“You got your money’s worth already,” she said playfully.
The man dipped his fingers into a pocket and pulled out a copper. The woman smiled and kissed him, took the copper and tucked it into her bodice.
Whores. No wonder the town’s women gave them up so easily-he didn’t have to spend a penny to get the information he needed to find them. Normally, when a one-eyed man in well-used armor asks questions, it takes money or threats to get an answer. The threats Suath didn’t mind handing out, but he didn’t like parting with his coin.
The man watched the dark-haired harlot disappear into the shack, waved good-bye as she entered. He stared at the closed door for a moment before spinning on his heel and striding toward the bush hiding Suath. The mercenary pounced, dagger opening the man’s throat before surprise registered. Blood spurted from the wound, thirstily absorbed by the dry dirt the same way the water had been.
Messy.
Suath chastised himself as he concealed the man’s corpse in the bush where he’d hidden. The door of the hut opened and the mercenary squatted by his victim. The dark-haired one came out and walked past, oblivious to the mercenary and her dead lover concealed in the brush, unaware of the bloody dirt sticking to the sole of her foot. She went to the well and retrieved some water then drew a cloth from her bodice and dipped it into the pail. She hiked up her dress and removed her undergarment. Suath stared at the patch of black hair between her legs, quelling the stirring he felt as she bathed her woman parts. No time for lust, this was the time to make his move.
The mercenary emerged silently, the dagger in his hand still dripping blood. She didn’t notice him until he was too near for her to react. The cloth dropped from her hand, her mouth opened.
“No sound.” He flashed the bloody blade before her eyes. “Or you’ll get what your boyfriend got.”
Tears came quickly to the woman’s eyes, the corners of her mouth pulled taut, but she did as he said and kept her tongue still. Suath pressed his blade against her throat, the keen edge drawing blood to trickle down her alabaster skin and blossom into a rose as it soaked into her lace bodice. The mercenary pushed her toward the door; she went without resistance.
“Open it,” he whispered. She did and they stepped into the dim interior. “Call your friends.”
He tightened his grip on her arm and felt her flinch. Tears ran down her pretty face and he fought the urge to lean close, lick them from her cheek. Nothing tasted so sweet as tears shed in fear. She opened her mouth, throat working against the knife held there, but no sound emerged. He squeezed again and she whimpered.
“Despina,” she called, voice cracking. “Aryann.”
No one answered.
“Again,” Suath growled. Her hair smelled of sweat and honeysuckle. He wanted to bury his nose in it.
“Despina. Aryann,” she called again, voice steadier but high and tight. “Can you please come here?”
The old one came first, wiping her hands on an apron strung about her waist.
“Leigha? Are you all right? You sound as though…”
Her words and steps halted as she saw the knife at the dark-haired one’s throat. The young blonde came after her, but the old one put out her arm, keeping her behind her.
“What’s happening?” the blonde asked.
“Don’t speak,” Suath commanded, his voice calm and even. No point inciting them, they would be panicking soon enough.
“What have you done, Leigha?” The old one remained composed in spite of the scene before her.
Not the first time she’s been threatened with a blade.
Grown men had pissed their pants at the sight of him, yet she kept calm. The old whore showed more balls than most. The pudgy one shook her head in answer to the question sending a fresh trickle of blood down her neck.
“What do you want?”
“The vial.”
The pretty one peered out from behind her grandmother’s broad back. “What does he mean?” she squeaked, tears flowing.
The old one’s gaze held steady on him as she answered, her voice still even and firm.
“We have no vial. You’ve made a mistake.”
Suath almost smiled. This one won’t cry. Not until the blood flows.
“A woman,” the mercenary said, “a whore like you. She passed this way with two men-strangers.”
“There has been no one here,” the old one said but the gasp from the blonde confirmed what he already knew. The pudgy woman wriggled against his grip. He pulled her close against him, pressing the bulge in his breeches against her pillowy ass.
“Lies. The young one knows. Where did they go?”
He pushed against the dark-haired one’s back, ushering her closer to her friends, stopped her a few feet from them.
“Tell me or the fat one dies.”
“It’s okay,” the young one said stepping from behind the other. Tears streaked her smooth cheeks, her voice quaked as she spoke. “Everything will be all right, Leigha.”
The old one moved to keep the blonde behind her, protected, and Suath saw what he needed to do. He drew the blade across Leigha’s throat sending a fountain of blood splashing across her friends. While they gaped in horror, he grabbed the blonde’s wrist, pulled her to him. The old one tried to fight him; he punched her in the face and she stumbled back.
“Where?” he asked, the calmness gone from his voice.
Impatience tingled his limbs. He wanted to be done with this before the pudgy one’s body grew cold. At his feet, she gurgled through a mouthful of blood. The blonde sobbed and shook in his grasp.
“South,” the old one shouted, blood streaming from her nose, her composure finally broken. “She took them to the entertainers.”
“How many?”
“Just the three of them.”
“Horses?”
The old one’s eyes dropped to the dark-haired woman on the floor. Blood still pulsed from the slash in her throat but she no longer moved.
“Horses?” he asked again, more insistent. The pudgy one’s eyes were going glassy. The grandmother shook her head. “Where are these entertainers?”
She shook her head, crying now. “Don’t hurt my Aryann.”
“Where are the entertainers?”
“South-outside of town. I don’t know where.”
“And then?”
She squeezed her eyes closed, shaking her head. Suath waited until she opened her eyes again, then dragged the point of his dagger down the blonde’s cheek. She screamed.
“Tasgarad,” the old one squealed. “They’re going to Tasgarad.”
Suath nodded.
He lunged, burying his dagger to the hilt in the old one’s eye, then spun the blonde around and slid his blade into her belly, drawing it upward to her breast bone. She gasped and coughed, spattering his breastplate with blood, then slumped to the floor between the other whores as he withdrew the knife. Suath bent over and wiped the blade on her dress then put his hand on the pudgy one's leg.
“Warm enough.”
He pulled her dress up above her waist. As he removed his sword belt, he saw the blonde looking at him, tears still running from her eyes. He smiled at her as he removed his breastplate and the shirt beneath. Uncountable white scars criss-crossed his chest. He searched across the ridged landscape of scars with his fingers until he found a clear spot, then brought the tip of his dagger to it and made four new incisions.
“One for each of you,” he told the blonde, “and one for the fat one’s lover.”
He set his blade purposely on the floor just out of the blonde’s reach, removed his breeches and knelt between the dark-haired one’s legs.
“It’s okay,” he said, though he doubted the pretty one heard him anymore. “You can watch.”
Sitting on the edge of the well, Suath used the cloth the dark-haired one had used to clean herself to wipe blood from his boots, then cleaned his dagger, sheathed it, and tossed the blood-soaked cloth down to the dark water below. Gray smoke snaked its way from the thatched roof of the whores’ house, but he didn’t hurry. A few of the men from town would want to rush to extinguish a fire in this particular hut, but their women wouldn’t let them. He snickered at the thought of those self-righteous town’s people putting less value on the lives of whores because of how they earned their living. Didn’t they know all their lives were worthless?