Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 33

The bait has been taken.

Rest is up to Karles now, if he can keep his head cool.

Pain rattled Linder's nerves like the thrum of a bard's lute, warm blood oozed through his shirt underneath and trickled down his back-- yet he was elated when he found the fake dagger missing from his saddlebag. Now he had but one aim. Survival.

He lurched sideways, and with a swift movement dropped to the ground from his mount. His assailant's cutlasses slashed nothing but thin air above the saddle, where Linder had been moments ago. His black stallion, ever faithful to its master-- and rather agitated by the sudden movement rose upon its hind legs and slammed the front hooves right into the hired killer's side.

The man went pitching to one side and had it not been for his armor, his ribs would have shattered from the impact. He was flung face-first into a muddy puddle of melted snow.

"Apologies," said Linder, arms spread wide, "but I prefer my opponents down-to-earth."

The man's eyes narrowed as he spit out the sludge. "You're gonna die a slow and painful death for that statement alone."

"You seem awfully sure of your victory." Linder hissed a laugh, swayed right, dodged left, the dual cutlasses managing no more than snipping off one stray lock of his hair-- and he was directly before the man the next moment.

He might have caught Linder off guard, but he was tactless.

"You make this too easy for me," he said, "clearly, your employer thought me nothing more than a mere bump on the road."

In a blur of acrid green, the real crystal dagger slithered out of its sheath and Linder plunged it, base-deep, into the man's throat.

Red blood sprouted out.

Linder's eyes widened. This man was not the Vasaen hired to kill him, but rather--

A trap.

A decoy.

A bait...for him to be taken while the real killer does his job behind his back.

Draedona take my soul, I've been fooled!

Far from amidst the battle, from the few soldiers who had noticed Linder, arose warning cries and shouts.

"LOOK BEHIND YOU!"

He was too late.

Linder had chalked out the entire plan up until now, been thinking on it all the way here from Brittlerock, weighed the odds, hooked the bait, and lay in wait. Yet never had he expected to be the one baited.

From behind, a sword thrusted headlong in a swift, calculated move. The blade tore through his armour and broke past chainmail.

The sword's bloodied tip shot out from above his navel.

The killer, the true Vasaen was was right behind him, yet the crystal dagger, the only weapon able to rend sorcerous flesh was still lodged into the throat of the decoy man.

His assailant gave the sword a savage twist. Linder felt his insides rip, his guts wrench, and Draedona's cold, invisible fingers close around his wrist as his vision blurred.

Where did it all go wrong?

With a vicious kick to his back, the man dislodged the longsword. Linder's limp body staggered forward, and knees sank deep in the snow gifted by the untimely winter.

"You'll have all eternity in hell to regret your choices, soldier. Nobody messes with the Guild."

A low, dry laugh. Job finished, the Vasaen went his way. Footsteps began to fade across the filthy snow. Distant cries echoed. Other soldiers were coming running to his rescue.