II
Stroking his chin, his gaze swept over the black blotted scribbles that scratched across the coarse parchment.
There was no gold lining nor extravagant calligraphy in this particular document, the writing was jolted and messy and sometimes incomprehensible in its ramblings.
However, the contents of this scrap paper was worth more than any other stacked up in his palace.
"And you're certain this is true?" he asked, his baritone rumble coming out calmly.
The pale messenger squared his trembling shoulders and looked him in the eye. "I am certain of it, Your Majesty."
The King sighed, already having suspected such a thing, but he had dismissed his own concerns as paranoia stemming from his steadily aging mind. It appeared that his own reign wouldn't end so peacefully after all.
Sitting in this grand study room of his, shelves of books standing high and proud like an endless library of worldly happenings that he could never catch up with, he felt small.
"And what of the men who acquired this information?"
"Dead, sire." the man replied, "Shot with arrows only moments after handing this information over."
What the King held in his hands was the hurried ramblings of men who knew their death was coming and he, King William of the Drykas House, would not let their sacrifice be in vain. He would not allow his people to be used as disposable pawns to a war hungry tyrant and his yes-man. Never.
His advisor Harrison looked as unshakeable as ever by his side, but going by the tension rooting in his jaw, King William knew that this fury wasn't his alone.
"Harrison, call me Duke Chamberlain, Commander of the Royal Knights."
"Sire?"
King William shook his head. "If King Fabian wants to play chess, then chess it will be."
----
James groaned in annoyance at the mess on the floor, a mess of limbs and flesh of a man he once knew; the smell reaching out and clinging onto him like the claws of a ghost.
"That's the third one this month," he muttered to himself, carefully stepping back so that his boots would not be soiled.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" the bar's owner asked.
James' middlemen hardly had long lifespans, working as a buffer between a client and an assassin could hardly sing about safety.
He'd stopped being surprised when his middlemen showed up dead, but this was the first one he'd seen that was so gruesome.
He couldn't tell the difference between his face and feet.
James waved him off, "How long ago was it since he arrived here?"
"Only a few hours or so. I didn't let anyone else through the back in the meantime, just as you asked.
" The owner rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his brown leathery hair clumping underneath his fingers, "I don't ask what kind of business you run, but this such a mess, Jay.
How am I supposed to clean all this up?"
Huffing once in annoyance, James clasped the owner's shoulder. "I pay you enough that it's not my problem. I'm sure you'll find a cleaner of some sort."
The owner scoffed in response and James removed his hand.
He no longer had any business here now that his middleman was dead.
The murder seemed like a pretty regular one, so there was no need to waste time digging about.
There were so many different people who could've been responsible that he didn't bother trying to keep up anymore.
"I'll see myself out." James said, side-stepping the man and walking out the door.
"I'm sorry about your loss!" the owner called after him.
James scoffed, the only thing he had lost was time and money; but you don't have funerals for those things.
"What a hassle, am I right, Eris?" James asked, holding the familiar hilt of his sword. His words evaporated into vapour outside. The chilly air bit at the tips of his ears.
Such a dangerous part of town was always gloomy and quiet, with people keeping their heads down and voices quiet as they navigated their feet over the uneven cobbles.
James was fond of these places, they felt safe as the residents knew better than to take good looks at people's faces. Secrecy was the law here.
You'd never see a knight come this far, despite their arrogance. They were unwelcome as mere troublemakers by all those who pass through.
"Why aren't you replying?" James asked, a smile taking root, "are you sulking?"
When there still wasn't a reply, James looked down to his sword in confusion, its shiny golden guard glinting in a ray of light despite the buildup of dirt and the decaying rags that hugged its sheath. A very modest sword indeed.
"You're not usually this quiet." he mused.
Having decided she was in a bad mood, he made his way through the winding roads, scouting the area, folding into the crowds like a second skin.
"I guess we've got some time to kill, eh?" he said, the clock tower reminding him it was only four in the afternoon. "We've got a few hours before we meet our next middleman, hopefully a live one this time."
After a wry pause he said: "Actually, it would probably be better that this next one was."
Death had become such a normal part of his life that it felt as light as air. People live, people die, James' job was to just speed up the process. However, despite the hypocrisy, he did believe in right and wrong. His morals were twisted, but they weren't nonexistent.
He hadn't even reached the mouth of the alleys before he heard the bustle and music of the festival. The collective drumming had been pounding on all day, so much that the nearby roofs and windows rattled. Squeals of delight dominated excited chatter as the common people celebrated.
It was a flurry of colour, people trying to dress up in golds and reds, which tended to look more like off-yellow and brown. The only real red he'd seen today was on the floor of the bar.
As he merged into the crowd, he watched as sellers handed out sketches of the deceased royal family; kids running to collect all three to show their mums and dads. Freshly cooked food and smoke permeated the air, warming the chill.
James could still remember the first time this festival was held, the mood was much gloomier as people mourned the dead King and his family; but with each year it became more of a celebration to the sole survivor, King Fabian. It was propaganda.
Despite how much James hated it, he still somehow ended up at the festival each year, no matter where he was. Even in territories held by the other two kings, this event was held and celebrated rigorously. It seemed only the independent territories of the kingdom held back.
The people would never think about it, but there were definitely more than three people who died that day. The people may complain that the nobles disregard them, but they were certainly guilty of that too.
James stepped to the side and watched people pass for a moment, soaking in the joy bred from a day where the poor can take the day off and enjoy themselves.
At least they were having fun.
A particularly sharp voice caught his attention, loitering at a stall opposite him.
James quickly but carefully pulled up his hood to shelter his face, and tucked Eris out of view behind him.
There, talking to the owner, two knights.
The reason he hadn't noticed them as quickly as he should was their uniform colouring.
A particularly striking red fan sat on the crest holder of their brass helmets, tall and proud, accompanied with striking red capes falling over their armoured shoulders. The gold details of a lion on the sides of the galea made it strikingly obvious that they did not belong here.
James was concerned. He backed away slowly, hoping not to arouse their attention. This was Drykas territory, and Drykas knights were always dressed in blue. Red meant that these were royal knights of the Ankaid royal house, the very same one that was being celebrated today.
Rather than gawk in the open, he retreated back into the alleys, and briefly pondered whether he should stalk them.
Whilst it was not unheard of, for Ankaid knights to be in other territories during the festival, it certainly wasn't common.
He had a particularly bad feeling about it.
This city was on the kingdom's border, far away from any Ankaid territory.
To get here, these knights must have travelled a very long way for a very specific purpose.
He thought back to the gore of the bar, his middleman painting the floor and staining the ceiling, organs assaulted into mushy soup. He could only hope it was coincidence and that they had nothing to do with him.
If they were the two chosen to come this far here, he doubted they were useless in ability. Whilst he didn't observe them enough to know for sure, he suspected there was a chance they may notice him if he followed them if they were particularly sharp.
He got the sense that Eris agreed with him.
James would just have to remain vigilant if he took on this next job, and flee this city as soon as he could.
He'd survived this long not because he was brave or particularly strong, but because he knew when it was time to step back.
This was one of those times.
With one last glance to that sickening festival, he buried those bad feelings deep, and made his way to his next appointment.