It felt familiar, being among carnage again. As he cantered through the dried blood and festering bodies, the ruined wagons and animals slain, gutted and partially-consumed, Konrad had eyes only for what could profit him. After all, what was left to concern himself with?
Coyotes have to eat. So do the worms and crows and buzzards. Everything else? For us to-
A fuzzy blond orb stuck its head out from underneath a wheel-shattered wagon and Konrad's eyes narrowed instinctively. Just as instinctive was the mental calculation he made right afterwards. A woman, and small, without arms and mayhap wounded... not a concern. She was in no position to stop them turning over their cavalcade of potentil booty. If she did, well...
Konrad ached all over. His wounds were still healing, still bound and throbbed... but one little girl wouldn't stop him. The only issue were the-
"If not Drykas, she is slave to Drykas, understand?"
Surprise. That's what first struck him, as he turned and gaped at The Dark One, wearing something close to the avaricious expression he did. Irritation was clear in her voice, chopped and unfamiliar as Common was to it. Same thoughts as him, he knew. Just an unfortunate obstacle.
But one easily remedied, he thought, and he smiled crookedly as the dark Drykas went over to where The Light One was fussing over the survivor. And profitably, apparently.
But he did not follow Merevaika. All of them were standing among a collection of claims, and they were focused on the one that was moving, speaking, wanting. But she was far from the only thing to be had... and as he carefully, carefully dismounted, Konrad's street pragmatism reared its head and advised caution... and self-interest.
They might not even let you in on it, his mind whispered, reminding him that he was an outsider, a wahlak, barely tolerated. It would be the same back home: you didn't get a cut unless you were proven in the gang; anything else, and you got a handout. Maybe. Better to mind what you can claim with your own two hands. They want to get in your face about those? Well... they're welcome to try and take them.
That reassured him, too. His hands flexed into fists, the metal on his body seemed to press a little closer to him... and the he was moving.
Swift and stooping, an old dance known and familiar to him from a thousand street brawls, gang skirmishes, ambushes, raids and killings. Well, their aftermath, at any rate. He crouched over the nearest body and started turning out pockets, feeling down legs-
Her eyes gazed and her mouth gaped. Scream still captured on it. Not her son. Not her husband. Not her.
-cursing softly as he smeared blood on his fingers, wiping it on a shredded blouse there. Nothing there, but... ah, the body next to her. A man. Much more likely to have some coin to him. He stepped over the eviscerated woman and subjected the corpse to the same treatment. Tossed a small purse in the air and caught it with a little "heh!" of victory-
They were eating them. Piss ran down his legs as he ran but he had to get away. No, no, they were on him, they were ripping, tearing, biting, and he could not stop them.
On he moved to a wagon, fallen on its side and with all it held scattered, like some child's toy kicked over and spilled without care. Tough fingers traced the white, fresh scars that claws had made. His brows rose a touch and he remembered rending teeth, the bodies feasted on. That and these marks...
Zith, he thought, starting to comb through the wreckage. Not bandits or Drykas. They don't care much about shiny stuff, at least no usually. Food and slaves. Hence all the... eating.
He growled, greedy hands finding nothing value. Best to stick with the bodies. Men carried purses, and some women, too. More chance to find coin there than stuffed in the wagons... and if not, he'd get to them after. He walked around the wagon, hearing the Dark One fire away with her questions like arrows with lethal intent. Konrad couldn't help but smirk: the bitch certainly wasn't sugar-coating it. Oddly enough, he approved.
Best to break her quick and not have her panic on the way back. More trouble to deal with.
His feet crunched on something unfamiliar and he looked down-
"... well, petch me runnin'."
Curved and half-covered by mud and blood, stamped half into the ground by mindless feet or wagon wheels, Konrad looked down at what was... yes, definitely a kukri. His hand went to the sheath at the small of his back in memory, only finding the curved leather holder sadly empty. Sodding Three Eyes was the reason. He'd have preferred to have thrown it into him days before, but had to settle with his horse's throat.
