Strength of Fate - 6. Chapter Six

Late-morning sun shone into the spartan room, hitting Nathan’s pale face. He licked his dry lips and covered his eyes with an arm, groaning. Whenever he drank to excess, he never knew when to stop. Now, he was paying for it. Nathan glanced over to find Brohm already up, eating breakfast on the bed. As usual, he was never affected by too much drink.

“Morning. I brought you some bacon, eggs, and toast. Eat up.”

Nathan groaned again. “Not hungry.”

“We’re riding out. You gotta eat something.”

He was right, of course. Nathan willed himself out of bed, planting his feet to steady himself before standing. He poured a glass of water from a pitcher and drained it. A basin sat nearby, and he filled it to wash his face. The cool water helped to bring his senses back.

“I might just survive this,” he said with a rough voice.

Brohm chuckled. “The price to pay for a fun night.”

Nathan blinked, attempting to recall it, but only came back with a haze of memories. Judging by the sprawl of sheets barely covering the bed, it had clearly been a wild time. After eating as much as he could, they packed up and made their way back to Shaw’s office.

“When you said late morning, I wasn’t expecting you to arrive after noontide,” Shaw said, a grin on his face.

“Yuh, sorry about that,” Brohm said. “We had, uh, other errands to deal with.”

Shaw rolled his eyes and waved his excuse away. “Don’t take me for an idiot, boys. I can smell the booze from here.” He stepped outside his office to speak to his receptionist. “Could you fetch Hobb for me?”

Shaw returned and gestured for Nathan and Brohm to sit down. “So, I don’t know what you said last night at that gathering, but word is getting around. You impressed a great deal of important people.”

Nathan’s face reddened. “It was nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. We’ve already had two clients in this morning, singing your praises. One woman was upset to hear she couldn’t hire you personally, but didn’t stop her from recruiting some of our men. Good work.”

Brohm nudged Nathan and gave him a grin. “Nice one, l’il buddy.”

Shaw continued. “I was just finishing up the transfer orders for your crew. I’ll be sending them out today. I won’t deny saying I’m looking forward to having your branch up and running. Seems Laird was right about you two.”

“We don’t plan to disappoint,” Brohm said proudly. “We’re excited, too.”

A heavy knock at the door took their attention.

“It’s open,” Shaw called out.

A man entered, easily taller and heavier than Brohm, but the extra weight was pure muscle. Black soot marred his face and clothes. Nathan couldn’t help but take him in with wide eyes.

“Hobb, meet Whitter and Sid,” Shaw said.

The man turned to them and offered a curt nod. “Hey.”

“Hobb here will act as foreman to build your smithy. Are you ready to go?” Shaw asked.

Hobb sighed. “I told you. I can’t just up an’ leave. I gots orders to fill. I need time t’ get things organized.”

“That’s why you have your team.”

“Sure, but I can’t expec’em to fill me shoes without notice. Gimme a week.”

“A week? No, that won’t do.”

Nathan, tearing his view from the man, gestured to placate Shaw. “Even if the smithy isn’t ready by the time the branch opens, I can’t expect it’ll be required right away.”

Hobb nodded to Nathan. “Y’see? It’ll be fine.”

Shaw tapped a finger to his chin. “I suppose it will be slow to start.”

“Yuh, and there’s a blacksmith in town anyway,” Brohm said. “If someone needs work done, reckon they can deal with him.”

Shaw shrugged. “It’s not the way I wanted it, but I guess I don’t have a choice. Very well.”

“Good,” Hobb said, before turning to Nathan and Brohm. “You’re in Millsfield, right? Gimme a fortnight to get there. You got a place for me and my crew to sleep?”

“Yuh, the guildhouse is ready,” Brohm said.

“Alright, I’ll see you then,” Hobb said, extending a massive hand.

Nathan accepted it, cringing as his hand audibly cracked in the man’s grip. Brohm was next. By his expression, he enjoyed the silent contest of strength, but the victor was clear as Brohm shook feeling back into his hand.

◆ ◆ ◆

A cold weather front descended upon them as they travelled back to Millsfield, and an accumulation of snow slowed them down. What should have taken a week became ten days, and Hobb’s promise of arriving within a fortnight seemed doubtful. By the time they arrived, it was early evening. Both were looking forward to a hot meal at the Green Barrel.

