Zeven Chapter 2

Zeven



Chapter 2



A Girl of Four



Lissa spooned at her porridge which rested in a dish shaped more like a plate than a bowl. It was old and made of wood but the rim curved upwards enough to keep the watery meal from spilling over. She held her spoon upside down in her tiny hand as she slowly drew it through the mushy porridge creating the letter S.



          "L-I-S-S ..." she sounded out the letters in her dulcet voice as she carefully drew them.



          She was smart for a girl of four. It was her father who had taught her letters and numbers, mother didn't seem to know them. But father wasn't around anymore, so she practiced on occasion when the mood struck her.



          Lissa thought about when father went to work at the mill and didn't come home. Mother was very sad then, always crying. She remembered mother telling her there was an accident, though she did not know what an accident was. She told her father was gone, that he went to heaven to be an angel. She remembered being confused, but mostly she remembered being sad. She had been sad that she did not see father anymore. She was sad still.



          Behind her thoughts she heard muffled voices. It was mother talking with a strange man outside the front door. Mother was always talking to strange men lately. Sometimes they would yell and Lissa would be scared. Sometimes they made mother cry and Lissa would cry too. They were yelling now and mother was crying, she could tell, even with the door closed. She was smart for a girl of four.



          The front door opened and closed as her mother walked in wiping a hand across her face. The man's voice could be heard shouting from outside.



          "No more favors Krista! And no more leeway! Your time has past, this is your last chance! It won't be me who comes to call next ..."



          The closed door stifled the shouting and Krista could see him through the window, angrily walking away.



          Krista walked into the kitchen blinking to quell her tears and rubbing her hands together to dry them, her face a pale shade of red. She looked at Lissa and smiled. She was so young and innocent, and so pretty with her dark brown hair outlining her slightly chubby cheeks and big brown eyes. She was her only joy left in the world. I'll make it right somehow, I'll find a way. She thought. Whatever they do to me, I'll never let them touch you my little angel. The thought brought another tear to her eye and she quickly blinked it away before walking over to her with a smile.



          "Lissa, sweetie, don't play with your food."

          "I'm writing my name mommy."

          "I know darling, very good, but food is for eating. You can practice your letters later with your chalk."

          "Okay mommy." Lissa said as she turned the small wooden spoon upright in her hand and took a tiny taste of the honey sweetened porridge.



          "Why are those men always yelling at you mommy?"

          "It's nothing sweetie" Krista lied with a worried look as she cleaned off the dish and spoon from her own uneaten meal.



          "Are you in trouble mommy?"

          "No dear." She lied again.



          In truth she knew she was in trouble, of the worst sort. She didn't handle her husband's passing well. Not that anyone would be expected to, but she made decisions in the months that followed which she now regretted. What coin they had quickly vanished and Krista was not an educated woman, she had no real skills, had never learned a trade. What few friends she had lent her coin to help them get by, but it didn't last. One day, when things were looking bleak as ever, a man approached her. He made her the offer of a sizable loan. He was pleasant enough, though a bit strange. She hadn't recalled seeing him around town before then. As desperate as she was, she took the offer hastily, with hardly a thought for the consequences, figuring she'd find a way to make it grow.

       

          Truth be told there was always a way for her to earn a steady income. Krista was a fair woman to look upon, slim and busty, with straight brown hair just past her shoulders and soft brown eyes which seemed to have a smile all their own; save for these past few months. But she refused to sell herself. She would not dishonor her late husband by giving herself so readily to other men, even if it meant providing for her family. She simply couldn't do it.



          That was some time ago though, before things got really bad. The coin from the loan disappeared faster than she figured it would. Of course, she helped it along somewhat. Upon noticing how swiftly the cost of food, clothes, upkeep on their humble house and caring for her daughter, not to mention taxes, was bleeding her purse, she took a gamble and began placing bets on games at the tavern. This went against her nature and all her instincts, but she couldn't bare the thought of what would come when the purse ran dry, so she placed the bets and hoped for the best. But the best never came and her purse grew lighter and lighter until it held no more.



