Hi everyone, seeing those who read chapter one (all 2 of you) enjoyed it so much they poked their eyes out. I present to you chapter two.
On the side, I do apologise if this gets posted twice but I keep getting a "Transmission Error" each time I post anything and after posting twice I then have to clear the post before it posts. If anyone knows why this happens could they please point me in the right direction as to avoid this. Anyway no more delays here is......
Chapter 2
The assassin leans against the wheel of a wagon in a village not too far from his contracted kill. He occasionally scans the town square to spot his contact, then back to his needles and knitting. His fingers work swiftly, manoeuvring the needles faster than the most apt women, upon the large wad of woollen material. Over time he has found this more relaxing after a kill than whittling or rope work. None give him a second glance as he blends in to the village life but an occasional women will pass by him, winking or blowing a kiss. Looking up from his work again, a young woman of 13 summers, across the way from him catches his eye. Her uneasy pacing gives way that she waits for someone she knows not. He waits an hour of sun to make sure her intentions are not a front for a trap, before he bundles up his goods. He wades through the town crowd toward the young woman.
She spots him with anxious apprehension and roots herself to the spot. Fear grows on her face as he strides up to her till he stands an arm span away.
“The days eyes are nice this year” he speaks with a flirt.
The young woman stares at him, her eyes wide with puzzled fear. It is then that he notes her pupils are wrong, more an oval than round but he shakes it away. He repeats the words with less flirt but a warm smile to ease her. The woman still stares but now works her mouth but with no sound. The assassin becomes irritated, and he passed over her with a more find eye. His contact is nothing more than a slave, a very pretty one no doubt, washed clean and made presentable, to be fodder if anything goes wrong at the drop.
“I said The Days Eyes Are Nice this Year!” irritation fills every word. A spark awakens in the woman and she stammers through her response “I, I, I think you mean the poppies, as they are come to bloom, so fine when they are cut.”
He makes a sharp nod to this comment and looks around to make sure neither of them are overheard, before he leans in close so not to be overheard, the woman baulks away. Again the assassin is irritated and feels for his hidden knife, as now the woman is surly giving away, that this is a bungled drop. Guards could become suspicious and though word would not reach this town yet about the killing, such activity will invoke a deadly response.
He grabs her arm to draw her close but with little hint of it's force. He speaks into the frightened woman’s ear “Tell your handler that the target is no more and the message has been delivered loud and clear.”
“The Lord thanks you for being at his disposal. The amount agreed with your guild is in a pouch at my side.” she stammers uncontrollably
He leans close to reach for the pouch but she leans away and holds his hand at bay with a strength that peaks the assassins curiosity. He looks at her, a little anger fills him but he keeps it undetected.
“Nay, not so fast as the Lord would like to reward you with something extra. The malicious way you made his sister die, slowly and by his Nephew's own command, made him sweet with glee.”
He gives the woman a raised eyebrow and pats a hand to her cheek. “I am glad the sick bastard is pleased.” He lifts his hand further to sneak a hand under the young woman's bonnet to brush some of her fine blond hair but this time she grabs it away violently, glares at him and spits under her breath.
“Don't you dare touch that or I’ll rip your balls off”
He is quick to his knife and holds it ready in it's pocket to do away with the woman if the drop goes sour. For the first time she holds his stare, no fear, just intense hate. Her dark blue eyes draws him back to their oddity, he notices they are more like a cats than a human as they narrow to sharp slits. Their dark hue made it hard to notice at the first. Her hard face again returns to the frightened girl when the feel of the assassin's knife is against her stomach. She continues nervously as if her outburst had never occurred.
“The Lord has also made arrangements with your guild for you to be at his need, if and when he requests it.”
“I am not for retainer, I do a job and move on. I will not be someone’s pet!” he speaks low and harsh next to her face.
She flinches a little away from him, fear never leaving her face. He realises that she is not to blame in this and gives her a soft smile to win her back.
“Your guild has said otherwise and have changed your agreement to reflect this, the Lord has added some incentive for you to stay in service.”
He gives a slight sigh and leans into the wall beside her, giving some though to his predicament. She looks aside at him for a moment, not moving before adding.
