Siege (The Pack/Team Crafted)

Chapter Three

The woods were scary to him. After all, they hid all the bad people that lurked there, with shadows that stretched like reaching arms and branches that hid footsteps with creaks and groans.

Where he came from, everything was a gorgeous flat expanse of softly rolling hills and green grasses. Nothing would best the Nguŷen fields, especially not the eerie Asumé woods.

Lachlan's fingers wound tighter around his longsword. Among the trees, he could feel eyes. Someone, something was watching him, but wasn't attacking him.

At least that was something.

He kept moving, pacing through the forest. Leaves crinkled under his feet, sunlight choking in the dense branches. He could feel the cold air on his arms, his ankles.

Thunk.

Shimmering blonde hair was trapped under the axe's blade, dug firmly into the trunk of a tree. Lachlan's reactions were slow, stumbling at the near miss.

His fingers raised to the back of his head as he regained his balance. He was missing a few locks of hair, and his skin was coated scarlet.

"Aren't you going to do something more?"

Jolting with fear, Lachlan looked up. The lanky primitive stood in the shadows, enveloping most of his body. Dark eyes glinted from the blackness.

"Run away? Call me names? Fight back?"

"No..." Lachlan looked up at him, taking a step back. His sword raised, hands moving defensively. "I'm tired of fighting."

"Your position doesn't say so." The primitive stepped from the darkness to retrieve his axe. His body was still shadowed, but Lachlan could make out a battle-scarred but youthful face, a solemn expression, and long, raggedly-cut hair that fell around halfway down his back.

Long, reaching fingers wrapped around the handle and pulled the weapon from the trunk of the tree. Lachlan was frozen, watching him. As the primitive, clearly an Asumén warrior, stepped close, he began to notice the dried blood on his face and axe.

"Wh-Who are you?"

"The better question is who are you?" The warrior hissed, his axe raising. "And why are you in my woods?"

"L-Lachlan Power," he stuttered out, stumbling back. He scrambled, shakily moving his sword to defend himself. "I was j-just passing through."

The warrior studied him, unmoving. A look of disgust flashed over his face, and Lachlan flinched away, waiting for the blow.

It never came.

"You're really fucking lucky I let her live long enough to speak."

+

A drop of poison spread through the glass, turning the wine murky. With a small snarl, the assassin swished the drink around in it's glass. He had to move quickly. The Squire would be here soon.

Dabbing at the edges with his sleeve, he quickly retreated, skittering towards the window. Wearily, he slipped out through the narrow frame and dropped into the bushes below before pushing onwards, into the woods.

After traveling a fair distance, he turned on his heel, searching again. It didn't take him long to find the pocket of uprisen earth, nor did it take long for him to switch out the knives for a bow and quiver. He didn't hide his poison, instead choosing to keep it on his figure.

"Successful, I assume?"

The assassin looked up, not showing his surprise. His mentor, a man in his late twenties named Ian, was sitting on the branch above him. By day, he was a blacksmith.

"Yes, sir. We can expect Squire Christie to turn up dead at midnight tonight, sir."

"Two milligrams of your finest, correct?" Ian slid from his spot on the tree, gracefully landing on the mossy ground in front of the assassin. He fell to one knee, bowing to his mentor.

"Yes, sir. The nightshade powder, sir."

"Bah, we'll have to upgrade you," Ian scoffed, but ruffled his apprentice's hair. "Up, up, no need to hold that bow." The assassin moved back up to a stand. "You're a fine student, Mitchell. I couldn't have asked for better."

"Thank you, sir."

Ian nodded, dipping his own head. "Regardless, I have a new assignment for you... Walk with me."

He started to walk away, back towards the fallen town of Jüjar. Mitchell scrambled to follow him, bearing his bow. He claimed to be a hunter.

"The Courts have decided to spread the word of peace to the world. Now, you know we can't have that..." Ian began. Mitchell shook his head. "I have contacted them. They are using people of all kinds, primitives, Superiors, magic, no magic... Five, originally. I talked them into a sixth."

"Me, sir?" Mitchell asked, keeping his composure. This mission didn't sound interesting or challenging.

"Yes. I told them that the Crux was just as important as any primie or Sup court. For this journey, you will be the face of all assassins, Mitchell... And you do know what that means, as I understand?"

Slowly, a crude smile spread over the apprentice's lips. "Backstabbing to bigotry to manipulation, sir."

Ian laughed. "Now, we don't put it that way, but yes, you're right. Don't let them spread their message. Bring them to their knees. Make them suffer."

"Yes, sir," Mitchell chuckled.

"Now, I hear one of them, a thief, hails from Jüjar... I would suggest going that way after getting your weapons."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to take them, sir. Do you want me to hide them, sir?"

"Of course," Ian sighed. "You know how to do that, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I will now, sir." Mitchell broke posture, only to back off and regain it.

Ian dipped his head again, a sign of respect. "Good luck, my apprentice. I expect to hear news within the week."

"You will, sir," Mitchell grinned. "Goodbye, sir." With that, he turned on his heel and left.

"Goodbye, Mitchell," Ian called after him, then chuckled. "Someday, he'll be the death of me..."