October 4, 2010 Picture Prompt Threat Disposal (WC 2029)

Here's my take on the picture prompt from October 4, 2010. It's freewrite and I'm not real happy with it, but at least it's something new. Thanks for taking a look.

God bless,
shadowlight
Marlicia
with God all things are possible




Threat Disposal
© Marlicia Fernandez 10-06-10 (WC 2055)

The others wouldn’t be happy with him.

Too bad for them.

They’d had their chance.

If he let them have their way they’d be debating in council chambers for the next fifty aasta. And in the meantime…in the meantime the problem continued, unchecked.

It was unacceptable.

Garon studied the cloud-filled sky. No chance of moon or starlight breaking through that dense wall. Even the swirling mist worked with him. If filled the darkness and surrounded him, concealed him from all but the sharpest of eyes. He grinned within the folds of his hood. But it didn’t interfere with his sight. Not in the least. For him, the night couldn’t be more perfect. Provided it didn’t rain.

Rain meant mud and mud meant footprints. Nothing he couldn’t handle, but a headache he could do without.

He reached for the bow he carried on his back and pulled an arrow from his quiver and a thin rope like line from his belt. “All right, through the window you go,” he murmured. Garon took aim and let the arrow fly. It shot through the slit. “Should have closed it off boys. But it makes my job that much easier.”

Garon pulled the line until it grew taught and his arrow wedged itself sideways against the narrow opening. He tested his weight against it. That should do it. He removed his cloak, to reveal a guard’s uniform, and checked his knives and daggers. All where they should be. Pouches too.

Quickly he removed his bow and quiver, wrapped them all in his cloak and shoved them into the foliage he’d prepared for that purpose earlier. No one would find his weapons until he had the chance to retrieve them.

He yanked on the line again and pulled himself up, hand over hand, without a sound. Voices floated down from the direction of the rampart. Garon froze, trusting the mist and the shadows to hide him. A sliver of moon slipped from behind the cloud cover, its pale light missing him by a hairs-breadth.

“What’re we doin’ out here anyway?” one man complained. “It’s cold an’ damp.”

“Stop your belly aching and do your job, Xeron” a second commanded. “You’ve heard the rumors.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mylkin. Everyone’s heard the rumors. Someone’s gonna snuff out his Lordship.” Xeron laughed. “Like anyone’ll get close enough.”

A sharp crack that sounded suspiciously like a slap scared the bats hanging beneath stone overhangs. Garon covered his head and face with one arm until the frightened creatures passed.

“They won’t,” Mylkin growled. “If we do our job.”

“Just because you got rank don’t me you can hit me.” Xeron whined. “Don’t worry. No one’ll get by us.”

The moon ducked back behind the clouds. Garon grinned and continued his climb. Silently. Hand over hand. I might have something to say about that, gentlemen. But you keep your delusions. I insist.

Garon pressed closed to the cold stone wall and counted first to ten and then to twenty. He pulled himself over the side of the rampart when footsteps and voices no longer carried in the night air. Loudest guards I’ve ever heard. At least there are only two of them on this side. That’s helpful. He should have at least fifteen to twenty minutes before they returned. Plenty of time. The skin on the back of his neck prickled a clear warning. Time to move.

He allowed his line to slacken, twisted it and after two tries, pulled both it, and the arrow, up. He loosed the weapon, coiled the line and hooked it to his belt. The arrow slid into a specially made sheath at his hip, behind his long dagger. He cocked his head. No sound filled the air, not even the hooting of an owl. So far so good.

A salty breeze kicked up from the direction of the sea. Clouds shifted to reveal twinkling stars. Time to get moving. No telling when his luck might change and the full moon appear. Garon crouched and hurried along the low wall until he reached a wooden door. Lock picks slipped into his hands. The door swung open without warning. Swearing under his breath, Garon anticipated its pathway and stayed behind it. Maybe a dozen guards filed onto the rampart.

Great.

“Spread out along the wall. Mylkin and Xeron have held the castle long enough. It’s time they had some help.” The men hustled along the wall and the speaker returned to the door, closed and locked it. “Move along. You’re too close. We’re not worried about someone getting up here from inside, you know. Anyone good enough...or stupid enough to get inside the castle will be in for a surprise he won’t soon forget. And if he survives that, interrogation.” The man laughed. “And we all know how our Lordship loves interrogations.”

The men on the rampart laughed and fanned out, apparently to cover the entire six defensive walls. Garon grimaced and adjusted his grip on the wall from which he hung to ease the strain on his muscles. Thought it was too easy. He pulled himself up until he could peek over the wall. No one in sight. He swung himself onto solid footing, slipped into the shadows, waiting.

Shouted reports echoed from every side of the building.

“All clear.”

“Nothing here.”

“Stay alert.”

This could be tricky. But not impossible. Garon’s picks slid from his sleeves into his hands and within seconds the lock released with a soft click and the door opened.

Chills swept over him seconds before rough hands spun him around. “Who are you? What are you doing here? I don’t recognize you.”

Garon’s thin metal ‘keys’ slid back into his sleeves. He straightened his uniform and met the man’s eyes. A sergeant. “Not surprising. I don’t belong to your Lordship. I’m with a friend of his.” He shook free of the sergeant’s hold. “A very important friend. Came up to deliver a message.”