They stomped snow from their boots and shook their cloaks at the door. Soon, they were seated at their usual table, enjoying a hearty meal of steak and potatoes and washing it down with ale. It was times like this that brought a smile to Nathan’s face. Enjoying a good meal with a friend, and appreciating the warmth of a roaring fire after so many days of travelling in the cold.

Then Tarn entered.

Nathan watched him from the corner of his eye, hoping he wouldn’t detect them sitting in their usual corner. He nudged Brohm and gestured at the new arrival.

“I saw,” Brohm mumbled under his breath.

Tarn navigated through the throng of patrons at the bar, but upon catching sight of them, steered toward their table.

“We have to talk,” he said grimly. “Can I sit down?”

Nathan gestured to the empty chair at their table.

“Where’ve you guys been? I’ve been looking for you,” Tarn said.

“Out of town on guild matters,” Nathan said. “What’s up?”

“Nathan . . . I know it’s you.”

A cold shiver ran down Nathan’s spine, but he held a straight face.

Tarn continued. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was you the entire time. I can’t explain why you look different, though.” He pointed at Brohm. “I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure you’re the other guy they’ve been looking for.”

Brohm glared at him with a furrowed brow. “What in the hells are you talking about?”

“The wanted posters that’ve been around since late summer. The one with a huge bounty for two men?”

Brohm shrugged his shoulders.

“I got in contact with some of my old buddies. Did some digging. Nobody knows your name—bad record-keeping—but you fit the description. Large build.”

Nathan leaned forward. “I can see a few others in this tavern who fit that description. I don’t know who you think we are, but it’s dangerous to toss such accusations.”

Tarn either wasn’t swayed by his threat, or didn’t catch it. “I’ll figure it out. Find proof somehow—”

“Tarn,” Nathan said. “We’re just two guys trying to open a new guildhouse. You’ve mixed us up with someone else. Just drop it.”

The man considered his plea a moment before shaking his head. “I know the truth, Nathan. I know it’s you—”

“Does it really make sense for two escaped fugitives to be out in the open like this?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Exactly. How else can I prove we’re not the guys from that wanted poster? We don’t even look like them.”

Tarn’s resolve began to falter, and he fell to a loss for words. Nathan sat back in his chair, catching a sidelong glance from Brohm. The big man wasn’t happy, and Nathan feared what he’d do after the conversation was over. He wanted to save Tarn from the fire in Brohm’s eyes. He had to.

“Tarn, just forget all this, okay? Please. If you dig any deeper, you’re just gonna cause harm to two innocent guys. I swear, we’re not the guys from those posters.”

Tarn let out a heavy sigh. “I was so sure.” He stood up, almost embarrassed. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m sorry . . .” he trailed off, leaving them.

Nathan held his breath as he watched him sit at the bar to order a drink.

“He has to go,” Brohm said under his breath.

“No. Let’s leave him alone, alright?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“He’s not going to cause any trouble.”

Brohm shot a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s what you said last time.”

Despite the noise of the crowd, Nathan leaned over to whisper. “We can’t kill him just because of this.”

“Damn right we can,” Brohm hissed back. “I told you before. You knew the risk.”

“But we’re supposed to be the good guys, remember? We can’t just go killing—”

“Listen, I agree with you. I don’t wanna kill this guy either, but if he decides to change his mind again and start digging . . . he’s gotta go.”

Nathan stared at the floor and shook his head with regret.

“Come on,” Brohm said.

He tossed some coins on the table, then grabbed Nathan’s arm, forcing him to stand. Outside, snow was falling in earnest, blowing hard in the wind. The night was dark, and the few lamps hanging from posts did little to light the street. Nathan pulled up his hood and watched Brohm survey the area.

“This way,” he said, pulling Nathan across the street to an alleyway.

Once they were hidden, he dug under Nathan’s cloak and pulled his dagger free.

“What are you doing?” Nathan asked.

Brohm handed it to him, hilt first. “Take it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not doing your dirty work for you.”

Nathan held up his hands. “I’m not going to kill him.”

“This is your mess. You clean it up.”

“No!”

Brohm dropped the dagger and grabbed Nathan. “Gods damn it, Nathan! Why did you have to get him involved?”

“I wanted to help him,” Nathan said, struggling against him.

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t take the guilt, alright? I ruined the guy’s life. I saw an opportunity to help him, and I had to take it. I had to.”

