This is an old, old short story I wrote for a gaming zine I published a decade ago. I just felt like sharing some of my old writing and this was the smallest piece I have that isn't poetry.
Graduation
Syrvan crept lightly beneath the starlit night, his boots missing every twig and dry leaf which lie on the forest floor. He wasn't moving fast but silence mattered more than speed right now.
Dulsimar followed a stones throw away, moving with the same carefully measured steps. Syrvan stopped his progression long enough for Dulsimar to close the distance between them. Between the cover of the forests night shadows, and their black garb, they could barely see one another, but their eyes were adjusted well enough to the dark that they could make out what each other spoke in their hand language.
"We near the camp." Syrvan signed. "You've done well thus far, I am proud. Remember though that we are no longer a safe enough distance that we can afford mistakes. I will move slower so you can stay closer."
Dulsimar nodded as he signed back. "I understand." With that they moved closer to the firelight in the not too far distance. Using the trees more for cover they were at last at the edge of the fires glow.
Syrvan counted five men sleeping around the warming fire. A sixth marched in a circle around the perimeter of the camp. His hand resting diligently on his sword sheathed at his side. "The watch should be simple. I'll let you try. Remember, the throat."
Dulsimar signed an affirmative and quietly drew his blowpipe from it's hidden pocket and slid the dart in it. Taking aim, and a deep breath, he blew and set the dart soaring through the air and into the watchman's neck. The watchman momentarily believed he'd been bitten by a large bug, but when he slapped at his neck, his hand found the dart. He started feeling light headed as he pulled out the dart and looked at it. He started to call out to his companions, but found his throat dry and contracted. He barely had time to see Syrvan rushing out of the darkness before darkness consumed him from within.
Syrvan caught the watchman as he fell, and set him gently down. A man in chainmail tends to make a lot more noise than Syrvan was fond of when they fall dead to the ground. Dulsimar crept into the light as Syrvan looked at the watchman.
"His armor's finely crafted, as is the rest of his equipment." Syrvan signed. "I believe they're in the King's service. Their equipment should fetch a high price."
The King's service, eh? Dulsimar thought to himself.
Syrvan signaled that was going to finish of the rest by drawing his dagger. Syrvan was skilled enough that he could slay each one silently. It was Dulsimar's job to watch with blowpipe ready in case any awoke while he was busy with another. However, as Syrvan crouched over his first victim, he sensed something land near his feet. Casually glancing he saw Dulsimar's blowpipe lying in the dirt.
Syrvan barely had time to have a thought when Dulsimar shouted loudly "Beware warriors, an assassin's in your midst." He had his own dagger out and was charging into the baffled bandit. Entirely too shocked to defend himself in time, Syrvan felt his stomach being sliced open. Dulsimar then punched him solidly on the jaw, sending him tumbling to the ground. The assassin just stayed on the forest floor and let his life quickly slip away.
The band of warriors, aroused from sleep, sprung to battle readiness in the blink of an eye only to find Dulsimar standing proud. "Who are you?" they demanded, waving their swords threateningly, except for the one who would have been Syrvan's first victim of that night.
"I'm Dulsimar Kyrole, bounty hunter." Dulsimar said confidently. "I've been tracking this scoundrel for two seasons." he motioned toward Syrvan's body.
The warrior Syrvan had been poised to kill spoke. "A good thing too, my brothers. Had this bountyman not interfered, that scourge would have slain me in my sleep, and no doubt the rest of you would have followed."
"No doubt." Dulsimar seconded.
"Where was Keld?" One warrior asked.
"Dear Lord, no." another gasped, and rushed to the watchman's lifeless body. Kneeling over his fallen comrade, the warrior mournfully growled. "Poisoned! What an ignoble end."
Feigning sympathy, Dulsimar spoke softly. "I'm sorry, if I hadn't lost Syrvan's trail briefly, I could have stopped him before he killed."
"Syrvan, eh?" One of the warriors spoke, apparently the leader. "It seems he wasn't as fearsome a foe as his reputation. No disparaging of your abilities young bountyman, but he hardly seemed worth the gold on his head."
The warriors gathered their things and mounted their horses. Dulsimar talked the warriors into letting him ride Keld's horse, with Syrvan's corpse draped over it, to the castle along with the warriors to claim his bounty. He felt proud of himself as the dawn broke. Today he would claim a small fortune and a small, respectable status as a bountyman with little effort and no sacrifice. After all, he'd learned all that his brother could teach him anyway.
