King Slayers - Prologue Pt 2

Part 1 here: https://www.minds.com/CodenameWraith/blog/king-slayers-prologue-pt-1-1215385663093137408

Despite the chaos at the academy, there was an eerie silence spread through the rest of Tragondor. Most folk were asleep in their beds, their homes lit by the pale light of the waxing moon rather than a towering inferno, and those few who awoke in the commotion dared not venture outside.

Most of the city watch had been diverted to the battle, assisting the Knights of the Crown or holding the nearby perimeter. Free of the obstacle the guards would normally have posed, the assassin moved swiftly.

            As the king’s soldiers attacked the academy itself, several practiced killers like him were assigned to track down and eliminate mages who resided elsewhere in Tragondor. It was a dangerous mission, and the assassin felt ready for this test of his skill, despite the part of him that feared the power with which his mark may confront him. Offering some small reassurance was the strange black crystal he had been given ‘for his protection’, gently humming with energy from its place in his pocket. 

            Further troubling, however, was the nagging thought that the guild would surely expel him if they got wind of his side work. But thus far, he had successfully kept them in the dark.

            He soon found his way to the target’s home, and tried the front door. It was locked, as he expected. He withdrew his short sword from his belt and mule-kicked the door, tearing the bolt lock out of place. Weapon at the ready, he stepped through the opening.

            Inside was a small space; a bench sat adjacent to the front door, and across from that a fireplace within a seating area. Further in, a kitchen with a dinner table was flanked by a staircase leading to the upper level.

            The assassin crept up the stairs, sword still at the ready, and found himself on a landing lightly decorated with a single rug and a few potted plants next to a window. Several doors stood across from him, but before he could consider which to open first, the sound of creaking hinges drew his attention. 

 A door closed. He strode forward, kicking it open, and a dagger flew toward him, which he instinctively dodged. Again the knife lunged, and this time he parried, grabbing his attacker’s wrist and pressing his sword to the neck, pinning the assailant against a wardrobe. Finally able to observe rather than react, he found his attacker to be a woman, her long brown hair in a tattered mess, wearing a nightgown that fluttered with her frantic breathing. Her blue eyes held firmly open and strained with fury at the sight of him.

            “Where is the wizard?” he asked her, pressing his blade forward until small droplets of blood began trickling from her neck. She said nothing, continuing to stare back at him in wordless hate, and the assassin felt from her a drive to murder that far surpassed his own. For a fraction of an instant, he faltered before her, at which the woman seized her opportunity. She pushed the sword away from her throat and drove her thumb into his right eye. The assassin recoiled, screaming in pain as a hand instinctively moved to clutch his face. The woman bent down to retrieve her lost dagger, but the assassin swung his leg forward. The kick sent her backward, her head slamming into the wardrobe behind her before she fell dazed to the floor. Enraged, the assassin grabbed her by the neck, turned her over, and drove his sword into her chest. The woman froze in place and gasped. Blood pooled around the blade and dripped to the floor as her breathing slowed, and in moments the assassin watched the light fade from her once-bright blue eyes. 

            Unmoved by the sight, the assassin withdrew his sword, wiping the bloodied blade on her gown. Cursing at the throbbing, painful mess of the eye that was now useless to him, he searched through cabinets and drawers in the bedroom, looking for something with which to bandage himself. He knew he could not continue in this condition, hating himself for allowing the woman to injure him so. 

            But his attention for his pain and frustration evaporated when a noise from the other room called to him. It was one he had not expected to hear this night; one that nothing had readied him for. It was a sullen noise that sharply contrasted - yet gave good reason for - the silent rage with which the woman had faced him.

            He left the bedroom and the dead woman, and the noise grew louder as he crossed the hall to another room. Within a blanket-lined pinewood crib, he found the source of the second commotion he had caused: a crying infant.