Did the job, though. Robbed him of his mount, gave him a chance to pounce on the bastard. But he'd still lost it. Came to with Pridesun and his flock with everything else on him... except his kukri.
He bent down and a hand moved near it. He followed the bloody limb and saw a man, thinning hair and sallow features and a wound in his chest that sucked and bubbled with every breath. Konrad watched mutely as his lips worked uselessly, and then:
"Pluh... Pleh... Hel... Help... mehUKH-"
The last croak came out coated with blood. It spilled and dribbled and Konrad knew the man... well... a season ago, he would have said the man was dead. Just hadn't caught up with his body, yet. But as he perused the wounds, the blood, the muscles exposed and guts still throbbing in his wounds, he wondered if he'd looked any better when Jonas found him. Endrykas was barely a half-bell away. Three people, three mounts, even with a prisoner... it wasn't impossible.
The thought lasted about four ticks in Konrad's head. Then he flicked a glance over the edge of the wagon and saw the women still questioning the slave.
"Ple... Please..." The man said, as he coughed blood and Konrad gripped his shoulder and picked up the kukri he'd tried and failed to defend himself with. "I... I cuhn't... it-"
"Shhhhh..." Konrad hushed him, voice oddly gentle, catching his eyes and seeing the desperate hope swelling there. Drew his arm back and glanced down. "I'll help yeh."
"Th-Tha-"
Shhuuuk
Under the breastbone. Between the ribs were better, but the kukri was too thick. Instead Konrad flipped it around so the curve was facing upward, then cocked his arm as if to punch and then-
Metal blurred, silver and brown and red, until it vanished. Something crunched under it after it cleaved bloody cloth and slowly dying flesh. The man's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his still-working hand flew to Konrad's shoulder. His eyes begged. His mouth worked but no words came, no life save for more leaked, scarlet liquid.
Konrad shoved harder. Up to the hilt. Then twisted. The man shuddered, but his grip... gods, it was strong.
They all fight. In that last tick. Who wouldn't?
But wanting did not make it so. The man went limp, eyes still open, and Konrad drew the kukri out of him. Blood coated it, dripped from it, and he wiped it with two quick gestures on one of the few remaining clean patched on the man's breeches. Then he reached behind and... ah, yes... fit back in there just as smoothly as when he'd owned his last one.
"Yer welcome."
He went through his pockets, relieved him of a purse and went on his way without a backward glance.
Gods, is she still going on?
Konrad was not a hard man to miss. Surrounded by the dismembered and despairing dead, lives shattered in some desolate place not even the gods could find them, and half of Konrad's face was cocked into a smile. Sloane could looked up from her two inquisitors and see him approach. Tall, much taller than them. Black hat and black duster and white shit, bottomed off by boots with faded steel caps. Kopis swinging lightly at his belt, the very picture of-
Then the man would pause. Smile falling, twisted into a suppressed snarl as that petching stomach wound flared up again. Petching Three Eyes. May the hells sodding rend him, and save Konrad a piece for when he got there. He pressed a hand to his stomach and waited for it to subside. By the time it did, his breath was still short, words measured and clipped by effort.
"If yer sellin' her, I want me cut," he said without preamble, catching Merevaika's attention. He wondered if the other one even knew about her partner's plans for slavery. Well, she was outvoted now, anyway. "Three a' us? Three parts. I get one."
He simplified, not knowing if the Drykas could even understand all of what he said. Then he took another step, not looming, not threatening, but deciding to use... logic. Facts.
"Youse wouldnae even be out this way if not fer me an' that petchin' dog. So I think a parta' the price-" he nodded to the terrified girl, then forgot about her "-is fair nuff, eh?"
He waited for his answer, fingers looped into his belt, careful not to rest one on the hilt of his sword, like he wanted to. He was still wounded, and he knew it. Killing them both would take energy, time, and by the time one was down, who knew what stitching or dressing might spill open?