          She had to admit the thought of making coin in any way possible entered her mind now more than ever. She had already shamed herself by performing "favors" in desperation for the men she owed, receiving an extension on her deadline in return. She hated herself for that, she would cry herself to sleep at night, forcing thoughts of her dead husband out of her mind for fear he might discover her guilt. She knew it was too late though. She held out for too long, her pride and sense of honor towards her husband was too much to dismiss so easily. Her debt was great, her deadline long passed. The only choice she had at this stage was to give in to them. To go into their service, to basically be their slave. To face the consequences. She knew, if she did, she would surely be forced to do the things she so long refused. She would be owned, and Lissa too. She couldn't have that. She couldn't live with it. She would do anything for her daughter, anything to see her grow and learn and live a happy life. She would do anything, and at that very moment, decided she will.



          Tonight she would pack up what she could. She had no idea where she might go or how far she might get, but she had to give Lissa even the slightest chance at a decent life. It clearly would not happen here, especially now. Come first light, with daughter in arms, she will ride out of town for good.



          Krista turned to face her daughter, sitting down beside her and brushing the hair back behind her ear that always seemed to fall, covering half her face. "Mommy's just having a hard time right now is all sweetie. But nothing you need to be worried about my little pumpkin. We're going to be alright, I promise. Okay?"



          "Okay" Lissa replied. But she was worried. She felt something different in mother. Mother was scared, she could tell. Smart as she was, she did not know why. She only knew to be scared too.





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          Zeven sat in a finely crafted hard wood chair, stained and highly polished, which seemed to bring out it's rich, almost blood red color. He leaned back, balancing on the chair's back legs as he rested his feet, crossed at the ankles, atop a desk masterfully crafted of the same deep reddish wood. He found himself quite bored as he watched the man behind the desk pace back and forth, going on and on about ... something. The only words of importance to him were one of three; gold, coin or payment. Should any of them slip from the man's lips he would have Zeven's undivided attention. Until that occurred, his own thoughts would have to do to pass the time.



          He retraced the steps of being brought to this room, recalling details of note along the way. The entrance was a cellar door, ordinary in appearance. It's base was solid stone, built into the foundation of the run down, boarded-up house it supported. Old splintered wood was set to the base with rusty hinges, giving the doors to the cellar a like appearance to the abandoned house above it. An appearance is all it was though. Hidden under the warped wood was the real door, Two heavy steel plates bolted to the stone, secured with large black iron hinges. The steel, he noticed, was of the same quality used to make battle shields for soldiers. The cost of those plates for material alone, not to mention having them forged, could feed a large family for a year. It would be near impossible to break through them. But it was the locking mechanism he was more interested in. Unfortunately, as perceptive as he is, he was only able to get a glance as he was escorted in, noticing a large iron slide bar, but not the means of how it may have been locked in place.



          Zeven always took note of these details regardless of where he was. He learned early on how the information might come in handy, one never knows in this line of work after all. He figured the ragged house was all for appearances as well, no one would have a reason to pay it much heed  in it's condition. Even children would stay away were it rat infested, which he guessed it was. Even if someone had gone inside to explore, he doubted an entrance to where he was being taken would be found. If there had been one originally, he surmised it would have been blocked and sealed off. All in all, not a bad cover, he had to admit.



          The man who escorted him was thin and somewhat short, stepping lightly with graceful movement. He wore dark brown leather over a gray shirt with matching leather leggings and padded boots. He had brown shoulder length, unkempt hair and a hooked nose which looked like it had been broken more than once. Zeven recognized him as Jaxis, the man he met several days before along with his boss. 



          Jaxis led him down a narrow, rough stone hall with only a single candle sconce to light the way. The hall was short, turning left after nine paces, to a set of stairs leading down. The hallway below was wider and had better lighting, with candelabras spaced evenly down its length. The stonework here was smooth and even compared to the entrance hall, giving it the feel it had been recently constructed. They passed several doors and two cross halls as they made their way to the end. Jaxis knocked on the solid dark wood door, a voice from within bade him enter and he told Zeven to wait as he stepped into the room, closing the huge door behind him.



          Zeven studied the door as he waited, focusing on its handle and what little space there was between where the door met its frame. Only a moment passed before Jaxis opened the door and waved an arm, encouraging him to enter.



