Chapter 6

Assassin

The dreary bar room grew only drearier as the unofficial closing time fell upon the Inn at Darkshire. Apart from the bartender, only two patrons remained. Until a third one crept in, almost unnoticed. The tender, idly rubbing an invisible spot on a glass, noticed the newcomer and called out to him.

“’Lo there, traveler. Can I interest you in a drink? You look mighty tired.”

The man looked tired, indeed. The skin of his hands and face were wrinkled, and he was hunched over at an obscene angle. He seemed like he would collapse at any moment from the way his jaws hung slackly while a faint trickle of drool leaked out of his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and concealed behind half-closed lids, highlighted by dark rings of unrest running around them.

“No…I’m quite fine. Think I’ve caught something, is all. Thanks for the offer,” croaked the shriveled man.

He trundled along, ignoring the blunt stares of the patrons. They were probably too drunk to do anything else. He trudged up a flight of stairs, stopping at the top to look down a long, dark hallway. On either side, the blank wood of room doors stared sideways at him. He silently counted down the row on the left, until he came to rest upon a door about halfway down the corridor. He walked down the hall, careful to avoid the older, beaten up planks. As he made his way, he underwent a transformation.

His skin tightened into a youthful freshness, and the bags under his eyes disappeared. The red in his eyes drained away to reveal a pair of live, alert eyes. His hunch disappeared as he stiffened, sliding the large lump off his back. There was a muffled thud as it hit the floor. When he reached the door, he was a young man, with a wicked, long dagger in his left hand.

He began to mutter something under his breath, contorting his right hand into odd positions. As he finished his spell, the lock device in the door knob began to spin, sliding outward. In a quick movement, he caught the falling device, and slid it into his pocket. Then, he slid the door open.

Creak.

He froze. For the next minute, he didn’t move a muscle. When he heard nothing from within, he tried the door once again. He opened it without any further delays, and closed it in a similar fashion behind him.

Inside, the foyer was pitch black, even worse then the corridor outside. He muttered another incantation, and the world lit up in a red tinge. Amidst the furniture and other roomy-things, nothing stirred. Silently, he crept into the only other doorway. As he turned the corner, he spotted the edge of a bed. As it came into view, he saw the lump of a figure curled up in the sheets, sleeping silently. Slowly, he raised the dagger in his hand up.

Then he lunged forward, bringing the dagger down in a wicked arc. He came down on the lump again, and again, and again. Five times he stabbed. He leapt away, catching his breath from the exertion. A dark liquid was pooling on the bed, and some was dripping from his dagger. He smiled.

Something heavy struck him from the side. He toppled over, taken completely be surprise. He turned to look up, but was struck again, feeling a sharp pain in his cheekbone. He collapsed, moaning. He raised his dagger in defense, but a sharp blow to his fingers caused him to drop the weapon involuntarily.

“Next time you try to kill someone, I’d check to make sure it’s blood,” spoke a voice from the darkness as a hand closed around his throat. “And not a wineskin filled with Red Beth Noir, Darkshire’s finest.”

As the assassin gasped for breath, Stefan quizzically glanced at the man’s robes.

“You could have been less noisy in the hall. Now is it just me, or are those robes a bit big on you?”

“I—had a—hunch,” replied the assassin between gasps.

“About what? Speak you blithering—”

He stopped when he heard the familiar mutterings of demonic incantation. He poked his head around the assassin. There, dressed in a similar fashion as his attacker, was a Gnome. The lump. A ball of dark energy was dancing on the Gnome's fingertips. And it was growing. Stefan’s eyes widened.

“Hell and damnation!” He roared as he pushed the assassin backward and leapt aside. The shadow bolt, meant for him, hit his attacker in the back.

Stefan watched in horror as the man was slowly engulfed by the black flames. His skin began to fall away in chunks, turning to dust as they hit the ground. The man’s blackened skeleton fell to the floor moments later. Stefan could still hear the terrible screams moments after the man had died.

He was brought back to reality when the Gnome entered the room, eyes aglow with demonic energies. In his flight he had dropped his maces, and the Gnome was between him and them.

But the dagger wasn’t. He grabbed it hastily, rolling to duck behind the bed. Another bolt of shadow whizzed by, burning a hole in the wall. Stefan looked around, searching for a distraction. A bottle of liquor was lying on the floor next to him. He picked it up, pausing as he realized what he was doing.

“My back up…Damn, I’m gonna’ miss you.”

He lobbed it over the bed. He heard the familiar ghastly moan as another shadow bolt was launched, and the shatter of glass. He made his move, spinning around the bed and hurtling toward the warlock. The Gnome was readying another bolt when Stefan’s dagger passed through the glowing ball and into the Gnome’s sternum. Stefan winced at the pain, but pushed the dagger deeper. The momentum combined with Stefan’s size was too much for the warlock, and he was nearly picked up by the man’s charge.

Stefan lifted the Gnome the rest of the way, and launched him through the window, dagger buried deep in the warlock’s chest. A distinct thud later, and Stefan poked his head out. The Gnome didn’t stir.

He turned around, surveying the room as he caught his breath. After retrieving his fallen maces, Stefan went back to the bed and pulled free a wineskin from under the sheets, amidst a stack of pillows. He held it up to the moonlight, and cursed when he saw three large tears.

“Damn him. I bet he knew it was a wineskin!”

He threw the spoiled drink on top of the body in defeat. He felt another pain in his right hand where he had touched the shadow energies. Luckily, it had only left a nasty burn. At least it would heal.

The warlocks knew I was coming, he thought to himself. The fact made his heart sink in his chest.

He pulled on his white jacket and grabbed his hat as an afterthought as he left the room and took the stairs two at a time. The innkeeper met him at the bottom.

“Is everything alright? I heard a scream and—Blessed rum, you look terrible!” he said. Stefan rolled his eyes and humored the man.

“Two people tried to murder me. A man and a Gnome. You’ll find the man upstairs,” he paused to place the white hat neatly on his head, “And the Gnome just outside. Be careful, there’s a lot of broken glass.”

He was about to leave when he remembered something.

“By any chance, do you have a horse available for travel?”

“It’ll cost you.”

“Always does.”