A faint sound reached his ears and Relam’s skin prickled. The sound of leather scuffing on stone. A footstep? But it was coming from the windows.
Relam scooped up his dagger from the bedside table and hid it under his pillow, feigning sleep and listening. The sound came again. Definitely a footstep. But there was nothing beyond the window. No balconies, no terraces. Just a shear wall all the way down to the palace gardens. And those were patrolled by palace guards. Was someone attempting to climb the wall, or was Relam imagining things?
The sound came again, closely followed by a scrabbling noise. Relam frowned and got out of bed, buckling on his weapons belt and flattening himself against the window wall. He transferred the dagger to his left hand and drew his sword, holding it vertically in front of him and breathing lightly.
More footsteps and scrabbling. Then, a pair of light impacts, and the meager light from the stars was blotted out. Relam flinched sideways, away from the window that the intruder was blocking. When the man entered, Relam would take him down from behind. Not kill him, capture him. Question him, find out who he answered to. Maybe this would be-
The window next to Relam shattered and a crossbow bolt hissed across the room and buried itself in Relam’s pillow. The prince flinched as a dark figure somersaulted into the room. Relam didn’t hesitate, bringing his dagger up and around and slamming it against the man’s head.
The blow did not have the stunning effect Relam had hoped for, because of the hooded, furred cloak the assassin was wearing. The black-clad figure snarled, spun, and slashed at Relam. The prince jumped back and swung his sword at the assassin. The intruder ducked and Relam kicked out, catching the man just under the jaw. The assassin stumbled backwards, towards the empty space where the window had been.
Relam took advantage of the momentary respite to shift the shutter on the lantern so that he had more light. As he did, the assassin ran forward again, still clutching a dagger. Relam parried clumsily and struck back, heart pounding. The assassin was a master knife fighter, quick, agile. And Relam was a swordsman, necessarily slower because of his larger weapon. This was not a fight he could easily win.
The assassin crept forward slowly. Relam kept him at a distance with the sword. “Who sent you?” he demanded. “Why are you here?”
“To kill,” the man hissed.
“Who sent you?” Relam repeated.
“Does not matter,” the assassin replied. “You will not live to tell. And I will not betray my master. He has promised me much in return for your death.”
The assassin feinted and Relam moved to parry with his sword. But then the assassin struck again and Relam barely parried with his own dagger. As he did, he looked down and saw that the tip of the assassin’s blade was stained with some substance, gleaming in the light of the lantern.
Poison, Relam thought. He couldn’t even take a small cut from the blade.
The blade darted forward again, and Relam decided that he had to end the fight, decisively. Dodging the dagger, he snatched up the lantern and smashed it at the assassin’s feet.
Oil splattered across the floor, along with glowing globules of flame. Then, the fire spread, consuming the rug in an instant and forming a wall between Relam and the assassin. The black-clad man recoiled, his cloak aflame, retreating from the fire. When the assassin had shed his charred cloak he glanced at Relam, eying the flames that separated them.
“It may not be by my hand,” the assassin growled. “But you will die all the same. Good luck escaping the fire, your majesty.”
The assassin backed through the window and disappeared. Relam looked around wildly and realized the assassin may have had a point. The whole room was aflame now, fire running along the wooden beams supporting the ceiling, consuming the bed, licking across the rug towards the desk.
“Time to go,” Relam muttered. The only problem was, a wall of flame stood between him and the door.
Relam circled towards the desk, wincing at the heat from the flames. His armor was scattered on the floor there, where he had thrown it after the hunt. It might protect him from the flames, but it would take time to put on.
The flames were rapidly growing in intensity, so Relam simply snatched up his heavy, fur-lined cloak and bundled himself in it. Then, bracing himself for the pain, Relam ran straight through the fire towards the door, holding his breath.
The cloak protected him reasonably well, but he still felt the heat on his face and smelled his hair burning. Then, he was through the fire, wrenching the door open and tumbling into the main room. The heat was still with him though, following him. Looking down, he saw that the end of his cloak was aflame and quickly stamped it out.
Relam started for the outer door, then stopped. He couldn’t stay here. If he stayed, the assassins would keep coming. Eventually they would get lucky. He needed to get out of the palace, needed to lay low for a while.
Instead of making for the main door, Relam ran for the servant’s entrance. Behind him, the royal suite burned, erasing his past life and all the relics of it. As he pulled the secret door shut behind him, he heard guards crashing through the door to the corridor, shouting his name and yelling. Relam paid them no heed though, hurrying down the stairs and into
