Willem stormed through the marble-floored atrium of the manse, while he barked orders at the servants who scurried around him with crates in their arms. "Pack the silver candlesticks in the velvet-lined chest over there," he shouted, pointing to a corner where two young boys struggled with a heavy trunk, "and wrap them properly so they do not scratch, or I will take the cost out of your hides." One of the servants, a thin man with a bundle of linens under his arm, nodded hastily and veered toward the chest, but his foot caught on a loose rug that someone had rolled halfway, the linens tumbled to the floor in a heap. Willem whirled on him, his face twisting in anger as he swung his open hand and caught the man across the cheek with a hard slap. "Clumsy fool," Willem snarled, kicking at the fallen linens so they scattered further, "pick them up and do it right this time, or you will find yourself on the street with your throat cut."
Behind him lumbered Lunk, the giant's broad shoulders filling the doorway as he followed at a slow pace, his brow furrowed while he scratched at his head and glanced around at the large amount of servants who darted from room to room. Karl sauntered a step behind Lunk, a goblet of wine already in his hand that he sipped from lazily, his lips curving upward as he watched Willem lash out at another servant who nearly dropped a porcelain vase from the mantle. "Careful with that," Willem yelled at the girl who held the vase, his voice rising to a pitch that made her flinch, he snatched it from her grasp before he thrust it into a crate himself. "If it breaks, I will break your fingers one by one."
Lunk tilted his head, his simple expression clouding further as he watched Willem pace back and forth, Karl let out a quiet chuckle into his goblet, swirling the wine while he leaned against a pillar that supported the arched ceiling. Willem spun toward a group of men who carried furniture from the dining hall, his hands gesturing wildly. "The table goes into the wagon first," he ordered, "and strap it down tight so it does not shift on the road to the docks." One of the men nodded, but as they lifted the heavy oak piece, it tilted precariously, and a leg scraped against the floor with a screech that set Willem's teeth on edge. He lunged forward and shoved the nearest man hard in the shoulder, sending him stumbling while the table wobbled. "Idiots," Willem hissed, "all of you are idiots who cannot follow simple commands, what did I do to displease the gods so much that they sent me you!!!"
As the servants hurried to right the table, Willem's chest heaved with breaths that came faster and shorter, he snatched a decanter of Arbor red from a sideboard that had not yet been packed, pouring himself a generous measure into a crystal glass that he drained in two gulps. Lunk stepped closer, his massive hand reaching out tentatively as he patted Willem's back with a touch that was meant to comfort but landed like a thud. "Boss," Lunk said slowly, "it okay. We go to new place. No worry," he said with a smile.
Willem shrugged off the hand with a violent jerk, spilling a drop of wine onto the floor as he rounded on Lunk. "Okay?" he echoed, his voice dripping with scorn while he poured another glass that sloshed over the rim. "You think this is okay, you lumbering oaf? You, who cannot string two thoughts together without tripping over your own tongue? If it were not for me pulling you out of that orphanage like a stray dog, you would be begging in the gutters or dead in a ditch by now. Shut your mouth before I shut it for you."
Lunk's face crumpled, his eyes blinking rapidly as he took a step back, and looked down at his boots while his hands fidgeted at his sides. Karl, meanwhile, refilled his own goblet from the decanter that Willem had left on the sideboard, and yawned widely as he stretched his arms overhead, leaning back against the pillar once more.
Willem paced again, the glass trembling in his grip as he muttered to himself. "Everything is ruined," he said, his voice rising until it filled the atrium. "All of it gone in an instant. I was so close to having my own lordship, my own lands where no one could touch me. I had the deals lined up, the favors called in, and now it is all in the shit because we have to flee like rats before the Goldcloaks kick in the door."
Karl ignored the rant, turning instead to Lunk with a casual tilt of his head. "Don't worry about him Lunk, Essos will suit you fine, big man," he said, sipping his wine. "The warmer weather over there agrees with everyone, and the women... exotic types from Yi Ti or the Summer Isles who know tricks that would make your head spin."
Lunk chuckled then, the sound deep and rumbling as he lifted his head slightly, his sadness easing into a simple grin. "I like women," he said. "Women nice. Soft and smell good. I want see them in Essos."
Karl raised his goblet in mock toast. "That is the spirit. Pentos has markets full of them, and with the coin we are taking, you will have your pick."
Willem stopped pacing and stared at the two of them, his glass halfway to his lips as his free hand clenched into a fist. "Are you taking this seriously?" he demanded, his voice cracking on the last word. "Everything here is ruined and you stand there yawning and talking about whores like we are on holiday?"
Karl rolled his eyes, draining his goblet in one long pull before he set it down with a clink. "And whose fault is it?" he said lazily, crossing his arms over his chest.