Brohm let him go and leaned against the opposite wall of the narrow alleyway.

“We’ll just keep an eye on him, okay?” Nathan said.

Brohm shook his head. “No. He dies tonight. By your hand. I don’t care how, but reckon that dagger is the easiest way.”

Nathan crouched to pick it up, wiping the snow from the blade. “I just want to give him a chance.”

“He lost it when he spoke to us tonight. He’s too close to knowing our secret. We can’t risk anyone knowing the truth.”

“Brohm, I’m begging you. Please—”

The big man rose up with bared teeth and grabbed Nathan, slamming him hard against the wall. The impact would’ve caused Nathan to sprawl into the snow, but Brohm’s grip was firm. He lifted Nathan off his feet and slammed him against the wall again.

“We’ve a trail of bodies behind us,” Brohm said, “what’s one more? The guy’s a fucking wreck, anyway. You’d be doing him a favour.”

Nathan couldn’t look into Brohm’s eyes. What he saw there frightened him, saddened him. Finally, he nodded, and Brohm let him go. Nathan knew he was right. All this strife between them was his own fault. He risked both their lives with his selfishness.

They turned to watch the entrance of the tavern from their darkened nook. The storm did its job of keeping people off the streets, and the snow covered their tracks. A year ago, Nathan would’ve prayed for such conditions. It was a perfect night for an easy kill.

But tonight was different. This wasn’t a mark. This was someone he had tried to save, but failed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed his emotions down. He’d done this nearly his entire life. He could do it again. One last time.

◆ ◆ ◆

Two drawn-out hours passed. Neither of them spoke more than a dozen words, leaving Nathan to wallow in dark thoughts. While the alleyway provided shelter from the biting wind, his hood could only provide so much protection, and the cold stung his face.

At last, they caught sight of Tarn leaving the Green Barrel. He ambled westward into the winds, holding an arm up to shield his face from the blowing snow. Nathan and Brohm followed behind, keeping a fair distance, posing as drunk patrons making their way home. Nathan had no idea where home was for Tarn, but it didn’t matter. He was only waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

Tarn’s pace was unsteady, lurching in the deep snow. Nathan had no doubt of his ability with his weapon, but considering his heart wasn’t completely set to task, knowing Tarn was inebriated would make the job easier. Brohm shadowed him, leaving Nathan curiously self-conscious about having an audience watch him work. Earlier, while they were lingering in the shadows of the alley, he’d asked Brohm to wait at home. The big man refused. Either it was a lack of trust, or his way to provide strength needed to complete the job. Possibly it was both.

They continued to follow Tarn until he stumbled onto a lesser-used side street. Nathan signalled to Brohm it was time to act, and with Tarn out of sight, they rushed to the edge of a building and peeked around the corner.

“Stay here,” Nathan whispered.

Brohm returned a solemn nod and leaned against the wall, acting as a deterrent for any passerby who might be too curious for their own good.

Nathan pulled his dagger free and stalked his prey. Stealthily prowling through the snow, he caught up to the staggering form. Without hesitation, Nathan reached around to cover Tarn’s mouth with a hand, then cut across his throat with a clean slice. A surge of blood cascaded down—a harsh contrast against the white snow. Holding his neck, Tarn collapsed to his knees and turned to identify his attacker.

“I’m sorry,” Nathan whispered. “I tried to stop you, but you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut.”

Tarn fell onto his side. Bloodied fingers, curled in anger, reached for him. He tried to speak, but could utter nothing but ragged, wet gasps. Footsteps—a familiar heavy gait—crunched in the snow behind Nathan. Upon reaching Nathan’s side, Brohm rested a hand on his shoulder. It brought Nathan no comfort, but that was fine. He wasn’t seeking it. He wanted the pain. He wanted to remember this, to learn from it. They watched in silence as hot blood pooled and melted the snow. Tarn’s body slackened and then finally—mercifully—stilled.

Brohm allowed a moment to pass before speaking. “We should go.”

Nathan ignored him and loomed over the body, turning it onto its back.

“What’re you doing?” Brohm asked with urgency.

Nathan pulled the cloak back, revealing a coinpurse tied to the Tarn’s belt. He wiped his blade clean, and then cut the purse strings.

“It needs to look like someone robbed him, otherwise it’d raise suspicion.”

