Robin woke to voices in the dark. They hissed, whispered, swirled in the still night air.

At first, he thought they came from downstairs. Customers had come, and the innkeeper was friendly enough to speak. But, as he lay still, he realized they were closer than that. They marched down the hall, lingered at the closed door.

Opened it.

Carefully, he shifted so his hand lay over the dagger he'd placed beside him. The steps came closer, all behind him, and he forced himself not to move.

For all they knew, he still slept.

One of the voices came again, like thunder in the silence. It hissed out air like a snake's rattle, formed words spoken so low the prince had to concentrate through the beating drum that was his heart.

"Looks a bit like a baby, don't he?" It was deep. Throaty. Familiar. Like a checklist, Robin ran the sounds through his head, trying to place the sound.

"Yeah, a baby who's known for his bloodlust."

Two. That one was softer than before. More careful. Still stupid enough to speak.

Robin swallowed. From what he heard, they weren't quite close enough for his dagger to do the trick. That and he wasn't guaranteed only two, or what their full intentions were.

Wait.

He tightened his grip on the weapon.

A pair of footsteps went over to the side, stood over a speck of light Robin had not realized was there until it vanished.

"Almost a shame. Town's too pretty."

With that, Robin's blood ran cold. He longed for a glimpse out the window, just to be sure the implication hadn't happened yet. But his room-- it wasn't facing the moon. There should have been no light. The familiar voices didn't carry a candle or lantern. Not trying to sneak around.

The light outside would have come from flames.

God no. That-- it was wrong.

The woman said they were threatened by the one who killed the Kallan.

Was that who it was? Not one man, but many? Assassins, hired by someone to cause chaos. If they killed the messenger, they weren't in his room to be friends. They wanted him too.

Steps got closer, air shifted, so warm breath tickled the back of his neck. A chill traveled down his spine, all the way to his toes.

"You should have gutted me, your highness."

That one was new. That one, he knew. It sent every memory of pent-up rage to his head and through the tips of his fingers. 

Robin lifted the hand that held the dagger and thrust it behind him as the weight from Erik's body shifted slightly. It cut against something soft, caused the man to give a squeak that should belong a mouse. Metal clattered to the ground-- not his weapon. That stayed firmly in his grasp as he twisted himself around to face his attackers.

With the presence of Erik, he knew who he'd see before ever setting sights on the three in his room. All the guards but the younger one-- the one who actually paled at the prince's threats-- steadied themselves, swords drawn.

Erik excluded, of course. He was still scrambling to his feet, one hand holding his knife so tightly his knuckles turned white, the other hand slick with blood that fell down from his shoulder.

"Was it something I said earlier?" Robin took the three in. One sword, held by man who outweighed him by at least one hundred pounds, one dagger, and Erik and his knife. All armourless. All waiting for him to strike.

Robin didn't bother.

He sighed. Better to look relaxed than worried. "What would you like me to do? Ask why? Beg?" He raised an eyebrow. "I assume you had a hand in killing the Kallan."

No one answered immediately, but the man who carried the dagger twitched an arm.

"Ah, so you did. Well, that at least clears my conscience." He flashed a quick smile, flipped it quickly into a frown. "Are any of you going to charge, or just stand there like the lousy killers you are?"

In a rush, the one with the dagger leapt forward, his weapon swinging to the side when he got within reach. Robin stepped to the side and held out a leg. It hit the man right under his kneecaps, sent him hurling to the wall like a runaway horse. As he fell, Robin shoved his dagger into the back of the man's neck, near the skull. It went in easy, too easy to believe that a life had just ended. 

A rush of air came toward Robin's head, followed by a thick, dull connection that snapped his head to the side. His arms flew forward to stop him from face-planting into the ground. A throb started to pound near his ear, where a few spots danced. 

He grit his teeth and focused through them, quick to roll to the side. A large shape barreled toward him from the edge of his vision, one that he used both his feet to lift into the air and launch into the wall. There was a crack followed by a groan as the man stuck it. 

Silver flashed near his side, made him bring up the dagger to block the strike. Metal hit metal, echoed through the room and down the hall. Robin locked eyes with Erik for a split second before using his other hand drive his nails into the gash on his arm. Erik's eyes grew wide, face turned purple as he pulled away, the action itself tearing the hole wider. 

The one who'd hit the wall came back up, body still on the bed he'd fallen to. Fat, sweaty arms latched themselves around Robin' neck and squeezed tight. Air stopped its flow to his lungs, captured in his mouth. 

That was easily remedied. Robin's dagger jolted back again, that time hitting its target-- the stomach of the larger man. He didn't let go immediately, but stopped all other movements as the metal entered his body. As fast as he could, Robin twisted to the side, pulling the dagger with him. Blood poured onto his hand as he went too close to the skin, made the hilt of his weapon slip from his grasp.

Fine.

Out of the chokehold, he let go of his dagger in time to have the man fall forward, clutching at his gut to hold his insides in. Robin shifted toward the door, blocked Erik's way out.

One left.

Robin waited, weaponless, as Erik shifted his knife from one hand to the other. Both hands were covered in his blood. It'd be easy to knock the weapon away.

Instead of moving, Robin spoke."I could have sworn there were four of you. What happened to your friend?"

Erik snarled. "He's taking care of the old man."

"The old man? Do you mean Andragoras?" A laugh bubbled up in Robin's chest. He let it fly. "Oh, you poor fool. Andragoras was the one who taught me, and I still can't beat him in a match. He'll see that as an insult."

A small fleck of concern went across Erik's grimy face, only to dissolve to nothingness. "He wasn't the target."

"Who was? Me?" Robin pointed to himself. "I'm honored, but try harder next time."

