Free Prophecy's Ruin (Broken Well Trilogy) by Sam Bowring

hair.
    With great reverence and respect, they lifted him from the dead woman’s arms.
    •
    Dawn approached and, a league south of Whisperwood, Rhobi hid inside a cluster of bushes. The thick leaves and low earth were the best protection from sight he had come across since leaving the forest. Truth be told, he wasn’t much of a navigator. With the burden of the child, and the sky lightening in the north, he hadn’t dared to press on further.
    He sat against a low-lying branch that ran parallel to the ground, twirling a dagger as he stared at the child. The baby, for his part, didn’t pay Rhobi any attention. He simply lay there, staring up at nothing.
    Rhobi didn’t know much about babies, and certainly not Varenkai babies. The only thing he’d thought to do was build a fire, which he now wished he hadn’t placed right in the centre of the available space. As a source of warmth and light, it offended his sensibilities.
    ‘You’ll have to get used to the damp and cool soon enough, little Varenkai,’ he sneered at the child.
    That, however, was a concern for the Shadowdreamer, and in the meantime the last thing Rhobi needed was for the stupid creature to get sick and die on the way home. He hadn’t reached his current rank by taking chances.
    He heard a twig crack and his head snapped towards it. Just a bird. If it had been Tyrellan, Rhobi mused, he probably wouldn’t have heard a thing.
    Ah, Tyrellan, he thought. Your guts will hit the ground before you do. How the glory will be mine when I return the sole survivor of this mission, bringing the Shadowdreamer his treasured prize. I don’t see how he could refuse to make me First Slave.
    When would he kill Tyrellan? His finger stroked his dagger absently, almost obscenely. Part of him knew it would be better to wait until they were almost over the border. Whatever else Rhobi thought of Tyrellan, his commander was a survivor, and united they stood a better chance of returning home. He also knew that Tyrellan might kill him , especially if he suspected the hatred that brewed in Rhobi like fermenting poison, as he surely must by now. If Tyrellan was in any way suspicious, he’d think nothing of murder to quell his doubts. Also, Rhobi didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to control himself. Tyrellan might do something to push him over the edge, and the idea of a head-to-head confrontation made him greatly afraid. There were reasons why the First Slave had lived so long with his title. There were reasons why hardly a creature living in Fenvarrow didn’t treat him with fearful deference.
    So, Rhobi was decided. He would find the first opportunity after Tyrellan rejoined him, something very low risk. A dagger while he slept or walked ahead. No drawn-out death. Although Rhobi lusted for it, he’d leave nothing to chance. As he thought about it, he knew he was right. Tyrellan wouldn’t leave anything to chance either, would he?
    No, he would not.
    A dagger wheeled out of the bushes and sank into the side of Rhobi’s neck. He gasped wetly as Tyrellan stepped from the foliage, watching him impassively. The First Slave bent down in front of his soldier, batted Rhobi’s bloodied hands away from the wound and wrenched the weapon free. Rhobi stared back with hateful eyes, a black stream pumping from his neck. He tried to speak, but the blood filling his mouth made for a burbled mockery of words.
    Tyrellan arched a hairless eyebrow. ‘Yes?’
    Rhobi fumbled for one of his own daggers with shaking hands.
    ‘This?’ asked Tyrellan, reaching to draw a dagger for him, then plunging it through the other side of his neck. He withdrew his hands and rested them on his knees.
    ‘Next time,’ he said, ‘serve the darkness half so well as you serve yourself and you may not return to it so quickly.’
    Rhobi gurgled and died.
    •
    Tyrellan wiped the daggers on his tunic, taking Rhobi’s to replace the one he’d flung into Elessa. He scowled at the fire. Smoke would be