More Questions in the Dark

Wanda looked at Johann and shrugged.

"You're right - perhaps it is very subtle or powerful magic, but I'll believe that when I see it. As for him," she casually waved at their prisoner, "I don't think he wants to talk anymore. I still think he'll be useful, though, so I'd recommend tying him to the bed whilst we investigate the office.

"Perhaps some time spent contemplating whatever it was that pulled his master's head from his body will help loosen the tongue and he can tell us where to go next."

Wanda turned as Harbul entered the room. She was relieved to see that he was alright. She hated to admit it, but having spent a few hours in the dark with these strangers had really put some perspective on her life - and she was starting to enjoy it.

You'll be an adventuress after all, she smiled to herself.

Wanda's Assumption

Wanda's heart leapt into her throat as she realised the implications of the man's last statement. She had not actually checked in with her companions as to how they came to be in here - she had completely forgotten that scarcely a few minutes ago, they had all been standing face to face with a room full of criminals, everyone pointing crossbows at everyone else!

So what had happened outside?

Leaving Johann to keep an eye on him, Wanda stepped away from the sullen Tilean and beckoned Kirsten to join her at the doorway to the boss' office. Kirsten carefully traced her steps around the office she was searching, careful not to disturb anything.

A quick discussion in hushed tones brought both women up to speed on each other's preceding twenty minutes. Yes, Wanda had used magic. Yes, she had also hit the man with the club - just in case. No, Kirsten and the party had not killed everyone - they had negotiated a deal. Yes, the men with the crossbows left as well. 

Yesterday, when the most life threatening thing that had ever happened to Wanda was falling from the door of her parent's carriage when she was nine, she would have been furious.

Today, however, having just faced almost certain death in the lonely dark of some underground hellhole, she accepted the news with equanimity.

She nodded her thanks to Kirsten.

So if our host is telling the truth, then the man who could identify the gem has just slipped our grasp - unless sleeping beauty here saw it?

Moving to Johann's side again, she gently pushed his sword arm so that the blade pressed deeper against the man's rough neck.

"The man you've just referred to isn't able to help us anymore, unfortunately. You're the boss' right hand, so you would have seen the stone. Describe it to me."

A Confession of Sorts

Wanda listened impatiently as the man responded to the varied questions the party put to him. It seemed to her that he wasn't nearly observant as he had originally seemed, something that reduced his already pitiful rank in the food chain to beyond negligible.

"Firstly, how much time has passed since the boss shut himself in there," she waved at the lavish office, "and told you to 'sort it'?"

"Secondly, who delivered the gem from the Schatzenheimers?"

"Finally, as you have now realised, I'm in the business of magic. Whilst I don't rule anything out, it is my professional opinion that magic has not been used to get into your boss' office. This suggests that either: you were negligent in your guard duty and someone snuck past you, you betrayed your boss and admitted his killer, or there is another way into your boss' office. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to your opinion of how the killers gained access?"

What Wanda Did

"Oh, thank heavens!" Wanda muttered, looking up as Malmir entered the room. The elf was emotionless as he took in the scene.

Wanda looked down to the big thug. "He's probably going to wake up any second, so I..."

Wanda's voice trailed off as saw the back of the elf leave the same way he had come.

What? What the hell?

"Malmir! Malmir! MALMIR!" she hissed fiercely as she clenched her teeth.

Shit. He's bloody gone and left! Wanda looked back down at the man, who uttered a low groan. Taking no chances, she cracked the club down on the back of his head, before shuffling away from the body to lean out through the door to see what that stupid elf found more important than helping a lady in distress.

Unable to quite reach the on her knees, she stood up, daring the downed brute to make a move or sound by brandishing her club in his general direction. Slowly, she backed towards the door. She turned to look out-

Lo! Here was Malmir again!

"What the bloody hell was that? Why'd you walk off like that?" she barked.

"You had it under control," he said in a stone voice. He gently pushed passed her into the room.

Furious, she spun to face him, her finger poised to support the fury that-hell-hath-not she was about to unleash, when the words sank in.

Under. Control.

"Wait! What do you..."

She blinked. Had she needed help? Don't be stupid, Wanda, of course you needed help! How many times have you ever been manhandled by some Tilean thug? 

That's right, dear - that was your first time.  

Yeah - but he lost and I won. 

