“Pardon me, sir. Are you the one they call the Black Wolf?”
Reinhardt looked up from his nearly empty tankard, eyes heavy-lidded from the effects of his drink. The bedraggled wretch standing timidly in front of him wore bloodied and tattered clothes that appeared to have once been of the finest quality.
“What makes you think that?” Reinhardt grunted brusquely.
“Meaning no offense, but when someone of your reputation comes to town, word gets around.”
“And what…word…is going around?”
The man cleared his throat nervously. “Just as I said, sir: that you’re the Black Wolf.”
Reinhardt slammed a gauntleted fist on the mahogany bar top. The stranger who had interrupted his drunken brooding flinched.
“What is it they say about me, this so-called Black Wolf?” he growled, speaking slowly, as if to an uncomprehending child.
“They say you’re the most feared assassin in the Night Ravens.” the man’s voice was shaky and uncertain. “They say those who are hunted by you never escape your blade. They say there is no more ruthless and cold-blooded swordsman in all of Trinitaria.”
Reinhardt chuckled mirthlessly. “And what would a poor bastard such as yourself want with a man like that?”
The interloper set his mouth in a determined line. When he spoke, his tone was harsh and bitter. “I want him to kill some people for me.”
Reinhardt inclined his head in a gesture that could almost have been considered as affable. “That is what I do.”
Under the light of a full moon, handholds and footholds were easy to find as Reinhardt climbed a crumbling tower overlooking the western border of the Fellmoors. It turned out the man was a merchant of some repute whose caravan had been beset upon by bandits while crossing the grim plateau. He and his wife survived the attack, but the brigands slaughtered most of their escort, and had taken their son hostage. Reinhardt was easily able to track the marauders from the site of the ambush back to their hideout.
The moon’s ethereal glow illuminated the surrounding countryside, but Reinhardt’s long, flowing cloak shrouded him in near total darkness. He grabbed ahold of the crenellations running along the top of the tower…and a large block of stone three times the size of his head came loose, plummeting noisily to the ground below as it clattered alongside the ancient building. Reinhardt clutched desperately with his other hand, barely managing to avoid plunging to his death, though his fingers were scraped and bleeding from the strain.
“Should have charged twice as much for all this trouble,” he muttered under his breath. Before he could haul himself up over the edge and onto the wall walk, Reinhardt heard the unmistakable racket of heavy footfalls pounding in his direction. He pressed himself against the decaying edifice, trusting in his shadowy cloak to conceal him from whatever prying eyes were about to appear.
Moments later, a brutish visage with a flattened snout and ears that stuck straight up, like a wolf’s when it was on the prowl, peered over the side of the tower. As stealthily as he could manage, Reinhardt drew a dagger sheathed diagonally at the small of his back. Sensing movement, the creature’s gaze fixated on the man’s precarious position. Baleful yellow eyes narrowed in focus and a clawed hand reached out in his direction. Reinhardt plunged his blade into the beast’s muscular forearm.
At the same time, he pulled his saber clear of the scabbard on his hip and sliced clean through his assailant’s jugular. Warm blood spurted down his arm, but Reinhardt ignored the unpleasant sensation and nimbly scaled the short remaining distance up the tower using his dying enemy as leverage. Once its death throes ceased, Reinhardt got a good look at the creature in the moonlight.
“Wargs!” the assassin cursed. “The merchant bastard conveniently left that out of his sob story. Definitely should have gotten more money for this.”
He heard a surprised yelp behind him. Reinhardt turned to see another Warg, clad in patchwork leather armor, emerging from the guardhouse that led to the building’s interior. Before the creature could sound an alarm, the assassin deftly flipped his dagger blade into his nimble fingers and hurled the weapon. It catapulted swiftly through the air until the point impaled the beastman through the eye.
Reinhardt retrieved the gory weapon and descended into the tower.
