FFM: The Wandering Fire

The wandering fire danced through the streets, flickering, silver quick, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Some said it was the souls of the dead passing from one world to the next. In a city as large as this the deaths were high enough to account for the frequent appearances of the otherworldly flames that cavorted down the narrow streets in the night.

Rask waited in the shadow of a window ledge, his narrow frame curved into the twisted branch of a Hedya tree; its flowers already open to the moonlight and releasing the heady scent for which they were famed. This was a wealthy compound, all delicate lattice work and intricate stone archways, an exploration of colour and geometric patterns, all muted by the shadows of the night.

In his belt he had the knife, specifically given to him by his employer for this task. It was an unusual request, very personal. Rask tried not to involve himself in the intricacies of such things. He was merely useful to these people, and in his line of work, even the useful could be cast aside. It paid to be on your guard.

The door in the room above his hiding place swung shut. He waited, breath held, eyes shut as he listened to the rustling sounds coming from within. One person, the one he had been sent for.

He shimmied up the curve of the branch, reaching across in the darkness for the protruding ledge, then swung himself up and over with a single, smooth movement. He leapt down from the railing with the barest whisper of sound, drew the dagger, walking quietly but steadily towards the figure that stood on the far side of the room with her back turned to him.

He crossed the distance quickly, and yet when he was no more than three paces away she whirled with one hand extended and he felt the kiss of cold steel at his throat. He reached up, palms wide but for the thumb across the hilt of the dagger, did not smile.

"You remembered what I taught you."

She arched an eyebrow, didn't move the blade. "Of course. I'm a quick study, as you well know. Fadrian sent you?" She asked, glancing at the weapon he held.

"Of course. He is not a stupid man, he understands that at this particular moment in time you could be a real obstacle between him and the succession." He inclined his head gravely, ignoring the bite of the blade on his skin. "It was merely bad luck that he picked me for the job. A man in his position ought to have better spies. I go drinking with a few of them. He could do better."

She smiled then, and after a moments consideration removed the blade from his neck. He was glad she had remembered, he had hoped she would. Of course, she was still too trusting, but there would be no remedy for that.

He palmed the blade, lowered his hands and crossed the distance between them. She tasted of spiced wine, nutmeg and cinnamon. He smiled as he stepped back from the kiss, and she held his gaze.

"We will have to do something about this. Things will not look well for you if people find out you did not play your part. I have some men who might help, would you permit it?" She stroked his cheek, a rare gesture of tenderness. She was usually far more reticent, but then she was a very intelligent woman, and it was entirely possible that she knew.

"Yes", he replied, placing his hand over her own. He swung the blade up in a savage swipe and slit her throat. It was neatly done, he was not a cruel man, and he cared for her.

He gripped her hand, catching her weight as she slid down and lowering her gently to the tiles. She gasped wetly, small pulses of blood still pumping from the wound, her eyes darting around helplessly, trapped, dying.

He left the dagger beside her on the floor, brushed her hair back from her face, kissed the smooth brow, his hand leaving bloody fingerprints upon the pale skin.

"Rest well my love."

He took the same window on his way out. The courtyard was never guarded, and he could make his escape across the east wall.

Across the darkened street in the shadow of an apothecaries storefront, Rask accepted a satchel from a cloaked slave, little more than a boy. They would likely leave him in an alley somewhere. It was best to tie off all the loose ends.

In the succession of a new Emperor to the throne one could never be too ruthless, or too careful.