"So," the young thief asked as the two fugitives walked, following the river towards the town of Triham, "are you going to tell me now?"
Kieran sighed and ran a hand through his messy black hair, hoping Bren would have forgotten to ask.
"Ask me anything, Half-Blood," he surrendered, too tired and sore to bother arguing.
The young half-elf wasted no time, eager to get the answers he had clearly been waiting all day for. "You kept insisting that someone else caused Rod's death. Were you hired by someone to kill him?"
Bren's enthusiasm irritated Kieran as much as the question did. He looked at the thief incredulously, surprised and slightly stung at Bren's misguided belief. "Of course not, you idiot. Rod was a friend."
Bren flashed him a sceptical look. He had killed the man in cold blood, after all.
"Also," the assassin clarified, looking forward and continuing his steady walk, "his pockets were limitless and his friendship came with protection from persecution. He'd more than match any price on his head."
"Fair enough," the thief admitted, "but then why did you do it?"
Why had he killed Rodrigo? It was a question that had plagued him since that day. Why had he struck out so vehemently at the old man?
He sighed, gathering himself for a moment to find the right words. "Yesterday you called me a murderer, remember?"
Bren nodded cautiously, not sure what the assassin was getting at.
"Well, I am one. You were right. I killed Rodrigo because I answer my problems with violence," he admitted, much to the thief's shock. "Why do you suppose that is?"
Bren shrugged. "I assumed it's because you're an asshole."
Kieran gave him an unimpressed look. "Watch it, kid," he warned the brazen young man, letting the weight of his words linger for a moment before continuing. "No one is born violent," he explained, "and no babe yearns for blood. It must be taught."
"So you're saying that the real reason Rod is dead," the thief asked, unconvinced, "is because someone from your past turned you into a murder?"
Kieran winced, hearing how weak his excuse sounded when said aloud.
"You're not a murderer because someone made you that way, Kieran," Bren argued. "You're a murderer because you like it."
The assassin shook his head. "It's all that bastard's fault. He turned my entire life upside down."
"Kieran-"
"He killed my parents and drove me to this fucking city!"
"Kieran!"
The assassin wheeled around and glared at the half-elf and was shocked to see fear in his eyes. Only by following the young man's nervous gaze did he realize he was holding his dagger, brandishing it threateningly.
Shocked at his sudden fury, Kieran dropped the dagger, watching it fall onto the sand.
"What the hell was that?" Bren asked, his heart rate finally dropping.
Kieran took deep breaths, closing his eyes and idly fiddling with the clasp on his cloak, trying to contain his emotions. "I don't know," he admitted after a time.
The pair stood quietly for a few moments, each trying to work through the confusion and the flurry of emotions Kieran drawing the dagger had created. Bren's voice finally cut through the silence, asking a question the assassin really didn't want to answer.
"What happened to you?"
Kieran ran his hand through his tangled hair and said nothing.
The young thief scooped down and picked up the dagger that Kieran had dropped, looking it over in wonder. It was amazingly well crafted, with perfect balance and an impossibly sharp edge. The steel blade had a deeper blue-grey tint to it, a colour that seemed to reflect the blue-grey of assassin's eyes. There were no signs of wear along the blade or hilt and it looked as though it was freshly crafted, although Bren had seen the assassin use it in every fight. The hair on the back of the half-elf's neck tingled, revealing the magic that enchanted the blade's core.
"I've never seen it up close before," he said in awe, "it's amazing..."
Kieran stepped forward angrily and snatched it out of the thief's hand as if the very sight of him holding it upset him.
Bren pouted. "Aren't you going to tell me anything?" he asked indignantly.
"Why should I?" Kieran retorted, checking over the blade quickly before replacing it in it's sheath.
"Because," Bren was very careful with his tone, "you could have killed me just then. And, according to you, the man you're hunting down is the reason the man I called 'father' for nearly ten years is dead."
"You never called him father," Kieran scoffed.
"You know what I mean."
The assassin sighed and circled around, slouching his shoulders. Bren waited patiently for a response.
"All you need to know," Kieran explained, "is what you can see."
"That whenever you think about this event in your past, you go crazy?" Bren observed, to which the murderer nodded.
"I need to find him," he explained, "and kill him."
"And then you can move on?"
Kieran nodded again. "I don't know where he is now, but I know he won't be in the Northern Provinces."
Bren looked confused. "He's not?"
The assassin shook his head. "Him and I are from the same town in Brosa."
"Ah," Bren smiled, "I always guessed you were a southerner. It's rare to see a southerner with light eyes, though."
Kieran shook his head. "We only lived in Brosa, in a border town called Hamos. My father was a northerner and my mother was from the tribes."
"The tribes, as in...?"
"Tzentuan," the assassin explained as he continued his walk, motioning for Bren to join him. "She had skin like mine, dark hair and green eyes. Their relationship wasn't considered 'right' in the north, so they eloped south."
"And so they married," Bren teased, "and had a strange little baby boy with dark hair, olive skin, and grey eyes."