“Oh, right,” Brohm mumbled.

Nathan squeezed the purse, feeling the coins within. They were likely the same coins he’d given him as payment. Now he’d taken them back, along with Tarn’s life. His stomach roiled, and he swallowed bile rising in his throat. He would remember this. This was his punishment for letting emotion cloud his judgement. The guilt should weigh heavy. He deserved nothing less.

Large, wet snowflakes continued to fall, already beginning to cover their old tracks as they doubled back. The street remained deserted. No one was foolish enough to be out in this weather. What did that say about them? As they passed under a streetlamp—its flickering light losing against the blizzard—Nathan felt Brohm’s gaze upon him. The big man moved closer to wrap an arm around his shoulder, but Nathan dodged aside.

“Nathan, I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. This was my fault. Right from the start, you knew what was best for us, yet I didn’t heed your words. I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“I should’ve just taken care of this myself.”

“No, you were right. This was my problem to fix.”

Brohm moved in again to console him, but Nathan stepped away.

“I’m not looking for your pity,” Nathan said. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I know it’s hard. Let me—”

“No! I don’t deserve you.”

The big man’s wet eyes glinted in the dim lamplight. “That’s not true. Don’t say that.”

“Go home, Brohm.”

“No, not without you. I don’t care what you say,” he said, taking him into his arms.

Nathan pulled away from his grip. “No. Let me go!”

Brohm stood dumbfounded with arms outstretched, beckoning him, but Nathan distanced himself.

“Don’t follow me.”

The big man stood there, watching him trudge away into the night. Tears stung Nathan’s eyes, and he roughly wiped them away. His entire body tensed with conflicting emotions. So filled with rage he felt ready to burst. His heart ached at the thought of hurting his only friend by speaking those words. His legs weakened, threatening to collapse under the weight of his despair.

He just wanted everything to end.

◆ ◆ ◆

Nathan woke to a hand shaking his shoulder. Wincing at the deafening crowd, he found himself slumped at a table filled with an array of empty glasses and tankards.

“Hey boy-o,” someone said, “this isn’t a place to sleep.”

Everything was a blur, and his head swam. He recalled finding a tavern, and the prospect of drinking until passing out felt the right thing to do. He laid his head back down again on the table, and the din died away as he slipped back to unconsciousness.

The next time he woke, he found two men shouldering his weight. His feet dragged on the ground, but attempting to gain purchase proved fruitless. Laughter surrounded him. He blinked, trying to focus his view. A door opened, and a blast of cold air hit him. The two men tossed him outside and slammed the door shut. The shock of snow on his face brought him to his senses, but it took all his strength to lift himself against the side of the tavern’s façade. Turmoil in his belly announced the inevitable, and he gagged once before vomiting. A figure drifting in the falling snow caught his eye as he wiped his chin. It approached cautiously.

“Do you need help?” the man asked, his face hidden by a deep hood.

Nathan considered the request before answering. “I guess I do.”

The figure held out a gloved hand, tattered and dirty. Nathan accepted it and pulled himself to his feet, only to lose his balance. The man caught him before he fell, allowing Nathan to lean against him.

“Where’s home?” the man asked.

The apartment was closer than the guildhouse, but the prospect of Brohm seeing him like this wasn’t an option.

“It’s just outside town.”

“Lead the way, if you can.”

Nathan stood, pulling away from the man. “I can make it there myself. Thanks for the help.”

He took a few steps, but his balance failed and he fell into the snow in a heap. The man rushed to his side and helped him up again.

“Are you sure you don’t need my aid? ’Tis not a night to stumble in the dark.”

“Why do you care?”

“Can one not help a fellow in need?”

Nathan conceded with a sigh and led them west out of town. The snow still fell with unrelenting vigour, making it hard to keep his footing. As much as he hated to admit it, he was glad the stranger insisted on helping.

“This is your home?” the man asked upon arriving at the guildhouse.

“Yeah. Me and a partner.”

They stumbled inside, and Nathan pointed in the near dark at an oil lamp hanging nearby. Once lit, the stranger lit a fire in the large hearth that took up most of one side of the common area. Nathan collapsed nearby, watching the man tend to the fire.

“’Tis a large abode for two people,” he said.

“It’s gonna be a house for the Adventurer’s Guild. A home away from home for its members.”