Guttural voices floated up towards Reinhardt as he crept stealthily down the spiral staircase. The assassin’s understanding of the Wargish language was rudimentary, at best, but the creatures waiting below appeared to be unalarmed and so far unaware of his presence. Reinhardt paused in the shadows at the bottom of the stairwell to consider his best course of action.
Wargs were not particularly brave, nor were they especially skilled fighters, but they were strong and nimble. The only reason he was able to so easily kill the ones patrolling the tower was because he had taken them by surprise. A direct confrontation, especially against multiple foes, would be much more daunting. Once again, Reinhardt cursed the wretched merchant for failing to mention that these beastmen were his quarry.
As he contemplated, Reinhardt idly fingered one of the half dozen throwing knives sheathed on a baldric across his chest. The assassin decided on a bold, foolhardy even, strategy. He could not say definitively how many Wargs were waiting for him, but he was hopeful six razor sharp blades would be enough to even the odds in his favor just a bit.
Reinhardt brazenly entered the watchtower’s great hall, where nearly a dozen Wargs were feasting and carousing. The assassin’s hands flashed in and out of his cloak with dizzying speed. Torchlight glinted off sharpened steel as the knives spun end over end towards the startled beastmen. Four of them were killed where they stood before they ever knew what hit them; the blades lodged deep in their throats. Reinhardt held back on letting fly his last pair of knives just in case.
Seven Wargs remained standing; snarling and brandishing wicked looking axes and swords. One of the beastmen, the leader judging by the slightly superior quality of his armor and weapons, chuckled menacingly.
“So…the Wolf has come to tame the wolfpack.”
“You know who I am then?” Reinhardt carefully kept his tone even to hide his surprise; not just at being recognized by the savage creatures, but also at the fact their leader could speak his language.
The Warg captain’s malignant gaze roved over the assassin; studying his jet colored hair and beard, swarthy complexion, and black leather armor. “Reinhardt the Black Wolf, of course. Isn’t a proper warrior in all of Trinitaria who doesn’t know who you are.”
“Even amongst your people?”
“Yes, yes. Wargs know…and some even fear…the Black Wolf,” the bandit chief barked in annoyance.
“If you know all of that, you must know why I’m here.”
“Imagine you’re here for the whelp. Should not have let the parents live. Didn’t think they’d send the Black Wolf after us.”
“They paid handsomely for your deaths. Though, not handsomely enough considering they failed to mention I was hunting Wargs. I’ve already killed six of your men. I’d wager they got their money’s worth. Bring out the boy, and the rest of you get to walk away.”
The Warg captain laughed incredulously; a harsh and guttural sound. “There are still seven of us. Just one of you. Even for the Black Wolf, not such great odds.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Reinhardt shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t offer you a way out.”
The assassin casually flicked his wrists and his two remaining throwing knives soared across the great hall. The Warg captain reacted with alarming speed, as if he had been waiting for Reinhardt to take this very course of action. He swatted the projectiles harmlessly aside with the broad blades of his double headed axed.
The beastman was not, however, prepared for Reinhardt’s dagger, which followed in the immediate aftermath of the knives…and planted itself firmly between his eyes.
The six surviving Wargs howled with dismay as their leader collapsed to the flagstones in an undignified tangle of fur and leather. Reinhardt drew his saber and let it hang ominously at his side. The survivors eyed each other uncertainly. Without their captain to guide them, they were unsure whether to fight or flee.
“Is there one amongst you that understands the Tongue of Men?” Reinhardt interrupted their silent deliberating.
A one-eyed brute wielding a slightly rusted war pick stepped forward. “Me.”
“Over half of you are already dead. Your captain is dead. Would the rest of you care to join them?”
The Warg shook his head adamantly.
“Good. Now, bring me the boy.”
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There's nothing like a swashbuckling assassin to liven (hehe) things up in wargtown tonight.
Most enjoyable. Brilliant action scenes that I could clearly see, as well as the castle, the tavern, the characters, just marvellous all round. Reinhardt being grumpy and coin obsessed is great and his killing the leader to save time shows his experience.
Great!