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Matter of Thyme by Vlork
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Shortly thereafter, three men crept through the shadows of a normally
innocuous cobbled street turned malevolent by the darkness and the
rain. The few remaining sputtering torches along the street struggled
to push back the darkness, but succeeded only in creating more
shadows. The men’s quarry slipped through the shadows ahead of them,
and turned into a shadowed alley. Their leader motioned the other two
men to follow him and smiled unpleasantly. Their sodden boots
squelched into the alley after the strange man. He stood, waiting for
them, arms folded in front of him. Loose, black robes concealed his
entire body, and he carried no visible weapons. A black cowl covered
his entire face, and a yellow-eyed raven sat on his shoulder. He stood
and watched the three men as they pulled out unadorned short swords of
the sort favored by outlaws and the like. Then he pushed back his
cowl, and smiled at the men, showing his teeth. This was not the
nervous smile of a man afraid for his life. This was the smile of a
man utterly confident that his near future will be significantly more
pleasant than the future of the recipient of the smile. He shifted
himself into a combat stance.
“Your money or your life!” the leader growled.
The strange man raised his eyebrows. The raven cawed. Thunder rolled
ominously. “I beg your pardon?” the man asked.
“Give us your money, or we kill you, and then take your money. There’s
three of us, and only one of you. So choose. Your money or your life,”
The thugs’ leader snapped.
The man frowned. “I don’t like thugs.”
The thug’s leader scowled. “I don’t like you. Get him!”
The man rolled his eyes. “Very witty.” The thugs lunged forward,
swinging their swords. They moved not with the finesse and skill of
master swordsmen, but as thugs who had survived a great many street
fights, and intended to survive many more.
The black-clad man kicked the legs out from under one of the men and
snatched the man’s sword as he fell. Then he spun around, smoothly
disarmed a second man, and slammed the flat of the blade against his
man’s head, knocking him unconscious. He snatched the second sword,
and whirled to face the leader, who turned and ran. The man hurled one
of the swords at the leader’s retreating back, pinning his outer cloak
to the wooden wall at the side of the alley. The leader screamed, tore
the cloak off, and fled. The strange man dropped the sword and slipped
out of the alley. The entire fight had taken less than a minute.
“Nice work,” croaked the raven.
* * *
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