Chương 100: Followed by Trouble

Arawn did not hesitate in calling in the ether and slamming it against the man who was almost upon him. It sent the would-be assassin crashing against the stones. He lay dazed for a moment, and Arawn used that time to form ether blades. They whisked through the air like arrows of light.

The man in a worker's disguise had no time to dodge. He raised his arm in a defensive gesture and called to the earth, but the ether blades sliced through all of it without any resistance. In a moment, the man was no more.

There was the sound of fighting behind Arawn. He whirled around to see Mutallu in a deadlock with another worker while the last one was facing off against the lord. The old man's long white hair had fallen out of its bind and flew all around his face, blocking his vision.

Arawn thought to help him, but Mutallu's opponent had his back to him. It was a godsend chance, and Arawn did not waste it. He called to more ether and sent it flying at the assassin.

It did not kill him straight away, since Arawn had aimed for legs in case his aim was off, so Mutallu quickly finished off his fallen enemy. Together, they then turned on the last assassin.

Noticing that he was left alone, the thin-eyed man jumped forward, breaking the lord's guard. It was a fool's tactic, risking one's life, but it surprised the lord and left him unable to defend. The assassin swiftly pressed his blade against his neck.

"Drop the weapon," he ordered in a low but clear voice.

His accent was definitely not Mairyan. He didn't even bother hiding his Bretian ancestry.

"What do you want?" the lord hissed while letting his sword drop to the ground. It landed with a loud clang that echoed in the tunnel. "I can give you money to—"

"Shut up!" the assassin shouted and turned him around to act as a shield against Mutallu and Arawn. "Neither of you moves or I slice his neck, understood?"

The blade against the lord's neck pressed tighter, drawing blood.

Arawn stood still as a statue. He didn't know the lord well or cared much for him, but he didn't want to risk an innocent life. It wasn't like they couldn't find a way to kill the assassin when he went outside.

"Who hired you for this suicide mission?" Mutallu asked in a soft voice.

The assassin gave him a look, then surveyed the surroundings and his fallen comrades. "We didn't know about you. Otherwise, he would be dead."

Mutallu laughed. "The king sure moves fast."

For the briefest moment, the assassin's jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed and he glared at Mutallu with hatred clear in his eyes. Then, his expression relaxed, and he started laughing too.

"We really did not get enough warning," he said with a twisted smile. "But those four were fools anyway. Next time we see each other, you'll be lying on the floor with your arms broken and begging for a swift death."

"Good luck with that," Mutallu said with a sneer. In the semi-darkness of the tunnel, he looked like a ghost.

The assassin grinned and took a step back. The lord did the same, though with a disgruntled expression. Instead of being afraid, he seemed annoyed, like someone had brought him chicken wings for lunch when he had asked for braised pork belly. The disgust on his face could have sent any chef scurrying back into the kitchen.

A step, two more. The two men walked at a snail's pace, but their eyes never left those of Arawn and Mutallu. The assassin was especially vigilant, constantly eyeing them. He didn't dare to spare his back a single glance.

When he was about to disappear behind the bend, a startled gasp escaped his lips. His hold on the lord loosened, and the old man thrust forward, falling to the ground.

Mutallu moved. Like a flash of lightning, he pulled out a dagger and threw it. Noticing his action, the assassin tried to raise his sword to block it, but he did not notice that there was another blade hidden behind the first one.

It struck his chest with a heavy thud and sent him reeling backwards. With a loud scream, he fell on what was behind him, and then screamed even louder.

Arawn could not listen to it and called to the ether, but Mutallu raised a hand, stopping him. "The lord will want to question him."

"We already know who sent him," Arawn said and sent the ether forward.

The ether blades cut into flesh, silencing the assassin. Although he was a murderer and had tried to claim their lives, torture was never an answer. They knew what they wanted to know, so he could die and go to hell where beasts would gnaw on him eternally.

Arawn wasn't sure that was really the afterlife for the wicked, but Bretians believed it, and the assassin had been Bretian. It was only natural that he would go to the hell that he expected for himself.

"Aren't either of you going to help me up?" the lord wheezed, his breath coming in short gasps.

Finally noticing that something wasn't right, Arawn ran over to the old man's side and extended a hand to help him up, but he was swatted away.

"Not this one, idiot! I twisted it while falling. Lift me by the left arm, left."

Sweat beaded on the old man's forehead, and his face muscles tightened as pain coursed through him from any movement. His heart raced like a galloping horse, threatening to shatter his ribcage.

Once he stood up, he breathed even harder. His face was pale and flushed at the same time, giving him a phantasmagorical look in the flickering light of the torches.

"Who were they? Why after you?"

"Not me," Mutallu said while coming over. "Him." His voice was as cold as steel as he motioned with his head at Arawn. "As to why, ask your doctor. He's the one with enough free time to tell you the story."

Then, he pulled out a waterskin and offered it to the old man. Noticing his hesitation, he shrugged. "Just say no if you don't want it."

