"What a pain in the neck," the words surprisingly came out in a hoarse, dissonant voice. Darkeye wondered what happened to his usual canorous voice.

He coughed and cleared his throat. In the distance he could only see a land filled of grass. Crickets chirped in the night, and combined with the noise of nearby playing children to form a clamorous melody.

  

Though a few roads ran down this village, but they were not paved with any sort of concrete or stone. Seems like the king's treasury isn't enough to cover these lands, Darkeye thought. Be it due to the difficulty of implementing reforms, or the opposition offered by those hoggish nobles, the king must have been hard-pressed to reach these villages, he concluded.

   

"Haaah..." A sigh escaped his mouth for the thirteenth time. He really didn't like the air of this place; the smell of soil which was overwhelmed by the dung of various cattles that grazed the field.

  

Having to choose between staying here for a night or continuing their journey, they had decided, or rather had to go along with the latter due to the merchant insistence. Of course, it's not like he did not understand the man's fears. Scores of monsters lurked in the darkness, preying upon the anyone that dared to pass their sight.

  

Though, unlike the merchant, he and others had no need to fear them. Unless a monster with a difficult of 50 or above assualted them, they would have no issue keeping themselves save. Not to mention, they were also traveling along with them.

  

"The wise say constantly sighing is a sign of distress," a voice rang out from behind.

 

Oh, think of the devil…

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he faintly spotted two men approaching him. A barely discernable smile could be spotted on the face of the man walking at front, he carried a lantern with him, lightning up his path in the gloom of night.

  

Behind him followed a hooded man. Compared to his partner's warm presence, a certain air of gloom enveloped his body. Darkeye certainly knew what it was—Bloodlust. Having gone through hundreds of life-and-death, Darkeye realized that it was a kind of killing aura that one could only accumulate after treading on the bodies of countless people.

 

The aura was pretty faint, almost unnoticeable. The man must be trying his best to suppress it, for Darkeye to take so long to recognize. However, if this were true, it would be even more horrifying. Bloodlust ony grew stronger and harder to control as one's kill count increased.

 

Therefore, the level of precision required to almost suppress it was daunting, to say the least. Darkeye shuddered at such a prospect. What sort of life must the man have had before becoming an adventurer?

  

"Beats me, maybe it's just the air of this place affecting my mood," Without turning, he replied.

  

"I cannot say I am surprised," Malazan answered, as he arrived beside him. Glancing at him, Darkeye saw him looking at the sky. Bemused, he asked, "Is there something strange up there?" Although he said so, but all he saw was a clear night sky.

 

"It's going to rain soon."

 

"Huh?" He tilted his head confusion.

 

"Look at those crows," Malazan said while pointing at the sky, "although you might not be able to clearly spot them, but they are flying restlessly in this dark hour."

 

"So?"

 

"Think about it, the Karez crows don't fly when the nightfalls. The only thing capable of making them do otherwise is the arrival of rain. They have an innate ability to sense the changes in weather."

  

As if attesting to Malazan's words, a prickling sensation soon settled down his exposed skin. Looking up, he was a greeted with a murky, overcast sky, a sharp contrast from before. Water droplets fell on his face, a few of them invading his mouth. It tasted sweet, he thought. Rain started lashing down from the grey sky. Darkeye turned to stare at Malazan, amazement visible in his eyes.

 

"Alright, we should probably get back," Malazan said while shaking his hair, brushing all the excess water off them.

 

Darkeye nodded. Although he liked rain because it would usually clear all the dust and smell in the air, alas, his steel armour could not afford to bask in its lashing.

  

They made their way through the night, past the children running and giggling around in the rain, and soon reached an almost run-down building. From outside, the building barely resembled an inn. The sign board which had the words 'Stonehall Inn' written on it was hanging loosely on a few nails that supported its weight.

 

As soon as Darkeye entered, a foul smell assualted his nose. He saw Malazan raising his eyebrows in response, betraying his displeasure.

 

While he was adjusting himself to his surroundings, a woman came out of a door to their right. "So here you guys are! Come, the dinner is ready," she motioned for them to follow her. He couldn't quite remember her name, Shihla? Or maybe it was Shuhle instead? He knew little about the woman, except for the fact that she was a spellcaster of astounding abilities.

 

News regarding other adventurers found it hard to reach the capital, because of the lack of travelling going on between it and the other cities. Some strange events had been occuring throughout the Kingdom, many merchant caravans had disappeared into thin air. No one knew what or who was causing these disappearances, though he suspected it to be the work of monsters.

   

"Hey, Darkeye, do you not feel like eating?" Seeing him standing there, Malazan turned to look at him.

  

"Eh-yeah? No, I am coming." Breaking out of his redundant thoughts, he followed them, his stomach rumbling in agreement. All his previous worries had been put aside.

 

She slowly opened her eyes. It took a few heartbeats for her eyes to adjust themselves to the dark that enveloped the room. She gingerly placed the rough Sanderian blanket aside and cautiously got up, so as to not disturb others in the room. She poured himself a cup of water from the jug placed on the bedside table, and drank from it.

  

As expected, sleep was not something easy to come by when one called for it. Realizing that trying any further would be a waste of time, Shihle stood up. Taking a stock of the room, she noticed no particular movement. Thank goodness I didn't wake anyone up, she thought.

  

Hmm, what's this?

