Chapter One

An Unexpected Visitor

	As he crept silently up to the house, the only sound he could hear was the slight 
rustling of leaves caused by the evening’s gentle breeze.  The sun had gone down hours 
ago.  The house he approached was typical for the city.  The first floor was built of stone, 
while the second floor was made completely of lumber.  He would need to find an 
entrance on the upper floor, since there would surely be a guard or two on the first.  It’s 
not as though he was afraid of guards.  They were usually stupid, cheap, and easily 
dispatched, but he didn’t want to take the chance that they would alert his target.
	Circling to the back of the house, he found an old oak tree growing a couple of 
feet away from the northern wall.  Braced between the house and the tree, he scooted 
himself upward, and found that he could climb onto the roof.  It was easy enough, but he 
would still need to find a way into the house before considering his first objective 
completed.  Only then would he have to worry about the other two tasks, eliminating his 
target, and escaping without being identified, captured, or killed.  But for now he put 
those thoughts out of his mind.  One piece at a time, he told himself.
	He slid along the perimeter of the roof, with his head leaning over the edge 
scanning the walls for an entrance.  On the western side of the house, he found a window 
that was thrown completely open.  During the summer season, most citizens kept their 
windows open at night to let the cooler air pass through.  This is going to be easy.  He 
placed his hands on the edge of the roof and gently lowered himself until his feet made 
contact with the windowsill.  Carefully balancing himself, he let go of the roof and 
grabbed the sides of the window frame with his hands.  After peering inside to ensure it 
was clear, he stepped down from the windowsill and into the house.
	The room he entered was an unoccupied bedroom.  The bed was located in the 
corner just inside and to the right of the window.  It was covered with a quilt, but didn’t 
appear to have been used for quite some time.  In the far corner he could make out a 
chest.  He considered inspecting it for valuables, but decided not to.  He couldn’t take the 
chance of leaving any evidence of his presence.  Besides, it’s probably empty.  Walking 
across the room, he managed to stealthily crack open the door and peak into the hallway.  
The doors along both sides were located too close to one other, and the rooms would not 
be very large.  His target must be sleeping in the room at the opposite end of the hallway.  
There were no guards to be found, and as luck would have it, the door he sought was 
already cracked open.
	He made his way past all the doors without any trouble.  There were eight of them 
in all, four on each side.  Six of the doors were closed, meaning he would be able to hear 
them opening if anyone awoke and ventured into the hallway.  The other two could 
potentially be problems, so he listened carefully at them, and when he thought it was safe, 
poked his head inside to look around.  To his relief, both of the rooms were empty, and 
quite similar to the room he had entered.  Satisfied with the unlikelihood of being 
detected, he proceeded toward the door separating him from his objective.
	Inching the door further open, he could clearly see the target, sound asleep.  He 
didn’t know the man, and he preferred it that way.  He heard enough stories from the 
townspeople to believe he was doing the right thing.  He unsheathed a knife he had 
bought earlier that day.  It wasn’t cheap.  His last knife had been used so many times, it 
had been worn to almost half of its original length. This time he decided to purchase a 
weapon that people would cower from if it were ever drawn on them.  The blacksmith 
had spent a few months working on it.  Both edges of the blade were razor sharp, and it 
glistened brilliantly in the sunlight.  The hilt was engraved with the image of a dragon, its 
eyelids half closed and its gaze falling along the edges of the blade, allowing it to stare 
directly at whatever, or whoever, the weapon bit into.
	With the knife in one hand, and his other ready to cover the man’s mouth to keep 
his scream from passing beyond his lips, he plunged the weapon deep into the sleeping 
man’s still-beating heart.  Five seconds later, all life was gone from the body, and he was 
faced with the part he always dreaded.  He stared long and hard into the man’s wide-open 
eyes.  He couldn’t find any trace of sorrow, fear, or surprise, as most men’s expressions 
would bear.  All he could see was hatred, born of a life dedicated to doing evil, and at that 
moment he knew the world would be a better place.
	He grabbed one of the man’s shirts out of a chest near the bed, and wiped the 
blood from the knife.  It would never do for him to leave a trail of blood from the house, 
or for someone to see the knife and figure out what it had been used for.  And he certainly 
couldn’t leave the knife here in the body, since the blacksmith would be able to identify 
its owner.  He held the weapon up to inspect it in the moonlight seeping through the 
cracked-open shutters of the room’s only window, and a reflection in the blade 
immediately caught his attention.  It was behind him, and he wasn’t sure what it was, but 
it appeared to be a blue mist of some sort, and it was moving.  He spun quickly, with the 
knife at the ready, and watched for half a second as the glowing mist came together into a 
small floating ball across from his chest and winked out of existence.
	What the in the name of Chaos was that? he asked himself, but he couldn’t come 
up with an answer to his question.  Maybe I’ve been doing this too long.  He shrugged it 
off, for the moment, knowing he would have to ponder on it later.  Sheathing his knife, he 
crept back through the door and down the hallway, erasing any evidence that he had been 
there.  Looking out through the window in which he had entered the house, and not 
finding any threats to him, he made his way down the outside wall, once again using the 
tree for assistance.
	He knew he would have to leave soon.  The man’s blood would spill off of the 
bed and onto the floor, where it could drip through the spaces between the wooden 
floorboards and land on the first floor of the house.  The guards would be certain to 
notice it.  He looked up and decided to wait a few moments as some clouds rolled across 
the sky and blocked out the moon, blanketing the realm in darkness.  Then he, Justicar, 
expert assassin, vanished from the Mayor’s house as though he had never been there.