"Boy."
Darzi snapped her fingers at Lyuben. He stared at her back, still bent over the man dying at her feet. Lyuben did not move. She straightened, turned to glare at him.
"Problem, boy?"
The two stared at each other. Her name was Darzi because that's what she was: a tailor, as her troll father had taught her. Her elf mother had taught her how to manage a business while killing for coin. Darzi was tall with broad shoulders and hips, thick waist and legs. Her skin was a dusky violet, her eyes red, her hair a deep shade of blue. Her face was round with high cheekbones and a wide, upturned nose. Two long horns twisted back from her forehead.
His name was Lyuben because he was his mother's beloved child, born from her love of a Liberi soldier. Lyuben was thin, lean muscled, covered in short but dense fur, mottled grey and brown. A patch of orange brown capped his head and grew out long in a thick braided mane which hung down his back. His eyes, a bright yellow brown, stared at the man gurgling and twisting between her boots.
She slipped a dagger from her belt and held its handle out to Lyuben. He took the dagger. Its leather grip fit well into the pads of his hand. It would be simple: to drag the blade across the man's throat. Darzi stepped back, and the man reached up, smearing bloody fingers up the leathers covering Lyuben's thigh. He frowned and slapped the man's hand aside.
"Mercy—mercy." The words rattled out of his mouth.
Lyuben saw the man as he was. His name was Resnick, a human, a slaver who preyed on pilgrims and merchants. He had killed those who would resist and sold the rest to gnomish mining companies in the east or to dwarven chieftains in the north. That was the first of Resnick's sins. Lyuben had pieced together the whole sordid history as he tracked the slaver. Everything had led to this.
But looking at him now, writhing and pleading with a wavering voice, Lyuben felt nothing. He crouched down. The blade was short, thin—bit like him. He grabbed at Resnick's thick neck. Squeezing, Lyuben dug short nails deep into the spasming cords of the man's throat. Lyuben pressed the blade above his fingers and dragged it across. The man's skin tore red. It bubbled up and dribbled down, onto Lyuben's hand. It was warm. Its scent hit him as a wave and knocked his head spinning.
"Boy."
She snapped her fingers at him again. He pushed himself up, away from Resnick. Her hand was there, open, reaching for Lyuben, and so he gripped it tight. Her thick lips, painted a bright orange, curled up in a warm smile. She squeezed at his hand.
Then let it go. He stared at her. She untied the woolen scarf around her neck. After wiping the blade clean, she slipped it back into her belt. She bent to scrub the blood from his thigh, and he glanced away.
Back over his shoulder to the man, now still. Silent. Resnick had been at least a head taller than Lyuben and likely twice his weight. But now, crumpled and dead in the mud, he was a small thing. Lyuben stared. He felt nothing.
"Come on."
She slid an arm about his shoulders and led him from the alley. Leaning over, she kissed at his hair.
"That was only the first."
No comments:
Post a Comment