Ol' Flint the Crow

A Barbaric Confrontation

...

The sight of the limp feather caused Samuel to break in a cold sweat. This stranger new all along about the flute player's involvement. He was just toying with Samuel to watch him squirm.

Stuttering over his words, the minstrel lied terribly, "Good Sir! I- I have never seen that feather in my life! It is not mine!"

Whipping out his sword from its silver sheath, the nobleman smirked and said, "The gossip goes on to say that this flute player, along with a barmaid, aided the talking bird in murdering a writer. His name was John... He was a dear friend of mine!"

His face drooped into a sorrowful frown as he spoke of the dead noble. "You helped kill my friend!"

"I didn't!" Samuel beseeched the noble as he tried to move away from the weapon. "It's not my fault! I barely met Flint less than day ago. Please don't kill me!"

Inching is the sword closer as his eye's welled up in tears, the noble cried out saying, "That depends on how helpfully you are. It's the bird I want. You will assist me in my mission to bring the bird to the Princess... Correct?"

Samuel hastily nodded being too frightened to say no. "Sure!"

"Lovely!" the noble said with a sniffled as he dug his free hand into the bag of supplies. Yanking out his deceased friend's notebook with the golden pen pinned to the side, the gentleman put his shaking palm on the page and whispered to himself, "Goodbye John!"

After this final farewell, determination erupting on the noble's face as he ferociously scribbled on the enchanted journal. Samuel shifted anxiously in his seat as he attempted read over the noble's shoulder.

The words read, 'Princess Tabitha, I have found the flute player along with Sir John's journal. The traitorous bird and the bar owner are nowhere to be seen. Awaiting your orders.' -Duke Gregory Willard.

"What- are you planning to do with him?" Samuel said, remembering Flint saying that Tabitha wanted to brutally torture him.

"That's none of your concern!" the duke hissed as he tenderly clenched the pen that once belonged to John. "Whatever sorrows befall that treacherous bird is less than he deserves!"

"Sir, he's suffered enough already! I have no idea what he did to you and your mistress, but he doesn't deserve to be hunted down like some dumb animal. His woeful story is sung throughout the lands."

Lifting his chin up in a defiant stance, the noble's disfigurement was visible for Samuel to wonder what had caused such a ugly blemish. The scar on his cheek curved inward almost slicing clean through. It looked like an old knife wound that was inflicted by an assailant seeking to torment him rather than end his life.

"Ignorant fool!" Gregory grunted as he slid his finger down the old laceration. "The crow you are attempting to protect is a monster! That rhyme about him is full of lies. If you dare try to keep him from me I'll slay you this moment!"

With a precise swing of his deadly weapon, the angry noble knocked Samuel to the ground with the blunt side of the sword. Grabbing hold of the minstrel's left shoulder, the noble, kneeling down, pointed the tip of the blade at the man's quivering throat.

Samuel shook violently as he gasped for air to calm his beating heart. It uncontrollable thumped in his chest causing him tremendous pained him. Something was wrong. He felt dizzy. The situation was dire, and it didn't help that his heart felt like it was about to explode.

While his torso heaved in and out, Samuel could feel warm liquid dripping out of his flaring nostrils. The noble, noticing the bodily fluid oozing from the flute player, brushed his finger above the man's mouth. Seeing his attacker lifting up his cream colored hand, Samuel saw blood dripping off the noble's slender fingers; his blood!