Willem snarled, his face contorting as he hurled the glass against the nearest wall, where it shattered into fragments that scattered across the floor and made the servants nearby jump. "That stupid fucking bitch," he spat, "that is who. If she had kept her mouth shut, we would not be in this mess."
He whirled on Lunk then, jabbing a finger at the giant's chest. "You, move the safe from upstairs," he ordered, "and do it carefully so nothing breaks. We need to be gone by dawn before the Goldcloaks work out where I live and come pounding on the gates."
Lunk nodded in agreement, his massive frame turning toward the staircase that led to the upper floors, he lumbered up the steps with heavy footfalls that creaked the wood under his weight.
Willem turned to Karl next, opening his mouth to issue another command. "And you—"
"Yeah, yeah," Karl interrupted, waving a hand dismissively as he pushed off the pillar and headed toward the courtyard door. "I will check the wagons and make sure the horses are ready."
Willem watched him go, his hands rising to his scalp where he tore at his hair with both fists, pulling strands loose as a strangled sound escaped his throat. He spun in place for a moment, kicking at a crate that stood in his way and sending it skidding across the floor, before he grabbed another decanter from the sideboard and drank straight from it, the wine dribbling down his chin as he gulped it down.
Everything was ruined... he could only hope to salvage as much as he could in Pentos.
_____________________________________
Two guards stood by the stable door in the manse's courtyard, their backs leaned against the wooden frame while they shared a flask of sour ale that one of them had smuggled from the kitchens earlier that evening. The first guard, a stocky man with a scar running down his cheek from a bar fight in Lys, took a long pull from the flask before he passed it to his companion, a taller fellow who hailed from Volantis and wore a chain shirt under his cloak. They had been assigned to watch the rear entrance since the packing began at dusk, and boredom had set in as the hours dragged on with nothing but the distant shouts from inside the house to break the silence.
The stocky guard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned as he nudged the taller one with his elbow. "You see that kitchen maid earlier, the one with the freckles who carried the crates of spices?" he asked. "I would rather fuck her than half the whores on the Street of Silk. She has that look, you know, like she would squirm just right when you slip it in."
The taller guard chuckled as he took the flask and drank deeply, the ale burning down his throat while he considered the question. "Nah, give me the chambermaid with the curly hair," he replied, handing the flask back. "She bends over those beds all day, and I bet she knows a trick or two from cleaning up after the boss's guests. I would pin her against the wall and make her forget her name."
They laughed together and the stocky guard leaned closer as he warmed to the topic. "What about the washerwoman who comes in twice a week?" he said, gesturing with his free hand. "She has hands like iron from scrubbing, but I would rather fuck her than the freckled one. Imagine those hands on your cock, the woman would have the grip of an ape."
The taller guard shook his head and snorted. "You always go for the sturdy types," he said. "Me, I prefer the new girl who serves the wine at supper. She has that shy way about her, but I bet she screams loud once you get her going... and the dumper on her, I'd only ever put it up her shitter."
Their conversation turned as they passed the flask back and forth, and eventually the stocky guard's eyes lit up with a new thought. "Speaking of the boss," he said, lowering his voice further, "what about that blonde upstairs, the one he keeps in the guest chambers? You know who I mean, the girl with the massive tits that strain against every dress she wears."
The taller guard grinned widely and nodded as he took another swig. "Oh, her I haven't seen her today," he said, wiping his lips. "But those tits of hers are so big that I bet they bounce with every step she takes, I would rather fuck her than all the servants combined. I would grab them first, squeeze them hard until she gasps, then bury my face between them while she wraps her legs around me."
The stocky guard laughed, slapping his thigh as he pictured it. "I would start with oil," he said, his words tumbling out eagerly. "Rub it all over those massive tits until they shine, then slide my cock between them and thrust until she begs for more. I bet they are soft as pillows, I would pinch the nipples just to watch her arch her back."
They both erupted in laughter, the taller guard nearly choking on his ale as he added his own detail. "After that, I would flip her over and take her from behind," he said, gesturing with his hands. "Watch those tits swing back and forth while I pound into her, and slap them every time she moans too loud. She looks like the type who would love it rough, with tits that big begging to be handled."
The stocky guard nodded vigorously, about to reply with another fantasy, but a sudden thump from inside the stable cut him off. They both froze, the flask forgotten in the taller guard's hand as they turned toward the door.
"What was that?" the stocky guard whispered, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword.
The taller guard frowned and peered into the darkness beyond the open stable door, where shadows shifted under the faint moonlight that filtered through the slats. "Is there supposed to be servants in there?" he asked.
