Some things, a morning couldn't mask. Like the uprising he hadn't dreamt about. Some things were content to be forgotten. Others liked to poke their heads out whenever called upon. One day they'd be real nice and sneaky, and then someone would use the wrong word. Summon a wrong thing. And you were stuck remembering the muck.

Eyes bloody and spine that cracked like wet stone, it hadn't been a restful night. The horse blanket...or whatever it was, had staved off the worst. He'd been dry and warm enough. Comfort was a luxury that wasn't really considered. At least the rain had passed them in the night.

Uncocooned himself like a butterfly. Only there were no wings, only a short, dirtbound fella and an ugly spinescar. If there were additional parts there once – someone had nipped those too. That one should've killed him. Because people like that didn't miss. But every time he thought it possible, another scar reminded him there was yet road to travel. Things to do and trouble to cause.

Squinted into the bleak almostmorning.

This would be a time to bail. When you left before Sun got too high, you slipped out unnoticed. Well on your way before anyone got fussy. But if he bailed now....then why did he even go along in the first place? Sure, you could blame the drink. He often did. But no amount of liquid could speak for all of your weakness.

Being buttnaked in places you shouldn't reminded him of the fucking kid from Aragor. So he swiped his clothes down. Pants hung lower and gave up more easily. The shirt took some convincing.

„Blondie, wake up!“

Wasn't sure if Laric had to perform some horsemagic on Jerry to get her ready for the trip. But sooner was better.
 
He could feel it even as they stood still. The pull of getting closer. Only they weren't goi...

SHIT!

His eye barely caught the glimpse beyond the barn door opening. An amber eye squinting, then going wider, before becoming still. Sometimes you spent ages searching for something, and sometimes it found you instead. The eye widening beyond the door seemed like...recognition. Only he wasn't sure whether they knew him or Laric. Wasn't even sure which one would go down easier.

As the door swung open, three of them were waiting beyond. The wet of their clothes testament that they hadn't stopped to rest when the rain got heavy. Was this his fault? Was Her help in finding the mark what made them found in turn? One never could be certain with shroudfuckers.

Only none of them were who they've gone for. That one was still out of sight.

The figures were wrapped in traveling cloaks, not much visible beyond their hands and what they held. Each one held a sharpie, although the form wasn't one he recognized – Suldazan slicers and stabbers often liked strange shapes. And if that's where they were from, anyone who'd want him dead there had long since moved on. Laric, then.

„To je onaj lik što je otišao s Darionom.“ Finger on the ambereyed youth pointed to Laric.

Both of the others made responses in that same, strange tongue – but he couldn't quite make it out. But the name did seem familiar.

Well, at least the horse magic had already been performed. If they were to get fucked up in this place, at least Jerry would look fancy for her sendoff.

„You the one got Darion killed?“ Accent broken and obviously foreign.

Trevor got up in case some running was about to happen. Couldn't walk for shit, much less run at a speed that mattered – but he could do a real mean hop.

A creak on the roof above, then another.
 
Perhaps that is why slipping out before light had felt right. Given how quickly they surrounded the barn, Trevor doubted he could've made it far without getting noticed. Even now, he wondered if he should make attempt for the horse. But whenever one man got lucky, it was paid somewhere else – always more, always worse. And Luck that saved your life – well, that was the most murderous kind.

The noises on the roof had gone quiet and softer sound played with the hay in the far corner. Almost like someone was stepping through it, unseen.

„To pametno...ne.“ He could still remember traces of it, time and drink weren't helping.

But Trevor's distracted gaze was rewarded by a sharp tickle at his side. A soft hand rested against his shoulder. The presence did away with the steps. This...he knew.

„Was what your mother said when she dropped you as a kid.“ The voice was unmistakable. Only Trevor'd killed the man some years back. Wasn't a thing you normally got to walk away from.

„Windstep.“ Immortal asshole.

„Red.“

„You here to try and kill us?“

„Try?“


Trevor's brow arched without looking back, they both knew how it went last time. Neither of them had exactly gotten less dangerous with age.

He heard the knife being sheathed before the pressure at his side let up. The fucker had always been more apparition than man, but you had to admire the skill.

Neither of them moved. Because movement action. And they were both too old for that shit.

