of the villagers. “By the Lord! No!”

  Rosomil watched him run up to his brother and fall down on his knees next to him. Despite the circumstance, he couldn’t help but consider this action to be purely theatrical.

  “It’s over now, isn't it?”, asked the mayor with tears running down his weathered cheeks. “It was really him…”

  “I’m sorry”, Rosomil replied and stood up.

  The blood on his coat seemed wrong. The corpse of Alistair at his feet too. All of this felt like he was dropped into someone else’s nightmare with no way to escape himself.

  “You! All of you!”, shouted Iain and headed towards them. “The Order of the Crimson Hand is supposed to prevent unnecessary deaths! What a waste of skin all of you are!”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, but some things are unavoidable”, said Aswald and stepped between him and Rosomil before he was too close. “And while the murders will certainly now stop, we still have to investigate how the boy managed to get out of his cell. I’ll personally take care of this and warp all of it up. Once this is done, we’ll be gone and inform the Bishop.”

  Rosomil felt a tingling sensation and subtly glanced towards Aswald. While barely noticeable, he could feel his master use a calming spell on the priest. Iain immediately backed down as expected and looked somewhat forlorn over to the body of his brother. While much more honest an expression than his first outburst of grieve, there was still an unfitting aura of relief about him not explainable by the spell.

  “Lodwin, you and the others will help the mayor and Father Iain with the dead”, ordered Aswald and pointed at the bodies.

  “What about me?”, asked Rosomil while they did as ordered.

  “You come with me”, he replied and moved towards the inn, expecting him to follow him along without a second thought.

  Rosomil made one step but noticed that he still held his sword. While already drying, the blood still dropped from the tip. For a moment, purely out of reflex, he was about to take a strip from Alistair’s clothes to clean the blade before sheathing it. But the second he was about to reach down, he stopped and looked at the fisher-boy’s serine face. A barely noticeable smile was left on Alistair’s lips, which made him look like he was just sleeping.

  “Rosomil?”, asked Aswald right next to him and made him flinch.

  “I need to clean my sword”, he remarked monotonous.

  “Then do so and follow me”, said Aswald in a warm fatherly manner, and placed a hand on Rosomil’s shoulder.

  Rosomil nodded and used his own scapular to wipe the blood away, much to Aswald’s clearly visible displeasure. Yet, his master remained silent on the topic and simply headed again towards the inn.