So Konrad waited for an answer, and reassured himself with his pockets heavier from of pilfered purses. He'd have those, regardless. Funny. He'd almost forgotten about the petching coyote.
Coyotes have to eat. So do the worms and crows and buzzards. Everything else? For us to-
A fuzzy blond orb stuck its head out from underneath a wheel-shattered wagon and Konrad's eyes narrowed instinctively. Just as instinctive was the mental calculation he made right afterwards. A woman, and small, without arms and mayhap wounded... not a concern. She was in no position to stop them turning over their cavalcade of potentil booty. If she did, well...
Konrad ached all over. His wounds were still healing, still bound and throbbed... but one little girl wouldn't stop him. The only issue were the-
"If not Drykas, she is slave to Drykas, understand?"
Surprise. That's what first struck him, as he turned and gaped at The Dark One, wearing something close to the avaricious expression he did. Irritation was clear in her voice, chopped and unfamiliar as Common was to it. Same thoughts as him, he knew. Just an unfortunate obstacle.
But one easily remedied, he thought, and he smiled crookedly as the dark Drykas went over to where The Light One was fussing over the survivor. And profitably, apparently.
But he did not follow Merevaika. All of them were standing among a collection of claims, and they were focused on the one that was moving, speaking, wanting. But she was far from the only thing to be had... and as he carefully, carefully dismounted, Konrad's street pragmatism reared its head and advised caution... and self-interest.
They might not even let you in on it, his mind whispered, reminding him that he was an outsider, a wahlak, barely tolerated. It would be the same back home: you didn't get a cut unless you were proven in the gang; anything else, and you got a handout. Maybe. Better to mind what you can claim with your own two hands. They want to get in your face about those? Well... they're welcome to try and take them.
That reassured him, too. His hands flexed into fists, the metal on his body seemed to press a little closer to him... and the he was moving.
Swift and stooping, an old dance known and familiar to him from a thousand street brawls, gang skirmishes, ambushes, raids and killings. Well, their aftermath, at any rate. He crouched over the nearest body and started turning out pockets, feeling down legs-
Her eyes gazed and her mouth gaped. Scream still captured on it. Not her son. Not her husband. Not her.
-cursing softly as he smeared blood on his fingers, wiping it on a shredded blouse there. Nothing there, but... ah, the body next to her. A man. Much more likely to have some coin to him. He stepped over the eviscerated woman and subjected the corpse to the same treatment. Tossed a small purse in the air and caught it with a little "heh!" of victory-
They were eating them. Piss ran down his legs as he ran but he had to get away. No, no, they were on him, they were ripping, tearing, biting, and he could not stop them.
On he moved to a wagon, fallen on its side and with all it held scattered, like some child's toy kicked over and spilled without care. Tough fingers traced the white, fresh scars that claws had made. His brows rose a touch and he remembered rending teeth, the bodies feasted on. That and these marks...
Zith, he thought, starting to comb through the wreckage. Not bandits or Drykas. They don't care much about shiny stuff, at least no usually. Food and slaves. Hence all the... eating.
He growled, greedy hands finding nothing value. Best to stick with the bodies. Men carried purses, and some women, too. More chance to find coin there than stuffed in the wagons... and if not, he'd get to them after. He walked around the wagon, hearing the Dark One fire away with her questions like arrows with lethal intent. Konrad couldn't help but smirk: the bitch certainly wasn't sugar-coating it. Oddly enough, he approved.
Best to break her quick and not have her panic on the way back. More trouble to deal with.
His feet crunched on something unfamiliar and he looked down-
"... well, petch me runnin'."
Curved and half-covered by mud and blood, stamped half into the ground by mindless feet or wagon wheels, Konrad looked down at what was... yes, definitely a kukri. His hand went to the sheath at the small of his back in memory, only finding the curved leather holder sadly empty. Sodding Three Eyes was the reason. He'd have preferred to have thrown it into him days before, but had to settle with his horse's throat.
Did the job, though. Robbed him of his mount, gave him a chance to pounce on the bastard. But he'd still lost it. Came to with Pridesun and his flock with everything else on him... except his kukri.