          Zeven walked into the room with a subtle glance back at the door, taking note of its mechanics from within. The room was large with well crafted book shelves lining the walls to the left and right. The shelves were lined with books both old and new, some seeming so old they were like to crumble should one so much as open them. A sitting area, of sorts, took up space at the rooms center. A short, though fair size round table sat in place with four large cushioned chairs placed around it, each facing the one opposite, with small round tables placed between each chair. All were master crafted with elaborate designs and rested on a large decorative area rug. Several wood and glass display cases were set about the room, almost randomly, showing off various fancy looking weapons and cashes of jewelry.



          At the back of the room stood Daris Reeve behind his ornate desk. A tall man of medium build, dressed in a white silk billowy shirt with a black suede vest embroidered in silver stitching. His thigh-high leather boots were polished to a glossy black shine and all but covered his matching tight leather pants. Most notable was the jeweled rapier which hung comfortably at his side, the elaborate silver hilt and multi colored gems sparkling in the light of the many candelabras about the room. Daris looked up at Zeven as he entered, a grin on his soft chiseled face. With an outstretched hand he waved him over and pointed to a chair opposite his desk. His bright blue eyes seeming eager to see him as they glanced back to Jaxis giving the unspoken order to leave the room.



          And so here he sat, waiting as he watched Daris pace and occasionally run a hand through his thick wavy blond hair. Zeven eyed the leather drawstring bag resting on the desk as his focus shifted back to the charismatic man who seemed to love the sound of his own voice. Had he noticed Zeven lost in his own thoughts, paying him no heed, he certainly didn't show it. He went on and on finally stopping and turning to Zeven with a pointed finger. "And you my friend, whoa-ho-ho, what a most effective instrument you turned out to be! Mirko, that scum bag, never knew what hit him! And all with the whore right there! Most impressive indeed." He leaned over the desk with a bright confident smile, both hands planted palms down, looking Zeven dead in the eye as he spoke. "Yes, most impressive. I do believe this makes you my new favorite asset, quite possibly even my new favorite friend." He boasted, flashing Zeven an even bigger smile.



          "I've no need for friends. I've need for payment." Zeven replied, meeting Daris' look with an almost bored one of his own.



          "Ah yes, my good man, we'll get to that." Daris began pacing back and forth behind the desk once more as he went on. "But I must know, Mirko had become such a pain in my ass, pocketing coin he was suppose to be collecting, robbing travelers on the outer roads without authorization and with no regard for who it might be. Once, he stopped a coach full of nobles taking everything they had on them, even tried to get fresh with one of the ladies. Wound up beating on her man who tried to defend her, turned out they were kin to the Baron. That was a nightmare, took me over a ten day and cost me much more than Mirko made off the heist to get it sorted out so word wouldn't get back to him. And this last escapade of his ..." Daris finally sat, throwing his arms up as if defeated. "Going to Evensbreath of all places! The very city the Baron takes up residence. He hires his own men and robs three houses in one night." Daris sighed and shook his head, looking down at his desk. "It's a good thing he was a decent thief, fortunately he wasn't caught, had he been it could have jeopardized the future of this organization, and we've hardly begun!" He lifted his head, locking eyes with Zeven again. "He needed to be stopped before that could happen. He couldn't be controlled, and I needed to send a message. Those under my wing will be well taken care of ..." He stood, his hands balled into fists. "But they must have discipline, and they must NEVER dare to cross me!"



          Zeven feigned a yawn. "Yes it's all very dramatic, now are you going to toss me that bag, of what better be gold, or is your plan to bore me into a slumber hoping I will forget about it when I wake?"



          Daris' smile returned as he relaxed his posture, chuckling slightly, and sat back down. "Ah yes, Mr. No Nonsense, with a care for naught but payment for services rendered." He picked up the coin bag, lightly bouncing it in his hand before tossing it over to Zeven as he spoke.



          Zeven caught the bag without breaking eye contact. He took a moment to feel its weight before dropping it into a leather pouch at his hip.



          "Feel free to count it, of course."

          "I will, on my own time. It's not as if I don't know how to find you should the count be off."