"They had two sons," Kieran corrected, ignoring the thief's jabs, "one with dark hair and olive skin and one with lighter skin and blond hair. That little bastard looked more like a Northerner and clearly took after our father, while I was constantly reminded of how I didn't."
The half-elf looked down at the ground, feeling slightly guilty for poking fun of something that clearly had bothered the assassin for many years. "I'm sorry," he said, "I know what it's like to look a little different than everyone."
Kieran scoffed. "Firstly, there's tons of half-elves in the north. Secondly, I wasn't the one who looked different. Except for my eyes, my tan skin and dark hair fit right in with the south." He sped up his walking pace as he spoke, forcing Bren to hurry to keep up. "Connor was different. Exceptional. Everyone loved the little fucker."
The thief was stunned by the malice in the assassin's voice as he said his brother's name. "So what happened?" he asked, diverting the topic back to what he really wanted to know. "When did everything go wrong?"
"I'd really rather not discuss it right now," Kieran admitted. "All you need to know is that I need to find him."
"Alright," the elf bounded forward, walking backwards in front of the grumpy assassin and forcing the older man to meet his gaze, "then why go to Triham? You said he's from Brosa."
"I did," the assassin muttered, glaring at the young thief's sudden hyperactivity, "but I haven't seen him in nearly twenty years. He could be anywhere by now."
"He could be in the north?"
The assassin shook his head. "He always loved the warmth of the south. I doubt he'd ever come up here."
"So why Triham, then?" Bren asked, falling back in to step beside the assassin. "It's an oddly specific town to choose."
The assassin paused his walk for a moment, facing the half-elf squarely. "One," he began, emphasising his points by counting on his fingers, "Triham is a border town, so whether he's in the south or not, we're pretty much be in the middle of the empire so we can reach him wherever. Two, it's not a major city so it doesn't have a large guard presence. Three, it's only a few days away and we don't have any supplies or money on us to make it all the way to Brosa. And four..."
He casually turned away, continuing his walk once more. "Four, there's someone there that can locate him for us."
"Locate him?" The half-elf stood confused for a moment before trailing after Kieran. "You mean someone who can find him with magic?" he asked, finally cluing in.
The older man nodded. "Someone Rod used to know," he confirmed.
The mention of his adopted father reminded Bren of another question he wanted to ask the assassin. "How did you meet Rodrigo, anyway?"
"The same way you met him," Kieran countered.
"He found me abandoned as a child and took me in," the half-elf explained with a raised eyebrow.
"Exactly."
Bren was stunned. "He raised you?"
"Not exactly," Kieran clarified. "I was nearly ten, getting caught for stealing something. I don't even remember the details, in all honesty. He was just a generic city guard at this point, not having been raised through the ranks to become the Grand Advisor yet."
The young thief couldn't imagine a time when the man he idolized for having infinite power and influence in the Northern Provinces could have been described as 'generic.' Still, curious as he was, he let the assassin continue uninterrupted.
"He was supposed to arrest me, but I kicked up a fight." the assassin chuckled softly to himself as he reminisced. "He kicked my ass that day."
"He didn't arrest you, though," Bren assumed.
Kieran shook his head, the slightest hint of a smile creeping on to his face as he spoke. "We made an agreement; he wouldn't arrest me if I did a favour for him. Then he used the crimes he had me commit as further blackmail so I would do more. Our relationship continued like that until you came along."
"He blackmailed you?" the half-elf asked, shocked.
I didn't mind," Kieran shrugged. "He taught me the basics of fighting and the rest I learned through experience. When he rose to power, he gave me a place to live and a reasonable amount of money to do his dirty work, and I enjoyed the thrill of the hunt."
"Why did things change when I came along?"
The assassin shrugged again. "Do you remember the day he found you, Half-blood?"
Bren cringed when Kieran called him 'Half-blood', hating that nickname and everything it stood for. "I remember I went to live with him, and sometimes with you if he was away on business."
"Oh yeah, that's right," Kieran laughed, "I forgot he used to have me play babysitter. I hated that."
"I didn't," Bren admitted bashfully. "You always taught me cool things, like how to fight and sneak around. When I grew up, I was able to help Rod in my own way. I was always very thankful for that."
Kieran was surprised to hear that, and he stared at the slightly blushing thief in shock. "You were?"
Bren cleared his throat, embarrassed and feeling guilty he still felt this way towards the man who killed his father. "Yeah. I looked up to you. You were like a cool older brother to me."
The assassin examined him critically, looking him up and down. The sheer mention of the word 'brother' made the younger straw-haired boy look like a different person in his eyes, with pale skin and bright blue eyes.
"Kieran?"
Hearing Bren's voice, the illusion was broken as quickly as it had appeared. Kieran blinked a few times to clear his mind, shaking his head quickly as if the action would fling the comparison from his mind forever.
"I'm hungry," he said instead, changing the subject abruptly. "We should find something to eat."
Kieran walked away fast, leaving the confused half-elf in his wake. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice his knuckles turning white as they gripped the hilt of his sheathed dagger.
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