The Green City was often cold and wet. The streets of the Backrow, far and further from the gates of the city's high walls, stands as the foulest place in all of the Greenholds. The draining system, as they called them, was non-existent. The old and bald Lord Mycael knew that very well.
"How long until you give me my share?"
"Soon. May the dragon have mercy on you as well." The man he followed did not stop walking. "You've done well for yourself, m'lord."
The old man laughed as he wheezed his way through the defecated streets. "I've given you all you need to know, dragon-faith… way more than I should've."
"Right," said he, the man's cloak flowing as he turned left- then right. "How much did I pay you?"
Lord Mycael could not keep up any longer. "You… you promised me… two-hundred scales for what I gave." He leaned on a white-washed wall. "If you don't have it with you now… I swear the city's watch will–"
"Cut my throat and steal my gold?"
The lord stared at him confused. "Why, you don't fear them?"
"Why should I?" asked the man. "They're nothing but men with long blades. I have with me a blade shorter but I've killed more men than most of those 'warriors'."
"They're protectors of this city." The lord seemed to have caught his breath. "They're even more bent on protecting us."
"Who? The small council?" The man scoffed. "I'm willing to bet a thousand golden scales they're more willing to slit all of your throats than ours." He took from his pocket a dagger, curved but glimmering under the dark alley, moonlight like glitter from its tip. "Do you see this city, m'lord?" he asked, pointing his dagger all around him. "You've made this city a landfill."
"Hah! And what can a man like you do?"
"What has a man like you done?"
The lord stuttered under his reply. "H-how dare you? I am the Purse of the Kingdom and I will not stand to such disrespect–"
"Disrespect?" He pointed the dagger at the old man. "Should I remind you of it—the time when all the smiles of your family fell dead?"
He shrugged it off. "I am guilty of no crime you speak of."
"Mm…" the man's eyes peeked through the darkness from the shadow of his hood—yellow and glowing brightly. "Perhaps the lady of the Evergreen would agree to differ, considering your heart failed to resist that faithful day…"
"I gave you no knowledge of such a thing," the lord insisted, slowly backing off from the man he now feared.
"Oh, but I know," he declared. "You couldn't take your lust unnoticed when you took her as your wife, didn't you?"
"Stop it now, boy. Tread carefully."
"But I won't," said he. "The night before your brother's marriage you violated the poor lady. When your brother found out, however… Oh, I wonder what you did…"
"Gabriel never would've understood. He was a boy," the lord reassured himself. "That scar on his damn face means nothing anymore. Nobody knows the tale."
"All except me." His laugh was maniacal. He enjoyed it—every last bit of it all. "The prince entered the room finding his lovely brother fucking the bride-to-be… that's why he ran to dear-old-daddy to tell on you, yes?"
Silence was his reply. He had no words to say or any at all—even a witty reply. Perhaps he wanted to kill the man.
"The king didn't give you the throne, did he? He would have given you a wife and you gave him a bastard… and all fell to brother… all you have is a place in a council–"
"A place that holds more gold than you could ever dream of." He begged him now, kneeling, his face touching the cobblestone road—filled with moss and ants. "I will give you all the gold you can imagine if you keep your mouth silent. I am in your debt, please!"
He looked at him playfully, sneaking in another sinister chuckle. "In my debt. Is that how it works now? Just then you would've committed murder if I didn't have the gold with me. Now… I am in your debt!" he said, imitating his deep voice as much as he could.
"Please…" he pleaded again. "I've paid already for my sins."
"Quite right, you did." The man played with his dagger, nicking himself every turn of the blade. "She's no longer your toy, but your brother's wife. You're a disgrace, and your bastard child's been thrown out. What a life, don't you think?"
By then, the lord had sunk into tears. "Enough! No more!"
"Oh, so you confess?"
"I confess… I confess greatly to my sins—I swear upon my life I will not do such vile acts again!"
His smile faded. "Well now it's no fun to murder. You're innocent now, Lord Mycael… according to the yellow dragon's wisdom—you are."
"S-so you will spare me?" asked the lord, looking up at the man whose face was still darkened. His own figure was now stained—both clothing and soul.
"Mm… Perhaps I shall tell the masses. Mercy doesn't take consequence away, does it?" Slowly, he backed away. "Try to catch up, m'lord. The cover of darkness doesn't last forever!" At once, he ran, leaving the lord with none but a copper tooth.
The Purse stood up and yelled, "Watch! Watch! Catch that thief!" as loud as he could.
From the light of the alley emerged only two men—each wore armor both plate and chainmail, with their breastplates covered in green and white. After all, it was the Green City.
"Where is he, m'lord?"
"There!" he exclaimed, pointing where the alley grew dark.
