Warchildren Scene 9

Wyndreth returned to his small room in the rectory and changed into a new set of clothes. He chose a pair of doeskin breeches. He tugged on a pair of good leather boots and hid a dagger in the boot top. He then put on his dagger harness complete with three throwing daggers and a pair of heavier fighting daggers. The harness fit snugly around his torso and left the handles of the daggers down just beneath the hem of the baggy cotton shirt he put on over it. The daggers would be within easy reach of both his hands but hidden from view.

        He put a set of thieves tools into the top of the other boot. He chose a leather thong with a cheap pewter dragon woven into the leather which concealed a small wire garrote. He put the thong on his wrist and closed the pewter clasp. He picked out a ring with a large bloodstone and slid it onto his finger. He pulled a red cotton sash off of the hook hanging near the small window opposite the door and wrapped it around his waist many times to conceal its twenty foot length then tucked the end up under, over and through the sash with a stylish twist. The sash was positioned high enough to leave the hidden blades below but still under the edge of his shirt. He strapped on leather bracers to protect his wrists during a knife fight and to hide the scars, the bracers themselves would be hidden beneath the baggy sleeves of his shirt. 

        He waited till the hallway was quiet and listened at the door for anyone moving around outside. When he was satisfied that he would not be seen he stepped into the hallway and made his way to the back door of the rectory leading to the garden. He crossed the large garden and quietly slipped through the gate in the garden wall. He waited in a shadow near the wall till he was sure he had slipped out unnoticed. He then stepped out of the alley hurried along the rain slicked cobble stone streets.

        The streets were quiet, except for the driving rain. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the darkened streets of the town. Cracks of thunder rolled up the valley and bounced through the stone walls and alleys of the town. No one dared leave their house on a night like this except fools and drunks.

        In case anyone saw him, the being posing as Wyndreth staggered a little as he made his way along the narrow streets. Wyndreth pulled the cloak over his head against the driving rain. No one would be able tell who had passed by with the hood hiding his face. The gray being changed again and took on the guise of a withered old whore she had killed last year in Stormhaven, just to be safe. One could never be too safe

        The cobble stone streets ran slick with rainwater making even a short walk dangerous to weak ankles. The rainwater washed the days accumulated animal dung down the street in a rough brown stream. Steam rose from the heat the stones had soaked up during the day. The lantern-lighters were not out on a night like tonight and the streets were dark as the pit.

        The gray old whore's eyes could pierce the night. She walked unafraid through the roughest part of the riverfront because in her eyes the shadows did not exist. A few times she saw men standing in the shadows, unseen to all but her. She was a spider among roaches.

        The old whore passed from shadow to shadow stopping occasionally to make sure she was not followed. Still, she took a circuitous route to the dive. She stumbled through narrow streets and even more narrow alleys. As she turned the corner out of one of the many alleys, she spotted the weather beaten old sign of the Rusty Nail. She hurried inside and shook the wetness off her cloak.

        The Rusty Nail was dark and smoke filled. The straw on the floor was moldy and smelled of sweat and stale beer. The long tables were full of porters and sailors and ran from the door to the bar at the far end of the room.  The patrons were broken men, porters mostly with a few river rats thrown in. The porters and sailors both wore short pants and cotton jerkins of various colors. They were hard men used to hard labor. They spent what few coins they earned on bad beer and cheap whores. The Rusty Nail had plenty of both.

        The old whore moved through them stumbling from one table to the next. She felt the occasional stray hand as she passed by but none of the sailors were too interested in her decrepit body. She made her way slowly along the common tables, stopping occasionally to attempt to insinuate herself into a conversation or game of dice. Not even the drunkest of sailors would take her up on her unspoken offers. She was shunned from the long tables, which is exactly what she wanted. She spotted her contact in the far corner and collapsed into a chair across the small round table from him.

        “The old man wants to know if you have succeeded in infiltrating the Temple,” said the porter sitting in the shadows.

        “Yes,” replied the old whore. “I have. They are leaving in the morning to slay a dragon. If you can believe that. They think whatever is hunting in the area must be a dragon.”

        “Do you know where they are heading?” the porter asked.

