Two Crows Watch from the Gallows Tree (cont'd)

(Also this is my last post for the night. See you tomorrow!)

"The less you know, the less inclined I am to kill you. But you saw what you saw. I can't allow you to slip that information to anyone. My goal is my own; that's all you need to hear." He kept his sword leveled at Pratik, eyes never leaving the other man's face.

(Night!)

“No offense, but I couldn’t give fewer shits about whatever it is that you were doing.” Pratik kept his gaze locked on Utrid’s eyes. “This war doesn’t concern me and trying to poke my nose where it doesn’t belong won’t benefit me in the least. I’d be more likely to get flogged for speaking out of turn than thanked for information, from what I’ve seen so far. There is exactly no motivation for me to do that. I’m not stupid enough to think Tarr will suddenly set me free if I suck his cock, and there’s no point making needless enemies.”

"And how was I to know you were so careful a thinker?" Utrid retorted. "How could I be sure you weren't a spy looking for weaknesses?"

“You weren’t. But now you do know.” Pratik put his hands out in front of himself, trying to placate the angry General like he would try to soothe a defensive stray dog. “I wish you no ill-will… even now.”

"Of course not, with a sword pointed at you, but I can't trust you not to speak out the next time Tarr takes a lash to your back." Utrid gave a frustrated huff at the chair and lowered his sword. "You're trapped in here. I'm patient. Let's get this overwith, now."

“You can’t honestly expect me to be okay with this plan of yours,” Pratik scoffed. As if he was going to roll over and literally die, just to make Utrid’s life easier. “… what would it take for you to believe I’m telling you the god’s honest truth?”

"I don't believe your story," Utrid repeated. "It doesn't make sense." He paced in front of the door. "I don't believe you."

Utrid was too smart for his own good. At least, too smart for Pratik’s good.

The peace and quiet was a stronger story than the prank. But it clearly wasn’t enough.

“Fuck it. You’re gonna kill me anyway.” Pratik rubbed his face, feinting frustration. “I knew there was liquor left in the skin when I left and I thought I’d be more likely to get away with drinking that than trying to creep into the wine cellar to get fresh. I’m a fucking thief sometimes but I can keep my mouth shut.”

Utrid's jaw was set, but he narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Slaves have been killed for less." He leveled his sword again and strode forward. "And that won't save you."

“Now you’re just being difficult.” Pratik glanced back at the window behind him, then looked back at Utrid. It would leave him with serious injuries. But at least a hope of survival, where Utrid seemed intent on not stopping until he was dead. “You said you hoped our goals aligned. And you’re giving me nothing to align with.”

Utrid paused again. He seemed to be fighting himself, but he shook his head. "As you said, you're going to die anyway, so it won't do any harm. Tarr is a child at the helm of a grown man's ship. He's a brute." He palmed his sword. "A savage child cannot be a Lord. I witnessed Michael Ash's brief rule. I won't let Fangholm fall to the same fate."

“And your alternative is what?” Pratik made sure his tone was inquisitive not accusatory.

"Bring the brothers back. Sebastian is a level headed boy. Or Etha may rule, I suppose. All I aim to do is get someone else into that title, and fast." Utrid's face tightened. "Someone smart and fair."

“Etha seems lovely,” Pratik agreed quickly. “Do you have a plan?”

"None that you'll hear about," Utrid snorted. "Not a chance."