Kingdoms of Men (Part 2)

     The forest was heavy with the coming rain, all seemed eager to receive it. The horses were almost silent, their hooves masked by the moss covering the forest floor. Just off the path there sat a cloaked figure in a tree covered in green lichen, hanging down like a moth-eaten curtain. The green cloak that hung around the young man in the tree rendered him invisible to all, his knife hidden just beneath the folds of the cloak, ready to strike. He steadied his breathing, calming himself through. The horses were coming closer, bearing their riders in royal garb. The two old men were laughing and speaking in an ancient tongue as they rode, unaware. Soon they were under the tree and the cloaked figure brought the knife to daylight, and leapt.

     A splash of crimson joined the forest floor as a shimmering blade made its way across the throat of the first old man. He fell to the forest floor without even crying out, the impact muffled as he landed on the ancient moss. The cloaked attacker rolled as he hit the ground, keeping his momentum forwards towards the second old man, who was spurring his horse to escape the deadly knife. But the kicks came too late as a gloved hand reached up and pulled the old man off his horse. The man cried in fear and pain as he met the ground, but was soon silenced by a blade that seemed to float through skin and bone alike. The young attacker drew a cloth from inside the folds of his garment and wiped the blade clean so that it shimmered once more. But though it had a dark allure to it, it could not be hidden that this was a murderous tool. The blade was hidden again, and the young man quickly looked over the bodies, gathering up the gold and jewels they had on their persons. He put the trinkets into a sack, as if they were simply rubbish to be tossed. He pulled back the fold of each man’s clothes and took the necklaces that they both wore – a crystal on a simple rope. These he tucked into the folds of his cloak, as though they were the most precious jewels. After he was sure that all of the jewels were removed from the old men, the young assassin produced a rusty blade and began making marks on the fallen men. Soon, they bore the marks of a struggle and a fierce battle. He drew their swords from the scabbard and clashed them together, then placed them in the hands of the fallen. The horses stood near their fallen masters, watching the odd ritual of the young man. They watched as he knelt and said a prayer over their bodies, imploring the heavens to take their spirits and do as may with them in accordance to the lives they had lived. He approached the steeds and placed his hands on their noses, gently petting them. He mounted one and grabbed hold of the reigns of the other and they set off through the forest, away from the city walls it surrounded.