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“We kill them.”
The other two sitting around the campfire remained quiet, still mourning the friend they lost back in the outpost. They could still see the arrow sticking out of his neck, and they were each at a loss on how they would explain it to his family.
The one who spoke, whose nose had swelled, looked to each of his companions. “The posters said dead or alive—”
“Calm down, Waylon,” the other man breathed out, exhaustion weighing on him. “They weren’t the ones who shot the arrow—”
“That witch broke my nose,” Waylon growled. His companion winced, not needing the reminder. He had had a hell of a time trying to push his nose back into place, and he wished he had brought some of their thymelock salve to help control the black bruising that was spreading from his nose to his under eyes.
“And that little gimp Henrik shouldn’t even be around anyway,” Waylon continued on. “The way he looks at your sister is pathetic. We’d be doing the town a favor, bringing in a proper executioner instead of that abomination.”
The man shook his head but said nothing. It wasn’t a secret that Henrik had a crush on Elora Tansy, the youngest in his family, but it had all been harmless. Tragic, even.
He glanced at their other companion who sat next to him, huddling in silence and staring at the fire, the hood shielding their face.
Something moved in the distance, rustling against the overgrowth, as an owl screeched, trailing off as it flew away. The interruption seemed to only fuel Waylon’s agitation.
“We’ll kill them—both of them—and take the prisoner back to where he belongs,” Waylon continued, his furious gaze being fed by the flames.
When no one spoke up, Waylon’s gaze crossed over his companions. “Don’t tell me you’re having a change of heart,” he growled. When neither said anything, he snapped at his friend’s name. “Orson!”
Orson resentfully looked his way. “No, I’m not,” he said passively, knowing they each needed the reward money, and badly. “But this is becoming more complicated than we realized,” he admitted.
“Nothing has changed.”
“Our friend is dead.” Orson’s voice rose, his hand swinging back to point in the direction they traveled from.
“We all understood the risks,” Waylon scoffed off.
“And the plan wasn’t to kill them,” Orson reminded him. “If we did, how are we going to get the bodies back to Galmoor? Ever thought of that? Can’t collect on a reward if we leave the prize here.”
Waylon’s face set into a grim scowl, but he couldn’t deny it. His ramblings were coming from a place of anger, as most of his decisions usually were based. “Fine,” he resigned, sitting back a little. “You better be convincing, though.”
Waylon’s eyes locked with their other companion, who regretfully nodded, turning back to the fire.
“And what about Geoffrey’s killer?” Orson spoke up. He felt his pistol snug between the waistband of his pants and his lower back, still wondering why he hadn’t thought to reach for it. I’m not a killer, his thought surfaced, which he shoved away. Being out here meant he might have to be one, and he needed to be ready.
“We’ll find him,” Waylon swore. “He can’t hide forever.”
Deep in the forest behind them, watching them from his place among the tall grass, Aric smirked underneath his own hood. He had tied his horse up a little ways away so any noise wouldn’t cause attention, which allowed him to observe from the comforts of where he sat.
On any other day, he would have already killed them, but all the traveling with his injured shoulder and thigh had tired him out. It would take a little more effort, use more energy than what he had to take all three of them down. Besides, that Orson bloke was a good tracker, and they made up a lot of good time. They reached the valley where the town of Burnlyn sat, but instead of going to find a tavern for the night, they opted to camp on the outskirts of the forest. Aric assumed they were still skittish about what transpired the last time they entered a tavern.
Once they were closer to where Joss and Henrik were, he’d get rid of them. For now, Aric needed to save his resources, piggyback on their hard work and take advantage of the mental lull that tracking would have otherwise disrupted.
But it was entertaining, hearing them talk tough when the murderer they wanted was watching them from the bushes.
We’ll find him.
Aric covered his smile with his hand so he wouldn’t break out into a laugh.
Challenge accepted, he thought as the three fell back into steady conversation, never noticing the grey and green eyes that kept watch on them.