The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. “What message? From who?”

“From my Lordship of course.” Garon snorted. “Who’d you think?”

“Well, are you gonna give it me or not?”

Garon shrugged. “You’ll get it to your captain?”

“I know my job.” The sergeant studied Garon’s uniform and relaxed. “What’s the message?”

“That’s better. Tell your captain rumor has it an attempt will be made on your Lordship’s life this night.”

“Is that all?” The sergeant snorted. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

Garon smiled. “The assassin knows your strengths and weaknesses. He will enter on these very ramparts.”

“Have you looked around?” The sergeant indicated the walkway with a sweep of his hands. “The ramparts are crawling with men.”

“He will succeed.” Garon continued. “I suggest you be alert at all times.”

The sergeant’s face darkened in the moonlight. “You think we don’t know our jobs?”

Garon shrugged. “Just a suggestion, friend. Nothing more.”

Wispy clouds shadowed the moon, drops spattered the stone walkway. The sergeant scowled. “You’ve delivered your message. Why don’t you go back to your Lordship before he leaves you behind?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Garon executed a mock bow and salute. He turned and opened the door, his lock picks sliding into easy reach should he need them. Not the best weapon, but it’ll do in a pinch. “I’ll give your regards to your Lordship.”

The doors swung shut behind him, cutting off the sergeant’s grunt and the sound of hurrying footsteps. Garon bounded down the stairs. That information should keep them busy. Now to find my target.

Garon slowed when he reached the bottom and another door. He cracked it open. Laughter and music wafted from rooms to his left. To his right, two guards stood at attention before what Garon’s research said was his target’s rooms. A little nervous are we?

He grinned. You should be.

Garon slipped through the door and leaned against the wall, well in the shadows between groups of mounted, flickering tapers. What to do? The bold approach appealed most, but he couldn’t risk someone from the party at the other end of the corridor walking in while he dispatched two of the host’s guards. Besides they weren’t his targets.

The two guards spoke for a moment before one saluted, turned and strode down the hall. Garod flattened himself against the wall and held his breath when the man glanced over his shoulder.

“I think I’ll change and look in on the guests before I turn in. You want anything?”

So not two guards to worry about, but one. Good.

The guard on duty grimaced. “If you see your girl’s sister, tell her I really am sorry. Duty and all.”

The off duty soldier nodded. “I’ll tell her,” he said, before hurrying away.

Once the guard was alone, Garol exhaled and stepped into the corridor’s full light. He pulled a dagger from its sheath and put it to the man’s side, as the guard turned, using his own body to hide the action from unexpected visitors. “Open the door.”

“A body’s pretty hard to get rid of,” he murmured.

“I’m very creative.” Garol pressed the blade a little deeper, cutting through the man’s uniform to crease the skin. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which shall it be?”

“Neither.”

Garol flipped the blade and drove the hilt up into the guard’s chest. A rush of air exploded from him. Spinning him around, Garol shoved him against the wall and held him there with his forearm. The man’s head bounced off the stone surface. His eyes lost their focus. Garol flipped the knife again and tapped the weapon’s hilt against his captive’s neck. It opened and a small piece of metal popped out to pierce the skin. “Nighty night.”

Consciousness flickered in his eyes to be replaced by vacancy. Garol arranged the drugged guard against the wall in a suitably guard-like position before temporary rigidity set in. “Let’s put your hands at your sides, relaxed but ready, shall we?”

Silence.

“Good job.” Garol patted the man’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, the effects will wear off in an hour or two. Maybe sooner if your buddy returns with an answer from your heart’s desire.”

Anger flickered in the man’s eyes before disappearing behind an impassive mask. No one should suspect anything was wrong. Garol opened the door and slipped inside. Low lighting gave way to bright illumination. Garol threw his dagger dead on at the man staring at him open-mouthed. “You should have left my queen alone.”

The man flinched. The weapon hit the mark, or would have if it hadn’t bounced off.

Bounced off?

The man smiled. “Good job, Garol. But it’s not the right time for this.”

Garol’s stomach twisted. His mark wasn’t a magician and yet his target, shimmered and pulsed. Could his research be deficient?

“It was not deficient.”

That voice. “Chari?”

The illusion crumbled and the room shifted. The beautiful woman he’d sought to protect stood before him, her crown of office sparkling in the lantern light of familiar council chambers.

“We knew your intent, but it is not yet time.”

He bristled. “So what was all this? How did you do it?”

“I created an illusion.”

I hate it when she does that. Garon’s skin crawled. “Why? Was I being tested?”


“You can think of it that way, if you like. But it wasn’t. Not really.” She motioned to one of her private guards who brought a stack of parchments to Garon. “We know now you can get in… or could if your information were current. That was never in doubt.”

“It is current. I would have killed him if you hadn’t interfered.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“With all due respect, highness, you’re wrong.”

“And you’re stubborn.” She sighed and met his gaze. “I too have my sources. You think we move too slow, but our information tells us our enemy is not only NOT at his castle, but that he has made it a trap. A trap for people like you. And he has new guards and magicians to protect him in his new home.”

He grabbed the parchments. “Do we know where he is?”

“We do, but Garon…” She shivered and hugged herself. “If you want to protect me, to protect our kingdom you must protect yourself. You need the information in those parchments. And you’ll need help.”