A month. A solid, wind forsaken month Krug had wasted in this stinking hovel and Malta still was no closer to ending his plan. The city was empty, their adversaries long dead and the army outside their walls was growing more restless by the hour.

Krug had long ago loaded his booty but now the men they’d brought dwindled. Growing restless themselves but more wary of Malta’s volatile leadership, some had stolen away in the night, slipping in to the dark waters to find refuge and escape on the ships that operated their rear guard flotilla. They could be anywhere, and Malta had now fewer than thirty men to hold a city that once housed nearly ten thousand.

Krug trudged up the cobblestone street, pulling his cloak tighter. It was freezing and miserable, food was less than ideal, the pirates turns out didn’t prefer to give up the best, choosing to deliver the scraps after they’d gorged themselves on the trip up.

Malta. What a fool. He’d had it all, Krug had delivered it to him! He’d lost Kal in the assassination attempt on the knights, and that had been a hard blow to him, but he’d swallowed his anger and met Malta the next day with all the confidence of a lieutenant worthy of significant praise for his accomplishments.

He’d gotten no such praise.

The blockhouse accommodation had been burned but still Malta had insisted on claiming it. Over the course of the long siege, Krug had come to know that his leader was a manic sociopath that pulled it together for a few hours of the day, but the rest of the time, he was a volatile, ranting wild animal with a lust for violence. Krug learned early in the days of the Rogun underground to avoid the leader for any and all recreational time. This was harder to do since they were locked in a city they were supposed to be invading.

Krug huffed and pulled his collar up higher. He raised his chin so he could breathe from over the edge and his eyes caught the flight of a thin slip of a person, silently jumping from one roof top to the other. It was so fast, he blinked and stopped walking in surprise.

Recovering, he ran now to catch up at the corner, his eyes glued to the rooftops. At the street junction, he ducked into the shadow and waited.

“Krug!” a man roared at him from across the street. Cursing his cover being shot, he glowered and moved from his concealment. Malta stood in the doorway of the blockhouse, his body in silhouette from the light behind. When he got near, Malta grabbed him hard by the shoulder and pulled him close to roar quieter in his ear.

“The brat arrives tonight. Find the ship the Cutter’s Swath, get him here,” he barked and threw Krug away from him and in the direction of the pier. Krug growled but rolled his shoulders back. He left without a word but his eyes strayed back to the rooftops.

---

Krug watched the servant Yaga, his tongue out, salivating over the carving knife he handled. He’d lived far too long with this rabble. He hated the man and hated that Malta confided in him. Hated that he’d come finally to pull Sophia away from him, to use for Malta’s entertainment, when finally the fresh slaves had dried up over the extended siege.

Leaning against the wall, one knee bent and his foot flat on the vertical surface, he rolled the splinter in his mouth and bit down on the new side. His arms remained crossed and his eyes bored into the prisoner hung on the chains in the middle of the room.

The man had been captured at the coastal gate, snooping around for winds knew what, but he’d been caught and Krug’s suspicions that Hayden had spies inside the city were confirmed. It had been months since River’s disappearance, this had been their first real break.

He’d given them nothing though. For a full night they’d beat and sliced him. Nothing.

Krug was tired and wanted to seek his bed but Malta had refused his request until the prisoner spoke something.

He sighed and shifted his exhausted, starved frame off the wall. Tired of it all, he’d slit the morons throat and hide from Malta for a day to let him cool off. It was obvious the man was a professional. He’d been banged up already, broken bones and barely healed scars across his body and face. He was a tough old git, he’d hand him that.

Yaga turned and grinned evily to start anew on the man’s flesh. Slowly he lifted the left arm, still shackled and moved to start a slice from his armpit. Krug’s eyes watched the man for any sign but something caught his attention. “Stop!”

Moving fast he came towards where Yaga held the man and the arm high but Krug moved to the hand. He grabbed it fast and made to pull the ring but it was swollen stuck. He rubbed it, turned fast to tuck it under his own armpit and brought it up close to his face to inspect it.

“Well I’ll be…,” Krug murmured and for the first time in months, he smiled.

“Whut?” Yaga complained and tried to shove him away from his prize. Annoyed and finally holding the upper hand, Krug turned and shoved the decrepit man hard away. He stumbled and fell against the far wall. Krug didn’t care and hadn’t even bothered to look. He did look at the face of the man that he wasn’t entirely sure was still conscious.

He grinned and moved very close to speak in his ear.

“First Guardsman to the King,” he whispered. “Sir Chen, is it? Awe and you were so close, Sir Knight,” he told him and stroked a finger down the bloody cheek. “River is here, under our protection. Too bad I can’t say the same for you.”

Surprising him, Chen coughed and wheezed but Krug saw the whites of his teeth when he tried to smile.

“Maybe he is here, but you most certainly do not have him, Mongrol,” Chen replied, barely above a whisper. “His mother rides to meet him and I know your leader wants his martyrdom in tandem with her demise, but Nyssa doesn’t fight blinded with malice and contempt as you do. she fights with vengeance and heart and you she’ll kill for assurances. You are nothing here but an inconvenience. Your names will not be spoken with honour, your deaths will not be remembered even in tales of caution. Nyssa will wipe you from the face of this earth and burn your soul from the afterlife. You will cease to exist in all realms, you will simply be forgotten.”

Krug stepped back from the man.

“Do you want me to cut it off?” Yaga offered and he pointed to the ring. Krug eyed the knight, once the most revered in his country.

“No,” Krug said then. “Leave it for his brothers. Kill him and hang him in our trap for the boy king to find. I’m sure it will make his day.”