But, her mind said calmly back to her, not because you had it under control. You were asking a question and you ended up casting sleep on him. 

Not so fast, she replied - he was going to attack me!

You weren't in control!

I was fine, thanks very much!

"I...you...you're damn right I had it under control!" she hissed viciously. The elf had closed the matter, leaving her standing there with her mouth opening and closing while her brain searched for words. That bloody elf!

Johann appeared next. He smiled down at her before offering her the opportunity to step aside. He was clearly amused, but she couldn't tell if it was sympathy for her with the emotionless elf, or an unusual gesture of respect for the scenario in the room - Wanda, one, thug, nil.

She stepped aside as he drew his sword, bumping into Kirsten, who had been quietly standing in the shadows. Kirsten squeezed her shoulder.

"Well done Wanda. Well done."

Having lost the target for her planned lashing of the tongue, she muttered through clenched teeth:

"One day, Kirsten, I'm going to punch that elf. Maybe not today, but one day..."

To Sleep

Wanda watched as the big man slumped against the wall, before sliding onto his knees, eventually coming to rest with his face on the floor and his rump in the air.

Shit! Shit, shit, shit! Wanda, what the hell did you just do?

She remembered yelling at the man, trying her damndest to stand up to him and do something to suggest that she knew what she was doing. What had obviously just happened is that in her rage, she had put the bloody criminal to sleep.

She wrung her hands, frantically hunting around the room. She picked up one of the blunt things from the table.

Her eyes glistened with malice as she brandished the club. If you make one move...

I need to tie him up. He must have had some rope. Or chain. Or something. She rummaged through the bed and the table of interesting implements.

He's got a belt, surely?

She reached under him, frantically hunting for his buckle, holding the club high in the other hand. She pulled roughly at the belt, causing him to roll over onto his side. Laying down the club, she gripped both his hands and tightened the belt around them until she had no strength left to pull, before buckling the thing.

She sat back, panting.

Now. Get some rope....

A deal at what price?

Before Wanda could even register the words he said, the man had grabbed her and nearly dragged her off her feet, bustling her into the bizarre little bedroom.

She saw red as she wrestled with the bulky Tilean. Overpowering her, he pulled her face close to his, his eyes boring through hers.

"Now you will tell me all you know with no omissions. I will know if you speak the truth and I will make it uncomfortable if you lie to me."

In a final, furious tug, Wanda wrenched away from him.

"What the hell are you playing at, man!" she spat, her voice husky with rage. "this is absolutely unnecessary! Now is not the time to be cracking up! You need to get a grip - I can help you, but I'm not beholden to you and I expect some civility!" Wanda caught herself pounding her finger against the mans chest.

She stepped back, still gesticulating angrily. "Your men need a leader. Your foreman has a crossbow to his chest and your own leader is missing his head. The lives of your men rest on you right now. You don't hold the cards you think you do, so tread carefully!"

"Here's what I know: the stone is cursed. We only have this evening to recover the stone. I don't know the exact reason for it, but the time limit I have is six hours. As a sorceress, I infer that the problem is related to the fact that the stone has been removed from whatever protective container it was in, causing those to be in contact with the stone to suffer from whatever the curse does to them.

"I now also know that there is someone else who is looking for this stone. Given that you don't appear to know how it is that your boss had his head taken off in the very recent past, I would suggest that this someone else is someone you and I need to respect, which is why this truce you're so graciously offering me is as critical to you as it is to me.

"By my calculations, we probably only have about three or four hours left to find that damn stone. I'll reiterate this point - I'm not interested in your loot. I don't care where you got it from, how you got it, or why. I just want the stone. The chances of you and your men dying are seriously reduced if you help me."

Wanda looked at the implements on the table. "Finally, just so you get it, the reason a magician is even gracing this shit hole with her presence is simply this - only someone skilled in the use of magic can do something about that stone. No one else should even touch it! As it stands, I'm not even sure I want to do something about it, but I'm the only one that can.

"So, why don't you do us all a favour, and tell me what you were trying to do? Why did your men take the stone? Why did you arrange a truce and then kill those men? Do you know who is trying to get it now, besides me?"

Headless!

Even as she stared into the eyes of the Tilean brute, Wanda's whole body was awash with relief.

