Chronicles of Death

“My key?” Alev’s surprised laughter shook his sausage body that was packed too tightly into his armor. “Why, I will give you any key you desire if you become my bride!”

“I’ll pass. All I require is the key. The rest is your deluded fantasy, I’m afraid.” Katya smoothed out her cape. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

“You’re right. We aren’t negotiating.” Alev snapped his fingers and the soldiers at the tables behind him stood sloppily at attention. He gestured to her with a dismissive wave. They surrounded her and she stepped off of her stool daintily. “You will marry me in the morning, dear. If you do not, then you will wish that you had when I gave you the chance.”

“So, my options are to marry you or to wish that I’d married you?” Katya glanced behind her to the barmaids who had stopped their work and were frozen in terror. “I think there’s perhaps… a third option.” She darted her gaze behind the counter in warning to the women who scrambled into action and hid.

“Do you? And what is that?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Katya grabbed the stool she’d been seated upon and slammed it into the soldier nearest her ferociously. It shattered into splinters and there was sudden chaos. Elbowing a nearby soldier, she then ducked beneath the grasp of a second. With a flourish of her cape, she withdrew her blade from its sheath and swiftly kicked the soldier she’d elbowed. He stood before a line of others, and they collapsed like drunk, stupid dominoes.

As another ran toward her, she stepped aside and clotheslined him. He fell in a comical heap, legs splayed. The soldiers were slow and drunk. Twisting beneath the grasp of another, her blade cut clean through his armor. Blood splattered from floor to ceiling. He fell backwards.

They were graceless, pitiful.

Alev had done a terrible job of choosing his guards.

A sloppy soldier approached, and she slammed her fist into his face and broke his nose. Arms were grabbing her, pulling her. Katya ducked low, kicked the shin of the man responsible, knocked him off balance, and then threw him over her head.

All hell had broken loose.

Soldiers poured through the door at the commotion, but the number was far fewer than she’d expected. The hour was late, and most were likely asleep or unconscious.

No matter.

Let them come.

Alev was barking orders.

“Grab her! Careful of her face!”

Shallow son of a bitch.

He had more than earned her wrath.

So had the men who so eagerly aided him. With the fury of Vrana’s gifts, Katya cut through the soldiers who, with the aid of her magic, were far slower than her. A table was knocked aside in the fray and as she fell back with it, she rolled and grasped an overturned stein and slammed it into the face of another soldier. They were crowding her. Her heart was racing in her ears. The thrill of battle was addictive. She got to her feet and willed the gifts of Vrana into her blade once more.

With a slice, jagged black feathers sent soldiers soaring backwards.

Her eyes turned black, and her vision changed. The soldiers were even slower and outlined brightly. They fell before her blade. None would survive her.

They were no longer careful of her face.

Swords were swung, daggers thrown, axes readied. She knocked them away with her practiced hand and offered death swiftly to all who came for her. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She was drenched in their blood.

Then there was silence.

Except for the pounding in her ears, of course.

No more soldiers came to aid their General.

Alev cowered behind his overturned barstool upon realizing he’d lost. Then he crept toward the door in desperation, taking heaving breaths as though he’d run a marathon. When he pushed, he found it locked.

The barmaids had done her a favor.

Stepping over the bodies of the dead soldiers, she swung her blade and blood splattered off the end of it. She did so a second time for good measure.

“No… Whatever you desire, it’s yours… whatever key it is you want… please, just spare me, beautiful.” Alev, even in fear, still demeaned her with pet names. He was too afraid to fight her. He stunk of piss. Katya reached into her pocket and withdrew the key she had stolen earlier.

His mouth dropped, yammering nonsense as he patted the spot where his key should have been. It had been replaced with a dull trinket.

“H-how?”

“It was shockingly easy.” Katya pocketed the key again. He hadn’t cared about his duty, only about keeping her interest.

“Then why? Why all this death? This violence?”

“You chose this end. I would have left if you had allowed me. You did not. And… I feel as though I owe it to your wives.” She knew that his stories of love were lies. Every wife never had a choice. Just as she wouldn’t have. He was not a very good storyteller. “Women you stole from their homes. Women who likely live in constant fear of your return. Women who would be your next victims. I owe them this.” Katya had no mercy for men like him. “Thanks to Veran’s laws, they will inherit the wealth you bragged about.”

“I… no, there’s no money! I lied… I…”

“Well, that’s a shame. At the very least, they won’t have to fuck you anymore.”

“P-please…”

That was the last thing he said before her blade plunged deep into his throat. He gurgled, hands grasping at the blade in futility. With a tug, she sliced his head clean from his body. Then she wiped the blood from her blade on his cloak and sheathed it. She grabbed the overflowing coin purse he’d bragged about and then lifted her hood to hide her now bloodied face. She carried the purse to the bar and left it for the barmaids who no longer cowered in fear. They were watching her with reverence.

She bowed.

“For your troubles.” Katya set the purse on the counter. “Never let them treat you less than what you’re worth.” She made her way to the front door.

“Wait!” The barmaid stepped over the bodies of the men between them. The others were counting the coins. “So that you won’t be seen.” She guided Katya toward the back of the pub and unlocked a door there for her.

“Thank you.”

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” The barmaid’s voice trembled. Adrenaline was a funny thing.

“What’s that?”

“The General, drunk, and wild with rage, turned on his guards. No survivors.” The barmaid’s feigned sorrow was convincing. She was a surprising actress. “I kept my head down. When the fight escalated, I hid! After all, what could I do against soldiers?” Their eyes met in understanding. “Thank you.” Hushed gratitude beneath shaking breath.

Katya nodded and then left through the back door. Only the stillness of the night met her. The key was safely in her pocket and there it would remain. It belonged to her now.

One down.

Three to go.

She made her way into the forest beyond the town and listened for inevitable chaos. They would have to report the crime. But no sound came immediately. The barmaids were giving her a head start. She appreciated that but there was no need for it. If they did not intend to give her away, then she would not be found.

Eventually, the truth would be uncovered but likely not before she killed Veran.

Once enveloped by the folds of the forest, she found the river bubbling and cleaned herself of blood. Then she changed her clothing and shoved the bloodied ones deep into the bag she carried. When she had a chance to camp, she would burn the clothes. In her journal, she made note of the next closest mark that Raven had made on her map.

The next General was over the mountains to the north.

Even as a raven, it was a long journey. With any luck, she would make it there by midday. Then she would rest before seeking out her next target. Once word spread that a General had been killed, she was uncertain how the others would behave. Time would tell just how careful Veran and his men were.

For now, Katya took to the skies.