Arrin exploded into a dark mist. The sword swung by Boris cut through the mist where the man had once stood. The tip of the sword clanged harshly against the stones of the pathway causing Carn to flinch.
If one thing could be said about Guardsman Boris it would be that he really committed when he swung his sword. Another thing that could be said about Guardsman Boris is that he was very confused that the man he was about to murder had disappeared and left a cloud of mist in his place.
For the unlucky twosome of guardsmen, Arrin had not actually turned into mist. He had taken the shape of a small nameless flying insect. Lost among the mist Arrin flew to his victim.
Even as a small insect Arrin's mind was completely his own. He had a lot of experience as small bugs, the smaller the bug the better for his job and the easier it was on him. Listening in on and following thieves and their accomplices was almost too easy a task when you were literally a fly on the wall.
Killing men could also be a very simple task when one had shapeshifted into something small that a person could not see or would ignore. Arrin knew his target and flew straight to it.
Boris's mouth hung agape his head turned back towards Carn then back to where Arrin once stood then to where the king lay expired on the ground then back to Carn. An open mouth was something very easy to fly into. Crawling up through a nose or burrowing into other areas could prove to be difficult but ultimately not very dangerous to the shapeshifting thief-taker. Though holding the shape of a small insect he still had the mass of something much larger and a sizeable amount of durability.
Passing over the murderous man's teeth, flying over his tongue and into the back of his throat Arrin judged that he had got far enough in. The image of Arrin himself popped into his own mind and he focused on it. He felt his skin expand, he felt his blood boil.
He didn't have blood as a bug so whatever it is that courses through a bug's veins grew terribly warm.
From the point of view of Carn, his friend's head exploded and in its place appeared the man that Boris should have killed with his sword moments before. Unable to balance atop a collapsing body with his foot jammed in its esophagus Arrin fell about 6 feet to the ground and the body he was wearing as a shoe fell in the other direction.
Even as he was falling Arrin knew he must act quickly. If Carn was a brave man with nerves of steel he would have Arrin skewered before the thief-taker could get to his feet; bad arm or not Carn needed to be dealt with immediately.
Shaping again so quickly might kill him so he had to finish Carn off using his born shape. Boris's sword had fallen with his body and was too far away for Arrin to retrieve without giving Carn too much time to react. It would have to be his throwing dagger.
He had almost talked himself out of bringing it. Having a hidden throwing dagger while at a secret meeting with the King would have been a bad look if he had been searched. In the end, he had decided to bring the dagger. It was sewn into the sleeve of his stiff leather jerkin and was hard to detect even to those actively searching for weapons. A trick up the sleeve had saved Arrin's life on more occasions than he could recall.
It was his best option and while Arrin had many skills, throwing a dagger well covered in blood lying on his back was not at the top of the list.
Thudding into the ground Arrin landed half on the dirt and half on the stone pathway. He rolled to his side his hand reaching into his sleeve tore the long thin throwing dagger from its hiding place.
Calling a weighty but thin piece of iron with a sharp point a throwing dagger did not sit well with some dagger enthusiasts. His weapon looked much more like a tapestry needle than a purposeful instrument of death.
It may have seemed to the naked eye like a weapon that only heavy cloth or yarn would fear but when it flew from his hand and into the face of Carn, Arrin liked to think that he and the guardsmen would be able to agree that it was more dagger than needle.
The dagger sailed through the air toward Carns face, the small piece of iron vanished into the flesh between his nose and eye. The man flinched away from Arrin, clutching at his face with his one good arm and blinking rapidly, shaking his head as if something were stuck in his nose and eye at the same time.
Albeit a bit too late, the nasty guardsman's instinct for flight kicked in. The only sound he offered up was an odd snort as he turned to search for the door. The guard succeeded only in knocking the door shut and cutting off his own escape route. He stumbled into the door and leaned against it face first, moaning and limply reaching for the door handle. Never quite finding it. His energy seemed to drain away as he leaned more against the door and his moans quieted. He dropped to the ground directly in front of the exit and made no more sounds.
With the immediate threats handled Arrin turned his full attention to the King. Dropping to the ground beside the curled-up figure Arrin held his hand in front of the man's mouth and nose. As he feared no breath came or went.
He rolled his King onto his back and began searching his body for any sign of a letter that the King may have been carrying for him. Arrin searched the nightshirt but it had no pockets. Beneath the nightshirt, the former ruler had on light cotton pants. Patting him down front and back produced a single piece of parchment.
He unfolded it. In black ink the parchment read:
"Father, I have missed you dearly all these years. I am happy to return home to you and mother and my older brother. I know you haven't had time yet to visit and it pains me so. We have so much to catch up on and discuss. I know that we are both early risers. Please, meet me in the red garden an hour before dawn."
It was finished with, "Love, Theodora".
He must have been abducted when going to meet his daughter. She had rejoined the royal family less than two months ago. Most of her life had been spent as a hostage with the Nalado people in an effort to maintain peace.
Nalado was a nation that had no traditional monarch, they were some sort of republic with a substantial amount of power. Why she was no longer their hostage was a hotly debated subject around the Palace but Arrin did not partake much in conversations of idle gossip.
The man's family! Gods, why did he not think of them sooner. They were in danger. The king had been assassinated, the prince and The Kings Shield were involved.. This was rebellion, a coup. He had to get to them the Queen and the princess. Pallum was already on his way there. He was probably too late but he had to try. The Kingdom could be saved if the royal family was preserved.
Arrin looked down at himself and how bloody he was. He wouldn't get ten feet in the Palace looking like this. Walking to Carns body Arrin furiously began working off pieces of clothing. First, he took off the leather breast plate. The finely worked boiled leather slid off with a few clasps being popped.
Next was the undershirt and pants. He feared the worst when he began working at the dead man's pants and immediately stopped when the hint of feces became graduated to the stench of it. The man had shat himself and was wearing no undergarments and he'd tucked his shirt in.
Arrin thought he would rather die than squeeze into a pair of shit-filled trousers. He stood exasperated.
He looked to the other guard but that man was as bloody as he. Nothing on that man's body could be used. What sounded like dozens of men passed by the purple garden in a sprint, metal clinking on metal.
He froze until the men had passed.
There was no shirt in this room that he could wear, he removed his bloody shirt and put the heavy worked leather on, it was uncomfortable and would chafe him but hopefully, he could pass as a guardsman woken in the night, dressed in a hurry. Every second mattered and the King no longer needed his pants.
Walking to the King's body he pushed his nightshirt up, it was ruined but the pants looked useable. There was blood staining the waistband but that would most likely be covered by the chest plate if he hiked the pants up high enough.
He stripped off his blood-soaked pants and undergarments.
In full-on survival mode, Arrin hunkered down over the figure of the dead monarch one more time. He turned his head away in respect and began tugging at his pants.
With the pants off of the King, Arrin put one leg in when out of the corner of his eye he caught something stirring. Standing in an ill-fitting chestplate with no undershirt and one leg in a pair of slightly bloody pants, Arrin ceased all movement and snapped his head towards the motion at the edge of his vision.
Standing just off the narrow path stood the most beautiful woman that Arrin had ever seen.