“You should have let me kill Salud.”
Bren rolled his eyes and continued rummaging through the sun-worn rucksack. “He didn’t betray us, Keiran. Let it go.”
The assassin paced nearby, pausing only to wipe his feet on the bright green grass that grew just off the roadside. The ground was still damp from the previous day’s rain, and the muddy trail clung to the travelers’ boots like it wanted to hamper their progress. Clouds still covered the stars, making the small campfire the only source of light. “I should have killed him,” Kieran reiterated. “He was a liability.”
“Killing him wasn’t going to help us,” the young thief snapped, angling the inside of the bag towards the campfire’s light. “Besides, you’ll have enough killing to do when we get to Brosa.”
Even the reminder of impending vengeance couldn’t improve the assassin’s mood. “have you found it yet?” he asked instead, opting to change the subject.
Bren tossed the pack aside. “No. I could’ve sworn I bought some…”
“Great,” Kieran chided. “We have no weapon oil and barely any food. What the fuck did you buy?”
“I bought what I could with what little you had!” the thief snapped as he leaned back in the mud. “Maybe you should have grabbed more money after you killed Rod.”
The assassin ran his fingers through his hair. “Honestly, this again?”
“Yes, this again. It’ll always be ‘this’ until you buck up and explain everything to me!”
“I didn’t mean to kill Rodrigo!” Kieran pulled on his hair, his usual coping mechanism not seeming to work anymore.
“Or Whisper,” Bren mocked, sitting up, “or Salud.”
The assassin pointed an accusing finger at the half-elf. “I did not kill Whisper, you did. And I never killed Salud.”
“But you wanted to, right? And you would have if I hadn’t stopped you!”
The thief’s accusation drew a frustrated growl from Kieran, who wheeled away from his younger companion.
The pair fell silent, listening to the wind whistle through the long grass and the crackle of firewood. Bren’s words stung Kieran more than he expected, and he crouched down for a moment to try to control the bubbling rage inside of him.
Nothing the half-elf said was untrue. Even if it had been self-defense, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Whisper, and he wanted to slice Salud to ribbons.
But why?
Bren sighed and stood up, moving over to him and sitting down beside him on the damp grass. “Whisper told me that death follows you wherever you go,” he said calmly, “and I can see why he thinks that.”
“Do you believe I am a murderer?”
"I..." Bren took a deep breath, shaking his head. "I'm not sure what to believe anymore."
Kieran gave him a curious look, waiting for him to continue.
"I mean," the half-elf elaborated, "you haven't exactly told me the whole story."
Kieran leaned back and ran his hand through his hair, staying silent.
"I just want to know the truth. What does your brother have to do with why you killed Rodrigo? Why you’ve killed so many people?"
"Do you think it was my fault?" the assassin questioned.
Bren shrugged, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, his intertwined fingers holding up his chin. “Yeah, I think so," he admitted, “but you’ve also never lied to me. If you believe it’s his fault, then I think you have a good reason for it.”
Kieran stood up in irritation and paced in a circle, running a hand through his hair again. “Connor is the reason my parents are dead. Moving to the Capital and becoming an assassin, it was all because of him. I only kill because I knew no other way to survive. Now in the great battle of fight or flight, I will always fight.”
“How old were you when he killed your parents?”
“He got them killed,” the assassin corrected, “when I was nine or ten.”
“Got them killed?” Bren asked. “He didn’t kill them himself?”
Kieran shook his head. “No, I did."
Bren was staggered by this news. He stared at Kieran blankly, unable to comprehend the bluntness of such a powerful statement.
"It was all his doing," the assassin elaborated, stopping his pacing. "He made me kill them."
The young thief shook his head, regaining his composure. "Connor... made you kill them? How?"
"They were so infatuated with him, and I was nothing. I hated it."
Bren was stunned. "You told me he killed them," he croaked, his throat suddenly dry.