In front of them, the three were still measuring Laric until one of them nodded and two more landed soft and catlike from the rafters above.

„You will tell us story of his death.“ The largest of the three moved his hood back to reveal a face that had clearly taken a mace at some point. Seemed like what little hair still grew atop skull was grey now. „Make it good one.“

He looked over Laric's shoulder to the smaller of the two rafter infiltrators. The figure mhhmed and nodded in turn.
 
„You make cock of joke?“ Anvilface looked uncertain. Wasn't even looking at Blondie – looked behind him. As if deciding how this should be taken.

„Cockdeath is better than sickdeath. Could be worse.“ The ambereye chimed in, but no one laughed. Went paler. Got real quiet.

Trevor wondered if he should say something. But the things he knew about Blondie wouldn't help. The almostcannibal. Killer of the insane. Wasn't sure that would help friends of Darin Cockbait. Jokes like that got people killed.

Windstep didn't seem as burdened, and let out a huff. Hired hand then. That was good. Wouldn't fight as hard.

„Remember the kidnapping job?“ Trevor could've asked which one, but only one was memorable enough to talk about all these years later. Wasn't every day you got your ass beat by the kidnapee. He nodded. Might've had shit to add, because he was good at that. Stirring shit into the soup – but Miss Rafter spoke next:

„Darion is dead. How is unimportant.“ Accent more local than the rest. Didn't seem too practiced, but Trevor was no languageweaver.

„We should be asking who.“ She moved out of position to approach Laric, leaving a gap on that side. Smarter man might've made a break for it then. But smarter men didn't have fucking Windstep at their backs.

„Who killed Darion?“ She repeated, now standing beside Blondie. Seemed to be in one of those sandwraps. Those were important in the desert, made sure you got sweat instead of sand into places. Wasn't sure what good it did for her in Ilica, but some habits were like drink.
 
Trevor's lip twisted in unease. Really wasn't the time to play toughguy, unless he was going to whack 'em all. Hopefully not.

„Reckon they're fighting?“

„Naah.“

„Good. You still keep booze in your left bo...“
but the flask already shook at his side. It was good to work with known quantities. You could get a good buzz going while the others took care of business.

„Some things...“ Really never changed. Grabbed the flask and took a swig. „You and I need to settle our shit?“

„It's been years. We good.“
The guy didn't seem to hold a grudge. But that was how you thunked a guy – while everyone thought you were getting cozy. Still, his unstabbed side bearing witness, the best time to knife Trevor had passed.

As the two old colleagues traded drink and hushed words, the situation ahead had yet to fully settle. The woman next to Laric didn't attempt quiet.

„Siguran si da je vidoviti govnar pričao o ovima?“ Anvilface shrugged at that. She looked at both Laric and Trevor. Windstep elbowed the ginger to at least appear distressed. Trevor obliged, a second too late. Appearances and all.

„Patuljak i plavuša.“ Took a long breath. „Previše slučajnosti da bi bilo slučajno.“

„Sami su.“
The ambereye nodded, eyes closed now. Kept them shut.

„I was sent to find who killed Darion.“ She looked to Blondie then the other rafter invader. „Our shitsniffer said we'd find the man tied to it here. Said he'd be looking for his kin.“ She pulled down her wrapping, revealing a face that bore resemblance to the man Laric knew.

„Why are you looking for his family?“
 
„Any thoughtthieves among you?“ Trevor asked offhand.

„The lil' amberfuck.“ The lilfuck in question eyed Windstep like he'd remember this betrayal. But fuck that guy. Who cared if you were known as a thief if you were planning on stealing anyway?

In front, Laric went on with his benevolent self. Trevor still wasn't buying it. But some guilt was easier to swallow when you did something about it. That, he could understand. Probably did the same exact thing after...

If you dig in my head, I'll make sure you die first.

The amberfucker's brow knit tighter.

Yes, you, you little shit.

„I'm not buying it.“ The woman voiced what many were already thinking. „Darion knew the line of work he was in. Knew what it could mean.“ She nodded to the drinking buddies in the back, face openly displeased. „But you don't track the family of dead merc's...“ She eyed Trevor. „...And you don't bring that with you.“

„Rude.“

„Drink.“

„Ye, ye.“
 
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