Stranger in town

Jack watched the stranger approaching across the muddy street. It appeared he had just left the Tallow’s tavern. Their eyes met and Jack started to raise his hand in greeting but stopped as the stranger’s eyes went dead and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and turned away from Jack. The stranger stopped in the middle of the street and faced the west end of the street. Jack’s gaze followed to where the stranger was looking and saw a squad of the city’s grey cloaks coming down the street at a jog, their long pikes bristling above their heads.



Jack wanted to call out to the stranger, to scream for him to flee. But he stood in silence as the stranger crossed his arms and lowered his head and stood his ground. The light rain making Jack blink to clear his vision as he watched the dozen city guard pound down the street, their hammered chain shirts sounding out with each hard foot fall like death’s drum.



When they came to within a dozen strides of the stranger their commander barked and they came to a sharp halt with pikes coming down to the ready. The stranger came into motion before the last sound of the guard’s march came to Jack’s ears. In one blurred motion the stranger closed the distance and was in-between the ranks of the soldiers. The lowering pikes waivered and Jack heard one of the guards scream in pain as the double rank fell apart. In the span of a single breath the guards were all laying bleeding in the muddy street.



The commander of the squad had barely had time to turn back towards his soldiers before all were down. He stood in shock as the stranger faced him, blood dripping from the two long knives he held. The commander made a sudden move to draw his swords and with a seemingly casual gesture from the stranger he drove one of the long knives through the commanders sword arm bicep and into his chest. He blinked in confusion as the blade pierced his heart then dropped lifeless into the mud with the rest of his command.



The stranger was already moving towards Jack as he sheathed his long knives in scabbards concealed under his cloak. He gave jack a shove towards a narrow ally. “Move boy” he said in a dry raspy voice.



#

As Silom came out of the tavern into the rain he saw the messenger boy waiting for him across the muddy street. The boy was standing in the rain at the opening to a narrow ally. Silom wondered if the boy was a bit addled to be just standing there in the rain. As he made his way through the mud he felt another reason to hate this hole of a city. What sort of city has mud for streets? No cobbles, no decent drainage and their ale tasted like sheep piss.



As Silom made his way through the mud he heard the sound of chain mailed soldiers coming up the street. The messenger boy started to give Silom a feeble wave but stopped when Silom shook his head, ‘not completely addled after all.’ He just hoped the boy had the sense to flee. Silom turned towards the approaching city guard, a squad of eight and one officer. Silom thought about running himself but knew in unfamiliar streets it was likely as not he would just corner himself in some blind ally.



He rested his hands on the hilts of knives concealed under each arm under his cloak and dropped his head forward to keep the rain out of his eyes. The soldiers were coming down the street at a quick march and carrying pikes. Pikes were great at shoving citizens around or defending a horse charge but next to useless in a close fight. The officer was the only one carrying a sword. He could be a problem if he knew how to use that sticker. Most of these city soldiers were little more than farm boys pressed into service and dressed up to scare the locals. At least he hoped this was such a case. He would hate to die in this god-forsaken city in one of their ugly muddy streets.



As the squad of city guard got closer he could see that they were almost falling in the mud as they jostled each other in close ranks, ‘farm boys.” He felt a rock under his boot and pushed it down into the mud to give him what he hopped was something to push off from, ‘Likely end up on my ass.’



When the guards came to a halt, Silom launched himself forward, drawing his knives. He slide right between the two rows of guards, smashing the face of the first one on his left with his elbow and slashing the one on the right, opening his throat. He let the momentum carry him past the first two and drove his left knife into the eye of the next guard and slamming his right knife into the chest of the next soldier. The knife spit the guard’s chain mail as easily as the soft flesh beneath, puncturing his heart. Silom flipped his right knife and jammed it under the back of the broken nosed guards helmet into the back of his skull. The screaming stopped.



Silom spun; a whirlwind of deadly steel, two more went down with their throats cut. The last two guards, having a moment more warning to prepare for his attack, lasted a moment longer. He split one open from belly to halfway up his rib cage as the guard raised his pike in an attempt to club Silom, which unfortunately for him, left open his belly. The last guard went down like a puppet with its strings cut when Silom slammed his knife through the side of the guard’s helm, shattering helm and skull.



As Silom turned towards the guard officer he saw the officer reach across his body to draw his sword. The officer just might be good with his long blade so Silom ended the engagement abruptly by lunging forward and pinning the mans sword arm to his chest with his knife.



As the officer dropped into the mud Silom looked up to see the messenger boy still standing by the ally in the rain with his mouth hanging open. ‘Not much brains in this one.’ Silom sheathed his knifes and rushed over and gave the boy a little push towards the ally, “move boy”