A scarred man, his face hardened by years of battle, remained crouched in the shadows, waiting. A former mansion on the outskirts of the Western district of the city - this was the address his employer had given him. This was where his target was staying. He gave a low chuckle in his throat as he thought about how surprisingly easy it was to break in to.
The assassin knew his target would have hired somebody to protect him, due to the nature of what he carried, but he was hardly concerned. He had never been bested, especially not by some cocky mercenary hoping to earn a coin.
The door creaked open and a guard slipped through. The scarred man silently cursed his luck. The man was employed by the city, he could tell from the uniform. A city guard killed or missing would attract far more attention than a wandering adventurer or mercenary would.
Then again, a murdered nobleman would attract even more attention, the assassin thought with a grin.
The guard wandered about, searching for a killer he would never see. Assuming all was safe, he motioned for the others to enter.
Two more guards walked in, a nervous man between them. The crouched assassin licked his dry lips, wondering how he could kill three guards and the nobleman without endangering himself too much.
The first guard said something to the group and went through a door off to the right. The assassin recalled that door led to the kitchen. Good, he thought to himself with a grin, he'll be isolated from the fight.
The nobleman and his two guards went into what the assassin knew to be a study. He held his breath as the group passed by him, his trained muscles remaining perfectly still. The nobleman, as if sensing the presence of danger, glanced up and glanced around, a look of concern on his face. When he saw the two city guards flanking him, however, he was reassured. After all, who would attack him with city guards standing at the ready?
They left the door open carelessly, and the assassin crept over and peeked into the well-lit room, quickly glancing around. Books and papers were piled all around the room. The nobleman sat at a desk, hurriedly scribbling something down on a piece of paper. One of the guards was positioned at the end of a narrow corridor off to the side of where the fearful nobleman was sitting, facing away from the deadly assassin. The other guard stood at attention beside the man’s chair, idly staring off in the intruder’s direction.
He ducked back behind the doorway, hoping he was not spotted. After a short while, he dared move away from the doorway and look back into the room. The guard facing him seemed lost in his own world. The other guard occasionally stared over his shoulder at the obviously inexperienced guard, but quickly turned back. As soon as his back was turned, the assassin made a quick dash inside the room.
The inexperienced guard yelled out when he saw a man’s form dart into the room, but his yell ended in a gurgle of blood as a dagger came flying from the assassin's hand and into his throat. The guard clutched weakly at the dagger that had appeared, and crumpled to the ground without another word. The terrified nobleman screamed, and the guard across the room whipped around, drawing his sword as he turned. He crossed the room in an instant to engage the killer.
The assassin heard the sound of running feet enter the doorway, and he knew the guard from the other room had heard the commotion and come to investigate. Knowing it was only a matter of time before he was trapped, he drew his saber and remaining dagger, preparing to fight his way to his target.
The guard in front of the killer yelled out a warning as the other guard ran through the doorway, but the assassin was already prepared. Before the guard could react, the the scarred man stabbed him with his saber, a powerful strike that had the end of the sword extending out behind the impaled man. The guard crumpled over the assassin’s sword, and the victor let go of the weapon just in time to turn and parry the other guard's downward strike.
The guard pressed forward, trying to keep the assassin off-balance. His opponent, however, was too quick and too close, and he found himself scrambling to block his swift and precise attacks. Behind him, he heard the nobleman gathering up papers, preparing to flee. If only he could hold the assassin off long enough for the nobleman to be safe…
The guard felt a hot explosion in his side, and doubled over in pain. He heard his sword clatter on the floor, but he did not remember dropping it. He grabbed at his wound with trembling hands, desperately trying to stop the pain. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, his life-blood pouring out onto the ground. A shadow fell over him, but the guard was far removed from the room, from the nobleman, from the assassin.
Certain that the guard was grievously wounded, the victor turned his attention to the stunned nobleman huddled behind his desk, his arms overflowing with bundles of papers and scrolls. The scarred man sheathed his saber and followed the nobleman’s gaze to the guard squirming around on the floor.
“He will die soon,” the assassin answered the nobleman’s unspoken question. The nobleman’s attention snapped to the scarred man in front of him, his eyes wide with horror.
Laughing silently at the nobleman’s fear, he walked purposefully to the first guard he had killed. He dropped down on one knee and yanked the dagger free from the man’s throat. He hesitated for a moment before standing up again, admiring the beautiful craftsmanship of his most prized possession. He began a slow approach towards the terrified nobleman, who had stood up and began backing away towards the hallway.
“As will you.”
The nobleman looked around, a panicked look on his face as the assassin began his steady approach. He looked at the guards, noting grimly that the guard who was earlier squirming had fallen quite still. He looked down the hallway behind him. If he could make it down the hallway to the safe room, the nobleman knew, he would have a chance. His eyes bolted back to the dangerous killer in front of him, gradually closing the distance with his long strides. The nobleman understood that he likely wouldn’t outrun him, that the assassin would catch up to him quickly. Besides, the nobleman would need to leave the papers he was carrying behind. They were important documents that really should not fall into the hands of a murderer! The nobleman looked down at the beloved papers he held in his arms, the papers he would give his life for.
The nobleman stopped backing away and blinked at the papers in confusion, glancing up at the assassin every so often. He could have sworn he saw the papers turn red with blood. His own blood.
The nobleman dropped the papers and bolted for the hallway.
The scarred man stuck his dagger in his belt and rushed forward in pursuit. The nobleman ran down the hallway and stopped outside a sturdy wooden door. He swore as he fumbled with the handle and dug a hand into his pocket, pulling out a small key. Unfortunately, the assassin grabbed him from behind and threw him down to the floor. The key went tumbling away, and the nobleman stared into the face of death.
The nobleman scrambled away on all fours, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the scarred man. Following closely, the assassin drew his dagger.
The nobleman came out of the hallway and knew he was dead. The scarred man picked him up roughly by the collar of his shirt.
“Wh-why are y-you doing this?” the terrified nobleman asked.
The answer came in the form of his dagger tearing through the man’s heart. The killer let go of the nobleman, who slumped to the floor.
The last thing the nobleman saw were the papers he had once held turn red with his own blood.
The assassin walked over to where the wounded guard lay, curled up into a ball nearby. Crouching down, he heard the guard’s laboured breathing and knew he was still alive, if only barely. He may survive, the scarred man thought. His friends may be able to save him. He may live to tell them what happened. He may live to tell them of me. He may live to hunt me down…
He shoved those thoughts from his head before any could take root. No, he told himself, he will die on his own.
Forcing himself to leave the injured guard as he was, the assassin removed his saber from the eviscerated guard. Wiping the blade with a scrap of cloth, he strode confidently out onto the dark street and mentally applauded himself for a job well done.
The murderer continued walking until he was in his room at the inn. He heard the commotion down the street and knew the guards were around, searching for him. He was hardly worried, however. They would never catch him.
Or maybe they wouldn’t even survive the night, he thought with a grin as he stared out the window at a young guard standing alone in the middle of the alley below, waiting for his comrades to catch up. Yes, maybe they wouldn’t survive the night…
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