In the short journey from the door to the boss' office, Wanda's stomach had been doing backflips - her throat and palate were as dry as a tomb. What the hell had she been thinking? The lives of her colleagues were in the balance, seemingly riding on her ability to convince a crime lord that he was in danger. The thought that she might fail had been the worst possible thing that would happen to her that night. You can't bullshit a bullshitter, she'd heard the servants say from time to time.

The ragged stump that now signalled the northernmost border of the boss' body meant that she wouldn't have to.

Her confidence came gently as the relief took hold. Having seen both dead bodies and living bodies die in less than an hour past, the sight of the murdered boss did little to shock her.

She shook her head and looked back into the room.

"No. we didn't do this."

Wanda turned to face the thug. "I presume this puts you in charge now. I think it would be prudent for us to check on the well being of our respective parties. For all we know, they could have by now suffered the same fate."

Wanda paused. What would she do if that had happened?

Relax, Wanda. Its only been a few minutes. And there are twelve of them. 

"Assuming they are well, then we can decide what to do next. I can't help feeling no further value can be derived from them holding each other up."

Headless!

Cautiously Wanda allowed herself to be escorted by the Head Tilean's henchman into what proved to be a rather small anti-chamber. A good trunk and bed lay to one side and what could best be described as a robust, butchers table to the other. Large blunt implements made to crush and inflict pain lay along side the more normal edged fair to be found in a hired killer's arsenal.

Ahead lay a strong oak door upon which the burly enforcer knocked in a comically genteel way. No answer came. After a brief pause the ruffian called to his boss, "Boss, Boss?" Again no reply came.

Deciding an investigation was warranted the brute forced open the door. Peering inside Wanda saw a well appointed room which lay in a deceptively tidy state. A tapestry depicting some vaguely remembered scene from Myrmidia's life hung on the back wall and to either side shelves staked with ledgers and well made chests rose from floor to ceiling. A desk made of some Lustrian hardwood filled the room, the ink wells and papers scattered across it's top showed that some disturbance had occurred. The rich Araby rug the desk stood upon was another matter, sprawled across the blood drenched weave lay a body that by the thugs actions could only be his now decapitated boss. Wanda had met the head, who was now headless.

The brute turned to look Wanda deep into her eyes, through an emotionless stare he spoke quietly, "did you do this?"

Making No Headway

Wanda shook her head.

I don't believe I'm going to do this.

She held the brick's gaze. "No. No showy displays. We respect magic. It is lack of respect for magic that got them into this position in the first place."

Wanda drew her dagger slowly, holding the other hand up in a gesture of peace.

Still looking at the bulky Tilean, she turned it so that she held it by its point, before passing it to Harbull.

"In the interests of getting this done, I'll come with you. As you can now see, I am unarmed." She slowly moved to stand in front of the broad shouldered thug. She looked back at the group.

"If you don't see me in twenty minutes, kill them all."

To Meet the Head?

Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive, Wanda thought. What would her mother say, seeing her standing here attempting to bargain with a criminal, her life and the lives of others all hanging in the balance?

Wanda brought her hands together slowly, holding them together in a prayer like fashion under her chin, as she considered the situation.

Could it be that easy?

A titanic struggle raged within her. All of her instincts screamed that death lay through that door.

But, what if it was true? Would they really just hand over the gem? They could, if they understood. Aren't they just simple criminals, after all? Flashes of a hot bath and a warm breakfast flashed through her mind. Her body almost willed the situation to be true - it would be so easy...

"...Someone we can afford to lose."

Kirsten's warning sliced through the silence, her intent almost palpable against Wanda's neck. Her hair stood on end as the whisper was followed by nervous rustling of the various occupants in the room, readjusting uncomfortable arms and racing hearts.

Wanda breathed deeply, slowly released the air in her lungs.

"Okay. It sounds like you're willing to talk - that's a good thing," she looked around the room. "For all of us here."

"As much as I would like to believe that I could go through to speak to the boss, explain the situation and recover the stone, I have to consider the reality that this is a room full of killers. Remember, the stone has come to be in your possession through the violation of trust. The trust you expect of me, therefore, is harder to come by. I think we both understand that there is some level of trust that must be found, as the stone is indiscriminate with its victims, but I have no faith that my required outcome will result if I were to simply go through that door alone.

