Swathed in black, Sorcha crept along the wall. Her target was in sight, a young, black haired man pacing, visible through the large window.
- What an idiot! - the assassin thought. - Anyone could kill him through the window! - But her target was not to kill him; he had too many precious secrets. Her employers wanted him alive, which was why they had hired her instead of some second-rate assassin. She had to capture the King and bring him back to her un-named employers for... questioning.
- Questioning, ha! - Sorcha thought, dropping silently off the wall into a small courtyard. - We all know it's torture! -
Gliding over to the base of the castle wall, Sorcha looked up at its vine-covered length. - This is almost too easy! - She crowed to herself, a nagging seed of warning in the back of her head. Shedding her cloak - stolen from the King's most powerful rival - below the window, Sorcha glanced around for the easiest way up the wall. Hearing booted footsteps on the walk behind her, Sorcha whirled as a male voice exclaimed, "You! What are you doing here?"
Quick as lightning, Sorcha flew forward, her hooked dagger pressing against the man's abdomen as she wrapped a dark hand around his neck. "If you say a word, I'll gut you," Sorcha hissed into his ear. Frozen in terror, the poor servant could only nod.
Glancing up at the all-too-obvious window, Sorcha paused as an idea struck her. "What do you do here?" she demanded "And speak quietly."
"I'm - I'm a clothes washer," he stuttered.
"Where are the servant's clothing?"
"First bin to the right, first room down this path. Can - can I go free now?"
Pursing her lips in thought, Sorcha drew her knife across his belly. With a startled gasp, the unfortunate servant fell to the ground. - He'll be dead in a few minutes - Sorcha thought, turning towards the washing room. Now to just find a uniform that fit.
~*~
Garbed in the red and gold of a King's servant, Sorcha glided down the plush hallway, a tray with drugged wine on her upturned hand. Nodding and smiling slightly to the other servants she passed, Sorcha knocked thrice at the ornately carved door.
"Come in." The deep male voice issued from beyond the door. Pushing it gently open, Sorcha curtsied as best she could with one had balancing the tray.
"Some soothing wine, Your Grace. Your Lady wife thought you might need it."
"Ah, yes. She would say that." He said, taking the wine and swirling it idly. "I don't recognize you, where were you hired?" he asked, looking intently at her. Ducking her head, Sorcha answered deferentially, "M'lady hired me just recently. Until now she was teaching me."
"What's your name?"
"Altrossa, if it pleases Your Grace."
"So, Altrossa, what were you before Mistress Hanne hired you?"
"I served Lord Dinar. He was... cruel, so I left and came here. It is a great honor to serve here."
He chuckled. "Yes, they all say that, don't they?" he murmured. Turning away from me, he sat down. "Don't leave yet," he said, catching me halfway to the door. "I might need you to carry a message."
Curtsying again, I stationed myself near the door, watching him intently through my eyelashes. Something didn't feel right about this.
Setting the glass of drugged wine on his desk, the young king picked up his pen and began drafting something. I watched him for several minutes, but he never made a move to drink the wine.
- This isn't working, - Sorcha thought. - I have to be out of here in two hours, with the king. -
Waiting as long as her finely strung nerves would allow, Sorcha finally let the handle of her dagger, also drugged, fall into her hand. Gliding towards the king on silent feet, Sorcha leapt and plunged her dagger into his arm.
And kept going.
The dagger fell through the illusion as it shimmered and disappeared. Recovering swiftly, Sorcha gripped the dagger and spun, positioning herself beside the window. Illusions she hadn't felt spun all over the room faded, revealing the real king, a mage, and several guards.
Falling into herself, Sorcha drew on her magic, magic acquired and strengthened by the blood of her victims. Throwing up a blood magic shield, Sorcha waited, her dagger dangling loosely from her hand, a cocky smile on her face.
"So, here's our assassin," the king said, calmly, approaching her. "It appears our... informant was correct." Behind him, the mage closed her eyes, an expression of concentration appearing on her face. Sorcha felt a strange jerk, a feeling of someone else holding her magic.
"Wha...?" Sorcha exclaimed weakly. Drawing out more magic, preparing to throw a killing bold, Sorcha felt magic-induced pain wrack her body. Dropping the dagger, Sorcha clutched her chest and felt her shields weaken. Suddenly she jerked and collapsed. The mage had drawn her arm back sharply, yanking Sorcha's blood magic away from her, killing her.
"And there we have it, " the mage murmured, looking at the body on the floor. "The 'mighty' assassin has fallen, and through a simple removal of her life-sustaining magics. She never should have lived this long anyway. As she turned away, the spirit of the dead assassin drifted away from its old body and attached itself to its magic, to the mage. Faint, ghostly words hung unsaid on the air.
"I shall have my revenge."
Second term, Gr. 9, 2004?