• Midnight Assassin

    No one saw the man as he treaded softly along the street, wearing clothes as dark as the night, easily blending into the shadows. No one saw the man stop when he reached the dark, looming form of the palace. There was no one to see him as he ascended the steps slowly, almost reverently. And there was no one to see him as the door opened at his touch.

    There was barely a creak as the door swung shut behind him. For a moment, he stood there, listening, watching; waiting for something unknown to leap out of the darkness. Shafts of pale moonlight shone through the clear windows set high in the walls, illuminating spots of the marble floor. Not a hair stirred, not a breath was heard. A minute passed before the man continued across the great floor. The moonlight defined his dark form as he passed through them, showing him like a series of still pictures to watchers – had there been any. His dark cloak brushed lightly against the cold marble and his leather boots gave no tell-tale squeak.

    The man steered himself towards the left, entering a long corridor of cold, grey stone. Wooden doors were set at regular intervals along its length and a spiral staircase waited at the end. Here, the man paused again, as if considering. Once more, everything was still, as if they were waiting with bated breath for the man’s next movement. When the man resumed walking, everything seemed to deflate, like they were breathing sighs of relief, or releasing tension.

    The man mounted the staircase, stepping lightly, wary of creaks in the wooden steps. There were none, and the man reached the next floor unchallenged by anyone. More doors confronted him, their wooden faces indifferent to what was happening, yet standing solidly against intruders. One door faced the man from across the corridor, almost defiantly, boldly boasting the gold plaque that hung on its front. The man fingered a small, sharp dagger in a sheath hanging from his belt. There was no going back now.

    His progress along this corridor was more cautious now. Each step the man took was deliberate. Each door he passed seemed to have watchers behind them. When he finally stopped in front of the gold plaque, it seemed the whole world had its eyes on him. The man placed his hand on the door’s handle and pushed down. Like the doors at the palace’s entrance, they swung open smoothly and with no sound. As the door opened, it revealed a spacious room with a four poster bed opposite the door. An open window was to the right and the room furnished with few and simple items. A figure was also revealed, a tall man, standing by the window, having seemingly watched the progress of his midnight visitor. The tall man was garbed similarly to the other man’s, with a face of one not afraid of death.

    For a moment, the two men stared at each other, neither moving nor even blinking. Then the shorter man of the two knelt on one knee and bowed his head, his long, black hair – so much like the other’s – almost obscuring his face. His left hand he placed on his dagger’s sheath and his right arm across his chest. For the first time since his arrival, the shorter man spoke, his voice soft and creeping like the night creature he was.

    “My lord, I have returned.”

    And the other man smiled, his white teeth bared. Light from the full moon outside was reflected clearly and brightly in the man’s eyes. The same light shone on the man’s teeth, revealing two fangs.


    Go to:Chapter 1