Page 33 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

I spin, driving my knee into someone’s gut. I finish him with a slash across the throat. Blood sprays hot across my face, getting in my eyes and mouth.

Garrett has his sword out now. His blade finds throats and hearts without mercy. There’s no hesitation in him. He kills with the same easy grace he uses for everything else. We end up back to back without planning it. His shoulders press against mine, solid and warm. For a moment the world narrows to just the two of us against everyone else.

“On your left,” he says calmly. I duck as his blade swings overhead, taking someone’s head clean off. The body crumples and the head rolls away into the underbrush.

“Two more coming,” I reply and feel him shift, adjusting his stance.

We move together like we’ve been doing this for years instead of weeks. Every time I strike, he’s there to cover my blind spot. Every time he extends, I’m there to protect his back. It’s seamless and perfect.

An arrow whistles past my ear. I track its trajectory back to an archer in the trees. I throw my dagger. It catches him in the throat. He falls, crashing through branches.

An attacker gets past my guard, their blade slicing across my ribs. Pain flares hot across my skin, but I barely feel it. I drive my elbow into their face, feeling bone crunch. They stagger back. I finish them with my remaining dagger.

“You’re bleeding,” Garrett says, not taking his eyes off the remaining attackers.

“I’m fine.”

Three more rush us together. Garrett takes two, his sword a blur of silver in the dim light. I handle the third, catching their sword on my bracer and driving my blade up under their ribs.

The forest goes quiet. Bodies litter the ground around us, still and broken. I count eleven.

No, twelve.

The last one is trying to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood through the fallen leaves. Garrett walks over and steps on the attacker’s back, pinning them.

“Who sent you?” He twists his foot, grinding the enemy’s face into the dirt. The attacker spits blood and says nothing.

Garrett drives his sword through the guy’s hand, pinning it to the ground. The scream that tears from his throat sends birds scattering from the trees.

“Who. Sent. You.”

I’ve seen this before. Interrogations and torture are common in my line of work. But I’ve never watched someone do it as calmly as Garrett. It’s like this is just another task for him to complete.

The attacker's screams mean nothing to him.

He breaks after the third finger and babbles about a contract. Someone in the Elven Aldarelf council wants Garrett dead. No names though, just gold and promises.

“Not very loyal, are they?” Garrett muses, then ends it quickly. A sword through the throat.

The body goes still.

Garrett wipes his blade on the dead man’s cloak, then looks around at the carnage. “We should bury them.”

“Why?”

“Because leaving bodies on the road raises questions.” He sheathes his sword. “Questions lead to investigations. Investigations complicate things.”

What things? Curiosity pricks at me but I push it down. I don’t question the will of my client.

We don’t have shovels or proper tools. We use fallen branches to dig shallow graves in the hard earth. My ribs scream with every movement, the wound pulling and bleeding fresh with each scoop of dirt.

Garrett works beside me without complaint, his fine clothes getting ruined with mud and blood.

It takes hours. By the time the last body is covered, we’re both exhausted. We stand there in the growing darkness, covered in dirt and blood and sweat.

“You’re not what I expected from a guild assassin,” Garrett says finally. “You’re not enjoying this.”

I lean against a tree, pressing a hand to my bleeding ribs. “Should I be?”