"I said it was all his fault," Kieran explained, running his fingers through his hair and resisting the sudden urge to draw his dagger, “as it was. He forced my hand."
The half-elf shook his head violently. “But he didn’t actually do it?”
“No, bu-”
"What the hell, Kieran!" the thief shouted, jumping to his feet and throwing his hands in the air in anger.
"What?" the assassin snapped.
"This entire time, I thought you brother was this horrible monster." Bren shook his head and stumbled back as the realization washed over him. "How did I not see this? Whisper was right; your brother is innocent. You’re just a murderer!"
Kieran scoffed. "Whisper-”
Bren moved close to Kieran, getting in his face aggressively. “All this time, you killed them. You’ve been talking to me about family and how horrible it was to lose them and the only reason you lost them is because you killed them!”
The assassin narrowed his eyes, his hand gripping his dagger’s hilt. “I only did what I had to to survive-"
"Fine,” Bren shrugged, “then why you killed Rodrigo?"
"Connor-"
"Why did you kill Rod?" Bren demanded, not allowing the assassin the chance to shift the blame again. “To survive?”
"I didn't-"
"Why!" Bren shouted.
With a growl, Kieran drew his dagger and slashed out in front of him. Bren jumped back, but not quickly enough. The attack left a deep slash across his belly, staining his clothes dark red.
"Kieran!" Bren moved his hand down to the dagger the assassin had loaned him to defend himself, but the assassin was too close.
Kieran stepped in close and stabbed Bren, pulling the thief's body closer as he did so. The young half-elf could feel the blade slip underneath the ribcage, expertly angled upwards.
Bren tried to scream. He tried to say Kieran's name. He tried to plead and beg and do anything he could to stop the attack.
But his words came out as a wheezy cough as his lung started to fill with blood.
Kieran stabbed him several more times as if in a trance. Twice in the belly. Once in the chest. Once in the neck. Then he let go, letting his friend's body fall to the ground with a muffled thud.
The assassin loomed over him like an angel of death as the half-elf's vision faded and darkness overtook him.
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Drip. Drip. Drip.
Kieran staggered back, holding his beloved dagger at arm’s length as though it had betrayed him.His body felt weak as he looked at the decimated corpse that lay in a pool of blood nearby, discarded as if it had been flung aside like a shattered blade.
Drip. Drip.
The assassin let his dagger fall from his hands and fell to one knee as the realisation of what he had done washed over him like a tsunami crashing into a wooden palisade, a pathetic defence against such a powerful force. His clothing was soaked in blood, dyeing him dark against the starless night and making him appear as no more a shadow.
Drip. Drip.
Blood – Brennan’s blood – dripped down from his hand and splattered the grasses covering the ground, turning them red as if angered or shamed. He kneeled, aghast, staring at his handiwork, unable to come to terms with what he had done to his friend.
Drip. Drip.
His mind replayed the events that transpired repeatedly, unable to grasp the situation or the reasoning behind his sudden outburst. What had caused this to happen?
Drip.
Why had he attacked his companion with such vehemence?
Drip.
Why had he killed Bren?
Connor.
The name came to him suddenly, a thin rope lowered to him in the dank pits of his mind.
Connor did this.
It began to make sense to Kieran. The set of his face changed from shock and confusion to defiance and anger.
It was all Connor’s fault.
The assassin clenched his fist so hard his knuckles turned white. His mind raced furiously, endlessly circling around the blame to his brother he had sworn to destroy.
Connor made me kill him. Just as he made me kill our mother and father. He made me kill Bren.
Kieran released a deep breath, snatching his dagger from the blood-soaked grass and standing up in one fluid movement. He walked over to Bren’s body and unhooked his dagger from the younger man’s belt.
I have to kill Connor.
The assassin stopped only to kick out the fire and recover the thief’s pack before walking away from the crime scene, his rage-filled eyes not leaving the vengeful road laid out for him.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
