Victory's Price

Mollen - Wolf (Part Nineteen)

Chapter 19

“Who invited that man into my house?”

“Which man?”

Kat stood before him, her open face genuinely confused.

“So it wasn’t you that brought him back then?”

“Brought who back?”

“Fletcher.”

The realisation in her expression told him he needed to say no more.

“Rhea went and fetched everyone.” She said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she took your request for ‘all’ literally; as a form of revenge.”

Kat smiled but Moll wasn’t feeling humorous right now.

Alexai Fletcher: his brother’s scribe and easily within Moll’s list of hated people. The man was a leech and his brother just couldn’t see it.

“I don’t want him here.”

“You can’t force him out now, he’s nobility.”

And didn’t the man like to remind them all of it?

“He’s like the youngest son of the second cousin of someone completely unimportant.”

“He’s the fifth nephew of Lady Boltamore.”

“Exactly.”

Fletcher had been hired to ‘ease the strain’ of his brother’s work. The scribe was supposed to aid in Toran’s research but anyone other than his blinkered brother could tell that the arrogant man of letters looked down his nose at everything Toran was.

“He undermines this household. It’s my homestead and I don’t want him here.”

“It’s your brother’s homestead.” Kat gently reminded him. “And he’s your brother’s man.”

“He’s slimy. He’s greasy. He panders around Toran but as soon as his back’s turned he bad mouths him. He looks down his nose at everyone else and I don’t like the way he drools over you.”

“There’s plenty enough lechery in this world. I can handle myself. And your brother is his own man; let him make his own mistakes. It is you that must gain a handle on your temper. This army work has changed you.”

“You have seen me for all of ten minutes. You can’t make a judgement on that.”

“It is not my place to judge, my Lord, I’m just trying to do my duty. If you kick that man out of your house not only will the whole city talk but you’ll also have to explain it to your brother when he returns. Because you can bet your life that a man like that won’t come back.”

Why did she always have to be right?

“Just keep him away from me then.” Moll growled and gestured for her to leave.

“As you say, m’Lord.”

Kat curtsied before she left.

“And make sure Rhea knows how unhappy I am.”

“I don’t think that would be the best idea.”

“I don’t care.”

Kat closed the door gently behind her but she might as well have slammed it for the anger that blossomed up in him at the sound of that tiny little click.

Moll threw his plate into the wall and kicked his bed.

The sooner this day ended the better.

xXXx

She was walking back toward him. Despite the dead man that lay at his feet and the rush of victory, his blood ran cold.

They used many words to describe her but Wolf hadn’t realised until now the meanings behind the descriptions. They said she was truly fearsome and now he knew why. 

“Phoenix.” He said and there was a tremor to his voice. He told himself it was awe but the pounding of his heart gave him away.

She looked up from her hand as he addressed her and Wolf couldn’t help but take an involuntary step backwards. She was a fearsome sight.

Before, she had looked a beggar in her tattered clothes. Now, as blood trickled through the fingers of her left hand, he realised she was something else entirely.

“What are you?” He asked, taking a tighter grip on his newly acquired blade.

With a jerk that had him retreating a little further, she tore a strip of tattered fabric from her sleeve. With a precision that spoke of experience she began to wind it around her hand. As she unclenched her fist he saw the white flash of bone but she just stared emotionlessly down at what she was doing, calmly sealing the wound tight. She knew the hot flame of anger and nothing else; no fear, no grief.

“I am,” She said, pausing to tie the knot with her teeth, “ exactly what you want to be.”

There was nothing he could say to that.

But Phoenix was in one of her rare chatty moods.

“You killed one, then?”

Wolf glanced down at his deceased opponent with distaste.

“You killed three.”

“I know. I’m getting old.”

She crouched down next to the bloody waters of the Nyambe and carefully rinsed down her blade. When the metal shone silver again she gently buffed it with the front of her shirt. Phoenix showed more gentleness in this act than she had when tending her own wound.

“I’ll let you keep that if you don’t let it rust.”

Phoenix nodded to the decrepit old sword he still clutched desperately in the hope that it would protect him from her. It was blunt and bloody. What an honour she was awarding him.

“Don’t look at it like that.”

He had unknowlingly flicked that tiny little switch in her unhinged mind and her expression was threatening again.

“That sword just saved your life. It’s a hundred times better than your shiny bought one.” She uttered the words with scorn but Wolf couldn’t help but notice she placed a reassuring hand on the holstered weapon in question.

“If it’s so much better why don’t you just swap them?”

Anger was easier to deal with than her twisted murderer’s cheer. Wolf could respond in kind.

“What?” Her voice was low, deadly, and with a menacing rasp she drew her weapon again.

He had done it now. But Wolf had had enough of her self-importance. A small part of his being, the recess of his mind that was still attached to his wisdom, quaked.

“You heard me.” He growled.

She crouched into her fighting stance and began to sway hypnotically.

“You can have it.” She stated; the fire in her eyes. “If you come take it.”

Was he really that stupid?

Pointedly, unhurriedly, Wolf smeared the worst of the blood off the face of his blade. 

He should not be doing this.

In all his years he had never before seen anyone move so breathtakingly fast. She was something new, something evil. He had never seen such passion in the fight. She was the stuff of nightmares and the blood that was slowly pooling to the surface of the rag around her hand served only to strengthen the image.

He was challenging death.

But he wasn’t going to stop.