They made it to their mark unnoticed, neither of them having made so much as a leaf crunch. While ten yards was a little far for the type of knife throw they had to accomplish, any closer would put them into the light of the fire. Since Tarol would be unable to see a hand motion, Yhkon reached out and touched his shoulder to inform him they were halting. They both—ever so slowly—rose to their knees, eyes glued on the knights. The pair seemed quite oblivious to the world around them. If he were a little more slumped over, the one might have been asleep.
Yhkon slid his hand into his shirt and to the large belt around his waist. He pulled out a throwing star that gleamed in the minimal light. Tarol had done the same. With the blade between his thumb and forefinger, Yhkon drew back his arm, squinted at his target, and threw.
A slight grunt from the knight. The soldier Tarol had thrown at had already collapsed. Yhkon’s victim, however, was still quite alive, the knife having hit just off the mark. Sure, the man would die soon enough, but not before he’d have the opportunity to raise an alarm.
“Blast!” He fumbled to pull out another throwing star, panicking, and further provoked by Tarol’s muffled chuckles. The injured soldier was dazedly trying to stem the blood flow and just beginning to croak something out when Yhkon hurled the second blade. This one struck true, and the man toppled.
Tarol nudged his arm. “I thought you said it was imperative to kill ‘em with the first throw?”
Yhkon growled under his breath and cuffed him over the ear. Tarol only snickered again.
They crept forward quickly and felt for pulses on the two men, removing the blades. No pulses, plenty of blood. That was the problem with going for the throat—it was a probable instant death, but it gushed blood and made a mess. A mess that would need to be cleaned up without a trace.
Having gone over the plan in detail, they both set to work wordlessly. The guards weren’t wearing all their armor; what they were wearing was stripped off. They took the soldiers’ extra garments off too and did their best to stop the bleeding. Then they grabbed the bodies under the arms and dragged them away from the fire, into the surrounding forest. As soon as they were in the trees Tarol abandoned his load and returned to the fire, while Yhkon kept going. He towed the soldier along, cringing at the snapping twigs and rustling underbrush that resulted. Once he was deep into the woods, much farther than any of the other knights would venture, he found a thick copse of young trees and concealed the body in them. Then he went back and did the same for the other.
He sprinted back the way he had come, but slowed to a silent tread as he entered the camp. At the fire, he and Tarol swapped places—he sat down while Tarol picked up the armor and disappeared into the woods with it to wash off the blood. Yhkon sat motionless for a while, listening for any indication that they’d awoken anyone. When there wasn’t a single noise after several minutes, he crouched on the ground where the two soldiers had died. It was hard to see in the flickering light of the fire, still, there were conspicuous blood stains. If anyone noticed those come morning, their cover would be blown. He tousled his hands through the grass and natural debris, pulling them away sticky and wet, having made little improvement. If only it were sand or even dirt, he could simply dig up fresh and cover it. Grass wouldn’t work for that. How to remove the blood, then...
Movement.
Yhkon jerked his head up. Tarol wouldn’t make that much noise.
A soldier had stuck his head out of a nearby tent, grumbling groggily. “Wha…oh, hey Ken—or, is that you, Kendon?” He peered quizzically at Yhkon.
Yhkon cleared his throat, trying not to fidget. He and Tarol had taken off their pauldrons and donned hooded cloaks that most of the knights would be likely to own. “Yep. Just a bit nippy out here.” He gestured to the hood, wondering if he’d successfully covered his slight Sanonyan accent.
The man nodded understandingly. “Winter’s on its way, true thing. Where’s Martio?”
He shrugged. “Taking a leak.” Go back to sleep…
Another nod. “Eh, think I’ll do the same.” He clambered the rest of the way out of the tent and wandered off toward the woods, thankfully in a different direction than Tarol had taken. Hopefully he hadn’t woken any more men with his chatting.
Tarol returned with the armor and set it down, sitting beside Yhkon. He was about to lean forward to continue working on the blood stains, until Yhkon grabbed his arm. “One of them is awake. He’ll be back any time,” he explained under his breath.
The knight reappeared shortly, waving a greeting as he approached. “Ho, Martio! How’s the watch treating you?”
Could you be any louder?
Tarol answered cheerfully. “Ah, not bad. Warmer would be better.”
“Prisoners been making any racket?”
“No, silent as the grave.” Tarol laughed and elbowed Yhkon’s shoulder, as if to tell a joke. “That’s where they’re headed, after all.”
The soldier chortled mirthfully, sounding more like a frightened pig than an amused man. He went back to the tent he’d come from, pausing outside. “Well, you boys got another couple hours, before sunrise, I’d say.”
“Jendre! Get in here and stop your yammering!” came a grouchy voice from inside the tent. Yes, please do.
Jendre smiled good-naturedly and ducked into the shelter.
Yhkon let out his breath in relief. Now, just to wait.
8
The Key
T he sun was up. Finally. A man wearing armor that distinguished him as the commander marched out from a tent, put his fingers to his lips, and whistled. Then he strode to the fire and the two Wardens sitting next to it. “Alright, boys, up with you. Go get your armor on. You’ll be guarding the prisoners again today.”
“Yes, sir,” they murmured in unison. Yhkon cast another glance at where the grass had been discolored to crimson. They had cleaned it up as much as possible, and they’d moved what remained of the firewood stock to cover it. Without purposely looking for it, he doubted anyone would notice.
He and Tarol left the fire and went to the tent they’d noted as belonging to Kendon and Martio, the men they were masquerading as. Inside, soldiers were busy packing up bedrolls and getting dressed, so it was easy to slip in and begin doing the same. They had to remove the hooded cloaks to put their armor on, but no one seemed to be paying enough attention to notice their dramatically altered appearances.
Except, none of the other knights were putting their helmets on yet. So the two of them would be suspicious to put on theirs. Great. Just great. They finished putting all their other armor on and packing their things, and left the tent. There were almost two hundred knights in the camp. Surely no one had memorized the faces of each.
They did their best to act casual while figuring out what to do. Everyone else apparently knew their designated tasks, leaving the two of them to scramble and hope for the best. The simplest thing to do at first seemed to be helping take down the tent that they had supposedly slept in. After that, they followed the other men that had occupied their shelter. Eventually, they improvised their way through feeding coliyes and eating a tasteless mush the Kaydorians called breakfast. Only then did the other men put on their helmets. They gladly did the same.