“There’s a lot of blood here,” said the other swordsman with a shield, standing where Jack had stabbed the rogue in the throat.

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to control his rising panic. His pulse pounded in his ears, louder than the voices.

  “I found half an arrow,” another man said. Based on his simple leather armour and the wand he carried, Jack was sure he was a mage. “It’s covered in blood!” He picked up the damaged arrowhead, the fletching half was missing, and offered it to the large swordsman. “Is that Kyle’s?”

  Jack’s mind raced for solutions, but he only found regrets. I should’ve covered the trail better. I should’ve found another place to hide. I should’ve…

  The large man took the bloody arrow and nodded as he examined it. “I think so… the jagged tip matches. He prefers the serrated heads… they cause more pain and damage.”

  Jack was on the verge of a panic attack. He was struggling to control his breathing, and every tiny bug that crawled across his body made him want to jump up and shake his clothes clean.

  “Then he got the brat,” the injured woman said. “He’ll be in Lundun, drinking ale, while we’re here in the dark.”

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief. Yes. He’s in Lundun. Please, just leave.

  The large swordsman laughed. “Afraid of the dark, Sam? I can keep you safe and warm back in the city.” He tossed the broken arrow into the grass. “All you have to do is ask nicely.”

  The other two men laughed at the implication, relaxing as they joked.

  Sam, the injured woman, scoffed, “I’d rather join a brothel for warmth. At least I’d be warm for more than a few minutes.”

  Laughter rippled through the group; the large swordsman smiled at the insult.

  “We’re losing light,” the large swordsman announced. “Kyle’s probably gutted the kid, dumped the body and is in Lundun. He’ll be selling the brat’s gear before we get a chance at a share.”

  The others nodded in agreement and relaxed, sheathing their weapons.

  “He’ll be at Madam Lou’s, drinking away the coin… through a straw,” joked the swordsman with a shield. “We should go so he can buy us a few rounds.”

  The others laughed.

  Beneath the roots, Jack tried not to react, though his muscles trembled with the effort of lying still. His panic began to recede as he watched and listened. Their camaraderie was natural, unguarded. Had he met them in a tavern, he might’ve shared a drink with them. Now he imagined what it would feel like to gut them one by one.

  Linda rolled her eyes. “I still can’t believe the fool lost his teeth slipping on a wet floor.” Shaking her head in disbelief, she continued, “What sort of moron runs out of a bathroom wet and butt naked? You know, he still thinks he’ll find a healer who can reattach his front teeth!” She scoffed at the notion.

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  The others laughed again.

  Jack sighed with relief; his dagger hand slackened as the five adventurers turned and began their trek back to the city. He listened to them chatting about how unreliable and idiotic their rogue, Kyle, was and their plans for the week ahead.

  As their banter and laughter faded into the meadow before him—replaced by the buzz of insects collecting nectar to survive the cool night—he activated [Eagle Eye] and watched them through his new archer skill until they were out of sight.

  He wanted to rise, follow, and slit their throats in the dark. But his body was shaking, his side ached, and he was covered in creepy fucking bugs. Jack knew he was too weak and was lucky to be alive. I’ll get stronger, he vowed to himself, I’ll get much stronger. Despite the bugs, he forced himself to wait another fifteen minutes before moving.

  Jack winced as he rolled out of the tree hollow. His first task was to remove all the damn bugs that had crawled under his clothes! “I fucking hate bugs!” he complained as he shook his clothes, trying not to agitate his injuries.

  After he felt like he was no longer a walking bug hotel, he began collecting the items he planned to take with him back to Lundun. Should I leave most of it here and come back? He placed the rogue’s dagger into the dead man’s pack.

  He shook his head, and his neck muscles ached. No, they might come back in the morning when they don’t find their toothless friend at a tavern. He chuckled when he recalled the story of how the rogue lost his teeth. What an idiot.

  Jack looked at the leather armour the dead rogue was still wearing. “Should I?” he considered taking it. It wouldn’t fit him, but he might be able to use some of the accessories and sell the rest. “It’s all silver.” He stripped the body down to its underwear and stuffed everything of value into the rogue’s pack, keeping the cloak to wear on his return to the city.

  “It’s a shame your right ear isn’t worth 3 silver,” he muttered, half serious as he rolled the half-naked body back into the hole and used the shortsword as a makeshift shovel to cover the corpse with soil.

  Finishing the job, he tossed some of the root debris and grass sods over the area. “That will have to do.” Taking a moment to catch his breath, he surveyed his work. “Shit! I-I killed a man.” Realisation hit hard as he prayed something big would find the body and devour it. “I had no choice.” Shaking his head, he dragged himself out of the hole, wincing with every move. I really didn’t have a choice.

  Sitting on the edge of the root pit in the fading light, he asked himself, “Should I pull the arrow out?” as he looked down at the arrow fletching that protruded a few inches from his side. He’d been lucky; the arrow had entered a couple of inches from his side, hopefully missing anything vital. The arrow shaft had plugged the wound, so it wasn’t bleeding too much.

  Jack recalled from the medical books he’d read and memorised that, unless necessary, an arrow should not be removed unless a healer was present. Its removal could cause the wound to bleed out before proper treatment is administered.

  “Shit. I don’t have enough coin.” He had 4 silvers in his coin purse and estimated another 8 or 9 silvers from the dead rogue. He hadn’t bothered counting the coins before tossing the bloody purse into his extra pack. Getting his wounds healed by an Apprentice Healer would cost him over a gold. “I can’t afford a healer.”

  He placed all the good arrows into the rogue’s quiver, which was of better quality than his own. Though they might be worth a few coppers, he discarded any damaged arrows in the tree root hole and stuffed his now-empty quiver into the extra pack.

  “Okay,” he said to himself, “now I have to carry this back with me.” He grimaced at the idea. What he had wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward. He now had two packs, two bows, a quiver, and a shortsword. The dead rogue’s dagger was already in the extra pack.

  The real issue was his injuries. He winced again as he added the rogue’s shortsword to his left side. “Fuck, that hurts!” he moaned while securing his pack to his back, the two bows resting on one shoulder and the quiver on the other.

  Taking a moment to steady himself, he began the four or so mile walk back to the city. Gripping the extra pack in his right hand, he set off. He trudged along the well-worn trail on his journey back to Lundun.