Gray Ellis ~ La Venganza

The man doing the speaking was tall in the saddle. He wore a tricorn hat—which marked him as a sailor. Even though he was the one talking, Ellis held his gaze on the silent one, whose hands were out of view. He was bigger in stature and wore an aged tricorn hat. Wisps of vapour left his lips proving he was the calmest of the pair.

“Can’t say I am—” Ellis replied, “Just passing through, is all.”

“You sure?” The tall man asked, “'Cos to us, you look like you need help.”

His laugh held a crackle of anxiety that was not lost on Ellis, who remained silent. Finally, the bigger man spoke. His tone was far more confident.

“We need to help you, by taking what you got.”

Ellis sighed. He moved further away from Alice and sidestepped onto a verge, it fell away from the road.

“Well—then, I guess you need to do what you need to do, right?” Ellis replied, keeping his focus on the big man.

When the man revealed his hand it was gripping a flintlock pistol. Ellis was ready for it.

There were two shots fired.

The taller man slid from his saddle to land awkwardly on the road, his hands empty. Ellis kept his gaze on the man as he wandered closer to the big man who sat clasping his hands over his chest—moments later fell from his horse, a bright bloodstain in the centre of his chest. He hit the ground headfirst. His head bent to the side with a resounding crack—he was not getting up from the fall. Ellis was now focused on the taller man, who had steadied himself—his focus on the still form of his partner.

“You don’t need to do this.” Ellis offered.

“He was my brother, you bastard.” The man’s eyes remained on the still form, before tearing away to glare at Ellis.

“My condolences—” Ellis replied, his gaze on the man’s belt, where a sheath knife was secured.

Moments passed before the tall man ran towards Ellis, gripping the knife and screaming like a banshee.

Ellis dropped the pistol and gripped the sword. The man swung the knife in a wide arc, causing Ellis to sidestep. The long blade missed Ellis’s face by half an inch. As the man stumbled past, he gained his footing and turned to face him. Ellis stepped back and drew his sword in a sideways arc, the last four-inches of the blade passed through flesh and cartilage under the man’s chin. At the end of the arc, Ellis flicked blood from the blade, and moved to stand over the body of the dying man—gurgling sounds rose from his throat as he drowned in his own blood.

Ellis stared into his glazed eyes and nodded, “Like I said, my condolences—”