Quick Finger

Dead, all of them Quick Finger was moving around the camp, the soil stained with blood. The company had left with 15 men, and now he was the only one left. Left to carry out a job of which he had no knowledge about. I should have asked more questions, thought Quick Finger. He had grown too confident in his ability, and idly slipped into a false sense of safety. Quick Finger never asked questions that he thought didn’t need answering. If I had asked more questions, would these men still be alive? Quick Finger asked himself. He had not known any of these dead men, he didn’t want to. Knowing them would have only made the loss seem greater.  Sometimes not asking a lot of questions can be a good thing.
   The rider, he did this. Quick Finger did not need to think twice about it. Did he do this alone? And why? It had been awhile since Quick Finger found himself standing in such circumstances. Countless years of taking simple orders for simple jobs had left his judgment fairly skewed, but his instinct and reflexes were still dagger sharp.
    He wants my attention. He wants to scare me into submission, or he wants me to find him and kill him. The thought almost made him laugh. Quick Finger knew that such bold acts were in seek of bold responses, he would not take the bait so easily. Already he knew little and more about this rider that had approached him not even hours ago. A merciless and more than capable killer, 15 men laid sleeping when Quick Finger left the camp and 15 men lay dead when he returned, all at the hand of one man.  Quick Finger looked at what the rustled dirt had to show him, there had been very little movement, but some struggle. Some men lay as if they were still sleeping Murdered in their sleep, at least some had quick and clean deaths, Quick Finger could only imagine that as being a good thing.
    He thought about burying the men, it would have been the decent thing to do, but he knew he could not linger here any longer. He decided to cover up the men and take anything that he might need, things he could trade.
  Quick Finger was kneeling down to cover up the last body. Only a boy, thought Quick Finger as he looked upon the corpses face. A boy of 14 years. Must have just joined the company, imagining the dreams of adventure the boy must have had made Quick Fingers teeth clench with furious sorrow. Quick Finger reached over the boy’s body to pull the blanket over when the corpse jerked and the boy gasped for air. The boy grasped Quick Fingers wrists with terrifying strength. He was trying to speak.
        “He-he-help...” his voice was barely a whisper.
        “Lay still young one, help is coming. Rest now” Quick Finger knew the boys last thoughts should be of hope. The boy spoke again.
        “Rrrider, mes-message.” The boys left hand fell to the ground beside his body. His hand rustled, he was trying to pick something up. “Read..” The boys right hand gripped Quick Fingers wrist even tighter, he tried to lift his head to speak closer, but he was close to the end. Quick Finger saw a fire in the boy’s eyes. A fighter, thought Quick Finger. The boy gripped tighter and tighter as he screamed in frustration behind closed lips, his face clenching. But his scream slowly faded, his grip loosened, and the fire in his eyes died out.
      That was more than Quick Finger would have wished to witness. A wave of grief fell upon him, but the grief soon turned to fury. He was flushed with an irritable anger. That rider was looking for me, these men suffered because of my presence. This boy is dead because of me, but why? What have I done? Quick Finger was still knelt by the boy with his fists clenched, pushing into the dirt. The anger drained him and he slumped over the boy’s body to close his eyes to make sense of everything that at happened, A pointless effort, he thought to himself. Quick Finger had suffered senseless loss before, he had even sought revenge and had it. But the more livid he became the more he realised that whoever this rider was and whoever he represented, mercy was not a characteristic they cared to exercise. I will flee, but I cannot deny this rider again if we are to meet again, I cannot defeat him. He knew that if he denied or challenged the rider that others might perish. He made up his mind quickly. He decided to head for the village of Stump. He had passed through it not but a few days ago with his company. He thought it best travel back over his tracks to have any attempt at throwing off the rider. He gathered his things, but before he did he realised the boy had tried to give him something. He saw the boy’s left hand was curled around a crumpled piece of parchment, he picked it up. It was the contract each companion had to sign before they set off for a job. He could see the boy’s signature on the bottom left of the contract. The boys name had been Finn. The bottom right of the contract was where the company’s employer would sign upon the completion of the job, the corner was crumpled. He unfolded it to reveal that the boy’s contract had finished, it had been stamped. The stamp was in the shape of a curved black dagger. He ran his thumb over the stamp, the ink smudged. The rider, Quick Fingers skin began to crawl. He had never feared anything this much in his entire life. He gathered his things and headed for Stump.