The stocky guard shook his head as he drew his sword. "No," he replied, "everything from there was packed hours ago. The horses are already at the wagons, and the tack went with them."
They both frowned then exchanging a glance, and took their swords out fully as they stepped forward into the stable. The air inside smelled of hay and manure, they looked around cautiously, the stocky guard raising a lantern that hung from a hook near the entrance while the taller one moved ahead with his sword extended. "Who's there?" the taller guard called, his voice echoing off the empty stalls. They peered into each corner, kicking at piles of straw that might hide someone, and checked behind the beams that supported the roof.
Suddenly, a twang cut the air, and the stocky guard jerked as a crossbow bolt slammed into his neck, blood spraying from the wound while he gurgled and clutched at the shaft. He dropped to his knees, the lantern falling from his hand and rolling across the floor, its light spinning wildly.
The taller guard shouted in surprise, whirling toward his companion. "Garin!" he cried, reaching out as the man toppled forward, but before he could do anything else, a figure dropped from the rafters above and slammed into him with full force. They rolled around on the ground together, hay flying up around them as the guard punched at Arthur's ribs and tried to bring his sword to bear. Arthur grappled for control, his knee driving into the man's stomach while they tumbled, and the guard kicked hard, his boot connecting with Arthur's chest to send him crashing back into one of the stalls where the wood splintered under the impact.
They both got up then, breathing heavily as they faced each other in the flickering lantern light that cast long shadows across the stable floor. The guard cursed Arthur, spitting blood from a split lip. "You will die for this," he snarled, raising his sword in a two-handed grip.
Arthur drew Sunset in a fluid motion and they circled each other for a heartbeat before the guard lunged with an overhead slash that Arthur parried easily, the steels clanging as he twisted his wrist to deflect the blow aside. The guard followed with a thrust to the gut, but Arthur sidestepped and brought his elbow down on the man's extended arm. They exchanged a flurry of strikes then, the guard swinging wildly in a horizontal arc that Arthur ducked under before he countered with a rising cut that grazed the man's thigh through his breeches.
The guard grunted and pressed forward with a series of chops, but Arthur flowed into Falling Star Style's one-handed form, his free hand pushing the elbow of the man aside while Sunset whipped around in a disarm that hooked the guard's hilt and wrenched the sword from his grasp, sending it skittering into the hay. Before the man could react, Arthur reversed the grip and slashed across his throat, the edge biting deep as blood welled and the guard collapsed gurgling to the floor.
Arthur breathed heavily after that, leaning against the stall for a moment while his chest heaved and sweat stung his eyes, he picked up the crossbow where it had bumped off during the fall.
"Two down, sixteen remained to go," he thought, sighing as he straightened and wiped Sunset clean on the dead man's cloak.
He searched each of them then, turning out their pockets and belts in the lantern's light, but apart from finding a few copper moons that he pocketed for later and a silver stag, they did not have much of value on them though one of them had a dagger with a bone handle that he took and belted onto his waist beside the pouches.
He headed to the door of the stable and looked out cautiously, peering into the courtyard where torches burned on poles and sellswords moved in pairs along the walls, but luckily no one had heard the commotion since the house's noise of packing drowned it out. However, that still begged the question of what he was going to do next, he could not fight sixteen people at once, there was also a chance Karl was here among them, whom he felt more confident facing alone but not while dealing with sixteen others who could flank him or call for reinforcements.
He needed to come up with a plan.
...
Six guards had gathered near the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, their cloaks thrown back while they passed a wineskin around and laughed over shit that had happened during the day, mainly Willems mood. One of them, a wiry man from the Disputed Lands named Dren, elbowed the sellsword beside him, a broad-shouldered Tyroshi with a blue beard. "Tell me again how your mother charges the whores in Lys?"Dren said, grinning. "Two coppers for the mouth, three for the arse."
The Tyroshi's smile vanished. He shoved Dren hard enough that the wineskin flew from his hand and splashed across the stones. "Say that again about my mother, you little prick," he growled, hand dropping to his sword hilt.
Dren laughed and stepped back, palms up in mock surrender. "Only joking, Bluebeard. Everyone knows your mother gave it away for free."
The Tyroshi roared and swung a fist that caught Dren on the jaw, sending him sprawling. The other four crowded in, half trying to separate them, half egging them on, until a sharp whistle from the gate made them all freeze. One of the sentries pointed toward the stable. "Oi! You there, in the cloak, stop and identify yourself!"
Arthur, who had stepped just far enough into the torchlight to be seen, did not stop. He turned and bolted for the stable door. The six guards shouted and gave chase, swords rasping free as they pounded across the courtyard. "Stop, you fucker!" one bellowed. "Sound the alarm!"