 

Her ears detected a sound coming from outside the inn. Slight thumping sounds could be heard. Compelled by curiosity, she fumbled for her staff. The wooden floor beneath her creaked, as she vigilantly made her out of the inn. She gently pulled the door open and peered out in the darkness.

  

Shihle flabbergasted to behold the sight in front of her; instead of some kind of monster hiding in the dark, she saw a handful of townsfolk surrounding a bonfire, singing and dancing merrily. Noise of pounding steps echoed through the night, as they sang in a language unknown.

  

"Can't sleep?" She jerked fiercely in response to the light tap on his shoulder, holding her staff high in the air.

  

"Woah, easy there! I'd rather not die so young."

 

"Then, how about not sneaking up on people like this, Malazan?" She addressed the man who wore a mischievous grin on his face, as if he had successfully managed to pull a dirty prank on someone.

 

"Alright, alright. I am sorry."

She pouted in displeasure.

Malazan continued, "Anyway, isn't that wonderful?" She followed Malazan's gaze to the dance going on outside. "How so?"

  

"To be able to dance so joyously to a song so sorrowful" Malazan replied in a soft voice. "Do you know why they are dancing and singing like this?"

 

She shook her head in confusion.

  

"There is a tale whispered in this town, about a young girl. Some say the girl was so beautiful that no one could resist being charmed," Malazan glanced at her before continuing, "On a certain day, she was kidnapped by a village ruffian. Her mother, in her absence, used to cry and often wail for days. Her lamenting changed into words and formed into the song that you and I are hearing right now. When the rain does not fall for a long time and drought lasts months, these townfolk will come out of their houses and start singing. It is said the group lamenting is so heart rending that even the sky's eyes become wet and it starts to weep with torrential rain." Malazan's low voice drifted about in the hall, sounding like a gentle whisper.

  

Shihle was lost in thought, picturing the scene of a mother crying for child in anguish. Although Malazan was still looking outside the door, Shihle noticed there was something different about him—an air of melancholy surrounded him.

 

That said, it was unknown whether he was lamenting over the fate of the child and her mother, or some memory of past. A gloomy atmosphere permeated in the air. The two lapsed into a deep silence for a long time, until it was breaked by Malazan, "Alright, it's getting late, Shihle. I will be retiring now, so should you. Tomorrow's going to be one hell of a hectic day." She saw him turning around, wishing goodnight with a wave of his hand.

 

"Just who are you, really?" The back of the retreating figure suddenly seemed very heavy, as if it carried way too many burdens.

 

 

Weasel was the third son of a farmer. His father's farm was not large. At least that's what was left of it after being divided through several generations. Being a 'spare', he was not welcomed by his family. An unwanted mouth to feed, his older brother would sneer. As he got older, he started having nightmares. In them he would sometimes see himself getting kicked out of the village, other times he found himself stranding between the rope of death, as his brothers plotted to kill him.

He thought the day was not far away when they actually tried getting rid of him. Alas, fate had someone else in store for him.

  

On a certain day, famine struck his village. To alleviate their suffering, his father sold him to a rich merchant. At that time, he didn't fully understand the looks of pity on his brothers' faces, but later on he came to know of the merchant's strange tastes. The merchant forced Weasel to perform various unusual acts whenever he returned home. His consent, however, was never taken into perspective, for it was something he wasn't permitted to have.

  

One day, unable to bear any longer, he fled, but not before thwacking a knife up that lecherous merchant's ass. Through a series of events, he got introduced to a ragtag group of mercenaries. If he were to be less polite, then they ought to be called a gang of bandits, stealing and murdering for money. The gang—being short on men—took him in. He also stayed with them, in hopes he could one day exact his revenge on his family.

 

—But.

 

"Damn the mother who whelped me, why did I agree?" Weasel tried hard to think of a reason behind his presence here. Other than his abilities as an errand boy, he had no other to name. Most certainly, he knew next to nothing about fighting. Why did all the bad luck had to come his way?

 

"Sshh, be quite!" A smack to his head silence him. Turning to his right, he saw Crook's large body crouching beside him.

 

This bastard…!

 

He didn't like the man. Or to be more exact, he hated Croom to the marrow of his bones. The man had knack for bullying those weaker than him. And being far weaker in comparison to Crook, he was forced to bear the brunt of his torturous behavior.

 

Humph, there will surely come a day when I will force you down on your knees and have you begging for mercy.

 

Dreaming of such a future pleased him. But, his presence here made him unsure whether he'd live to see it. Passing his hands through the large bush impeding his vision, he peered out through the opening.

Except for the swaying grass and a desolate road, he spotted nothing. He was beginning to think that they'd made a mistake regarding the target's route when he saw Croom suddenly lay his head down onto the ground and press his ear against it. Out of curiosity he did the same.

Soon, he could hear it. The sounds of hooves clopping against the ground, getting louder and closer by each passing second. Weasel and Crook exchanged a glance, and the former spotted malice in the latter's eyes.

  

Weasel noticed the burly man signal the archers—who sat upon the trees' branches— with a specific hand movement. Seeing it, the archers readied their bows. Everything was prepared.

Although the odds didn't really favor them, his boss was full of confidence. Yet, Weasel didn't understand where that certainty came from. Not to mention, something had been bugging him since the moment they decided to carry out their mission. There was something in the air today, he decided; a tension, a feeling that something was not right.

I hope everything goes well…