Kieran stood at the bottom of the wall and looked all the way up, feeling dizzy imagining the height.
"You're sure this is a good spot?" he asked his half-elf companion.
Bren nodded. "I've climbed up here once as a kid, and snuck into that guard tower there," he explained, pointing to the nearby watchtower. "Since this tower just overlooks the river and nothing can cross it, they never bother to patrol. Even the watchtower's abandoned."
The assassin wasn't fully convinced, but he felt he owed the young thief this much.
He stepped forward, examining the wall. This section of inner wall hadn't been smoothed down, and the interlocking bricks jutted out. "Looks like they slacked off making this part of the wall," he remarked, shaking his head at the shoddy workmanship.
The thief shrugged and approached the wall. He quickly found a handhold and hoisted himself up. "Again," he said, continuing to climb, "it's not any threat's coming from that direction."
"Remind me to strike from here if I ever decide to storm the city," Kieran joked, feeling around for somewhere with a firm grip. Bren had already climbed several feet up, consistently finding good handholds. Kieran took a deep breath and pulled himself up. He'd barely left the ground, but he already felt slightly nauseous.
"You okay down there?" Bren asked.
"I'll be fine." He found a place for his foot and pulled himself up another step, agitated with the lack of progress.
The young thief laughed, having seen the assassin's hesitation. "You've never climbed before, have you?"
"Of course I have," Kieran snapped. "It's just been a long time."
Bren laughed again, much to the assassin's irritation. "How do you sneak in to places, then?"
"Not by climbing around like a squirrel, that's for sure."
Bren started descending to help, and Kieran noticed. "Don't you dare," he commanded. "I can do this on my own."
With a small shrug, Bren continued his climb. He made it to the top way ahead of the struggling assassin, who was flinging curses with every movement. He dragged himself over the edge of the wall and took a moment to catch his breath before looking out.
The darkness of night blanketed much of the view from the top of the wall, but the moon's light illuminated the rushing river to the east beautifully, making it look as though it was glowing. The thick forests of the Tzentuan Territory beyond it was bathed in pure darkness, however, the thickness of the trees even smothering the light from the tribal campfires Bren knew to be under the tree's curtain. Following the Tzent River north beyond the city's outlying farms, Bren could see the the glow from the Great Forges at Hammerfjord, the capital dwarven town and trade hub in the Northern Provinces. Beyond that, he knew, lay the White Wastes and the city of Foxden, where Rod believed Bren's birth parents were from.
"Fucking wall."
Bren looked down at the assassin's progress. He was only halfway up the wall, moving slowly. It's a good thing there's no patrols here, the thief thought, or we'd be dead men for sure.
The wind was savage this high up, biting cold and threatening to knock the thief over. He steadied himself against the battlements, peering down at Kieran as he struggled to climb in the wind.
"Kieran Walsh," he shouted down, grinning, "the deadliest man in the Northern Provinces. Easily defeated by a stone wall."
"Keep it up, Half-Blood," the assassin shouted back, continuing his steady climb. "and I'll throw you off."
"You'd have to get up here first," Bren teased, but the assassin ignored him.
Bren leaned over the wall, looking down at the ground. Kieran was about 20 feet above the ground, climbing carefully but steadily. Bren wondered what would happen if the assassin fell. Maybe he would be fine, but maybe he would break a leg. Maybe his neck, if he fell wrong.
Bren entertained the idea of pushing him off when he reached the top. The assassin was sure to sustain some damage that way, for sure. Maybe he would even die, and Bren could avenge Rod's death.
The thought of getting revenge burned brightly in him, and made him smile in spite of himself. Kieran was so close now that the half-elf could reach down and grab an extended hand. The assassin wasn't a skilled climber; it wouldn't take much to throw him from the wall.
Bren reached down to him, and Kieran stubbornly accepted the help.
It's now or never, the young man thought.