          "Ha ha, very good sir." Daris leaned forward in his chair, his flashy smile still wide on his face. "Well, now that the nasty business of keeping my own little flock in order is out of the way, I can begin looking outwards. With your precision skills I can begin to thin the Timberdale herd, so to speak. Those who may be a threat, or any who simply will not cooperate, can be dealt with in a manner that will not lead back to us." Daris' eyes grew almost as wide as his smile. "They'll think you a ghost!" He laughed. "And a deadly one at that. And so the Ghost of Timberdale you shall be!" He declared, thrusting a pointed finger into the air. "It has a nice ring to it, don't you think? ... Wait, I know, you can care less so long as the pay is agreeable. Am I right?"



          At that, Zeven smiled.



          There was a knock at the door which flew open before Daris could respond. Jaxis walked in with a sense of urgency, making his way directly to Daris. He stood at his side, leaning down a bit to whisper into his ear. Daris' seemingly permanent smile faded. After a moment Jaxis stood tall and eyed his boss, awaiting a response. Daris looked at Zeven, his smile returned. "It appears, my friend, there is no rest for the wicked. I have your next assignment."





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          "Mommy my feet are tired, carry me." Lissa complained as she struggled to keep up with her mother's pace.

          "Oh sweetie I know, I'm sorry but I can't, my hands are full. Besides, we're almost there, it's just up ahead."



          Krista carried several bags, some slung over her shoulders, others she carried by hand. Even Lissa had her hands full, carrying a doll under one arm with her rolled up blanket and small feather pillow under the other, which kept trying to slip from her grasp. The sun had just broken the horizon's hold as they approached the stables.





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          Zeven raced along the foot of the hill that outlined Timberdale's northern boundary. He noticed the sky beginning to turn blue off in the distance. Darkness was a most valued companion and the sun was rising fast, he had little time, not to mention that his target could become mobile at any moment. He thanked his good fortune that he was still wearing his favored "work" attire. His tight black layered leathers slid and bent with silent ease as he moved with all his speed. His trusted black dagger, resting at an angle at the small of his back, secured to his belt. It would drink again tonight, if time was on his side.



          He hated impromptu jobs, preferring time to scout and gather information and most especially to plan. This reminded him of the early days of working his trade. Receiving notice of a target then rushing out to find his quarry, gathering information and making split decisions on the fly. Is the target mobile or stationary? If mobile, what's the targets destination? What route will the target take to get there? How much time does that leave to get into position and make a move? How many people are about? If the target's indoors, are there others there as well? All this and much more just to get into a quality position to take the target out unnoticed, and all before one of the other young, eager up and coming killers didn't get to the target before you. Everyone was out to make a name for themselves back then. Everyone wanted to impress the Masters and the seasoned veterans who were specifically selected for matters of great import. Everyone aspired to one day have such renown that they would be hand picked for the most difficult, most delicate and most well paying jobs.



          The Scattering of Death, it was called when a lesser job was made known to an apprentice, and if one knew, they all knew. That's the way it worked. It was the High Master's way of weeding out the weak and rewarding the strong. It worked all to well, backstabbing another apprentice to get to the target before him was certainly not frowned upon, it was praised even ... if the kill was clean, unseen and untraceable. If not, the careless youngster would be punished for incompetence and soon find himself as the victim of the next "Scattering". Even as a youngster, Zeven always had a quick mind and an even quicker blade. His brethren soon learned to take routes opposite his during a hunt, and even then would still find themselves looking over a shoulder more so than in the direction of the target. Were he a nostalgic man he might have cracked a smile in retrospect, but Zeven wasn't smiling. He knew the target could be gone when he got there. He knew that soon the streets of Timberdale would be bathed in light. He knew he hated not having time to plan. There was nothing to smile about.



          He slowed his pace as he approached the stables, stalking his way to the barns rear wall in what darkness still remained. He held his breath placing his ear to the wall and listened. Hearing only the muffled snorts of horses he considered his options. He looked up to a window on the wall above him, which was more of a square door through which hay could be loaded onto the barns loft. Moving along the wall like a shadow he carefully peeked around to inspect the barns western wall. Nothing, no doors, no windows. Quietly quick stepping his way back he moved to inspect the eastern wall as well, where he spied a door at the far end. This was the door horses could be let out of to graze in the paddock. The small field on this side was fenced, the ends of which connected to the corners of the barn at both the north and south ends. Again Zeven considered his options and his eyes went back up to the hay door above.



