Max just sat there staring at the bounty hunter, his mouth wide open. He had been sure they had moved on, that the hunters hadn't seen him. And here Dorin was, the rudest brute his hometown of Denebeam had ever seen. The man was notorious for getting kicked out of the Weatherbreak Inn for any reason one could think of. And for a small logging town, that was a hard task to do.

  “All the reward for me,” Dorin said, his yellow grin wide with greed. The man stepped forward, his flail ready. That seemed to be exactly what Miranda was waiting for. She shouted something in a language Max didn't understand, then screamed out in pain as a blue bolt of energy flew towards Dorin. It didn't do much, slamming square into his thigh, but it was enough to stagger the brute.

  “Ah!” Dorin shouted as he stumbled forward, his flail clanging against the stone mouth of the outcropping. Max took that opportunity to act. He roared a weak battle cry and charged forward, tackling Dorin.

  Max wrestled with the man for his flail, its rusty spikes flinging dangerously close to both their faces. At one point, one of the spikes cut Max in the arm and he flinched instinctively. Dorin threw his head forward, headbutting Max. Dazed and in pain, Max tumbled off of the bounty hunter. He had just recovered enough to see a gloved fist smack him in the mouth.

  Max went down like a sack, crumpling onto the wet, soft dirt. Max felt a hot pain shoot up his jaw. All thought of the altercation abandoned him. He didn't even hear Miranda shout as she pulled her dagger to engage Dorin. Steel clanked in the background as Max slowly rose. Flashes of pain shooting in his head, rain pattering on his tarnished tunic. A flicker of memory flashed in his mind as he sat up on his knees.

  Gerald was with him next to the potato field on his homestead. The old guardsman held a wooden sword, Max his own wooden knife.

  “Remember son, when it's life or death, there's no such thing as a cheap shot,” the mentor lectured. “On a battlefield, you'll be outmatched one to one. But there's something about you boy, they just can't help but overlook you.”

  “Max!” A shout echoed in his memory, ripping him from the presence of his friend. The rain had all but stopped, the small fire flickered dangerously low, and Dorin was straddled over Miranda. Max’s vision slowly came into focus. He could see the man's beefy hands wrapped around her neck, tightening. Her face was pale, her hazel eyes held only fear.

  Slowly, Max got to his feet. He shook off the pain from his jaw, already starting to swell from the punch. The weight of his farmer's utility knife grew heavy on his side. It wasn't much, a small knife, but made from the finest steel in the kingdom. A gift from Gerald for his twentieth birthday. He pulled the blade and approached Dorin, one stealthy step at a time. The leather handle felt smooth and perfectly shaped in his hand. His years of using the tool made it feel like an extension of his person.

  Max was just feet from Dorin now. He analyzed the man’s back in the dark light. Right below the shoulder, just to the left. He had hunted enough to know where the vital organs were. The cleanest kill would come from one that had a chance of impacting the lungs and heart. He was just ready to lunge forward when Miranda's eyes closed, her arms fell to her side.

  “No!” Max shouted foolishly. Two things happened. Dorin looked over to him in surprise, and Max lunged. He tackled the man once again, this time with a weapon in hand. They rolled until Max came up on top, driving his blade down towards the man's neck. Dorin reached up instinctively and stopped the steel an inch from his flesh. Dorin's eyes watered, looking to Max pleadingly.

  “No… Max… I’m sorry…” Dorin begged. Max couldn't hear it; he couldn't take the thought of killing someone he knew. He closed his eyes to block out the man’s gaze and shook his head.

  Then Max shouted, a loud animalistic sound into the night sky. He let go of one hand raising it above his head, then with all his might he brought it down and slammed the pommel of the knife with his palm. The blade pushed past the man's hands and sank into his neck with a wet crunch.

  Dorin’s words stopped and his eyes went wide. Blood started pouring from the wound and sputtering from the man's mouth. His body convulsed as he tried in vain to grasp for the knife. A horrific moment later and the bounty hunter stopped moving.

  Max held the blade in place, unwilling to move. He feared the man wasn't dead, that he would rise up any moment and kill Max. Minutes passed before Max finally opened his eyes. The pale form of Dorin stared back at him. Max turned away and dismounted from the corpse. He shuffled over to where Miranda laid motionless. He felt her neck for a pulse; the moment his finger touched her skin a tremor ran through her body. He sighed in relief as he felt her blood pumping through her veins.

  Max sat back hugging his knees. What have I done? I just killed someone. He knew what Gerald would say, hell, even what his father would say. “They were trying to kill you. It doesn't make it ok, but necessary.”

  Max shook as the adrenaline washed away, the silence of the night taking over as the rain fully stopped. Darkness slowly began taking over their cover as the fire began to die. His body remembered it was cold and shivers raced down his spine once again. Reluctantly he gathered the driest pieces of wood he could find and tossed them on the fire. He looked over at Dorin’s corpse. I can’t just leave you here. He feared the dogs would pick up the man’s scent once the other bounty hunters realized he was missing.

  Max first went to Miranda. He scooped her up from under her arms and dragged her under the slate slab. He settled her down as best he could on the dry dirt before turning back to Dorin. The bounty hunter was much heavier, harder to move, and took much longer. Several times blood seeped from the wound in his neck when Max pulled against him, and each time Max vomited into the bushes. So much for keeping our scent down.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He eventually got the body to the edge of the river and paused. Gently he bent down and retrieved his knife. He stared at it for a long moment before cleaning its blade on Dorin's tunic. Once he had the knife sheathed he pushed hard against Dorin's frame. The man rolled easily, and plopped into the water like a fallen log. Swiftly the water whisked away the man, as if he had never been there.