As if in a trance, he helped his mentor safely pull himself up over the top of the wall.
Kieran crawled behind the battlement to catch his breath, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach from being up so high.
Bren fell back, leaning against the opposite battlement, staring at his still bloodied hands in betrayal. Why couldn't he do it? It would have been so easy.
"Fucking hell," the assassin said, demanding the thief's attention, "it's windy up here."
"You really don't like heights, do you?"
Kieran glared at him. "Hey, we all have things we hate."
"Yeah, true. You hate heights, but you love murdering your friends," the half-elf scoffed, straightening up.
"We are not having this conversation right now," Kieran said, his tone leaving no room for debate.
"Fine."
Bren leaned down, staring down at the wall. It looked as though they'd started to smooth it towards the bottom, but couldn't be bothered to continue once ladders were needed.
"We might have a bit of a drop near the bottom," he warned, and Kieran groaned.
"Don't tell me it's smoothed."
The half-elf motioned for the assassin to look, but Kieran shook his head.
"Just tell me, Half-blood," he complained, and Bren felt his anger rising again.
"Yes, it's smoothed," he answered, crouching near the edge and preparing to climb down, "and I have a name. Use it."
Kieran glared at him. "Fine then, Bren," he yielded, spitting out the name as if it were a curse. "How bad is it?"
"Only the last few feet," the thief shouted as he disappeared over the edge.
"What? Not even letting me catch my breath?" the assassin shouted after him, but if the thief heard the words he didn't show it.
Groaning in irritation, Kieran carefully followed him down the wall.
Bren jumped and hit the ground gracefully, like a cat, but the assassin hesitated.
"Hurry up or I'll leave you here," the thief threatened.
Kieran looked down at the ground, only roughly seven feet below him. Swallowing hard and closing his eyes, he let go and pushed back from the wall. After a brief moment of panic and euphoria that falling gave him, he was safely on the ground once more.
Ignoring his sneering companion, the assassin started walking east toward the Tzent River.
The walk down to the river was the first time Kieran felt his racing heart calm, the adrenaline of the escape finally retreating from his system. Unfortunately, that meant horrible thoughts started to invade his mind.
Why did you kill Rodriego?
Wasn't he your friend?
Don't you care?
The assassin closed his eyes and centred himself, bringing up the only defence he knew in the face of the overpowering thoughts.
It wasn't my fault.
It wasn't long before the pair reached the river's shore. Sand, gravel, and large rocks with tall weeds and moss growing amongst them paved a path down to the wide rushing river. The water looked clear and inviting, and Kieran grinned eagerly at the thought of finally washing off the blood that still covered him.
Stumbling over the rocks littering the shore, the assassin bent down on a particularly large rock near the shallows and dipped a hand in. It was freezing with the autumn chill, but it felt cool and refreshing after being down in the tunnel for ages. Still smiling, washed his hands and face in the river, trying to ignore Bren's hateful glare.
"So now you're back to hating me again?" he asked the young thief as he rubbed his face with cold water.
"You killed Rodrigo," the half-elf reminded. "I'll always hate you."
Kieran shrugged. "Sure didn't seem like it earlier. You saved my life."
Bren moved down to join him by the water and began to clean his hands, methodically washing the blood of his adoptive father off. "Maybe I just want to be the one to kill you."
Kieran couldn't contain his smile, flushed with pride. "Awww, the little half-elf thinks he can kill me? How adorable. He couldn't even fling me off of the wall, even though he had the perfect opportunity to do so."
There was a slight stutter in the thief's movements, and Kieran's smile widened.
"You wanted me to do it?" the thief asked, incredulous.
"Of course not," the assassin tried to explain, standing up, "but it's good to know where your loyalties lie."
"You killed Rodrigo!" Bren accused, standing up and wheeling around to face the older man. "Why would my loyalties ever lie with you?"
Kieran shrugged. "I'm still here, though, so you must not want me dead."
