The Map and the Knife

A Sword & Sorcery Flash Fiction Tale

The map was smeared with blood, and Daelin held it like a holy relic.

The two black-clad assassins leaned against the stone wall, panting in the damp shadows of the sewer outlet, the fortress looming above in the moonlight and midnight fog. The rival noble’s defenses had been a meat grinder of armored guards, black-sorcery curses, jagged steel traps, and a horde of undead. Daelin’s face was a collection of bruises; Ravena’s leather armor hung in shreds, gashes beneath still weeping dark crimson. They had slipped out just as the alarm horns began to wail.

“We did it,” Daelin rasped, eyes wild with fevered triumph. “The warlord will pay us a king’s ransom. A life of luxury, Ravena. Together.”

Ravena took his hand, leaned in until her lips pressed hard against his. “Together,” she whispered. “The luxury can wait. I want you now.”

They tumbled onto the muddy ground. Mist coiled around them like a shroud as she rode him. Her moans reverberated off the stone as her pleasure peaked first. Seconds later, Daelin’s spine arched and he spilled inside her with a guttural moan, hips bucking beneath her.

Her silver stiletto flashed in the dark. With a single stroke, she opened his throat.

Daelin’s eyes widened; a wet gurgle burst from his lips as his blood poured into the filthy water below. His body convulsed, death throes tangled with the last spasms of pleasure, then he went still, eyes glassy and hollow.

Ravena wiped the blade on his cloak and slipped the map into her pouch. The warlord’s reward was immense, too immense to split in half.

She practiced a tearful tremor in her voice as she made the long journey back. It would be a heartbreaking report to the warlord, of how her beloved had died valiantly to secure their victory.