  Max thought it was all too tragic, that the night began to wake as the body floated away. The horrible moments washed away as crickets chirped and frogs croaked. It was quite beautiful. Somberly Max returned to the cave entrance. He took some time to try and cover any vomit or blood with dirt. I don't know if that will help, but it will have to do.

  He gathered a few larger chunks of wood that were fairly wet and placed them near the fire. He hoped they would dry out enough to burn by the time the flames needed them. Miranda appeared fine, still unconscious on the cave floor. But now it appeared as if she had transitioned to a deep sleep, as if she understood the threat was gone.

  Max plopped himself down next to her, her legs laying across his in the small outcropping. He leaned against the coziest bit of rock and laid back, closing his eyes. If I can even sleep after all of that.

  But sleep he did, and almost immediately. Darkness took him and he fell into the usual nightmares. His smiling parents waving bye as they were hauled away by the conscription wagon. Gerald standing over two pine boxes with a note and tears in his eyes. The witch showing up on his farm, staggering and wounded. Unbeknownst to him, an army breathing down her neck. The witch.

  The witch. A raspy voice repeated in his mind. Max shifted as the thought forced its way into his dream. The witch!

  Max awoke with a start. He whipped his head around the small area in a panic, his heart racing. It felt like a drum in his chest. The witch. She was gone. The fire was alive, the logs he put off to the side now sitting in the center burning. But where is she? Did she abandon me here? Max stood and stretched the stiffness from his limbs. His jaw was sore, but not as swollen as he thought it was going to be. He made his way out into the startling brightness of mid-morning.

  He took a deep breath of fresh summer air. The smell of morning dew and wildflowers drifted on the gentle wind. The chirps and croaks from the night before were replaced by the song of birds and the chitter of squirrels. Everything else aside, Max had to respect the beauty of the wilds. Then he made the mistake of looking down. Down at his poor attempt to cover a large pool of blood. Max shuddered and stepped past it.

  He had settled on the kill being necessary, but it was still his first. He would never forget Dorin’s face, rotting teeth and all.

  Max made his way away from the cave and away from the river. He stopped at the treeline where he expected he would find Miranda. Where did she go? He stepped slowly into the lightly wooded forest and looked for tracks. He saw none except the occasional deer or racoon print. Finally he couldn't take the anxiety any longer.

  “Miranda,” Max whispered, scanning the trees. Nothing. “Miranda!”

  “Would you stop that!”

  Max turned, his breath catching in his throat. There she was, just standing next to a fallen log. Her intense hazel eyes bored into him as if she was studying the farmer before her. She stood tall, almost his height, with thick stained hunting leathers. Leathers that looked expensive and well made. Nothing like the patchwork scrap they try to sell back home. Her wavy hair, black as a raven's wing, blew gently in the wind.

  “Hello?” Miranda said, as if she just had to repeat herself. She cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

  “Er- sorry. What were you saying?”

  “I was saying, we have a problem,” she said, shaking her head at him. But Max caught something else. A glance she hadn't given him before. Respect? Fear? The normal cadence of demeaning jabs was all but gone from her tone. “A problem that isn't going to be made easier if you keep shouting like that.”

  “Right, sorry,” Max said, gesturing apologetically. “What is the problem?”

  Miranda straightened and took a deep breath. “I slipped away for a moment when I woke to divine our future, well my future. I’m not getting anything from you.”

  “Divine? Is that what you were doing yesterday?”

  “Yes , sort of.” Miranda said impatiently. “That was me looking for immediate possible futures, hints on what to do next. Where I'm from one can sit and pray to the goddess Fate, looking for possible futures further than just a few minutes. You can also look further away to specific people if you're good enough. Something I never was proficient at, but thought it would be worth a try.”

  Max nodded and waved for her to continue, he still had more questions but didn't want to risk pissing off the witch.

  “Anyways, we need to move east, towards the mountains.” Miranda said, pointing far past the horizon where the Mountains of Giants stood tall.

  “Thats like a three day walk from here, on the roads!” Max protested. “Why do we need to go there?”

  “I said towards the mountains not up to the peak itself.” Miranda corrected, then taking a deep breath she continued, “we just need to get away and my divination has revealed that to be the best destination…and one other thing.”

  Max said nothing, just shrugged for her to continue.

  “Something is coming, well… someone,” Miranda said, all teasing gone from her tone. Her eyes darted to the dark canopy above them, then back to him.

  “Who?” Max asked, his hand drifting instinctively to the knife at his belt. “Another bounty hunter like Dorin?”

  “No. Not a bounty hunter, a contract killer.” Miranda lowered her voice, as if the woods were spying on them. “They’ve sent Veric of Valewood.”

  Max frowned. The name sounded highborn, almost pretty, but it meant nothing to him. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “You wouldn’t. He isn't from your kingdom, Max. He’s from mine.” She hugged her arms to her chest, looking past him toward the west. “In the Golden Plains, he was a warden, protector of the forest, before his fall. He is efficient, uses enchanted gear to kill his targets with ease.”

  A twig snapped somewhere in the distance; crisp and deliberate against the morning silence.

  Max and Miranda both flinched against the noise. “Well at least we have some time before he gets here right?”

  “No.” Miranda said, shaking her head. “I sensed this decision was made weeks ago, when I gave them the slip near the coast. No… he’s already here.”