He bent down and a hand moved near it. He followed the bloody limb and saw a man, thinning hair and sallow features and a wound in his chest that sucked and bubbled with every breath. Konrad watched mutely as his lips worked uselessly, and then:
"Pluh... Pleh... Hel... Help... mehUKH-"
The last croak came out coated with blood. It spilled and dribbled and Konrad knew the man... well... a season ago, he would have said the man was dead. Just hadn't caught up with his body, yet. But as he perused the wounds, the blood, the muscles exposed and guts still throbbing in his wounds, he wondered if he'd looked any better when Jonas found him. Endrykas was barely a half-bell away. Three people, three mounts, even with a prisoner... it wasn't impossible.
The thought lasted about four ticks in Konrad's head. Then he flicked a glance over the edge of the wagon and saw the women still questioning the slave.
"Ple... Please..." The man said, as he coughed blood and Konrad gripped his shoulder and picked up the kukri he'd tried and failed to defend himself with. "I... I cuhn't... it-"
"Shhhhh..." Konrad hushed him, voice oddly gentle, catching his eyes and seeing the desperate hope swelling there. Drew his arm back and glanced down. "I'll help yeh."
"Th-Tha-"
Shhuuuk
Under the breastbone. Between the ribs were better, but the kukri was too thick. Instead Konrad flipped it around so the curve was facing upward, then cocked his arm as if to punch and then-
Metal blurred, silver and brown and red, until it vanished. Something crunched under it after it cleaved bloody cloth and slowly dying flesh. The man's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his still-working hand flew to Konrad's shoulder. His eyes begged. His mouth worked but no words came, no life save for more leaked, scarlet liquid.
Konrad shoved harder. Up to the hilt. Then twisted. The man shuddered, but his grip... gods, it was strong.
They all fight. In that last tick. Who wouldn't?
But wanting did not make it so. The man went limp, eyes still open, and Konrad drew the kukri out of him. Blood coated it, dripped from it, and he wiped it with two quick gestures on one of the few remaining clean patched on the man's breeches. Then he reached behind and... ah, yes... fit back in there just as smoothly as when he'd owned his last one.
"Yer welcome."
He went through his pockets, relieved him of a purse and went on his way without a backward glance.
Gods, is she still going on?
Konrad was not a hard man to miss. Surrounded by the dismembered and despairing dead, lives shattered in some desolate place not even the gods could find them, and half of Konrad's face was cocked into a smile. Sloane could looked up from her two inquisitors and see him approach. Tall, much taller than them. Black hat and black duster and white shit, bottomed off by boots with faded steel caps. Kopis swinging lightly at his belt, the very picture of-
Then the man would pause. Smile falling, twisted into a suppressed snarl as that petching stomach wound flared up again. Petching Three Eyes. May the hells sodding rend him, and save Konrad a piece for when he got there. He pressed a hand to his stomach and waited for it to subside. By the time it did, his breath was still short, words measured and clipped by effort.
"If yer sellin' her, I want me cut," he said without preamble, catching Merevaika's attention. He wondered if the other one even knew about her partner's plans for slavery. Well, she was outvoted now, anyway. "Three a' us? Three parts. I get one."
He simplified, not knowing if the Drykas could even understand all of what he said. Then he took another step, not looming, not threatening, but deciding to use... logic. Facts.
"Youse wouldnae even be out this way if not fer me an' that petchin' dog. So I think a parta' the price-" he nodded to the terrified girl, then forgot about her "-is fair nuff, eh?"
He waited for his answer, fingers looped into his belt, careful not to rest one on the hilt of his sword, like he wanted to. He was still wounded, and he knew it. Killing them both would take energy, time, and by the time one was down, who knew what stitching or dressing might spill open?
So Konrad waited for an answer, and reassured himself with his pockets heavier from of pilfered purses. He'd have those, regardless. Funny. He'd almost forgotten about the petching coyote.