For Whom the Bell Tolls

A knife in the dark

Chapter 2: For Whom The Bell Tolls
“I know your heart seeks vengeance, but sometimes you need to listen to your mind not your heart.” Upon saying those words, Xekai Akaso, otherwise known as Death’s Chimes, enshrouded himself in shadows casting a simple blend spell.  He left the gawking mercenary and stole away into the moonless streets of Kroywen, welcoming the inky blackness of the witching hour as an old friend. His footsteps were as silent as the death he brought. The night seemed to tremble at his passing. Light cowered at his invisible approach and the wind, a gentle breath, shied away. The stray dogs fled back into the alleys from which they came. The old blind man on the corner of the main road felt in his bones that a sinister presence prowled the avenues. A group of gamblers paused in the throwing of their knucklebones to shudder at his eerie passing. To them, it felt as if a freezing hand took the backs of their neck in its icy grip. The immense oak gates to the city creaked open, and he strode out into the dense temperate woodlands of Acirema with nothing but the gentle chime of bells to herald his advance.
The wilderness of the land was thick with oaks and maples, their thick trunks providing homes for many creatures. The night covered the forests with a thick blanket of darkness that muffled all sound and obscured the keenest eye. The night welcomed Xekai’s eyes though. His vision was perfect in the near blackness. 
“Come, Shadowhidden.” He muttered and a pitch black stallion materialized on the road next to him.  The steed’s eyes were a vivid plum and a dusky mist swirled elegantly around it. Xekai mounted the horse fluidly and stated where the target was. The stallion whinnied in response and took off in full gallop, its hooves not even clattering on the cobbled path. 
The assassin exulted in the cool night whipping by him, soothing his skin and filling him with a sense of freedom.  He inhaled the crisp air, reveling in the silence, the stillness, the foreboding of it all. Death was his song and he sang the silent chords of murder. He was the conductor of a soundless symphony, the maestro of a mute orchestra. That melody, when it was rarely heard, was gentle, almost tender in its nature. 
The assassination target was a pompous noble who dwelled within a large estate. At this hour, as most nobles were, he was asleep as were many of his guards. The window to the master bedroom was open to cool the room from the hot summer day. Xekai almost laughed. The man was too much of a fool, this would be easy.  He brought Shadowhidden to a halt, the dismounted causing the steed to dissipate in an ominous black mist. 
He crept silently along the forest floor, taking surgically placed steps as not to disturb any leaves on the ground. The wind gently whispered in his ear. It spoke of what would come of this night.  It told of the blood that would stain the lord’s carpets with the reddest wine the reaper drank.
Death whispered in the air as he scaled a nearby tree with the greatest of ease. He leapt through the open window from an extended bough and tucked into a silent roll as he hit the lavish scarlet carpet.  It would have gone according to plan, if his target had been in the room at all. 
Xekai stopped, stilling his breath and listened intently. A pair of voices whispered urgently from the great hall, twittering like chickadees. He breathed again, inhaling slowly without the gasping that an amateur would have with the need for air, and crept down the spiral stairs. The lord was muttering to someone who appeared to be a merchant of sorts. Xekai didn’t know what goods he dealt in, it wasn’t his business to know only kill. The duo nodded to each other and the lord scratched down his signature on a document. The merchant rolled up the parchment, shook the noble’s hand, and took his leave.
He took a step forward, letting the high tones of his bells ring out in the silent hall like the funeral bells that would soon toll for this arrogant man. The lord paused, glanced around, and then settled back into his regal chair murmuring about hearing things and his imagination. He took another step. This time the noble spun around glaring at the darkness behind him. He saw nothing. Of course he didn’t. If an assassin doesn’t want to be seen you won’t see him. He relaxed, sighing and stating that he should sleep soon. Once more the bells rang, once more the aristocrat whipped around to see nothing.      
“It’s behind me!” He exclaimed, drawing a blunt dagger for his defense. This time, Xekai chuckled lightly.
“You fool; I was in front of you the whole time.” His target pivoted around in time to have a knife drawn across his throat in a flurry of gold on white. The bells on his sleeves and sash chimed sorrowfully as the noble fell in a shower of sanguine. Xekai bowed respectfully over the man’s body. “Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”