The guard-turned-assassin shifted his weight. Robin did the same. Depending on the move, he'd either have to dodge or disarm.

"If you surrender now, you won't end up like your friends," Robin said. He didn't take an eye off Erik, but gestured toward the two. "It may be the better option."

That was the trick. Instead of running toward him, Erik shuffled. Left, right, right, then back to left, he looked like a crab trying to find water.

When he was within arm's reach, Robin flung out his leg in a kick, aiming for his middle section. Erik grabbed his foot after it hit and yanked up, sending Robin's balance backward. The prince fell, and as he did Erik dove on top of him, ready to sent the knife through him. There was a flurry of arms and legs. Each stab to his head Erik made, Robin knocked away or dodged. His breath came in short bursts, his legs unable to do anything to help him move under the weight of the guard.

One stab, he got lucky.

The knife missed his head by barely an inch, but shoved into the wooden floorboards. Erik didn't seem to notice it was stuck and brought his arm up as if it still sliced through air. The hilt came free from his hand for just long enough that Robin threw his hand at it, gripped it and tugged with all his might. The knife broke free, and he lunged forward the best he could.

Erik noticed the lack of his weapon a moment before it plunged into his chest. He scrambled back, the knife coming free from its new home in his chest. 

Robin stood, chest tight. Blood-- not his-- rolled down his arms, stained his shirt. The stared at the knife in his hands. Serrated edges, the point curved up at the end, it's intended purpose wasn't against people. 

Though, most knives weren't meant for that. 

The guard struggled off the ground, one hand pressed into his chest while the other pushed against the side of the bed to help him stand. His breaths came ragged, labored mixed with the harsh realization of what had happened. 

Robin took a few steps closer to him. Something burned in his stomach, something he didn't like. Yes, there was anger. Yes, Erik was the one who attacked. Gods knew he didn't like the man in the first place. 

He just hadn't killed anyone he knew the name of before. 

"Broke your promise, prince."  Erik spat. He straightened, though not without effort. Already, his hands and arm were coated in the new liquid. "Said you didn't kill."

The moment Robin stepped closer, he knew immediately it was too much. Erik's eyes flashed and he surged forward, arms out and ready to grab the prince, or the knife, or anything he could to damage Robin. It didn't work. With a fast motion, Robin turned his elbow out to catch the man in the gut, near the hole the knife made. 

A small sound came from Erik's mouth and started a new path to the floor. Before he hit, Robin grabbed him under his arms and twisted the man around so his back was against Robin's chest. One hand wrapped around his shoulder and neck, the other pressing the knife against the bottom, soft part of Erik's chin, the prince spoke. 

"I said I don't kill innocents, Erik. You are certainly not that."

The man shook. For a moment, Robin thought he would try to break free--

Then he laughed. It was long. Loud. Full of sharp gasps that came only from metal entering a body. 

The laugh of a man who lost. 

Robin tightened his grip. "I need to know who hired you, Erik."

"Like I'll tell you, bastard boy."

Robin believed him.

He pushed the knife up through the man's chin. Erik went limp immediately.

Robin almost wished the sick feeling of satisfaction would leave him. He did it, by himself, with no need for help from a guard.

But at the cost of three lives that knew why the Kallan was killed and why someone wanted him dead.

After Robin retrieved his dagger from the gut of the man with the sword, he made his way downstairs. The back of his mind pushed, reminded him of outside and the light. He prayed the guards had done nothing, and it was either morning or he'd underestimated the light of the moon. Still, flashes of fire were around every corner, screams in every creak from the staircase. 

He reached the bottom step. This wasn't Krativ. Nothing was. 

Nothing should ever be. 

Robin started to round the corner to the area he and Andragoras were in hours before. None of the rooms were open or looked like they'd been victim to anything more than a night's stay. He didn't even know if the captain ever went to a room in the first place. 

Any question he had was answered as he neared the corner. A sharp metal point found its place near his collarbone and pressed in enough that any slight movement from either side would pierce his skin. 

"It's me, Andragoras."

The sword lowered. "I apologize, highness." The captain stepped out from behind the corner. Flecks of blood stained his knuckles, though there were no scrapes. "I was just checking." 

Robin smiled a little, then looked around the man. The dining room was a mess, tables overturned, glass shattered on the ground. Small droplets of blood lay on the floor, but nothing like the mess Robin had made upstairs. In the center of the room, tied to a chair, was the youngest of the four 'guards,' his eyes shut, face swollen and bloody. 

"Is he dead?" Robin took a few steps closer to the new prisoner. He couldn't see any movement.

Andragoras raised an eyebrow. "No sir, I kept mine alive." He gave the blood covering Robin's body a pointed stare. "Unlike you, I suppose."

Yes. Unlike him.

"I had three at the same time."

"Pardon me for saying so, but you could have kept the last one living, at least."

Robin opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. The motion of sending the knife through Erik's head felt as if it was happening all over again.

"He wasn't going to tell us anything." The fireplace's flame sent a jolt through him. "Andragoras, outside, they mentioned burning--"

The captain was already shaking his head, arms crossed over his chest. "I've already checked. They were empty threats."

A flutter of relief worked it's way up in his chest, calmed his racing heart. The prince shut his eyes a moment, and when he opened them again he kept his gaze trained on the guard.

"Andragoras, please inform the innkeeper that he has a bit of a mess in the room on the end. He needn't worry about cleaning it, but please make sure he had enough monetary compensation to not investigate and forget we were here."

Andragoras was silent. Robin was sure he'd have a look of disapproval, which was the majority of the reason he didn't turn.

"And what will you do?"

A small sliver of fire worked its way up in the prince's gut.

"I'm going to conduct an interview."