“It is all written on the parchment I have within. An extra 12 pieces of gold on top of the 20 pieces that was agreed upon.”
“Well, that is very generous of you. I am glad to have been screwed over by my own guild and remain in service to your Lord.” He slides his arm around her to drag her into a kiss, to hide his taking of the pouch near her waist from any pass-byers. She protests and tries to beat him away, struggling yet never ushering a sound till their lips entangle. He could not tell if it was a muffled scream or a blissful moan but one thing was certain, her strength was beyond normal for her feminine frame, as he fights to keep her locked in his embrace whilst retrieving his loot. At last he parts from the kiss as he slips his takings into his knitting bag.
The young woman is caught in dumbed silence from his kiss and it takes her a few moments to recover. By this time he has let her go and turns to leave. He has taken half the town square distance before her wits are back, she scampers quickly to a hay stack and retrieves a cloth wrap. Before she can hit her stride to catch him a sharp unbearable pain burns inside her head.
“Aaaaaagh! NNNoooo! Pleeassse! Ssssstop!”
He snaps around at her, eye brows raised in confused hesitation to her strange screams of pain. Villages also stop and stare at the young woman collapsing to the ground, writhing in pain as she clutches her head. Guards also take interest in the theatrical, crowd drawing drama. The assassin notes this and makes a quick march back to her side.
“Up woman! What be wrong with you?!” He scans the crowd for their reaction and also for the now approaching guards. “I lay not a hand to you, so up I say or I beat you where you lie...” it is then he spies the magik clamps at her ankles “..slave!” Most of the crowd also spots the clamps and soon turn to jeers towards the young woman, others offer him their condolences on having such a dis-obedient slave.
Her pain is soon gone and starts to slowly rise. Guards now disperse the small crowd and address the man. “There be trouble here?!” they look at the young woman struggling to her hands and knees then to the man.
“None, just my new slave pushing her luck” He winds up and kicks her hard in the stomach, lifting her off the ground and landing on her side. She is winded but to his own surprise she gives none of the usual groans of pain from such a harsh kick.
'She is a born slave, only they are accustom to such treatment with little protest. FUCK! I've got a Hand-me-down, she's not even worth the paper she is claimed on!'
The guards laugh at the entertainment then soon bid him well as the young woman staggers to her knees once again. He grabs for her bonnet and the hair beneath it and once more her body tenses to a reaction of violent hatred, her head and eyes snaps around to look at him fully, ensnaring him once more to their unnatural pupils.
Pain in his hand wakes him to, her fingers clasped tight around his wrist almost braking bones. He retreats his fingers of the cloth hood and for a few seconds they both hold their place, frozen like fresh made statues. A heart beat later, the young woman melts back to a trembling slave and the assassin, now more cautious but firm, grabs the back of her blouse and man handles her to her feet.
He plants his face close to hers and drills her of his distaste for her theatrics. “What the fuck was that! Are you trying to get me killed!”
“I…i...”
“Get the fuck over there, behind that building. And then I might let you talk!” He shoves her forward, then falls in step behind her till they round the corner.
Out of sight of the town folk the man drops his bag and shoves the woman hard against a wall, pinning her with a forearm against her neck. “Now speak, true words or if my ears burn with lies, I will eviscerate you here and now!”
With familiarity to her predicament she chokes out her words. “The gold is not your only reward. There is I, to do with as you will.”
He grunts disapproval “There is little you offer me that I can not get from a whore!”
“There is no choice. I am yours, as bonded by this parchment and the clamps at my feet.” She struggles to pull a square of writing cloth from her swaddle and holds it within his sight.
The assassin steps away from her, and looks with pale puzzlement at her as if it is some cruel joke being played upon him. Never was an offer or reward put upon his shoulders that he dreaded as much as this. A responsibility, a liability, a death cursed slave.
She blurts her words out, seeing the disgust filling his eyes. “It is not your imagination, nor is it a lie, I am the plundered prize of another, a contender to this kingdoms throne. Picked and packaged to be given to you as befitting the work you have done.”
