Raenok Sparks's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The mist had not yet settled when hooves cracked the bog again. This time the beast was no rotting nag. A black warhorse stepped through the reeds, its mane red flame, ash smoke curling from its nostrils. The rider on its back was not the hooded one. This was a new figure, scarred down the jaw, eyes like wet stone. The scarred man swung down and dropped a black leather sack at Raenok's feet. Coins spilled out — gold stamped with skulls. More gold than Raenok had ever touched. "Half now," the man said. "Half when the job is done. Coin in hand, like you asked." Raenok crouched. He let the weight of the purse settle in his palm. Then the scarred man pointed across the bog to a great tree, where a fresh parchment had been nailed to the bark. Raenok walked to it. The decree named the target. A royal name. A name that, if burned, would put every soldier, hunter, and bounty blade in the region on his trail forever. His hand tightened on the gold. This was the job he had begged the world for — payment upfront, a target soft enough to burn. But the name on that tree was no soft target. It was a noose dressed as a fortune. Take the coin, and he would be the most hunted goblin in the swamp before the smoke cleared. Raenok looked back at his bone hut, at the scorched antlers over the door. He thought of the hollow tree across the water, where a hooded watcher had once studied him. Two strangers in two nights. Both knew where he slept. The cold ledger in his head did its work. He poured the coins back into the sack and pushed it against the scarred man's boot. "Wrong target," Raenok said. "Find another match." The scarred man stared a long moment, then mounted the burning horse and rode off without a word. Raenok stood alone with empty hands and a new truth — word was spreading. He was known now. And the next rider through the reeds would not come offering gold. They would come to collect a head.