Paragwuid

It was nighttime. Clouds loomed between the skies and the earth, dimming whatever light was left for the troops stationed at Joul Stronghold. A crescent moon left us just enough light to see but remain unseen.

A shadow walked in front of the stone wall. It was a patrol.

I drew my bow, executing the motion as practiced, stretching the string to my ear. No wind disrupted my flow. Not that it mattered anyway. The bow string was like a tether to his soul, and with a release—his soul shall leave his body.

It was too far to hear, so my mind filled it in for me.

The thunk.

Then the whites of his eyes pierced through the night. If I could capture the white, I would. The quiet desperation followed, and his shallow breaths, and his whimpers, and his attempts to pull out his chosen arrow. Right until his last breath. The one he could’ve used to shout for help. But if he did, I’d have to waste another arrow. It’d be selfish of him if he stole it.

I waited.

I waited like a merchant waited for their next customer. Patrols come in two.

And I came stocked with their two.

I readied another. My captains called me prepared. Like the way they trained me, they were half right. A merchant waits every day, and readies their stock, because they’re excited.

The patrol rushed around the corner, calling for his assigned arrowhead. If I smiled, it’d ruin our promise. I needed to wait until my end of the bargain was sealed.

Drawing the arrow back, I tracked ahead of him. A gust picked up, and my aim pulled against it. Release.

The wind didn’t bother me. It didn’t ruin my shot. I knew what it wanted. It wanted to see me. It wanted to be a part of it.

I smiled, and allowed the wind to carry the groans of my satisfied customer.

Whispers grew behind me in the darkest depths of the forest where we hid. Our forces ran into the fortress in droves. A few other archers—like me—waited in the border between moonlight and woodline, perched up in the last row of trees, spectating the onslaught.

The others had their bows ready, for any survivors desperate enough to abandon their post. But I had faith in my comrades. I had faith in their experience and their excitement.

Shouts. Cries for help. Curses.

They all rang out.

None of screams were recognizable.

I’ve wondered if others would pity them—the killed, the slaughtered, and sometimes considered murdered. Once, I think, a man said I was brave—Paragwuid, after I paid him for a night. But the three other whores I paid said I was evil. They whispered it, after I dared to ask them for their professional opinion. Paragwuid, when I asked, smiled with his answer. He tucked in his chin and held my image, like I was a prize upon his bed. Never have I paid so hastily afterwards for more.

Paragwuid would be warmed tonight, I’m sure. He knew the trade like I knew mine. But still, his thoughts were worth the money I’d spent. If I were evil, would I hate the person he was with now? I didn’t know his bedmate. But I knew that arrowheads were forged in seconds.

I could go back after this. He’d be in Niobeth—half a day’s ride from here. In his crumbling tower, stuck between a tavern and a stable. I’ve saved enough to buy a horse. To buy the stable even. But more importantly, to pay for his advice until my ears deafened with age. Evil doesn’t dream like this.

Nevertheless, I dreamed until morning. The others tied themselves to their branch in case slumber pulled on them too hard. Our men pulled bodies out of the fortress.

In morning, the sun exposed the cracks that sprawled across the wall, limp bodies that rested at the top, and the rotting wood scaffolding.

I was the first archer to drop from the trees and walk to the men I killed. I wasn’t a fool. I killed them. I wasn’t going to dress it up like it was for Kington, for my brethren, or for duty. It was because I was told to. I wouldn’t have killed them otherwise. Those three whores would disbelieve me, but it was true.

The first had his eyes open, his face stuck in the same contorted breath, waiting for air that never came. And the other stared into the air in front of him. Relaxed and serene. I expected him to look back up at me, and nod. Because I would’ve done the same—if my arrow was forged and delivered.

I gripped the shaft of the arrow. A quick tug and the arrow released. Using the tunic underneath the man’s thick leather armor, I wiped away his blood, and snapped the head off from the rest. I did the same with the other body, crouching over him.

In my tent, I housed a jar of these. The broken arrow tips. Eighty three with the ones I just gathered.

Aleken, a captain carried a body over his shoulder, walking out of the fortress. “Craine,” he said.

I stood from the body, still wiping away the man’s blood from the arrowhead.

“Good work.” He tossed the body in a growing pile of corpses.

“How you taught me,” I said.

He pointed at my bodies. “Need me to carry one?”

“No.”

He retreated back inside.

