God's Forsaken

Chapter Six

Michel and his mob chased the assaulters through the streets. Ignoring the yipping tourists, they cornered the assailants between two buildings and a random boulder that blocked their exit. Pressed against the rock, the runners tried to climb its smooth surface. The assassin sauntered up to them with his firearm trained on their backs.

"Excuse me," called the assassin. The runners stopped and tossed fearful glances in Michel's direction. Yet, something about their body language confused the assassin. They seemed too loose and their worried frowns too plastic. "I was minding my own business when you two came along. Now, I know that an angel's height can intimidate people, but I assure you that I'm no thunderbird."

The runners didn't say a word; their eyes started searching the roofs above. Michel's own keen eyes followed their stares. Elusive bumps ducked out of sight. Lowering his firearm, the assassin knelt in front of the toad. His size provided a better meat shield than that of the shorter goblin.

"Listen. I forgive everything if it's just a poor attempt at robbery," said Michel calmly. Yanking out a piece of pale blue fabric from his empty pocket, the assassin offered a pleasant smile. "I've got nothing to take." His treacherous lips fell into a frown as fear vanished from the duo. The smirking frog grabbed his ally and leapt to the top of a rock. Pounding hammers echoed overhead.

Standing, Michel peered up at a group of people throwing netting between the two buildings. A second team nailed spikes into the roofs to hold it in place. Jubilant, merciless laughter rumbled through the mob behind Michel. Almost in a wave they removed hidden knives, clubs, and brass knuckles from their clothing.

Fickle moods were one thing, but Michel knew when he had been set up. He readied his revolver when a geyser of sand erupted in front of him. Sprays of gold and red filled the immediate air. Stumbling back, Michel shielded his scratched face with a hand. The mob surrounded him. A thin, invisible line contained their gleeful maliciousness.

"Would someone please tell me what day it is?" asked the assassin. "I swear to the divine I ordered my thugs yesterday, not today."

"They're professionals who can see good business staring them down," proclaimed a voice.

On the left roof, a tall being stepped into view. The head of a red raptor sat on top of a humanoid body. Feathery arms bare to the elements were crossed. One of his clawed fingers tapped a silver bracelet hanging off his wrist. Blue paint covered his chest, but everything below was covered by feathers and a red kilt. Sharp talons dug into the roof edge for balance.

"Mr. Andal." The smiling Michel gave a curt bow to Andal. "Talk about surprises. Burning buildings are usually perfect pyres." Andal clacked his beak and a ball of sand smacked the assassin's cheek. Bruised skin only strengthened the assassin's malevolent grin.

"You took my kill, Aod."

Aod? So Andal still hadn't figured out Michel's real name. That was a good thing, but the Fasna - Andal's species - bird brain lacked creativity. Kneeling, Michel scooped up a pile of sand while keeping his gun on the mob in front of him. Fine sand waterfalled from his fingers as the assassin waited for the crunch of battle.

"Come on, Andal," said the assassin. He shook his head in shame. "Twenty years of the hunt and this how you plan on taking me down? A pack of buffoons and idiots. Sloppy work."

"True, but at least I didn't allow the whole of Barrol to know I had been captured."

Stiffening, Michel dropped the remaining sand. "Even Lady Luck can have an unlucky day." Cocked hammers started to fill the air. It looked as if the people on the roofs grew tired of the babble. Michel's calm, cool smile caused a few thugs to stumble back. "Brute force? Simple, effective, but costly."