Brave were the knights that served the City's Watch, but they were also swift. The crates and barrels that littered the damp alleyways were turned to splinters and planks as they plowed through. In front of them, the man ran as swift as them both, jumping over carts and throwing all he could at the men that chased him.
"Catch me, 'warriors'!" he taunted, discarding his hood, revealing a mere child arounds ten-and-two. "How fast can you truly be?"
His laugh was childish but very much terrifying. It was by the fifth minute that the knights had turned exhausted, but the child still ran and ran. Underneath the moonlight, his skin was pale and his hair like silver. The eyes that glowed brightly still did—almost golden—and his teeth were sharpened like a lion's.
"Stop… running… boy!"
And by some miracle, the boy did obey.
He halted, then and there, turning to see the faces of the men that wanted to kill him—or perhaps sell him as a ransom. "A boy? Why… surely, a boy could do no harm to either of you," he claimed, revealing once more his blade.
The two laughed at him, drawing their swords—great and long, made of fine steel. "Our blades beat yours. Steel against whatever silver you have."
"Oh, but this isn't steel, Ser," he replied. "Both of you look at a boy carrying two blades—mind and the true form. Mine shall shatter both of yours, melting them perhaps."
The first knight took a chance, striking at the boy's leg. Useless was the try as the boy simply backed off, cutting his own wrist as the blade burst into flames. His laugh seemed to fuel the fire more. "Parlor trick!" said the second, striking for his head.
The boy ducked away, his blade at hand—fingers gripping the tip of the dagger, throwing the flaming blade at the knight's own calf, the blade piercing through plate and cauterizing the wound, melting fat and flesh as the knight screamed in agony. "Scared of fire now?" asked the child with joy. "There is plenty more for all of you!"
The other's sword went flying towards the boy, wounding his cheek with a shallow wound, sending the boy back.
"Not so strong now, are you—with your ember trick? How much gold will I get from you, hm?" The man's blade was now against the child's throat, and even the knight laughed.
But the boy did not stop his. "I'm still strong, Ser," said he. "Especially when my blood is on your blade."
Like the dagger, the knight's sword went ablaze, turning the steel glowing red, then gold, then simply into a molten puddle as the boy rolled from the blade, looking pleased as the knight's hand burned from the heat. The second knight had already fell and the first was now clutching his charred hand.
The boy went close to the second man and took his blade from his calf, which bled not. "What's your name, Ser? Perhaps you can pray to your gods now."
"You're a cunt!"
The boy gave him a smile and bent over. "You've never killed a man before, have you? You don't even know how to die properly! Go on... say your words. I won't put the ones you said on your grave—promise!"
The watcher stuttered and gave no clear reply. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, please—"
The boy slashed his dagger upon the man's throat, having him drown in his own blood.
Now, he looked at the first knight, squinting his eyes and tossing his blade up and down as streaks of blood stained his face and hair. "You look like a crippled horse," he told him, wiping the blood from his blade. "I think no man has any use for a dying mare." And at last, the man met his own end with a dagger piercing his eye and into his head.
It was by then that the tired Lord Mycael had arrived with a squadron of three more men—each a watcher. "What have you done?" asked the lord. "Murderer!" he exclaimed, screaming wildly and pointing at the boy.
When will you learn? The boy asked himself within his own mind. Alas, his dagger was drawn again, another nick taken from his wrist as blood spilled unto the blade, igniting it once more. "Do you really wish your Watchers to die with you, m'lord?" The boy laughed again, which by now had sent chills to the old man.
"Nobody threatens my lord in the presence of the City's Watch! The boy will drop his dagger!"
"Hah! The boy will not!" The boy continued to play with his flaming dagger. "You want to see what I've put these men through?" he asked, pointing the tip at the two dead men. He grinned as wide as he could, his sharp teeth shown. "Settled!"
The dagger, from the boy's hand, flew towards the first man's eye. The rest charged as the boy dashed forward, leaping on the flailing man's chest and taking out his blade, shoving it to the knight behind him, melting armor and piercing his heart.
"What is this… sorcery?" The lord fell back, tripping on a pebble and landing on his own behind.
Two men were dead, and the last met his when the blade landed on his throat—through leather and chainmail. Each man dropped dead, joining the other two.
"Mercy… Mercy, please!"
"What? No!" he exclaimed, saddened in his sarcastic tone. "I've already taken five rabbits with me today. Why not make the number even? I love even numbers! They've taught us more recently. I'm quite fond of all things quantity!"
The lord's eyes widened as the boy bent over, where their faces were close, and where the own boy's blood dripped on the lord's cloak.
"I applaud you, Lord Marigold. Thank you for your service… and for giving me new toys to play with," said the boy, his smile never fading. At once, all bodies burned and turned to ash upon a snap of his fingers. Soon, the lord turned to ash as well. He smiled eagerly. "I humbly welcome you all as prey, my lord. Welcome to my hunt!"