Though it had been already cured thanks to Gestin’s magery, the smell of the beast’s poison was still rank in Gabriel’s nose. He could not help but to scratch the rapidly fading scar on his cheek. It itched fiercely – was that a side effect of the magical healing or something he was simply imagining? – but he thrust it away and gave the dead beast another look. The head of a lion, a goat and an asp? Gabriel shook his own head in disgust and glanced around.

Rainald was muttering darkly under his breath – he had been late to the fight for some reason, though Gabriel knew not why – and Radskyrta was standing off to one side, visibly elated over having survived yet another fight. As was so often the case, Dane was silent as he watched their surroundings, but Gestlin more than made up for that with his incessant rambling about everything and nothing simultaneously. At the moment, the strange wizard was attending Merasiël – so, she too had been bitten; Gabriel gave her a quick once-over to ensure she was otherwise uninjured … apart from her pride, of course, before letting his eyes continue their transit. Mendel and Magnifico were discussing the other dead creature even as the clown’s two dragons tore it apart. Gabriel watched the large beasts for a heartbeat longer before looking away once more.

And still, the stench of poison would not go away. It was so very like…

Twenty Years Ago

His blood was still hot, his temper frayed, but Gabriel swallowed the rage and struggled to find control.

Four of the would-be murderers were already dead – two others had fled when the fight turned poorly for them, but Gabriel recognized their faces and knew where they would run to – but a fifth was on the floor, moaning over the stump that had once been his sword hand. He was too deeply in shock to flee, but still, Gabriel did not turn his back to him, not even as he knelt before the dying man twisting and turning on the filthy cot.

The murderers had struck without warning, smashing through the doors of the hovel Gabriel shared with his father and attacking with a ferocity that was unexpected. Here, in this tiny little hut, tucked in the slums of this miserable town, it had been harsh, bloody knife work, though Father had drawn the family blade near the end, after they had felled two of the slayers. That had not been enough. One man had managed to penetrate Father’s defenses with a lucky strike.

And the poison on that murderer’s blade had almost instantly dropped him.

“Gabriel.” Father’s voice was harsh, tortured, strained. His muscles twitched and spasmed. Ligaments groaned at the strain. Father was weeping tears of blood even as crimson poured from his nose and ears. Gabriel tightened his hold on the family blade, casting a sharp, fierce glare at the prisoner, before leaning closer to his father. “Need you to be strong,” Claudius Auditore hissed through clenched teeth. “Remember promise.” At that, Gabriel nodded tightly, even though he had no intentions of obeying it. A year ago, when they first came to this place, this miserable, stinking town where they could keep their heads down, his father forced him to swear he would seek no vengeance against the Megalan houses who had been behind the death of their family. Father groaned again – he clearly tried to say more, but the pain was too great – and Gabriel inhaled deeply. He fought for control, clawed for the Void where he could feed his every emotion.

“I will be strong, Father,” he murmured as he set aside the family sword. He drew his long knife, trying hard to not shake. This poison was known to him, after all. The Widow’s Kiss, it was called, and if the victim was not hurried on to the Afterlife, they would linger in unspeakable agony for days, sometimes even weeks on end. This miserable town barely had a church worthy of the name and the priest who ran it was a lazy drunk who could barely craft a passable sermon, let alone heal deadly poison.

“Do. It.” Father rasped. Gabriel hesitated.

And then, he pushed the blade home.

Long moments later, after the light had gone out of his father’s eyes, Gabriel forced himself to his feet. He turned to face the cowering man on the floor. The would-be murderer’s gaze instantly locked onto the bloody knife in Gabriel’s hand and he paled even further.

“You and I are going to have a discussion,” Gabriel said coolly. “This will not be over quickly,” he continued, smiling at how the man tried to press himself back even further against the hovel wall. “You will not enjoy this. But I will know the truth of who sent you here and why.” Words began tumbling from the man’s lips, names and places and amounts, and Gabriel listened quietly, intently, until the confession faltered. “Not enough,” he said darkly, gesturing toward the still form of his father. “Not enough by half.”

He set fire to the hovel when he departed, burning his father’s corpse in a manner the northern barbarians would approve of, with the bodies of Claudius’ slain arrayed around him. The blaze spread quickly, consuming the small house and quickly spreading to the other homes here in the slums of this Caithness town. It pained him to do this – the fire endangered hundreds of innocents, but there had been seven or eight such blazes this particularly dry summer, so everyone was well prepared for another – but he needed the cover it provided to escape undetected. Enraged grief thumped through him, but he clung to the last tatters of his self-control. There would be time to mourn later, when he was not in this damned city that stunk of horses and shit, when he was not hunting the fools who should not have accepted this contract.

His father’s sword was at his side and three of the poisoned dirks were safely secured in protective scabbards designed for this sort of thing. He intended to return these weapons to their proper owners, blade-first, and then…

And then, he would turn to Megalos. There were men and women there who needed killing.

Behind him, alarm bells began to ring.