Bren scoffed and shook his head, unable to even look the scarred man in the eyes. "Of course I want you dead. You're nothing but a murderer."
"And why do you think that is?" the assassin rebuked.
The young thief shrugged. "It's easier for you to kill your problems than face them."
"If that was the case, Half-Blood, I would have killed you years ago."
The thief's right hook came unexpectedly, too fast for the assassin to react. It hit him hard, the force of the impact making him slip on the rocks and land hard on his side. The assassin's right eye ached and his shoulder and hip throbbed from the hard landing on the jagged rocks.
Groaning, Kieran rolled onto his back and stared up at the young half-elf standing triumphantly over him.
"Okay," he held his hands up in surrender as he tried to shakily stand, "I deserved that."
"You deserve worse."
Kieran shook his head, trying to push the pain from his mind. "You're right," he admitted dejectedly, touching the swelling around his eye gingerly with his fingertips, "but killing me won't avenge Rodrigo."
Bren scoffed and walked past him, climbing back onto the shore and heading North along the river.
"Hey, where are you think you're going?" Kieran shouted after him
Bren ignored him, trying to walk as quickly as possible to get away from his adopted father's murderer.
Kieran scrambled over the rocks to the shore, spitting a curse as he nearly slid again on the slippery rocks.
"If you want to avenge Rod's death," he yelled after the departing thief as his feet hit the sandy shore, "we need to head South to Triham."
"If you think I'm travelling with you anywhere," the half-elf's words echoed through the gorge as he continued walking, "you're insane."
His eye and shoulder still stinging, Kieran jogged to catch up. "You know," he said, trailing behind the half-elf a few feet, "it's not my fault that he died."
"Really?" Bren asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It wasn't your fault that you slashed his throat open?"
Kieran moved around in front of the young half-elf, blocking his path. "No, it wasn't. I can tell you who's it is if you'll come with me."
Bren swept him aside with one arm and moved past him. "Liar."
Kieran grabbed the thief's trailing cloak tightly and yanked hard backwards, forcing the young half-elf to stumble back a step, the chain on the cloak choking him slightly. The assassin leaned over him, still yanking Bren's cloak downwards and forcing the skinny thief to lean backwards.
"Listen," the assassin said calmly, his voice like death, "Rod always told me to keep an eye on you, and that's exactly what I'm trying to do. You want to kill the man who caused Rod's death? Then you need to come with me south."
Kieran's right eye was nearly fully closed from the swelling and, despite his anger, Bren couldn't help but feel slightly guilty for his violent outburst.
"Fine," he said, shaking his cloak free from the the assassin's grasp and straightening up, fixing his clothes indignantly, "but this doesn't mean I'm letting you off the hook, okay?"
The assassin looked away and rolled his shoulder, trying to look aloof to regain his composure. "Fine with me."
"And you'd better tell me everything, alright?"
Kieran wheeled away and waved a hand dismissively at the young thief's demands, hiding his relief.
The assassin stifled a shiver as a the adrenaline slowly left his system and he realized how cold the nighttime autumn air was.
"We should rest up. It's been a long day." He laid down stiffly, getting as comfortable as he could in the sand.
Bren, however, just stared at him. "You think I can sleep?"
"Probably not," the assassin admitted, taking off his cloak and bunching it up under his head like a pillow, "but we might as well try. Triham is a few days away by foot. The trip'll be easier if we keep up our strength."
Kieran closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep but wanting a reprieve from the young thief's anger. He heard the half-elf move back to the river, moving around in the shallows for a bit, likely cleaning the blood off him and his clothes. The assassin tuned out the sounds as best he could and lay there, trying to rationalise his violent outburst.
It wasn't his fault. It couldn't be. Somebody else - and one person came immediately to his mind - made him do it. It had to be.
And yet, he couldn't stop the smile from creeping on to his face as he remembered the way the old man's blood had pooled out onto the floor.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
