Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #14 May 2015 | Page 47

doors set in opposing walls. However, his attention quickly locked on the man at the far end of the
room.

Wescel Asmoran sat at an ornate redwood desk,
writing on parchment by the light of a lone candle.
He paused to sip from a goblet of wine and then
resumed his notations.

Candlelight made his brown hair look bronze and
accentuated the deep folds of his silk robe. While
he’d made his fortune as a soldier, Asmoran had lost
his trim figure to the trappings of nobility, adding
jowls to his cheeks and a pendulous weight to his
gut. A balding spot peeked through otherwise thick
hair, though Khellus didn’t discern any of the yellow streaks indicative of dravillish use — as he’d
guessed.

Khellus closed the gap one silent footfall at a time.
Right as he neared the halfway point of the room,
Asmoran laid down his quill and slugged back the
rest of his wine. Then the noble turned and smiled
at the assassin.

“You took your time,” he said.

The doors on either side burst open and a dozen
guards sprinted into the room. Half aimed crossbows at Khellus while the rest wielded bared
blades. It happened in half a heartbeat. A wellplanned trap.

Far outnumbered, Khellus slowly lowered his
swords to the floor. The instant he rose from doing
so, four guards grabbed hold of him and shoved
him to his knees. One wrenched his arms behind his
back while the other laid a sharp edge against his
throat.

A pair of guards went around the room and lit
numerous lamp fixtures until all shadows had been
chased away. Asmoran pushed up from his chair,

jowls quivering. He scratched the side of his crooked nose as he strode over to inspect his would-be
killer. His voice had a scratchy edge to it, much like
the quill he’d just been writing with.

“So, this is the hidden blade the king sends in an attempt to spill my blood.” He sneered down at Khellus as if he’d accidentally stepped in a dung pile. “I
wonder what his response will be when I send him
your head back instead.”

“The king cares nothing for me,” Khellus said. “I’m
just one servant. He’ll send another.”

“I’m sure. However, this is exactly the sort of impetus I need to completely rally the other lords behind
me. Once they see how desperate and fearful the
king is, they’ll be emboldened to finally take action.
A few pathetic assassination attempts will only further our resolve.”

Khellus gazed at the hard-eyed guards surrounding
him. They’d been in place. Ready. Waiting. “How
did you know? Or do you always have a few squads
in your quarters to keep you company?”

Asmoran chuckled. “I’ve had you tracked ever
since you crossed inside my walls. My mages
alerted me the moment you set foot here and have
monitored your progress the whole way.” He
smirked at Khellus’s puzzled looked. “You thought
yourself warded against such measures, didn’t you?
Well, never fear. Your charms worked well enough.
My mages couldn’t see you directly. However, if
one knows that an assassin is about, one concealed
by magical means, scryers can still detect the spell
in effect, blocking them from seeing clearly. It’s
like tracking a bird in the sky by the shadow it casts
upon the ground.”

“That means somebody warned you,” Khellus said.
“Who?”