There is bad way to win and there is a good way to lose; what’s interesting while also being troubling is that it’s not always clear which is which. A flipped coin doesn’t always land on head or tail, sometimes it may never lands at all -- grimsley
Kosh hadn't expected to find a slice of home in the hoard. Precisely, an octagonal slice of gemstone engraved with the stylised castle chess piece that was Whitekeep's sigil. It was not olivine, it was emerald. Illegal, but only if a Baron sold it off as a gemstone rather than a coin worth one hundred gold. Seeing it, holding it, watching the light glint off its minting marks, made him so homesick it rocked him.
It was the only reason why he didn't notice the enemy catching up with them. He did notice the blade at his neck and said, "Please, I do that every morning. You're not as threatening as you think." He stood, turned, and noticed that there were two of them for each of them. "Wunderbar."
"Drop it, Tief," said their leader. Some asshole in fancy, shiny armour. Full plate and overloaded with embellishments. "That's our booty you have your filthy hands on."
"You said the wrong thi-ing," singsonged Kelvin the Kobold. "You said the T-slur..."
The Barbarian mumbled something about the collective bandit's mothers and which booty he'd prefer to have his hands on.
Kosh played the coin around his fingers, watching them watching him. Taking into account all the things he knew and all the things he could read in them. His smile unnerved the two closest to him, and alarmed their leader more than a little. "I'll give you one chance to surrender," he said as the coin danced between his knuckles. "Or four of you will be wounded and my knife will be at Herr Kapitan's neck before this coin hits the ground."
Their leader was too cocky. "And how do you expect to do that with swords at your throat... Tief?"
Kosh threw the coin up and clicked together his Boots of Haste. Flurry of blows on the two holding him hostage and then another on the two holding the Barbarian still, then a Shadow Jump to the leader with his newly-drawn dagger at the asshole's throat. He flipped up the visor and said, "Like that."
The gemstone coin hit the stones with a faint ting.
And, just like all his other victories, the elation of winning came with the sour aftertaste of defeat. Spitebane Bulwark Fortitude Whitekeep looked almost exactly like his father. Like their father. Kosh almost dropped the dagger in the realisation that he was holding it to his baby brother's throat.
"Lord Viscount Spitebane Whitekeep," Kosh said, finding it very hard to keep the familial nag out of his voice. "What the fuck are you doing leading a bunch of bandits?"
Around them, the battle was going badly for the rest of the bandits. Half of them fled once their leader was taken hostage, and the other half were left to re-think their life choices. Specifically, which choice would lead to them having a longer life.
"How do you know me?"
"I stood over your cradle when you were two days old and swore an oath to protect you from bad things. I spent ten nights guarding you from monsters under your crib. Not that our father cared to ask." Kosh let his brother go, but maintained a patient defense. "He never did like having me around."
He could watch realisation dawn in his brother's face. "You're... who are you?"
Kosh gestured to his face, so much like all the others who had his name before him. "You know my name."
Spitebane sheathed his sword. "I almost... I almost made them kill you." He knew about the family curse. Great. They could all relax.
Kosh put his dagger away. "I almost broke my vow," he scooped up the gemstone coin. "I'd call it even. Now. Let's talk about who's been naughty about these, ja?"
His brother's olive skin was starting to colour from mortification. "Uh... That's... mine..."
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Marisabell]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends!
Send me a prompt [57 remaining prompts!]