"So I propose this: I will go with you to speak to the boss. But, all of your men here relinquish their weapons to my colleagues. That way, each of us holds a token of trust of the other. You will have me, and the ability to dispose of the stone." Wanda looked at the crossbow armed Tileans and the various carts, crates and sacks. "We will have your men and the fruits of your labour."

Wanda fixed her gaze on the leader. "We can negotiate our safe exit with the stone and your return to business as usual when I return safely."

A Bold Plan

"There's no value in invoking Ranald's name here - he cannot help you against curse you've unleashed."

Wanda stepped forward, sheathing the dagger. She held her hands wide, away from her belt, trying to broadcast that she had no plans of hostility.

"Firstly, it feels prudent for me to apologise about Daddo and his men. Their loyalty to you is - was - commendable, in that they could not be reasoned with and were dedicated to the task they were given. We... did what we had to do."

"We are not interested in your contraband," Wanda waved at the boxes. "That has nothing to do with us. But you do have a gem that doesn't belong to you. That is the item upon which the curse I refer to has been pronounced.

"I know that you attacked a band of men who were tasked with keeping the gem for our employer. We discovered their bodies earlier this evening. Their death was not enough to cover your tracks, unfortunately. You attacked them under a flag of truce and I know you saw the condition they were in. It was only a matter of days for them before they ended up as weak as they were. Did you see the arm? How long do you think you have?"

Without waiting for an answer, Wanda continued. "It seems patently obvious to me that you are not equipped to look after that gem. For your safety, and ours, could I ask that you leave the gem on the floor," she pointed at an open location on the floor halfway between the two opposing parties, "preferably still in whatever container you currently have it in, and allow us to secure it?"

Wanda stared into the well dressed man's eyes. "I cannot emphasise enough how little you know about that stone and the curse on it."

A Hive of Activity

Wanda nodded to Kirsten. "She's right, unfortunately - we're unlikely to pass as members of their fraternity."

Looking at the other members, Wanda shrugged. "I don't really like the idea of barging in there and holding them up, but I don't have any better ideas. We do have the initiative and I think its highly likely that we could force a surrender.

"I hate to say it, but if you need to prove a point, it would be better to force a surrender by shooting one of the workers than shooting the leader. We still know nothing about that gem and its whereabouts."

Deeper and Down

"What if there are thirty of them? No plan we concoct here could deal with that. You're gambling with your life for a hundred crowns. I don't mind trying to pretend I'm someone I'm not, but I still think that without scouting ahead, we have no idea what we're getting in to.

"If, once we've worked out that we can handle whoever is down there, we decide that Harbull and I should present ourselves - a highly unlikely story, by the way - then I'll gladly do so.

"So, if no one else wants to scout, I'll bloody do it. I'm not going in there unprepared if I don't have to!"

Deeper and Down

Wanda lifted the lantern, shedding bright light onto Malmir's face.  

No expression. Could he be serious?

"Not being in the business of combat or crime, I wouldn't know, but I can't help thinking that brazenly walking into a well lit room full of criminals dilligently going about their business, without knowing how many there are and not having any plan of defense or escape in place, would result in the instant and painful demise of those doing the walking in.

"This room is a defensible position. All of you are now equipped with missile weapons, which should provide suitable suppression down that corridor." Wanda pointed to the door ahead them. "And we have an established escape route. My suggestion would be that someone," she locked eyes with Malmir, before glancing at Kirsten, "should try and see what's in that room. If they are detected, they flee up the corridor to this room, where we make a stand. If they are not detected, but can determine what we face, then we are in an altogether superior position. Should we need to flee, we can barricade this door."

Wanda's voice softened. She looked down at the body Werner hacked apart. "Also, I'm not so sure how much killing we should be undertaking. We don't know these peoples' stories..."

Deadly Quiet

No rest for the weary, Wanda thought as Werner made his way over with the lantern.

Taking the device, she held it away as she coughed one final time, spitting what she could into a corner. It wasn't very lady-like, but, unlike Werner, she wasn't prepared to experiment with any of the drinks in the room, and there was no alternative.

Another thing the wise adventurer always has, she realised. Always carry rope. And now, always carry water. Come to think of it, always carry lantern oil too.

Wanda moved over to Harbull. She'd heard Kirsten's plan, but could contribute nothing other than a nod of affirmation and the implicit offer of carrying the lantern.

Murder in the Dark

Seconds.