“I see.”

Nathan sat up. “Who are you? Why are you helping me?”

Despite being free of the storm, the man never pulled back his hood, and his face remained hidden in shadow. “The name is Cormac. I helped people in my old life, and there is no reason to stop now.”

“Old life? What do you mean?”

“I was a monk. I dedicated my life to serve the gods and my fellow man.”

“But you’re not anymore?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Silence answered, and Nathan suddenly felt ashamed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Cormac warmed his hands near the flame. “’Tis alright. The curiosity of man is no failing trait.”

Nathan lay on his side, finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. “My name's Whitter. You can stay the night, if you like.”

“Your kindness is appreciated. I thank you.”

Nathan smirked. “You just helped me home, hoping for shelter, didn’t you.”

Cormac turned his head, enough for Nathan to catch a glimpse of a subtle smile. “Can it not be for both reasons?”

Nathan grunted a laugh and fell back. His eyelids involuntarily fluttered closed in exhaustion.

Cormac continued. “You surprise me. You seem a good man, but your aura tells me otherwise. I’m not sure what is true anymore.”

Nathan tried to decipher Cormac’s words, but the need for sleep was too strong, and he had no power left to fight it. Distant cawing crows forced him to open his eyes again. Dull, grey morning light creeped through the windows. All that remained of the fire were glowing embers, and the frigid air encroached upon him.

Cormac was nowhere to be found, and Nathan questioned whether or not he’d dreamt the encounter. The events of the previous night came rushing back, and the crushing despair returned, looming over him. Shaking from the cold, he squeezed his head in an attempt to relieve the pounding pain in his skull. He willed himself up and threw more logs into the hearth, hovering as close as he dared to warm himself. Not too long after, familiar footsteps came up the veranda, and Brohm anxiously entered.

“You’re here,” the big man said, closing the door before more cold air blew in.

Nathan turned his attention back to the fire. He wasn’t ready to face him yet. Brohm remained at the door a moment before stepping closer.

“You okay?”

Nathan shrugged as he sat down beside him.

“Smells like you’ve been doing some heavy drinking,” Brohm muttered.

“Can you blame me?” Nathan couldn’t help but glance over. “You look pretty awful yourself.”

Brohm rubbed his red eyes. “Was worried about you. Couldn’t sleep.”

The crackle of the fire filled the silence between them. Nathan normally enjoyed their quiet moments, but this time, it left him feeling awkward.

Brohm spoke again, tentatively. “What you said last night—did you really mean it?”

“I said a lot of things. All of them were true.” Nathan wanted to add he could only make so many mistakes before Brohm would finally wise up and leave for good.

“But you can’t mean it. I thought you . . . you—”

“You think I love you? I do, Brohm. Gods! More than I thought possible.”

“Then how can you say those things?”

“Because I don’t deserve you. I care for you too much to put you in danger again.”

“You reckon you can push me away that easy?”

Nathan fought back tears. “I never said it would be fucking easy!”

“And what about me? Don’t I get a say how this ends? I don’t wanna leave you, and I’m pretty damn sure you don’t wanna leave me. Yuh, I was mad about the whole thing with Tarn, but that’s over now.”

Nathan didn’t want this to be so effortless to reconcile. He hated the fact Brohm was so forgiving, so understanding, so willing to exonerate the horrible mistake he’d made. A hand held his cheek—its warmth seeping in—turning his head to Brohm’s gaze. Those emerald eyes pierced through him. His breath caught in his chest, just as it did the first time they met.

“I don’t want to do this alone,” Brohm said. “I can’t do this alone.”

Nathan’s restraint broke. Reduced to racking sobs, he fell into Brohm’s arms, held tight to his chest. Brohm soothed him as best he could, hugging him until the worst had passed.

“Gods, I’m a mess,” Nathan said.

They both laughed—a wonderful release of tension between them both.

“Brohm, I swear, if you tell me something’s wrong, I won’t question you again.”

“That’s all I can ask for. But reckon that goes both ways, yuh?”

“I have no memory of you making any decisions that risked our wellbeing,” Nathan said with a stern look.

“Just wait, then. I’m bound to mess up sooner or later.”

Nathan couldn’t imagine it. Time and again, Brohm stood as the voice of reason between the two of them. He wasn’t perfect, of course, but Nathan wouldn’t have him any other way.