Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(44)

And that was a good lesson to have.

But it wasn’t better than learning how to become good at slight of hand. That had taken him no time at all to get the hang of, and having the lessons since the time he was a lad, he rarely got caught anymore.

That had ended this day.

There weren’t many people about, not that he could see, but that didn’t stop him from perusing what he could, and after he had looted everything his pockets could carry, Kyrnon had started back the way he came, determined to get home and share the wealth, but just as he reached the tree line, his gaze had shifted to the building that wasn’t too far off.

Kyrnon still wasn’t sure what he thought was inside—he doubted anything better than what he had already confiscated—but even still, he started for it.

It was supposed to be easy.

Just a way to appease his curiosity, but it had become much more than that very fast.

He didn’t realize until he was much closer and could hear the voices echoing from the windows that this place was where everyone had to be.

Two men were seated outside, one wearing a sweat-stained and slightly dirty shirt with a hat atop his head, and the other was shirtless, wearing a pair of trousers with a hole ripped in the knee.

As usual, once their eyes shifted to him, their lips curled in distaste, but the one wearing the hat was the first to give a sardonic smile. “If it isn’t one of the little tinkers from across the way.”

His friend laughed. “Probably lost, the eejit.”

“Oy!” Kyrnon snapped, that temper of his creeping up so fast that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Mind yer words before I show ye what this tinker’s fists will do to yer face.”

It was one thing to go up against the men in his camp—they never went too far, and should they ever find a need to teach him a lesson, it never went further than wounding his pride. These fellas … they didn’t believe in that.

“Let’s see ye do something about it, laddie,” the one wearing the hat said as he got to his feet, pudgy face ruddy with rage.

Kyrnon didn’t think, just swung, putting enough force behind the hit that he sent the man back a few steps, reeling at the contact.

That first punch always felt the best, the way he could feel the power behind it, and the slight pain of bone meeting bone. He had grown to love that ache, feeling more confident with each hit to know that the next time he threw one, it would be easier.

But despite the thrill he felt, the other men weren’t nearly as happy, and that first punch lit the flame.

Soon, he was facing off against the pair, holding his own despite the fact that between the pair of them, they had at least a hundred pounds on him. Kyrnon was light on his feet, easily moving out of reach, but as he attempted to duck the punch of one, another grabbed the pocket of his trousers, flinging the contents out onto the ground around them.

That was also the moment when the doors flung open, a number of men spilling out, a bloodied lad in the center of them. He could hardly stand on his own two feet, and hit the dirt hard when there was no longer anyone supporting him.

And all too soon, it was Kyrnon that was the focus of their attention.

Two against one, he’d liked his odds, but with this many … he knew he needed to get the hell out of there.

The hat guy reached down, picking up one of the necklaces that had slipped from Kyrnon’s pocket onto the dirt between them.

“What’s this here?” One of the newcomers asked, his tone carefully controlled.

This man seemed to be at the center of them all—the leader if Kyrnon had to guess. He was taller than most, though rail-thin, and dark eyes that looked unforgiving.

“The tinker’s a thief,” The Hat said, his lip already puffy and bleeding.

“Is that so?” His eyes tuned on Kyrnon, assessing, gauging, and whatever he saw made the corner of his mouth quirk up. “Do ye know what we do to thieves around here, tinker? They fight in our games until their debt is paid off—and look here,” he gestured around them toward everything Kyrnon had taken. “Yer debt is worth thousands.”

Tapping his fingers against his leg, Kyrnon considered his options.

He was dangerously out-numbered, though that had never stopped him before. This time, however, he was nervous, not because he couldn’t take a beating, but because he didn’t understand what had caused the lad on the ground to pass out.

He could guess … his face was bloodied and bruised, and what little wasn’t covered by his clothes was the same. The lad looked like he had garnered one hell of a beating.

Looking down at him, Kyrnon wasn’t sure if he was still breathing …

“It’s all there,” Kyrnon said, keeping his distance, knowing that this wasn’t a fight he would see the end of. “I’ll be on my way. No harm done.”

“That’s not good enough.”

And it wouldn’t be, he was soon realizing.

The man didn’t look appeased in the slightest, and if he were being honest, the man looked like he already set his mind on dragging Kyrnon into that place at his back to do whatever he requested.

Fight or flight, he thought in that moment.

And that was how he found himself taking off down the road, trying to ignore the sound of pounding feet behind him as the men chased him down.

His mother had warned him not to go past the trees.