Chapter 6: Preparation (part five)

Lieran had in fact doubled back as soon as he entered the house, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Racieus would put two and two together. So after running a short ways, the guild master doubled back again, hoping to watch his student run past him. Dropping down from the roof, Lieran peeled off his black robe, revealing a simple long sleeved shirt and pants, colored tan to match the majority of Brynshadder’s buildings. Assuming a nonchalant pose, Lieran leaned back against one of the stone houses, and waited.

And waited.

After ten minutes, the assassin was beginning to wonder if had misjudged his apprentice’s intelligence, picturing him still running off in the other direction in search of his teacher.

Guards! Someone help!” The guild master’s head snapped up at this. As the leader of guild that made its money off of various activities, some of questionable legality, he viewed any act of theft, murder, or otherwise, a threat to his business. It was for this reason that the guards didn’t rise up in force against the guild, because it more or less monopolized the crime and kept the majority of other criminals off the streets. Controlled chaos. If the offender wasn’t part of the guild, then he’d die.

If he was part of the guild, he wouldn’t die, but he would be punished for tarnishing the guild’s reputation. After all, a poorly executed theft was a bad reflection on each and every member of the organization, and had to be repaid.

It was only fair.

Lieran pushed off of the building and began to make his way down the street, hurrying, but trying not to make it look like he was hurrying. He came in sight of a shopkeeper bending over a spilled cart, muttering curses and grumbling as he tried to salvage his wares.

“Which way did he go sir?” Lieran asked as he approached the portly man.

The shopkeeper squinted up the assassin, “Ye ain’t no guard, but he went that way, the little scoundrel.” Lieran was moving before the shopkeeper finished, turning a corner and starting to pick up speed when he heard the store owner shout, “Curse ye! And all the bloody halflings!”

The assassin skidded to a halt, as his mind processed that last comment. He grinned ruefully, the truth of the situation digging into him in unison with the cold steel of Racieus’ dagger.

The End

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