The End
Graduation
Syrvan crept lightly beneath the starlit night, his boots missing every twig and dry leaf which lie on the forest floor. He wasn't moving fast but silence mattered more than speed right now.
Dulsimar followed a stones throw away, moving with the same carefully measured steps. Syrvan stopped his progression long enough for Dulsimar to close the distance between them. Between the cover of the forests night shadows, and their black garb, they could barely see one another, but their eyes were adjusted well enough to the dark that they could make out what each other spoke in their hand language.
"We near the camp." Syrvan signed. "You've done well thus far, I am proud. Remember though that we are no longer a safe enough distance that we can afford mistakes. I will move slower so you can stay closer."
Dulsimar nodded as he signed back. "I understand." With that they moved closer to the firelight in the not too far distance. Using the trees more for cover they were at last at the edge of the fires glow.
Syrvan counted five men sleeping around the warming fire. A sixth marched in a circle around the perimeter of the camp. His hand resting diligently on his sword sheathed at his side. "The watch should be simple. I'll let you try. Remember, the throat."
Dulsimar signed an affirmative and quietly drew his blowpipe from it's hidden pocket and slid the dart in it. Taking aim, and a deep breath, he blew and set the dart soaring through the air and into the watchman's neck. The watchman momentarily believed he'd been bitten by a large bug, but when he slapped at his neck, his hand found the dart. He started feeling light headed as he pulled out the dart and looked at it. He started to call out to his companions, but found his throat dry and contracted. He barely had time to see Syrvan rushing out of the darkness before darkness consumed him from within.
Syrvan caught the watchman as he fell, and set him gently down. A man in chainmail tends to make a lot more noise than Syrvan was fond of when they fall dead to the ground. Dulsimar crept into the light as Syrvan looked at the watchman.
"His armor's finely crafted, as is the rest of his equipment." Syrvan signed. "I believe they're in the King's service. Their equipment should fetch a high price."
The King's service, eh? Dulsimar thought to himself.
Syrvan signaled that was going to finish of the rest by drawing his dagger. Syrvan was skilled enough that he could slay each one silently. It was Dulsimar's job to watch with blowpipe ready in case any awoke while he was busy with another. However, as Syrvan crouched over his first victim, he sensed something land near his feet. Casually glancing he saw Dulsimar's blowpipe lying in the dirt.
Syrvan barely had time to have a thought when Dulsimar shouted loudly "Beware warriors, an assassin's in your midst." He had his own dagger out and was charging into the baffled bandit. Entirely too shocked to defend himself in time, Syrvan felt his stomach being sliced open. Dulsimar then punched him solidly on the jaw, sending him tumbling to the ground. The assassin just stayed on the forest floor and let his life quickly slip away.
The band of warriors, aroused from sleep, sprung to battle readiness in the blink of an eye only to find Dulsimar standing proud. "Who are you?" they demanded, waving their swords threateningly, except for the one who would have been Syrvan's first victim of that night.
"I'm Dulsimar Kyrole, bounty hunter." Dulsimar said confidently. "I've been tracking this scoundrel for two seasons." he motioned toward Syrvan's body.
The warrior Syrvan had been poised to kill spoke. "A good thing too, my brothers. Had this bountyman not interfered, that scourge would have slain me in my sleep, and no doubt the rest of you would have followed."
"No doubt." Dulsimar seconded.
"Where was Keld?" One warrior asked.
"Dear Lord, no." another gasped, and rushed to the watchman's lifeless body. Kneeling over his fallen comrade, the warrior mournfully growled. "Poisoned! What an ignoble end."
Feigning sympathy, Dulsimar spoke softly. "I'm sorry, if I hadn't lost Syrvan's trail briefly, I could have stopped him before he killed."
"Syrvan, eh?" One of the warriors spoke, apparently the leader. "It seems he wasn't as fearsome a foe as his reputation. No disparaging of your abilities young bountyman, but he hardly seemed worth the gold on his head."
The warriors gathered their things and mounted their horses. Dulsimar talked the warriors into letting him ride Keld's horse, with Syrvan's corpse draped over it, to the castle along with the warriors to claim his bounty. He felt proud of himself as the dawn broke. Today he would claim a small fortune and a small, respectable status as a bountyman with little effort and no sacrifice. After all, he'd learned all that his brother could teach him anyway.
The End