“SHIT, shit, shit! Just what I need, a walking, talking, brain exploding Slave. Fuck this!” he takes a further step back, holding his hands in the air “As long as I have not touched the parchment, I can walk away and leave you to splash your brains upon the wall. You are a liability, I will not accept you. The twelve gold retainer will be enough.”
The woman looks down at the ground in shame and speaks softly “Sadly the gold was not the retainer, I am. You can not refuse me, for in doing so you forfeit not just my life but your own.” The assassin is jarred to a standstill as she continues. “The magik bond not only kills me as soon as you are 10 cubits away but will kill you upon the next day's rise.”
“But I have not touched the parchment, it is not triggered!”
“The Lord whom you now serve made a request to the Burnthatch Hags, that the parchment be the bond not the trigger.” She gives a moment for the words to sink in but the assassin clicks on.
“FUUUUUCK! Your the fucking trigger. I fucking touched you, SHIT! And my own fucking Guild sealed it didn't they?!” she gives a curt nod.
He screams and gesticulates in frustration towards the sky. “FUCK YOU! AND YOU! AND DOUBLE FUCK YOU ALL! ARE YOU WITH ME OR ARE YOU TRYING TO FUCK ME OVER!!!” He starts punching the air around him as violently as he can for several seconds. The young woman stays her place, un-phased by the whole scene.
He soon tires of this and gives a huge sigh. He grudgingly walks over to her, his hand held out. She holds out the cloth and he snatches it with hate and shoves it down the front of his pants and adjusts it to sit over his manhood.
“So your familiar...” he stops her, holding up a stern finger warning her not to continue her sentence, before returning to tend the rest of the parchment. He then starts to look her over, properly, for the first time. Her blond hair is kept and runs to the middle of her back, what is not under her bonnet flows warmly in the breeze giving her a homely look. Her eyes are a dark marble blue, her pupils are like black oval eggs instead of round, but they still fit her pretty rounded face. Her lips are just catching up to her womanhood giving her an awkward woman-of-age look but they are still inviting to kiss. Her breasts have reached their maturity and sit plump upon her chest, her hips and thighs are also ready to bear children. Her arms are toned by heavy work and give him no doubt that she was kept in fine form so as to be ridden well.
Most slave females are used primarily to keep the males happy and content, once they reach child baring age though, they have their womb cut out so as not to bare children or bastards. It is a costly process, requiring a lot of coin and rarely dose the female survive the surgery. So most are killed or peddled to some schmuck desperate for a cheap concubine.
He looks her over once more and gives a final grunt of disapproval.
Her head drops further into her chest, a tear runs the length of her cheek before suiciding itself to the ground “I am sorry if you are disappointed in what you see, I shall try to please you and make it your worth.” she says with a slight quiver.
He steps in to her and grabs her roughly around the throat. “I have no choice you say, well I say, screw you, screw the fucking guild and above all screw your Lord.”
He lets her go and turns to walk away.
“He is not my Lord only my capture”
He stops and looks back at her.
“I don't give a fuck! You have complicated my life at this moment...”
He gives a quick pause of thought then continues “... I am old enough to be your father, hell, you could be my seed from a night of fun. As scrumptious as you are I don't need a concubine, a handmaid, a cook or whatever you can do, in or out of the bed. For fuck sake I'm 42 summers, an assassin and warrior of 30 summers! can you even imagine what that looks like under these here cloths, believe me it is not a pretty sight! Not compared to the soft taint of your nobles skins.”
Tears still drop from her eyes and she is silent for a few moments before answering.
“I am yours and there is nothing to change that as it is on your bond parchment.” she points to his manhood with very little humour.
He smacks the cloth within his breaches and stomps off to retrieve the rest of his kit near by. “For fuck sakes, FUCK!” He snaps up his gear and heads out of the town. She waits a few moments, tears falling, hands clutching her own cloth bundle. She sets off, some distance behind him, not sure whether he will continue walking or if he will turn and kill her in his rage. She looks to the sky and gives a small teary thank you to the gods for letting her retain her life for a little longer. Two dreary souls walk out of town, far apart, yet together.