It had been a bitterly hot summer. Too hot. Lance crawled out of his bed, fumbling on the table beside him to find his glasses. He knocked them to the floor in his blindness, but after picking them up he found the candle and the matches. They had been closer to hand than he remembered.
With the candle in one hand Lance guided himself along the wall to the bedroom door. He slept on the top floor of a two-story hovel: upstairs was a bedroom and downstairs was a kitchen. Outside was a privy at the very edge of his plot of land. The villagers were kind enough to organise food to be sent to him, and sometimes a pretty young girl called Lauren would call by to tidy up what mess he had made.
He smiled to himself as he recalled the girl. He had never been much of a ladies’ man, though he’d had his fair share. The life of a aide had entailed much travelling and he had often felt sorry for the pretty young girls who offered themselves to him at lonely inns.
A lifetime ago Lance had acted as aide to Lord Errald – a hellraiser, soldier and politician; mostly in that order. He’d met him on a campaign in Tulsteen and followed him all the way to government. People seemed to think a man who knew how to wield a sword, or at least tell others how to wield their swords, was the sort of guy you wanted in charge. Having spent most of his life working for that sort of man, Lance wasn’t entirely convinced.
He limped down the last of the steps and shuffled slowly into the kitchen. It took him a few minutes to locate the bread and cheese and get himself comfortable at the table. Picking the knife off of the table he cut a hunk of cheese and embedded it in a slice of bread. He lifted the bread to his mouth and took a hearty bite out of it.
“You old folk do take a long time to do anything.”
Lance continued eating. He hadn’t had any notion that he was not alone in that room, but he was not going to give the intruder the benefit of that knowledge. He finished the slice of bread and cheese, licking his fingers with prolonged enjoyment.
“Didn’t your mother tell you it is rude to ignore people?”
Lance wiped his fingers on the tablecloth. “Can’t say I remember.”
The intruder crossed the room and sat down on the chair opposite. Lance had built it himself shortly after Lauren’s third visit. It was not a work of art, merely functional. The young man did not seem entirely comfortable in it. Lance placed a hand on the back of his chair and raised himself out of the seat to shuffle to the cabinet where he kept his wine.
“Wine?”
“What makes you think I haven’t helped myself already?”
“I’ve only the one bottle,” Lance shut the cabinet.
“Enjoy it.”
Lance sat down and poured himself a glass. “Please sir. I don’t believe you are here to kill me. And even if I am wrong the knowledge will yield me no advantage. You are a good deal younger than me. I can outwit you, but we both know who is likely to come better off in a fight. Speak your piece and be done.”
The young man sat still, staring intently at the eyes of the man whose house he had broken into. It was now that Lance noticed the slight sneer to the man’s features. This man was ambitious but untalented, probably. A frustrating combination. Lance had long ago learnt to accept his shortcomings, and been much the better for it. But youth could be like that sometimes.
“I am here to kill you, as happens.”
“Why haven’t you done it then?”
“I like to explain to my victims why they are about to die.”
“Sir, you are no assassin. You lack the grace of movement, not to mention the intellect. You are but a common murderer, most likely hired by some Lord in the hopes you will be caught and killed.”
The man frowned. “You talk a lot for a man who has enjoyed his last meal.”
“I’ve had many last meals in my time, son. Go on then. Explain to me why it is you are about to kill me,” Lance corked the bottle and placed it on the table.
“As Errald’s aide you are a powerful figurehead. You might be old and barely able to move, but so long as you can be propped on a horse you are dangerous. When the rug is pulled from the table no-one must be left alive. The plebs will accept the new way of things and the realm will progress to a new age.”
Lance was silent for a moment. He raised an eyebrow. “You truly believe that?”
The man shrugged. “Does it matter? The man I work for chose me personally for this task.”
“You were only seen fit to kill an old man?”
The intruder kicked over the table, spilling cheese and bread on to the floor. In the same movement he pulled a dagger out of his boot, grabbing Lance by the scruff of his neck and bringing the knife towards his throat.
Before the hapless mercenary knew what was happening, Lance had headbutted his assailant, grabbed a blade from the kitchen counter and stabbed it at his enemy.
The man fell to the floor, the hilt of the blade protruding from his neck.
Lance leant against the counter and took a few sharp breaths. He’d killed many men before, but he’d never lost so much fine cheese in the process. The kitchen had only been small and the table had collapsed, two of the legs snapping clean off. Lauren would be surprised to find the house in such a state, even without considering the corpse.
The former aide to Lord Errald sighed, trying to remember where he’d left his tinderbox.
It was to be a long journey.