The whole thing took seconds. What, about seventy five or so years of life for the three of them together? Snuffed in less than seventy five seconds.

She stared down at the head, the dead man's open eyes still glinting in the flickering light. Dark blood spread evenly beneath it, light catching the pulsing of the liquid as it spurted unevenly.

Slowly, she lowered her hand from her mouth, placing it on her clammy neck.

"Oh," she said, closing her eyes. Dizziness came.

She swallowed. Failing, she swallowed again. Don't!

She opened her eyes again, focussing on Johann. He stood, panting. It was almost as if the heat in the room pulsed with his ragged intake of breath.

Her ears pounded, the sudden silence deafening.

Another attempt to swallow. Her throat was sore now. Nothing yet.

She felt Harbull leave her side. She closed her eyes again. The dizziness was still there. She reached out, clutching at the wall, her hand finding purchase on grainy brick. The dagger scraped against the wall, held in place by her weight leaning in, not by her open hand.

The image of the knife snicking Johann's face open flashed through her mind at that damning scrape.

You know what's coming. Put the knife away. Be safe, right?

Straghtening up, she turned the dagger in her hand, placing it slowly in its sheath. Slowly, she swallowed.

"Oh," she mumbled again. Lifting her hand from her neck, she swept her hair back, trying to cool down. She loosened her collar, fanning her moist skin. Moving away from the wall, Wanda walked towards the table and Kirsten. The dizziness was fading, - she was okay. Maybe she'd get through this after all.

Kirsten's slender figure straightened in the dark. Wanda heard the grunt as Kirsten struggled to wrench her blade free.

The grunt was fine.

It was the rasping gurgle of a dying man that brought the dizziness again. All the heat, all the sweat, all the noise, all the silence - all rushed in to claim her.

Swallow, dear! Swallow!

"I'm sorry," she gasped, before placing her hands on her knees and vomiting up all of the evil and violence she had just been exposed to. The man's head. Johann's blade hacking through his neck. Kirsten. Her foot resting on a dead man's face. She was covered in blood. Werner, covered in blood. The mangled corpses elsewhere in the sewer. The diseased man. With one arm. The other, separated from him like Johann just separated that man's head from his body.

She coughed and coughed, spluttering all of the asylum's vitriol from her body onto the floor.

...done.

So she had seen murder done. It seemed only one stepping stone remained on the dark path of the adventuress: she, too, must one day part a man's spirit from his body. But could she?

The Coiled Spring

By the time Wanda had registered what was happening, she was alone in the dark. She had watched Kirsten step back and fire - that action had happened quickly.

But then, she lost track of proceedings as the frantic scuffling took place. First Malmir: the elf surged forward, bow raised. It looked like he shot through the door, but Wanda didn't see the arrow.

Then: Johann. Shouting - his adrenaline made vocal. Silence shattered as his desperate battle cry reverberated down the corridor.

Werner lunged forth. Darkness fell suddenly, as he lobbed the glowing torch into the room, before following it himself, nearly bowling little Harbull over in his charge.

Wanda noticed Harbull's silhouette up at the door. Cries from within assaulted her senses as she staggered forwards in the darkness. Was the torch on the floor? The room seemed to be lit - just go to the light, Wanda. Don't be left out here.

She bumped into Harbull. Reaching down, she clutched his shoulder. It was a maternal grip - that of a mother restraining her child. With her other hand, she set down the troublesome lantern and drew her dagger. Point up or down, she wondered?

Down.

She turned the blade in her hand, enabling strong, downward stabbing. If it came to it, she felt that it would be easier to kill... repulse an attacker that way.

Kill. That thought chilled her to her very core.

Tonight, in that little room, someone would die.

Awkward!

Wanda ducked before she could help herself. It was only as she hunched down that she remembered that she desperately did not want the hem of her skirt (or anything else, for that matter) to make contact with the glistening mystery of the sewer's floor.

Granted, her clothing was already dishevelled and stained from her last encounter with the floor, but that cold stone had nothing on the disturbingly soft slop upon which she now found herself.

On the up-side, she acknowledged a new sensation: exhilaration. Of course, hearing the voices up ahead and the sudden hush of the elf had frozen her heart in her chest and left her stomach in her throat, but now she had seen a man die. She was just more prepared.

Not that there was much she could contribute - any upcoming action would be down to the burly shapes hunched before her. Although... she had her dagger...