          The boards used to construct the barn's walls were secured in place at an angle, with a tiny space left between each board. Zeven removed his soft leather gloves, a tiny space would be all he needed. The angle of the spaces made for an awkward climb and his fingertips bled, from splinters mostly, by the time he reached the hay door. He crawled inside and found himself on a stack of hay bails. The loft reached out nearly halfway across the length of the barn, leaving a skeleton of rafters the rest of the way. He could hear horses snorting and drinking and moving about in their stalls. From his vantage point, he could even see into several of the stalls, but there was no sign of his prey. He carefully inched himself forward a bit as he lay atop the bails when his eyes fell upon the illuminated figure of a little girl.



          Zeven cracked a smile.   





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          Krista tossed bag after bag onto the horses back, using straps from the saddle, both in front and in rear, to secure them in place. She moved almost frantically, hurrying to get the straps tied and get the next bag loaded. The tall bay mare danced in place nervously as Krista moved around her from side to side, tugging on straps and double checking the girth, pulling it as tight as she could. She swatted at the mare's nose out of frustration. "Stand still Cinnamon!" she commanded in a whispered shout.



          Cinnamon seemed as nervous as she did. It had been some time since Krista rode her. She was one of the two horses her and her husband first rode into Timberdale on. That was nigh five years past. Ash was her husband's horse, a large dapple stallion that was stubborn and fond of kicking. Krista never did care for him. During their first year in town they had decided to sell him. The coin was welcome and with the mill being so close and the town considerably small, there was no real need to have him. But Krista wanted to keep Cinnamon, she was gentle and compliant, she always knew she would make a great horse for her kids to learn on when they were of age. After her husband's passing, however, she found no choice but to get what coin she could for her. At least the stable owner was the one who bought her. Cinnamon would remain in town and be available for use when needed. Of course, stealing her outright wasn't part of the deal, but Krista was desperate. She recalled the last time she actually had her out of the barn and was shocked to realize it had been several months. Cinnamon had become quite complacent in her apparent retirement and now seemed as anxious as Krista.



          The horse responded to the swat by throwing her head back hard, the momentum stopped suddenly by a rope secured to the stall post and tied to her bridle, causing it to pull and slip over one of her ears. At the other end of the rope, the harsh tug rattled the post causing their lantern to fall, snuffing out the flame. Rays of light from the rising sun had already begun to creep in through the barns half open doors, allowing for decent enough sight, so Krista let it go and went for the bridle.



          "Mommy don't hit Cinmanim, that's not nice." Lissa scolded her mother as she stood facing the horse, her mother moving around to Cinnamon's head to readjust the bridle.



          "I know sweetie, mommy's sorry. I'm just in a hurry." She tucked the mare's ear back in and double checked that the bridle wasn't torn or broken. She turned to face Lissa, smiling as she spoke. "Well, everything is packed up good and tight pumpkin. Are you ready to go on our little tri--"



          Krista seemed as if she'd turned to stone, her words lost, her smile replaced with a look of dread, her hopes of a decent life for her daughter ripped from her heart as she faced Lissa. The man standing behind her daughter was clad in black, his arms held down to his sides, a dagger in one hand, mere inches from Lissa's ear. He stood looming over her, His thick black hair hung down to his chin, stray strands all but covering his face as his dark eyes shot up, meeting Krista's. His dagger hand flashed, swiping out and across, coming back to rest at his side in the blink of an eye. His movement was so quick Krista hardly registered it. She stood, not entirely sure what had happened, then she felt it. The pain, the dizziness, the warmth at her chest and coldness in her bones. She stood, looking into Zeven's narrow, black eyes, her life's blood spilling forth from the wide slender opening across her throat. Zeven watched, what were once bright smiling brown eyes, now became dull and lifeless as they glazed over. Darkness took her, her legs buckled, and Krista fell into a heap on the floor.



          Confused, Lissa watched her mother collapse. "Mommy? ...  Get up mommy ...  mommy? ..."



