Prelude part 3

Soon they were within the guard tower and Daxon released Bolin’s shoulder. He nearly ran into the man when Bolin stopped suddenly. “Sir?” He asked.

“I know these halls well enough by now Bolin, I don’t need my eyes to find my quarters. You have enough to do; now you should be doing it. Report to me when your finished and we’ll go over the reports.” Daxon ordered.

He heard the new captain’s heels click together as he saluted, and Daxon returned the salute. Daxon put his hand on the wall and after fending off repeated attempts to help him he opened the door to his quarters. He breathed a sigh of relief as he confidently strode in. He was a precise man and knew where everything was, where he had put everything and how many of each thing he had in his possession. Most times he would be lighting a few candles for light now, but he had recently forgone that part of his nightly ritual after burning himself several time and nearly causing a fire.

After that incident Daxon had grown accustomed to the darkness, and since come to welcome the darkness, without all the blurs and shapeless blobs that assaulted his eyes in the light. He walked to his desk and untied the cloth over his eyes and carefully laid it down, folding it as he had for the last two weeks. After that he walked across the room to sit on his bed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His lame fingers wrapping around the handle. He tried to unsheathe it as he used to, so deftly. Now his entire arm began shaking and he strained to lift it, he eventually gave up and used both hands to draw it. He sighed heavily, feeling sweat began to bead on his forehead. He reached across his waist with his good arm and picked up the sharpening stone and began to grind away the time as he waited for Bolin to return, losing himself in the sound and repetitive motion.

Hours past and night settled on the city. Daxon stood out on his balcony enjoying the cold breeze stinging his face as he looked out at nothing. He listened as the streets echoed with the lonely footfalls of the night guards as they patrolled the streets. He felt more than heard his door open and then close just as silently.

“Bolin, it’s about time you got here, I expected you an hour ago. Where have you been?” He asked, his tone short of patience.

He was answered by silence. Perhaps he had only imagined his door opening; after all, there was no sound of boots falling on stone. He turned around, dismissing the imagined sensation. Still, the feeling that he was no longer alone persisted. He thought he noticed movement in the darkness of his quarters.

“Who’s there?” He asked tentatively. Again there was no answer.

He was becoming increasingly suspicious, something in the back of his mind nagged at him and he slowly, casually made his way to his bed where he kept his sword. He’d be at a serious disadvantage if there was an intruder. He reached for his blade and his fingers only found air. His hands worked frantically feeling the air around where his sword should have been. He knew he had put it there, he always did. He thought back to the time he had spent sharpening it and definitely remembered putting it back in its place when he had finished.

In a near panic he sat down on the bed, his hands shaking. He need to calm himself and took a long, deep breath. That’s when he noticed it. There was a new smell in the room, something that shouldn’t have been there. His head jerked as he noticed movement in the room to his left. He stood up and composed himself. This is what he had been waiting for the last three weeks and now that it was finally here all the things he never accomplished ran through his mind at a dizzying speed.

“Reveal yourself, I command you!” He ordered. There was no response. “I can smell you. You might as well stop playing games.” He said confidently. A vaguely human sized blob began moving in the room. “Who is your master assassin? I demand to know.” The only reply he received was the long drawn out sound of his sword being unsheathed.

Blind though he may be, he refused to play the part of an easy victim. The darkness was on his side, and he knew his quarters better than any. “One shout from me and guards will swarm in here faster than you can blink assassin.” He bluffed. If the assassin had made it this far into the guard tower it was likely that any opposition had already been eliminated, or bribed.

The assassin moved faster than Daxon thought any human should and before he could move he felt his sword pass through his chest and into his heart. He spit blood onto the assassin contemptuously and grabbed the assassin’s hand the held his sword, and enraged at this indignity of being murdered in his own quarters, pulled on the sword, letting it pass through him and out his back, pulling the assassin within reach.

The life leaving him quickly he pulled with his weight towards the balcony, where just moments ago he had been enjoying the cold breeze. Each beat of his heart sounded in his ears, each one coming further from the last as the icy cold fingers of death wrapped around him in its embrace. He refused to die alone this night and pulled one more time, feeling his back against the railing. He laughed faintly to himself as blood filled his mouth he began choking on it. The assassin was able to free a hand and Daxon felt another blade sink deeply into his neck. All thought left him as the absolute darkness of death overcame him and the assassin pushed him over the edge.

He felt the exhilaration of falling then death took him, and he never heard the dull thud as his body hit the stone cobbling three stories down.