Jac Steele lifted the lid of the trapdoor and stared down into the pit from which he had earned his freedom only a few hours earlier. For a moment, he paused to consider his motivations. The past few days had been exceptionally difficult. The smuggler had been tortured physically and psychologically and only saved himself from that by promising to work for the man he’d come here to kill. It bore weighing the impact on one’s psyche before taking any brash actions.
Akiros, whose life Jac had worked so hard to spare, shifted from across the opening. Jac looked at him and his resolve hardened. There would never be a better chance. The torturous little witch down those earthen steps was already wounded. The Stag Lord was asleep and alone. A storm roared over the fort, drowning out sound. Jac and Akiros would kill the little, twisted bastard below, then steal their way back up and cut the Stag Lord’s throat in his sleep.
Jac nodded once at Akiros and dropped through the trapdoor. Akiros followed silently behind. Both men were ready to shed whatever blood would be needed to ensure their respective survival. Tonight, people would die.