Role

Chapter 4

That thug reaches for his cudgel, and I stuff my hand over his, jamming his
weapon in its loop. I'm so close to him that I can smell he's been drinking
my damn liquor. He sees the unbridled fury in my eyes and misses a beat. I
feel the spray of blood on my face as I slam the knife under his chin, angled
back, so I stick his brainstem on the point of my blade. Reminds me of an
apple on a stick. He falls forward, wet hands desperately trying to hold in
the life that's streaming out his neck.

Four down. One to go.

This man must be the Crow's new leader. I don't know his name, but I know he
didn't come by his position by being a pansy-sniffer. His lips peel back in a
sneer.

I lunge forward with a slash to his face. It glances off his helmet. I parry
the first trust of his dagger easily, knowing it would be a gutshot. Thugs
always go for the gutshot. I quickly dodge three more of his slashes. He's an
experienced fighter, but he relies on fear and intimidation to create
momentum. In the fire of my Rage, I feel nothing but a thirst for his blood
that must be sated. The table's turn and it is he who is afraid.

His thrusts become tentative and too careful. I press him as his wide eyes
search for escape. I circle to my left, away from the door, offering him
what he seeks. As he tries to bolt out of the little room, my knife severs
his roots. First, a deep gash on his right thigh. Then dropping to one knee,
I slam the point of my knife through the top of his foot and pin that fucker
to the floor.

His screams join those of his eviscerated friend and the fading whimpers of
the thug with the hemorrhaging neck.

"WHERE'S ME FEKKIN' FAMILY?!" I roar, my voice bestial with Rage.

"Okay, okay!" Drol's replacement throws his dagger aside in surrender. He
tries to pull the knife from his foot, but he can't stomach the pain, so he
gives up and tries to stop the flow of crimson blood running from his thigh
instead.

I grab the rope I use to make my nooses and bind the two unconscious men and
their leader as best as I can. I put them side-by-side in wooden chairs.
Under threat of death, the thugs reveal my family's location: a bandit camp
in the Araile. The leader says the bandits will sell them into slavery, but
something doesn't look right in his eyes. A lie?

I go to my dirty laundry and find three especially rank socks. Each man gets
one shoved in his mouth. As they gag and their eyes begin to tear, I make
myself plain.

"If yer lyin' ta me, ya feks, yer ain't gonna like what happens when I'm
returnin'."

With the tip of my knife, I slowly point to the crotch of each man in turn.

Their eyes go wide with abject horror.