        “The old guard keep west of here along the king's road.”

        The porter reached inside his cloak. The old whore tensed and edged her hand closer to the dagger at her belt. She shifted her feet and prepared to fight or flee depending on what the porter did next. He smiled a lopsided grin and tossed a small bag of coin onto the table.

        “Do you not recognize me?” the porter said in a more familiar voice. His eyes changed from the nondescript brown a moment before to the smoldering ember the gray woman was more familiar with.

        “I do now deary...” she purred in the broken crackly voice of an old crone who was seen to many winters and too many customers. She smiled a toothless smile and said regretfully. “Another time perhaps but not tonight deary. I need to get back.”

        “Before you go you will also need these,” the porter tossed a few leather thongs across the table. “The old man wants you to get them to wear these.”

        “Did he say why?” the gray old whore asked with a perplexed look on her withered stolen face.

        “Does he ever?” the porter shrugged and began getting up from the table.

        They got up and left the table together holding each other up as if they had both had too much too drink. The old whore retrieved her soaked cloak from the battered wooden peg near the entrance. They left the waterfront tavern together. Shortly after they left they split up and the whore became Wyndreth once again.

        He moved through the darkened streets toward the temple. He could see the golden tower of the Temple of the Dragon Ascendant illuminated by occasional lightning flashes from the riverfront. He made his way back toward the temple by a different route than the one he used to walk to the Rusty Nail. He turned the corner and found three men assaulting a poor woman in the darkened alley.

        One of the men had the woman's arms held tightly down while they had her bent over a rain barrel laying on its side. Another man held a rag tightly over her mouth to muffle her cries of pain and panic. The third man, larger and fatter than the other two was having his turn with the poor woman. The three men did not notice Wyndreth approach, distracted as they were with the raping of the poor woman. As Wyndreth approached he slipped a hand underneath his shirt and slid two throwing daggers from their leather sheath. He tossed them both underhanded, as quick as a flash of lightning. Daggers suddenly sprouted from two of the men's throats. They fell back clutching their necks and choking on their own blood. Wyndreth slipped in behind the third man quickly and pulled the hidden garrote tight around the fat man's throat. The fat man struggled but it only tightened the wire that was slowly cutting into his skin as it strangled him. His hands flailed against his unseen attacker, grasping and clawing for purchase against the rain slicked cloak.  

        The woman fell over onto the ground weak and gasping for air as she yanked the makeshift gag from her mouth. She was sobbing and trying to pull herself together.

        Wyndreth strangled the fat man until he stopped moving and then laid his fat corpse in the dirty alley with his companions. He stood for a few moments still hidden in the dark and changed his features to one of the porters he saw in the Rusty Nail. He moved over to the obviously shaken woman and extended a hand to help her up. She shied away at first but gradually reached out and took the offered hand when he persisted.  Wyndreth helped the woman to her feet. She was indeed very pretty, even in this horrid state.

        “Thank you sir, for saving me from these creatures,” she said sobbed with gratitude, still shaken from the attack.

        She began to walk away but was stopped short when something slipped around her pretty little neck. Wyndreth yanked her back to him and whispered in her ear. “I was just saving you for me.”

        She struggled as he forced her back over to the barrel. She began to scream. He wrapped the dirty rag around her neck and gripped the ends in one hand. He bent her over the barrel and hiked up her dress with the other hand so he could see the shapely and very lovely figure underneath. He then undid his own pants letting them drop. She struggled and tried to push herself back, but the gray being now wearing a porter's face, was very strong for its slight frame. He slammed her back over the barrel and entered her. He ran his free hand along her wet skin as he had his way with her. The rag around her neck was slowly choking her and she began to struggle ever more frantically as the darkness closed in. The gray being climaxed when the pretty young maid gave one last shudder and became still.

        Tired and spent from the long day, he let her drop to the dark wet cobblestones of the alley. He pulled up his trousers and retied the knot holding them up. He calmly walked over and retrieved the throwing daggers from the throats of the dead men crumpled in the alley. “What an unexpected treat,” he said as he wiped off the daggers on the men's tunics and slid the daggers back into their sheathes and changed his features once again to those of Wyndreth.