The assassins escape

Melothil crept silently towards his target; head bowed, trying to be one with the darkness, the silence.

His foe had not yet seen him approach, and with deadly silence, he edged ever closer to King Zephiel, the tyrant.

Melothil had been warned that this was a dangerous mission, the most dangerous he had yet attempted, and so he had prepared appropriately. Graced with the lightest weapons his craftsmen could produce, the assassin paused, as he looked into the eyes of the man he intended to kill - the man who was now looking back at him.

King Zephiel made eye contact for a second, as he stopped fussing over his pitiful pooch - a useless dog that would do nothing to protect him. He was not bothered by its growls - a dog would not stop him from completing his task.

Melothil let himself smile slyly as Zephiel jumped at the barking that suddenly filled the room. The mutt let out a terrible howl that cut through the night, but not through Melothil, who had dealt with far worse beats than this mangey excuse for a guard dog.

As Zephiel looked around, he once again made eye contact with the hidden assassin, but not for long, as he did not know where to look to see the danger his dog was warning him of.

Zephiel knew that there was somebody here. But he didn't know where. Crippled by fear, he suddenly drew his sword.

Melothil took this moment to attack.

Inching closer, so that he was now in the king's view, Melothil remained unarmed, but still lethal.

'You were waiting for me to fall asleep?' The king tried to seem powerful and unafraid, but Melothil could see right through this tough exterior to the whimpering boy within. No matter of his age, Zephiel had brought this upon himself.

Ignoring the dogs wails of distress, Melothil edged ever closer to the bed. Batting a slow blow with his metal greaves, the assassin put all his might into kicking the king back onto his bed. He fell awkwardly, however, and hit his head against the floor.

Dodging a sudden burst of anger from his foe, Melothil gracefully slid away from the sword that was flying towards his stomach. A small strip of cloth from his breast was cut from him, but it was no loss. Mercilessly looking into the eyes of his enemy, the assassin drew a small dagger and brought it behind his head, ready to throw it into the king's skull. His attack was interrupted however, by guards who burst through the door and into the king's chambers.

Melothil cursed to himself as he dived out of the window to the well-placed pile of straw that lay below. He was out of the window before the guards had even seen him.

But he had let his prey survive.

The End

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