The rain slashed mercilessly at the men in their leathers, the boiled armors slickly reflecting the sparse moonlight that intermittently pierced the clouds. Theirs were not the colorful garbs of many other tribesmen, and moreso because they didn't wish to show any affiliation with the gypsies...
The youngest among them wasn't a day over sixteen years. Dragging behind the small group, he struggled to keep up in the rain-drenched soil of the Old Svalich Road. They kept a grueling pace, as his betters knew the way well. At least the cold season hadn't arrived yet.
His "Uncle" Shandor called back to him harshly to keep up. The self appointed leader of the group, Shandor was as cunning as he was despicable. Shandor had suffered the decree of their Rauni some years before the others, and was left with disgusting boils to show for it. Ovidiu didn't even like looking at him. Usually Shandor would delegate the fetching of some deer meat or other foraging to the inexperienced boy. Tonight, Ovidiu would probably suffer Shandor's scrutiny as he was told to build a fire with soaked firewood. If the others had to bother with such menial affairs, it might mean another beating.
The boy often thought that if not for his small, fang-shaped birthmark over his ribs, the others might just leave him in a ditch with a hole in his neck. His father Emilian never protested at his mistreatment, but after the ignominious events concerning Ovidiu's mother, there was nothing but a silent emnity from him. Indeed, Emilian had tried to take a wife outside of the blood, and he paid dearly for the disgrace... The details of the Vishnadd to follow were never revealed to anyone anyway. The Rauni had obviously ruled that the spirits would punish Emilian - and just days after their banishment, his tongue fell out. Love between giorgio's and Vistani had happened before; there had to be something more. It had all happened before his birth anyway.
Perhaps his father worried that disgracing the blood even further would draw further attention from those vengeful, wicked spirits. So Ovidiu reasoned, that's why he didn't end up floating on Lake Zarovich. He definitely was not going to ask. He'd thought of leaving before, but these were the only family he'd ever known.
They arrived at a crossroads, the croak of a raven echoing from somewhere in the dark treeline. As they came to a stop, boots caked with mud, Emilian threw a shovel to the boy, or at him. Fumbling as usual under the weight of their observation, he reclaimed it from a large puddle at his feet. He knew what was expected of him, there'd be no wet logs tonight.
The others started fixing themselves into the terrain, as Ovidiu began to dig obediently. Focused on his work, he didn't notice them vanish from sight. Sweat streaming from his face and mingling with the downpour, he worked exhaustively, digging a large hazardous ditch. He couldn't see the moon anymore and lost his concept of time with the monotonous work. Old Night bore down on him with a dense silence, only broken by the slurping sound of mud and gravel being pulled free of the packed road.
Palms blistered from the cracked and weathered handle of the shovel, he startled slightly as he heard from somewhere close by: "That's good enough."
It'd been a hard season and they hadn't seen any deer... the men were growing desperate for some jerky. The ditch wasn't to catch any deer, though. Taking the cue, the boy tied the shovel to his pack and found some nearby cover. Finally his pulse slowed, and they waited, the only sound that of the falling rain, now. His stomach rumbled.
He fought against sleep for what seemed like hours. The thought of being discovered sleeping by the others was enough to keep him awake, however. As he got older the beatings had become worse - he was more and more considered a man, expected to pull his weight, but they'd likely never acknowledge him, he thought.
The dark clouds lightened somewhat in hue. Dawn was more or less imminent. His thoughts were interrupted by a most welcome sound, then a sight to follow. It all seemed to happen slowly; the carriage rounded the bend, drawn by two black horses. The driver called out in alarm out as the ditch worked just as expected - the horses fell in first, their own weight breaking their front legs, leaving them lame. The driver cast one look about, looking right at Ovidiu's poorly chosen hiding place and locking eyes with him, before an arrow whistled right into his chest, then another. The man crumpled forward with a pitiful gurgle of final protest. Upset voices came from inside the carriage; there was a woman among them.
Ovidiu cringed; that domna was most unlucky. He watched as the carriage door snapped open, a man stepping out, saying with hushed urgency, "Marilena, stay inside the carriage!" He hadn't assessed their dead driver or the lame horses yet, but still removed a longsword from his sheathe. After taking two steps out of the carriage and making the grim discovery, an arrow pitted itself into the exterior of the carriage. The man ducked, the whistle of arrows cut the rain, the cruel aim of the Darkling snipers earning a hit to his thigh. Blood sprayed from the wound.
"Now, go, go!" The command from Shandor jarred the boy from his paralysis, his grim fascination with the dark scene unfolding. His hand found a shakey grip upon his shortsword, and he hustled to close the distance to the carriage now that the moment was ripe. The man was already pale in the face from the trauma. He, at least, would see an quick end. Raising his sword weakly, he presented no contest even for the boy, who knew only a life of taking what was needed. Impressively the man survived the first blow, but it softened him up for the coup de grace. Blood mingling with the rain and dark soil, the simple merchant, judging by his attire, looked up pleadingly at the boy as he closed his fingers around a silver pendant of some kind. It was a moment that dragged on for an eternity it seemed, measured only by the sizzle and pop of the resin torches atop the carriage. Not one to be accused of hesitating when he needed to pull his weight, Ovidiu cut the man's throat without further consideration.
His heartbeat raced with the excitement, but his spirits sank as he heard the opposide door of the carriage splinter open, kicked in by the others; then the woman screamed.
Enough was enough. Those bastards were going to take turns with that woman, and if she was left alive she'd likely bear another hated son like himself. He looked down at the merchant, eyes dull and vacant but still staring up at him, fingers clutched tightly around that silver pendant. It looked pretty valuable. He could already hear the woman's cries of protest as they began their sick, base ritual of victory. It'd been months since they'd had a woman, and they never shared with Ovidiu.
He took the symbol and a small coinpurse, it wasn't much, but he was near enough to Krezk and his mother's relatives where he could possibly make a trade for it. As he pried it from the mans still-warm fingers, he saw it was a longsword imposed over a towershield, entwined with a sprig of belladonna.