Next was a mile away, another rapist, older and fatter. She loaded her hand crossbow. This one she did not want to touch. Nearing his usual haunt, she took to the roof, gazing into the shadows and scanning the alleys. She spotted him exiting alone, but intent on a young couple. She tracked the trio away from the lights and when the couple turned the corner she shot. The bolt went through the back of his head and stuck out his left eye. He fell in his tracks and she was gone again.

Barely midnight and four kills in. She appreciated how specific her client had been with the details on these marks. Sometimes all she got were names. Those could take a week to track down. These five she had located easily the night before and soon the last one would be dead. It was almost like cheating.

The fifth was the only challenge on the list. The rest had been scoundrels of the lowest order, two common murderers and two rapists. Men who committed violence for pleasure, brutal men with no cunning. The last was a thinking man, an organizer of lesser men. She had no doubt he had directed the other four, though she never asked what they had done.

He had a house in the higher part of town, and a couple guards. She watched them from the opposite roof, but they never looked up. She went back down the block and crossed the street. Gaining the roof again, she was perched above their heads in moments.

She waited a little longer and then climbed down to the windows. Slipping a wire between the wooden frames, she lifted the inner latch and climbed inside. He did not stir as she closed the window behind her. She had a hand over his mouth and her knife to his throat before she realized he was already dead.

The forest was dark, fog blanketing the ground, clouds covered the sky. The fire flickered between the trees, far off, but growing ever closer as he stalked towards the drunken bandits. They had stolen wine today and their laughter echoed painfully in the night. The closer he crept, the fewer night creatures kept him company. These men were a blemish on the forest, and it was time to remove it.

He paused outside the firelight, letting his eyes adjust. They were falling asleep now, sprawling on the ground in a stupor. Four men, all armed with swords and crossbows, useless now. The last one fell to snoring and Jakob struck.

Silent footsteps as he moved through the campsite, slitting throats with a whisper. Too drunk to even open their eyes, they bled out on the ground. He made a quick inventory of their loot and gathered their bulging purses. The wine was nearly gone and their weapons old and unremarkable. Kicking dirt over the remains of the fire, he set off, leaving the bodies to the hungry forest.

Weighed down with the stolen gold, he walked all night. Reports of these thieves had brought him out of his comfortable home in the city, but it was worth it. The forest brought wealthy merchants to the city and Jakob depended upon them arriving with goods intact. Broke and robbed customers did him no good. Most highway men knew better than to stray close to Himisch, and now more would hear the tales.

Jakob reached the city at dawn, slipping in through the sewer grate at the river. A good dousing woke him up and washed off the mud and leaves. Once home, he would have business to take care of. His shirt would need burned, one of the men had spurted blood onto his sleeve. He had plenty more, but next time he would be more careful.