After a moment's struggle, the lord extended his good hand and took a couple mouthfuls of water. They returned color to his face, and he let out a long breath while leaning against the wall.

"You've got a lot to tell me, but for now, let's go back. I need to have my arm healed."

This was the sign that they should leave, but Arawn still had one unanswered question. He looked to where the assassin had fallen and examined the ground. It was straight and without a single hole or rock, but something glinted in the dim light.

He bent down and picked up a small spike. It was only a few centimeters long, but it was enough to punch through the thin layer of leather used for commoners' shoes. The assassin had to have stepped on one while backtracking, which had resulted in his immediate demise.

"Did you know we would be attacked?" Arawn asked in a low voice while turning to face Mutallu.

The youth aimed a look at him that Arawn could not decipher. "You should always be prepared to have company. You're desirable goods now."

His words were a soft punch, but a punch nonetheless. Arawn turned away and lowered himself to collect all the spikes before they or somebody else walked onto them by accident.

When they reached the outside, the lone soldier standing there was stunned to see his lord cradling his arm. It was a bit of a hassle to bring the old man up the ladder, but they managed it in time and were out into the late morning sun.

They left the soldier to guard the entrance while they hurried out of the forest and back into the mansion. The lord had come on horse, but he did not wish to rattle his arm and so chose to walk on foot as well.

Not wanting to cause a panic, the lord brought them to his lounge room through the backdoor while sending one of his servants to bring Sylvester. In a few minutes, the glasses-wearing man sauntered inside, not looking the least bit perturbed to see them back and one of them injured.

"Did you trip on your pride again?" he asked the lord while sitting down in an armchair like he owned the place.

"No, I got implicated," the lord said with an edge to his voice. "You did not tell me your friends have a price for their heads."

This was enough to make Sylvester grow serious as well, but not for long. He sighed and stood up. "Fine then, I'll heal you free of charge this time," he said as if he was giving a great gift that the receiver would never be able to appreciate enough.

"You better," the lord said. All his humor seemed to have vanished, and the gaze he aimed at Sylvester was no longer friendly. "I expected more of you."

Instead of answering, Sylvester stopped by the lord's side and pulled back the dark blue sleeve. The skin hidden beneath it was starting to change color, looking decidedly unhealthy.

Ether from the arm poured into Sylvester's hands, then rushed back into the arm. Since the damage was inside, nothing could be seen, but the lord's expression slowly relaxed. He waited for a bit more, then pulled his arm away and flexed it a few times. There was not a sign of it having ever been injured.

The lord massaged the place with his other hand, marveling at how well it had healed. There was not a single mark to prove that he had been injured. "I hate to admit it, but you actually have gotten even better. When did you reach this level?"

"Couple years ago?" Sylvester said with a shrug. He pulled away and retreated into the armchair he had taken for his own. There was slight tiredness in his movements, but he hid it for the most part. "What happened?"

Before the lord could say anything, and he had planned to do it based on his open mouth, Mutallu spoke up. He quickly shared where they went, what happened, and how he had solved the problem. His story received an appreciative nod from Sylvester.

"I don't see how any of this is our fault," he said then.

The lord's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets at his words. "Not your fault? I almost get killed in the crossfire, and it's not your damn fault?"

A smile lifted the corners of Sylvester's mouth. "Of course not. How were we to know that your castle is this badly protected? Five assassins stole the identities of your five trusted servants, and nobody noticed? You only have twenty people at most at any time that know of where your tomb lies, and nobody took note of the impostors? Have you all went blind? Or careless?"

The barrage of accusations left the lord speechless. He opened and closed his mouth, not able to find the right words to defend himself.

"And you actually claim that it's my fault? You've grown old and foolish. If a few third grade assassins could get into your most sacred ground, what people with some actual skill could do?"

"Like you?"

Sylvester raised his eyes to the heavens as if begging for patience again. "I'm a doctor, not an assassin. And I'll never do anything to intentionally harm you. Those two kids are the same.

"We're refugees from Ayersbert, so of course trouble follows us. I just didn't expect that you had let go of yourself this much. I'll leave if you think you can't handle it."

The lord's face grew decidedly red. He stood up and strode over with a thunderous expression to tower over Sylvester, but he didn't look the least bit intimidated. "Got something to say?" he asked in an almost mocking voice.

"Evening. Dress up the two as well. I'm presenting you as the guest of honor before all the guests tonight."

"Not afraid of the trouble?" Sylvester asked with a raised eyebrow.

The lord gave him a withering stare. "I'll get the full story later. Now, I need to find out what happened to my people that were replaced. Don't think I've forgiven you yet, though."

"I never did anything requiring your forgiveness," Sylvester said with a scoff and stood up as well. His eyes flashed with a dangerous light, and he motioned for Arawn and Mutallu to stand up as well. "Let's go. He needs to clean up his house if he wants us to stay here."

The lord's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything, and they left without another word.

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