          She suddenly felt very ill and wasn't sure why. She felt something else as well. Lissa tuned and looked behind her. She saw only empty barn as it had been before. She turned back around, looking down at her fallen mother ...



          "Mommy? ..."





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          Zeven watched as the villagers began to disperse. The chaotic noise of voices shouting over voices subsided. A gathering had been called to discuss the unlikely coincidence of two murders in two nights. It had been three days since the second killing and all in Timberdale were worried and unsure, to say the least. The gathering was very unorganized with no apparent means of order. Mostly people yelled, complaining the village is unsafe and that some form of evil had taken residence. There were two men at, what seemed to be, the head of the crowd. Randal Enderson stood on a small wood crate in his fine, dark green, velvet long coat, the white ruffled cuffs of his silk shirt protruding from it's sleeves. There was no official office in Timberdale, but Randal Enderson was the town's most prominent business owner and many turned to him for leadership. When a visit to Evensbreath to seek audience with the Baron was deemed necessary, it was he the villagers always voted to be their spokesman. Standing on the street, by his side, was Karl Rain in his brown leather armor covered with the forest green tabard of the Timberdale Watch and a longsword sheathed at his hip. Karl held no rank, but as the senior most member of the Watchmen, he was considered their unofficial leader.



          From what Zeven could make of the meeting, only two decisions had been made, which left many villagers angered and worried, still shouting their complaints as the crowd dispersed. Randal Enderson had chose not to make a trip to Evensbreath as of yet, feeling it was entirely possible that the two murders where unrelated. There had been no witnesses and no one in town knew of anyone who would seek to do either of the victims any harm. He reasoned that if he was to go before the Baron with this news, it wouldn't be enough to spur the Baron to grant his request for aid. Truth be told, he hated speaking with Baron Arlen. The man was cold and callus, and cared nothing for the troubles of Timberdale's villagers. Karl Rain had stated his agreement along with the announcement that the Village Watch is to be doubled. He made notice to all, that the Watchmen are now accepting volunteers and encouraged all who were concerned for the safety of Timberdale's citizens to apply.



          So there is was, the Baron would not be notified of the murders and the Watchmen would double in force. Zeven thought on that for a moment, twice as many Watchmen on the streets, or rather, twice as many in the tavern rolling dice and getting drunk. He would have scoffed at the thought, had he felt it deserved the energy for him to do so.





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          Lissa lazily walked along the wood plank walkway that stretched across the length of houses lining this side of the street. She carried her ragged doll under one arm and her head held low as she came to the walkways end. She looked up to see a man standing only a few feet from her on the street, facing in a direction to her right. She turned her head, looking out across the intersection to the opposite corner where she saw a group of people turning from one another and walking away in different directions. She looked back at the man, who still stood before her. His hair was the same color as fathers, only fathers was shorter, and neater. This man had loose strands of hair hanging down in front of his face. It reminded Lissa of her own hair and how mother was always brushing it back out of her way. She refocused her eyes to those stray strands and lifted her free hand, pulling the hair aside and trying to tuck it in behind her ear. She was only half successful as many of the strands fell back into place before her right eye. She refocused on the strange looking man. He was smaller than father, but just as slim. His face was fair like fathers, but his eyes were much darker. So dark were his eyes that Lissa almost said something about them before she caught herself. She remembered mother's words then, to always be nice to people. That if you are kind to others, they will be kind to you. That is how you make friends, her mother taught her.



          Zeven saw the girl approach out of the corner of his eye. He saw her standing there, looking at him. He recognized her for who she was, but for some reason he stayed, standing there, looking ahead at the now, near empty street.



          Lissa took a step forward with her arm outstretched as if to shake hands, smiling as she spoke. "Hi, I'm Lissa. What's your name?"



          Zeven stood silent. Unmoving.



          "Will you be my friend?"

       

          Several moments passed before Zeven responded. "I've no need for friends." He groaned in a stern voice as he turned and walked away.



          Lissa was left standing on the end of the walkway, her hand still reaching out towards the empty street as she watched the man getting farther and farther away. Finally she lowered her arm along with her head, staring down at the dirt of the street. After several moments she turned, ragged doll in arms, head hung low, she began walking slowly down the length of the long, wood plank walkway, towards her cold empty house.