One pair of guards paused, striking flint to light a pipe, their backs turned to the wind, and to him. The other pair walked away. Blade slid off the wall, landed on the grass with a soft thud and sprinted for the smoke tree. Its lower branches offered many handholds, and he climbed swiftly into it as the second pair of guards passed below him.
The burst of movement made his heart pound, and his breath came quicker as he glanced up at the balcony. Now that he was committed, his nerves twanged and tension heightened his senses. This was the excitement that gave his life purpose, the only pleasure in his otherwise dull existence. Not the kill itself, but stalking his victim, becoming a shadow that could enter a man's house undetected, take his life and slip away again without raising the alarm. That was the challenge, a little different from his triumph in King Shandor's camp, but far more familiar.
As soon as the guards turned the corner he climbed higher, wary of snapping twigs or scraping bark that might give him away. He passed the balcony, the branches there too thin for him to reach it. Choosing a stout branch that overhung it several feet higher up, he crawled up it, gripping it between his legs and pulling himself up. Arriving above the balcony, he looked down, gauging the distance and danger of the drop. The trick was to land silently. For this, his slender frame and whipcord strength were well suited, and he dropped, only making a slight thud.
Blade froze, awaiting a reaction, if any, then approached the glazed doors that led to the bedroom. Although the night was warm, the doors were locked, and he studied the catch before groping in his bag for the appropriate tool. Inserting a flat steel instrument, he lifted the latch inside, then turned the handle and pushed the door open. There was a slight click, then it started to creak. He yanked it open and slipped into the dark interior.
Crouching beside the door, he mapped the room, noting the placement of the bed and its occupants. Lord Mordon slept on his back, snoring, while his plump wife lay with her back to him. What gave Blade a moment of alarm were the two ferrets curled at the lord's feet, sleeping as soundly as he, but far easier to awake. Frowning, he revised his plan, making a crucial change. Although the ferrets were harmless, they could raise the alarm, and if that happened his escape would be jeopardised.
The lord must then die soundlessly, so as not even to arouse his familiar. Only one ferret would be a familiar, the other was its mate. There had been times when Blade had been forced to deal with a familiar, but he disliked killing blameless animals and avoided it whenever possible. So long as Lord Mordon's ferret slept, he could let it live, but since it was an animal that normally had a short life span, it would perish shortly after its human friend.
Blade crawled towards the bed, his nerves jangling. The slight breeze blew his scent away from the ferrets, and his progress was silent. When he was halfway to his quarry, Lord Mordon grunted, sighed and shifted, and the assassin froze until he grew still once more. Reaching the side of the bed, Blade knelt and released a dagger, allowing it to slide into his hand. The man's arm lay at his side, protecting the spot under his armpit. Blade, however, had much experience in his profession, and that did not daunt him. Lord Mordon was used to sleeping with his wife, and his subconscious was trained to ignore the movements of his partner.
With a feather-light caress, Blade ran his fingers up the man's arm and slipped his hand between arm and ribs. Lord Mordon sighed and shifted, then rolled onto his side, trapping Blade's fingers. He extricated them, frowning. Sweat trickled down his chest and prickled his scalp, making it itch. One slip now, and he could be dead, but that was all part of the excitement, the danger that quickened his heart. Mordon's movement disturbed the ferrets, which squirmed and snuggled closer to each other. Blade waited for all to settle before moving closer again. Gently he grasped Mordon's wrist and pulled his arm forward, exposing the site on his flank. The lord grunted and pushed his hand under the pillow, exposing the target even more.
Blade raised the dagger, its tip poised just above his victim's flank, and thrust it in with a quick stab. Lord Mordon stiffened as his heart burst, the speed with which he died allowing him only the time to open his eyes and mouth, but no sound issued from his trembling lips. He never saw the masked assassin kneeling beside him. His eyes glazed and rolled up, and he went limp. None of the other occupants of the bed had awakened. Blade turned away, moving like a shadow back to the door. There he paused to close it behind him, using the steel tool to pull down the catch inside. Back on the balcony, he breathed more easily as the night air cooled him.
A pair of strolling guards passed beneath him, the scent of pipe smoke wafting up to him. As soon as they had their backs to him, Blade slid over the balcony and dropped to the ground, flattening himself in case they heard the thud of his landing and turned. They sauntered on, engrossed in their conversation. Blade sprinted to the wall and leapt up to haul himself over.
Out on the street, he leant against the wall and breathed deeply, allowing the tension leak out of him. He pulled off the clammy mask and rubbed his hair, glad to rid himself of the persistent itch the sweat had caused. He had done it again, slipped in and out of a man's house unseen and killed him in his bed without even waking his wife. Blade chuckled, drunk on his success and the immense relief that came with a job well done. When he had killed King Shandor he had been denied this wave of euphoria, for he had then been burdened with Prince Kerrion, whose presence had dampened his pleasure. He straightened, tossing back his hair as he revelled in the cool night air.
"You're good," he whispered. "The Invisible Assassin." He chuckled again.
Blade ambled through the deserted streets back to the palace, surprising the sleepy gate guards. By the time he reached his room, the first pink streaks of dawn brightened the sky. He stripped off his clothes and bathed in the tub of cold water he had ordered the day before, then climbed into bed.
Chapter Twelve
The Queen looked up from her breakfast when Chiana knocked and entered, signalling her to rise from her prostration. The advisor looked a little pale, and her soft eyes had a hunted look.
"What is it?" Minna asked.
"I have a report from Captain Redgard. Lord Mordon was assassinated last night."
"Really?" Minna nibbled on a cake. "So soon."
"You knew of it, then."
"I ordered it."
"And you sent Blade."
Minna's brows rose at Chiana's bold tone. "Who else?"
Chiana frowned down at her clasped hands, and the Queen pushed aside her plate. "You are upset, Chiana. Why?"
"You did not consult with me on this matter, My Queen. I am your chief advisor, and I would have advised you not to take this course of action."
"You know about the attempt on Prince Kerrion's life?"
Chiana nodded.
"Lord Mordon hired the assassin who was killed in the Prince's room. His act was treasonous, and had he gone to trial, he would have been executed anyway."
"Then you should have had him arrested, not assassinated."
"Come, come, Chiana. For trying to kill an enemy Prince? The people would have said that he was doing us all a favour." Minna frowned. "Are you so upset because I did not confide in you?"
"No, not entirely. I wish you had, but the choice is yours. I thought Lord Conash was to retire."
"Ah." Queen Minna-Satu smiled and sat back. "I see. You like him, and you fear for his safety."
"I hardly know him, My Queen."
"That is of no account, I know exactly how you feel."