Honour Among Thieves: Wanda's (Shallow) Well of Patience

Wanda clucked in frustration as the poor man coughed up the last of his life. Damn it! The simpering fool couldn't stay alive long enough to do the decent thing and answer the blasted questions!

She clenched her fists. So many unanswered questions. Fine - so the one-armed bandit in the other room remained unidentified. What had happened? Had he tried to cut his own arm off? Did someone else do it out of fear? She hadn't seen the corpse, but Malmir's telling of the tale didn't suggest that the man had been forced into surrendering his arm. Who was he? What was his name?

A thrill of resentment ran through her as the elf wiped his boot against the dead man. She was angry with dead man, but what gave the bloody elf the right to demean him so?

Only...humans... could do that.

She shivered at the implications of that thought. If it was one of the others, that would have been fine. But no the elf! Arrogant sod! She spun around, expressing her distaste with a cold shoulder and stared at the puddle of oil, the merry little flame dancing, oblivious to the fate of those in the room and it's own, inevitable fate.

And then there was the whole problem of this cursed gem. How were they supposed to move it? The box didn't appear to be magical. There was also this six hour limit Oldenhaller had described. when did that kick in? How long had they been down here? If what the man said had been true, then even mere contact with the gem would...well, what? What would it do? She wasn't sure. The fool had died before she could work out what had happened to the arm. Damn! Damn! Damn!

What's this? Werner appeared out of nowhere and thrust a crossbow at her. "Here, " he started, pointing to the device. He started explaining it, the trigger, the quarrel and how it fired.

She closed her eyes and sighed, wishing for some deep well of inner peace and patience. No doubt his intentions were good. After all, all she had was a knife. The truth was that she was out of her depth with this sort of thing. Magical education included a large part of learning about risk analysis. Don't play with fire unless you understand fire. Simply put, she stood more chance of shooting one of the members of the party than anyone else she came across.

She waited impatiently for him to explain, before taking the crossbow. He stooped down to remove a belt from one of the bodies - something to do with the crossbow, he had said - before he reached back and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she said absently, passing the crossbow (and belt) directly to Kirsten. "I believe you asked for this?"

Wanda made eye contact with Kirsten as she passed, each with a raised eyebrow, before Wanda rolled her eyes.

Kirsten understood: Men!

An Offer of Help: Wanda Simmers in the Darkness

Wanda couldn't help but wonder at Kirsten's grace and agility. Even as she lay crumpled against the floor, Kirsten had rolled onto her feet, hinted at an apology, and gripped the older woman's hand to pull her into a sitting position.

And where Wanda was left feeling like an old woman, her hip and ribcage protesting bitterly at their recent treatment, Kirsten's body expressed nothing but youthful vigour. One minute a swift saviour - the next a sensuous silhouette. Wanda groaned to her feet, unnoticed in the enticing pageant.

In that instant, Wanda couldn't help but feel sorry for Kirsten. What had happened in her life that she had these abilities? Needed these abilities? How many times had she sought cover in the dirty dampness of dark stone floors in order to avoid death or pain? How was it that Wanda had been able to live a safe and relatively care-free life she had lived, whilst Kirsten was required to employ her womanly wiles just in order to get ahead? It was evident to Wanda that she had done just this sort of thing before - the girl knew what she was doing. Switching from blade to beauty to blade again. So young, too.

Wanda shook her head.

Taking in the scene, she noticed that Werner had started preparing some torches, whilst Malmir checked the crossbow.

Her eyes came to rest on the wounded gangster. Her sympathy for Kirsten evaporated slowly as another, unknown feeling came. Shame? She was surprised at how, even now, the wounded sod's opinion counted for so much. Slapstick was the word he had used. Bastard! Her jaw set as she appreciated the justice of the situation. It was absolutely right that she was alive and standing and he lay bleeding on the floor.

Rage - that was a more familiar feeling. How dare he put her through the stress of all this carnage, fire a crossbow at her and then have the audacity to call her slapstick, even as he lay dying? In fact, he was bloody lucky he knew something useful. Well, supposedly knew something useful - because, if he didn't, the whole party wouldn't be able to stop her kicking the idiot to death.

Which raised an interesting question. What would they do with him if Harbul was able to prevent his death? Would they let him go? Would they take him with?

Would they kill him?