The first man I killed, I closed his eyes and hauled him over my shoulder. The leather was thinner than I thought, and it’s likely what killed him.

Still, some parts of his body stiffened, and his skin cold as the night prior. I threw him in the pile.

Cadden, an archer in my pack lingered around the bodies.

“Did you pick ‘em?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“His armor’s still tied.”

“I retied it.”

“Why?”

“You should be well dressed before meeting Nostu.”

He scoffed. “I’d rather be naked.”

“Perhaps that’s why you’ll meet him.”

Cadden vibrated. His fingers twitched. He kept his stare on me until the wind picked up and he sniffed the vile air filled with rotting corpses, and their feces. He turned away, shrugged, and walked into the fortress, hoping for an “un-picked” body.

I did “pick” the other body. Not for gold or silver. A token, like my arrowheads, and to show Paragwuid of my bravery. Something for him to tuck his chin and smile over. I’d hide it somewhere in my trousers for him to find along with his payment. Finding nothing, I picked up his body and discarded him into the pile with the others.

Aleken carried a torch, and his subordinates greased the bodies, using buckets of oil. Once one body was lit, the other corpses caught the flame until a blaze charred their skin.

Aleken told his troops to find any stores of pemmican or soup cakes to go with their hard tack. I stayed though. They wouldn’t admit it. Rather they’d say a hard night’s battle breeds a hearty hunger. But the truth was that the cooked flesh hungered them. It reminded them of cooked boar; salted once it was skinned and spun over a flame. If I told them that, they’d puke themselves into a sickness. They’d probably stab me and throw me in with the rest of the bodies. Staying here kept the oral temptation at bay.

The bodies thinned into charcoal sticks. I couldn’t smell it, but I knew my hair was blackened like their skin, and drenched with the stench of overcooked and oversalted boar meat. In a day or so, the river might wash the remnant away, but really, it’d clear my nose enough to bathe in the memory of my last killings.

Footsteps crunched the morning dew. By its weight, I knew the man. “Not hungry?” Aleken asked as he slurped softened bits of hardtack.

“I’ll eat after.”

“After what?” he chuckled. “This is the last of ‘em. This was the final ground for the legendary Bounters.”

“Have you got anyone back home?” I asked.

He tilted the bowl until the last drip fell out. “What’s the nearest town?”

“Kerrengen.”

“You consider there’d be many retired captains in Kerrengen?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Then yeah, I’ve got someone. You?”

“A man in Niobeth.”

He laughed once I said Niobeth, but he cut it short when he realized my face didn’t mirror his.

“Right,” he said, “It’ll go well for you.”

“I’m not a fool.”

“No.”

“I’ve enough Taelmarks to pay him until he’s forgotten what it was for.”

“Right. Riding off to Niobeth after a night’s stay in Kerrengen?”

I stewed on the question.

“I thought the same thing,” he said. “Maybe we’ll find each other in a country south then.” He turned to join his men. “i hope—wearing the same colors, if Bara wishes.”

“If Bara wishes,” I muttered back.

Aleken had been doing this longer than me, so I took his word for it. He brought up an important consideration.

What would I do with Paragwuid? I’ve barely enough scars to trace his fingers over. I could bore into him until the sun and the moon became meaningless, and he could me. It didn’t matter much, but I’d hope he’d think I stayed brave when we’re fulfilled.

Laughter from inside the fortress simmered down after some time, and I decided to make my way back to the tents.

The path back was less than a mile. We traveled at night and through the forest. Not that they’d notice us if we traveled on the roads naked like Cadden preferred. But we won so many times this way, I’m not certain we could fathom another way.

Sprawled out in the woodlands bushes were our tents. Even at noon, you’d have to squint to make out our camp. Charcoal dyed cloths erected over the dampest and most bug-infested areas. If no one wanted to sleep here, no one would think to look.

My tent was pitched with its top looped around a tree branch and tied to a bush. A slant for the rain to slide off. That was all a soldier needs—something to keep their weapons dry. The jar was tucked underneath my pack, and I placed in the two arrowheads.

They clinked when they fell in. I rattled the jar some more, as if I played an instrument. Then I smiled.

A tiredness seeped into my eyes, so I readied the ground for myself, and dropped my bow beside me to fall asleep.

Tomorrow, I’ll buy a horse in Kerrengen and ride to Niobeth. Paragwuid, I’m certain now—waited for me.