Casting the Shadow

All Mipp heard, and indeed it made up the better part of his understanding as he saw less still, was a little scream. Little, for it was not a shriek of terror; rather of pain. The kind of noise a slave or an unfortunate wife makes when she knows she’s about to be beaten.

Clearly this Shadow thought the same of the sound; he had gone from the bar when next Mipp looked, and so the younger man decided to follow up the stairs. Through the echo of pounding feet on the stairway, Mipp made out the sound of a door rattling and thudding in it’s hinges, and of another stifled cry. Finally he pieced the reality together as the Shadow forced open the nearest door and drew his dagger.

This time the girl screamed in earnest, but her protest fell on deaf ears. Mipp heard the grunt and stepped into the room only in time to see the Shadow’s knife already buried deep into the innkeeper’s back. When he looked about he saw he had been right about the slave-girl, she was hiding in the corner, her face already reddening with the coming bruise.

The Shadow let the corpse drop to the floor, and the sound was heavy. Mipp watched with some discomfort as the man but his boot onto the small of the man’s back and knelt to pull out his dagger. Then he turned, looking first at Mipp, and then taking a step to the girl.

“Don’t touch me! I swear I’ll gut you if you touch me, you bastard!” Spinning, stunned, Mipp saw that the girl had drawn her own little dagger, the point bended towards the Shadow, her saviour. Nervously, Mipp looked back at the Shadow to gage his reaction, but little was betrayed in his face.

“Nema,” he said, not without gentleness, but the heat of bloodshed was still in his voice. It suddenly struck Mipp as faintly ludicrous to see this little slave threatening this feared man, this great warrior.

“Don’t be a fool, girl.” Mipp said, sensing it was a mistake to allow a fight to arise between them. He had not known him long, but already he did not trust the Shadow’s temper to prevent him from doing what he’d regret. “Put the knife down.”

The girl did not even look at him. Her chest was heaving with emotion and she did not take her eyes off the Shadow. “You killed him!” she cried.

“Yes, I killed him.” Now the Shadow’s voice was calm, and laced with danger. “Give the knife to me, Nema.” This was an order. It appeared now that the freedom ideal he fought for did not extent to the reigns of the Shadow’s heart.

But she did not seem to have noticed the threat. Perhaps she was too caught up in panic. “Stay back, snake!” she shouted at him, more tears from her eyes.

“Shadow?” said Mipp, but again, he was ignored.

Instead, the Shadow took two long strides across the room. The girl made no offensive move, rather shrank back and tried to pull her arm away, but not fast enough. The Shadow grasped her wrist; no gentleness this time, and pulled the dagger from her fingers, throwing it violently to the floor. She merely winced and shrunk away, closing her eyes and bowing her head.

The Shadow knew her, knew her ways, and was in no temper to allow her to treat him as the slave-driver. He took her chin thumb and finger and forced her face to meet his. As he knew she would, she opened her eyes at this. Their faces were so close together he could feel her breath on his cheek. “If the Shadow lay dead and I were your master now I would slit for your insolence. Remember that.”

He swept from the room with that, and Mipp followed, the last he saw was her, seeming to crumble, her back against the wall.