understand me, student?”
“I do,” Vekal said.
“Leobar went unpunished, as it is his right as the stepfather to do as he wishes in his own home—according to the law of man. But there is another law, is there not, student?”
“The law of the gods.”
“Correct. Edinal has petitioned the gods to right this accounting, and Iliya has answered, for she mourns, whilst Annwn only records. You must make amends on behalf of the Goddess, with Leobar Maphid, of Gravesinger’s Row and Old Street. You may use whatever tools you have in that box, and you are reminded that your actions are sacred, representing the Goddess. They are not to be discussed nor shared with any. Do you understand, student?”
“I do,” Vekal said solemnly, and he bowed his head to recite the litany of the Undying with them. When he lifted his head once more, they were gone. Eagerly, and without delay, he cracked open the tiny wooden box, to find that there was a thin stiletto knife inside, a small blowpipe and darts, a tiny phial of some milky-white substance, and a whole selection of dried seed heads.
Vekal nudged the dried heads, which were in small goblets with caps upon them, rattling inside. He knew them to be Papaver Mortum. When these seeds were crushed, they could render a man immune to all feeling, or unconscious, and ultimately, dead. Next, he opened the tiny phial and sniffed the substance. Something sweet-smelling, but bitter at the same time that made his nose itch. He didn’t know what that was, but he bet that if he dipped either darts or blade in it and struck someone, they would suffer a very short life indeed.
Vekal got dressed in his garb, putting on clean, dark robes and then winding his dark tan-colored bandages around his arms, legs, hands, and feet. They helped to dampen the noise of his passage, and would help with his next endeavor: sneaking to his victim.
In the end, the mission was sickeningly easier than he had expected. When Vekal had first heard about this aspect of the Sin Eater’s craft, he had imagined battling murderers across rooftops, or sneaking into cities to defeat warlords and foreign enemy heroes.
He had certainly never expected it to be so easy as to drop a few drops of almost colorless liquid into the wine cup of a drunkard.
Edinal Maphid had left Leobar, her second husband, after the court’s ruling. She was not to be found at the corner of Old Street and Gravesinger’s. This made the job of killing the man much easier than it would be otherwise.
Vekal spent half the night navigating a long, quiet route to the Maphid residence, making sure that he wasn’t seen—or if he was, that he appeared to be a beggar looking for a place to lay his head. When he finally arrived at the small sandstone building in the terrace of many more, he found all of the lanterns and torches of the nearby houses out, a scraggy cat sitting on a windowsill, and the door to the Maphid’s house already open.
Creeping inside, Vekal had almost knocked over Leobar, who appeared to be asleep in the kitchen chair by the hearth.
“Whatcha… what?” The large, heavy-set man called Leobar opened his eyes groggily, looking around to wonder why he had thought he had seen someone. Instead, all he saw was the open door and the streets outside.
“Damn cat,” the drunkard groaned to himself, closing his eyes once more and, within a few moments, went back to a noisy, raspy snore.
Vekal emerged from behind the door like a ghost, an apparition from hell itself, before dropping the entire contents of the phial into the man’s half-empty wine glass, and hesitating. Did he really have the right to do this? Was the man going to suffer?
His mind solidified when he saw the ugly cuts and bruises all over the man’s hand. He was a fighter. He had probably taken out his inept rage and drunkenness on his new wife and his stepdaughter. This was the will of the Goddess.
Stepping back behind the door, Vekal waited until he was
“I do,” Vekal said.
“Leobar went unpunished, as it is his right as the stepfather to do as he wishes in his own home—according to the law of man. But there is another law, is there not, student?”
“The law of the gods.”
“Correct. Edinal has petitioned the gods to right this accounting, and Iliya has answered, for she mourns, whilst Annwn only records. You must make amends on behalf of the Goddess, with Leobar Maphid, of Gravesinger’s Row and Old Street. You may use whatever tools you have in that box, and you are reminded that your actions are sacred, representing the Goddess. They are not to be discussed nor shared with any. Do you understand, student?”
“I do,” Vekal said solemnly, and he bowed his head to recite the litany of the Undying with them. When he lifted his head once more, they were gone. Eagerly, and without delay, he cracked open the tiny wooden box, to find that there was a thin stiletto knife inside, a small blowpipe and darts, a tiny phial of some milky-white substance, and a whole selection of dried seed heads.
Vekal nudged the dried heads, which were in small goblets with caps upon them, rattling inside. He knew them to be Papaver Mortum. When these seeds were crushed, they could render a man immune to all feeling, or unconscious, and ultimately, dead. Next, he opened the tiny phial and sniffed the substance. Something sweet-smelling, but bitter at the same time that made his nose itch. He didn’t know what that was, but he bet that if he dipped either darts or blade in it and struck someone, they would suffer a very short life indeed.
Vekal got dressed in his garb, putting on clean, dark robes and then winding his dark tan-colored bandages around his arms, legs, hands, and feet. They helped to dampen the noise of his passage, and would help with his next endeavor: sneaking to his victim.
In the end, the mission was sickeningly easier than he had expected. When Vekal had first heard about this aspect of the Sin Eater’s craft, he had imagined battling murderers across rooftops, or sneaking into cities to defeat warlords and foreign enemy heroes.
He had certainly never expected it to be so easy as to drop a few drops of almost colorless liquid into the wine cup of a drunkard.
Edinal Maphid had left Leobar, her second husband, after the court’s ruling. She was not to be found at the corner of Old Street and Gravesinger’s. This made the job of killing the man much easier than it would be otherwise.
Vekal spent half the night navigating a long, quiet route to the Maphid residence, making sure that he wasn’t seen—or if he was, that he appeared to be a beggar looking for a place to lay his head. When he finally arrived at the small sandstone building in the terrace of many more, he found all of the lanterns and torches of the nearby houses out, a scraggy cat sitting on a windowsill, and the door to the Maphid’s house already open.
Creeping inside, Vekal had almost knocked over Leobar, who appeared to be asleep in the kitchen chair by the hearth.
“Whatcha… what?” The large, heavy-set man called Leobar opened his eyes groggily, looking around to wonder why he had thought he had seen someone. Instead, all he saw was the open door and the streets outside.
“Damn cat,” the drunkard groaned to himself, closing his eyes once more and, within a few moments, went back to a noisy, raspy snore.
Vekal emerged from behind the door like a ghost, an apparition from hell itself, before dropping the entire contents of the phial into the man’s half-empty wine glass, and hesitating. Did he really have the right to do this? Was the man going to suffer?
His mind solidified when he saw the ugly cuts and bruises all over the man’s hand. He was a fighter. He had probably taken out his inept rage and drunkenness on his new wife and his stepdaughter. This was the will of the Goddess.
Stepping back behind the door, Vekal waited until he was
Similar Books