Arthur reached the stable first, vanishing inside. The six followed in a rush, boots thundering on the packed-earth floor.
"AHHHHH!!!"
"FUUUUCK!!!"
Two of them stepped into caltrops Arthur had scattered moments earlier. Iron spikes punched up through the soles of their boots and into the flesh beneath. Both men screamed, dropping their swords as they hopped on one foot and clutched at the wounds. Blood welled between their fingers.
"Garrick! Tomm!" one of the others shouted, skidding to a halt. He knelt to help, but a crossbow bolt took him square in the chest with a meaty thunk. He looked down at the shaft protruding from his leather jerkin, eyes wide, then toppled sideways.
"Ambush!" another yelled. "Get help! Reinforcements!"
Two more guards charged the stable door, with their blades raised. Inside, Arthur had already reloaded the crossbow with took a little effort, but became easy when he activated Demon Back. He set the weapon aside when he heard boots pounding straight at him. He drew Sunset and waited in the shadow of a stall post.
The first man burst through the doorway and died instantly, Arthur's blade whipping across his neck in a clean horizontal cut that sent the head tumbling into the hay. The second man stumbled over the body and slashed wildly in panic. Arthur caught the descending sword on his guard, then thrust Sunset forward under the man's ribs and up into his heart. The guard gasped once and folded to the ground.
Arthur stepped over the corpses, snatched the crossbow from its resting place on a barrel, and moved to the small window. Eight more sellswords were already sprinting across the courtyard, drawn by the screams. Arthur leveled the crossbow and loosed. The bolt punched through a man's throat, dropping him mid-stride. The others roared curses and charged the stable door.
"Alright time to go," he muttured to himself. He unhooked the lantern from the beam overhead, climbed the pillar quickly with the help of a barrel, and balanced along the rafters toward the hayloft window he had pried open earlier. Below, the remaining sellswords poured into the stable, spreading out with swords raised.
"Search every stall!" their leader barked. "He cannot have gone far!"
One of them kicked aside a pile of loose hay and uncovered the first two bodies Arthur had killed. "Fuck, he killed Garin and Reis!" he shouted angrily.
Another guard wrinkled his nose. "Why does it smell like Garins shitty ale in here?" he muttered, kicking at the straw that had been torn from the bales and strewn across the floor.
The leader looked at the bales that looked as if they'd been ripped out with a persons hands, he then looked at where it had been placed—mainly focusing on the doors and the windows. The leader's face went pale as realization struck, but it was already too late. Arthur pulled his cloak away from the lantern glass and hurled the burning light down to the door of the stable. The lantern shattered on impact, oil and flame splashing across the hay that he had soaked earlier with the contents of the dead guards' flask. Flames whooshed up in a sudden roar, licking along the strewn straw and setting fire to the wood and hay in seconds.
Men screamed. Some tried to beat at the fire with their cloaks; others ran for the door, only to find the exit blocked by a wall of flame Arthur had aimed for. Heat blasted upward, driving Arthur to press himself flat against the rafter as smoke billowed upwards. He crawled along the central beam, his arms and legs gripping the wood while sparks stung his face and the screams below rose to a terrible pitch. A rafter cracked beneath his weight; he lunged, caught the next beam, and hauled himself forward until his fingers found the edge of the open hayloft window. He rolled out onto the sloped roof tiles, slid down the incline, and dropped to the ground outside, landing hard on his shoulder but rolling to his feet.
Two of the guards who had been crippled by caltrops still lay in the courtyard, trying to drag themselves away on their elbows. One looked up as Arthur approached, eyes wide with terror. Arthur ended them both with quick strokes of Sunset, the blade flashing once, twice, before he wiped it on a cloak and sheathed it again.
Smoke poured from the stable roof now, flames licking at the sky and lighting the courtyard in shifting orange. Shouts rose from the manse windows as servants and remaining sellswords realized what was happening, but most of the hired blades had rushed into the stable.
They would not be coming out.
Arthur took a deep breath, coughing the smoke from his lungs, then turned toward the main house. His hand still gripped the bloody sword as he walked across the courtyard. With most of the men dealt with, only whoever remained inside the manse stood between him and Mira.
He did not knock. He simply walked toward the servants' entrance, the one with the simple bolt Harlan had mentioned, and he drew Sunset once more as he approached the door that would take him into the heart of Willem's lair.
(AN: So Arthur has dealt with most of the men, I think it was a decent plan if you don't think too hard about it. I mean a stable has hay and wood in it, so it would be pretty flammable. Beer and ale aren't however as flammable, at least I don't think so, their alcohol content is too low or something. Anyway hope you enjoyed.)
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