Ficlets

“There is no honour in this, my master.”

Randolph spoke from his knees, but the defiance in his voice was evident as though he were stood to his full six feet. Eyes cast down, he did not see the smirk on his master’s face, reveling in the inevitable rebellion of the student. Randolph waited, trusting to his recent successes and services rendered, hoping that he might speak his mind when it mattered and influence the old man, even a little.

The old man reached up slowly and cast his hood from his head, allowing the shock of white hair to catch the flickering candlelight, clearly making ready to speak, but delaying for as long as he might, testing the resolve of his protegé. Putting a crooked finger to the side of his face he drew in a long, lingering breath and then finally answered;

“Honour is not why we are here, Randolph. Have you forgotten? We are here to bring about the defeat of the Church of Rome and nothing more, or less come to that.”

Randolph shook his head and rose to stand before his master…