That was a bit unsatisfactory. I would have liked to have heard her beg.
Then he had dragged her over to the window, his skin pressed against her bedclothes, at precisely the spot she might have stood if she’d heard something large—say, the size of a gryphon—land on her balcony. Then he pretended to let her go.
Predictably—Pah, these fools are so tediously predictable!—she had turned to run, and he had struck her down from behind with his new sculpture, a club carved into the exact likeness of a gryphon’s foreleg.
He opened the window now, so that the overwhelming body of evidence would be that it was open before she died. Then he stood over her unconscious body, and raised his club again.
As he brought it down in a punishing blow, regretting the necessity of doing this in the dark, he felt just a little bored. These Haighlei as a whole were just not interesting prey—the Kaled’a’in may have been sanctimonious, sickeningly sweet prigs, but at least they did something once in a while. The Haighlei just lined up like good little sheep for his knife. They didn’t even alter their habits when it was obvious who and what kinds of folk his targets were!
Well, they aren’t really important, he consoled himself with a grim smile, bringing the club down on the body with all of his strength. They aren‘t my real prey, anyway. They’re only tools. Their deaths are not the end, only the means. They’re only the stepping stones to my real goal, the ladder to reach my revenge.
Although—actually, this was turning out to be a little more interesting than he had thought it would. I’ve never actually beaten anyone to death before. Hmm. Fascinating. I didn‘t realize how much punishment a body could take and still breathe! He knew it could be done, of course; provided nothing like the spleen or the skull was injured, a great deal of injury could be inflicted in theory before the body was so broken that it literally bled to death from bruising. But he’d never actually witnessed such a thing.
In fact, he thought, beginning to feel some of that manic strength coming into his arm that only the best kills brought out in him, this is rather fun!
He wanted to giggle, but he kept his mirth well-contained as energy poured into him and the club felt as if it weighed no more than a straw. It rose and fell of its own accord, and he brought it down, over and over, harder and harder, the thudding of wood into flesh pounding in his ears like the thumping of his own heartbeat pounding with excitement and—
The club splintered. He heard the crack of the wood over the dull sound of the blow.
He stopped in mid-swing, immediately. He was too well-trained, and much too clever, to risk a final strike and leave behind even a single shred of evidence that it had not been the claw of a gryphon that had done the deed. Instead, he stood over the now-motionless body, breathing heavily, while he surveyed his handiwork as best he could by moonlight.
Quite impressive. He’d left the head intact except for the initial blow that had rendered her unconscious. For the rest—there was nothing to show that she had not been bludgeoned to death by the fisted claw of a gryphon. There were the cuts and tears in the skin that even a claw closed tightly could and would leave, and the telltale signs of the essentially bony nature of the “hand” that had beaten her. Virtually every bone in her torso had been smashed, however, and the stiff and structured Haighlei would assume that no human could do that.
Which will leave the obvious, of course. Skandranon.
Lady Linnay had been one of Lady Fanshane’s few friends, and had been one of the loudest in her insistence that Amberdrake was guilty and must be made to pay then and there. And as such, she became an obvious target for Kaled’a’in elimination.
Hadanelith grinned as he moved carefully away from the body. Somewhere nearby, Noyoki was capturing all of the potent energy released by this death, and channeling it into whatever project he had in mind. Kanshin waited above, with a rope-ladder, ready to spirit him off the balcony and across two rooftops. Noyoki would meet them both there, and use a bit more of that channeled energy to lift them down to the ground, noiselessly, and efficiently, putting them all in a garden cul-de-sac where Kanshin had concealed the servants’ livery they had worn earlier to move through the Palace grounds.
Of course, no one who was not a Palace servant would ever even think of wearing Palace livery—nor would the Spears of the Law consider that possibility. It was simply Not Done. Here, all crimes worked by ritual and custom!
Hadanelith backed up onto the balcony, glad for the first time of his pale skin, which blended into the stonework very nicely. Of course, Kanshin would have contrived to look like a shadow, but still—
Still, even he hasn’t got the audacity to do work like this in the nude. Even if this murder was discovered before they got off the Palace grounds, watchers would search in vain for bloodstained clothing. There wouldn’t be any. And one quick wash with the bucket of water that Kanshin had up there with the ladder would remove any trace of evidence from Hadanelith’s person.
I will never forget their faces when I told them how I planned to avoid getting blood on my clothing. And of course, for all but one of these old hags, the sight of a naked man in their rooms was shocking enough to stun them all by itself. They didn’t even think to scream until I’d made screaming impossible.
The only time he had worn anything had been this very afternoon, when he’d worn just a bit of Amberdrake’s stolen finery. He’d let his target struggle just enough to tear the clothing from his back in an artistic fashion.
That time he’d brought his change of livery with him, of course. And he’d cleaned himself up in the pool in the prey’s own little garden. Had anyone noticed a sign of blood there?
Probably not. But if they did, they’d assume it was Amberdrake cleaning up after himself.
That was the essence of making all of this work; attending to detail. With no bloody clothing to dispose of, that left one detail already taken care of. With no blood about, there was nothing for a mage to trace.
He would have to remind Noyoki to cleanse this club very thoroughly, though.
The rope-ladder dropped down from above, and Hadanelith grabbed it, clenching the end of the club between his teeth so that he could use both hands in climbing.
The night breeze felt very good, slipping along his skin like a caress. Was this how a gryphon felt when it flew? Was this how a gryphon felt when it made a good kill, and launched itself up into the vast dark vault of the night sky?
I should have been born a gryphon! he thought, laughing to himself, as he let his energy carry him up the ladder effortlessly. But no, not a gryphon. Tonight—I was better than a gryphon! Tonight—I was the ultimate predator, the killer of gryphons! Yes. Oh, yes. Tonight, I was makaar!