She stayed at the back of the tent for a time, listening and then moving and listening. She heard some shuffling and a familiar grumbling from inside. Salaar was here, it seemed. He had not kept a guard before and his distaste for satyr made that no real surprise. There must be a reason for the ones that sat in front of his tent now. They would need to be dealt with or else even if the conversation was quiet— it would not be— they would come to see what caused it. Aile moved herself to the front edge of the tent and quietly looked down at the satyr below. Two women, one of them busty beyond anything she thought the satyr capable of. Most of them were wiry and flat-chested. Perhaps she was some kind of breeding stock and here out of desperation. They each held pikes. Pikes would be useless at such a range but they would not have the chance to use them.
Aile slid the long blade from her back and pulled a throwing knife to join it. She moved to the right edge and drew a quiet breath. The dagger plunged into the busty one causing a deep shudder even before Aile’s feet met her shoulders. The second had barely turned when the cow-titted creature below buckled, her knees digging into the ground enough to allow Aile a steady shot. She flung the throwing knife and it buried in the satyr’s chest. The one she rode lurched forward and Aile jumped, sliding in the sand as she landed. The other was trying feebly to cough, pawing at the knife. It had sunk deep through her shoddy leathers and sat in her lung. Aile clicked her tongue, dismayed she would not be able to retrieve it without tedious work. She pulled the long dagger from the doughy one and put it through the other’s soft belly. It fell over and she put the blade through its temple, not wanting to be bothered by sounds of shuffling outside while she did her work.
She heard some movement from behind the flaps of the tent and decided it was best not to give the faun time to become curious. Aile walked into the tent and Salaar’s mouth fell open. He stammered something a few times before yelling a word she did not know. The guards, no doubt.
“They are dead. And you will shut that tiny hole in your face or things will be worse for you than you know.”
The tiny goat’s mouth clapped shut and he backed silently into a wall of the tent, jumping in fear as he hit it.
“W-w-w-whad are you d-dang here?”
Aile wiped her dagger clean against her thigh, frowning at the sight of her leathers. They were in poor shape after her recent travels. She sheathed her weapon. The faun watched it all with wide eyes.
“I have come for the pay I am owed.”
“Oh!” He breathed out hastily, feigning relief but still talking too quickly to form the foreign words cleanly. “Th-thren skalls. Of, of course. I can gib them.”
Aile took a step forward and he screamed— only for half a second— closing his eyes and looking away.
“I will arrange the gold myself. With costs to be paid punitively.” Aile could hardly contain her glee. She heard nothing outside, even with the screams. “You did not have guards before. Why now?” She walked past the faun who seemed to calm at her questions. Perhaps he thought she would not bother asking if she meant to kill him.
“Shahuor,” he spit, “the chaurak, he wasted no time in turning the satyr against me. And so close to the siege. Left the two outside and a half dozen more to keep me in this tent. An insult! They sleep at the far side and send some milkwife and a slow-minded one to watch me. Insults and insults more! These lands will be flooded with centaur soon enough. They are fools to join him now.”
She could guess easily enough what the siege entailed. The Bastion City. She could not stay there long, then. And the rest sounded no better. It was enough that she could figure their plans. Work would be scarce in an invasion.
He was still raving as Aile came to the chest he kept the gold in. The box was of poor quality except the leather which bound the wood together. She opened it to see that it was nearly full.
“Should at least send warriors to be a guard. Proper kind.”
“Would they be needed? Could you have killed the two outside?”
He quieted at that. Aile lifted the box from the awkward plinth it sat on and took it back to the large room where the faun’s desk sat.
“You would steal—”
She spun and he again clapped his mouth shut. She had grown tired of pretending. Aile threw the chest of gold onto the desk and turned. Salaar screamed out but a slap across his mouth stopped the noise. He looked at her hazily and she slapped him again, drawing blood. She pulled the long blade again and the faun
