The falling leaves swayed back and forth around Arnold Billingham, as he walked along the top of the wall that protected Castle Lorahn. The sun was close to setting on the horizon, as the last ships docked on the port of Cirulia, the Sunken City. From his post on the southwest side, he could look down onto the bustling streets, and watch as shops turned off their lights, and wandering merchants closed their stands and packed up for the evening.
People got ready to either head home or head into the many taverns and bars that kept their lights on, to get a well-deserved rest and wind off. As the crowds dispersed, Arnold could not help but think that in about thirty to forty minutes he would be joining them, along with some of the guard, once he was done working. He was close to the end of a damned long shift, at the end of an even longer week. The preparations for the arrival of the guests had been exhausting.
As he was stretching and yawning, he heard steps coming from the staircase that led to his post. Worried that he might've been found out by his superior, he instantly straightened his posture and began walking from one side to the other, in an incredibly well rehearsed manner.
"One would even believe that you were working if they found you like this" Arnold relaxed once he heard the voice of one of his friends in the guard, Lawrence, coming to switch with him and relieve him of his duties.
"I thought I still had some time left" answered Arnold, smiling and ignoring his remark. "Have you come to take over?".
"Yes, the captain told me you seemed exhausted, and that it would not be a good idea to leave you here any longer" said Lawrence as he reached the top of the stairs, putting a hand on Arnold's shoulder.
"We are all exhausted" Arnold backed off and sat on the edge of the wall, looking out on to the city. "I just don't understand what the need for all this watch is, just for some rich dignitaries that aren't even arriving today".
"The Sa-har family are not simple dignitaries, Arnold" said Lawrence with that tone that Arnold had come to endure, the one that made it seem like he knew nothing of the world. "They are the richest and most powerful merchant family in the west of Eldoris. And if they are coming to speak with the Counts, perhaps that means an era of wealth for this region, and even the resurgence of Cirulia. The court of Lorahn need to impress them, at the very least, and if the possibility of a raise means we must not allow a single bit of crime to go on within the city for a week or two, I'm willing to work harder. Aren't you?".
"Yes, I guess I am" Lawrence was right. It would not hurt the city if Cirulia (and it definitely wouldn't hurt Arnold's pockets) if commerce would boom once again, even if it was with the arrival of foreigners from a strange land. He decided to sit and chat with Lawrence for a while. Even if that prick could come off as a "know-it-all", he'd helped Arnold out of tough times, and that deserved a bit of respect.
As Lawrence told him about the time him and his family visited the Makari Desert, home of the Sa-Har family, they watched the streets of the port with renewed interest in the arrival of the dignified guests.
The sun had already set when Arnold decided it was time to leave. He got up from the edge of the wall, and, after saying goodbye to his friend. Headed for the stairs. It was then that he saw a cloaked figure crouching on top of the wall, about thirty feet away from them. 'How has nobody spotted them until now?' he thought to himself, unsheathing his sword and turning to alert Lawrence.
What he saw, however, was Lawrence standing still, mouth gaping open, with a short blade poking through the front of his neck. Too stunned to speak, he watched as another cloaked figure took the blade out of his comrade's neck, and Lawrence's limp, motionless body fell to the ground, but made no noise.
Desperate, he tried to back away and call out for help, but no sound came out of his mouth when he did. He swung the sword at his opponent, but the figure was now gone, and his neck was being held by an armlock, the arm being as big as both his legs.
Held in stasis, unable to move; he saw the first figure walk up to him as he felt a blade being pressed against his neck. The figure gestured to the one holding him, and he heard a voice saying: "No more death than necessary". The blade retreated from his neck, and the figure touched his forehead with two fingers, muttering something in a language he did not recognize. He felt a wave of peace washing over him, like all his worries, pains and preoccupations disappeared from his mind. Then, he felt his consciousness slip away, his eyes closing, and fell into a deep sleep.
Count Vilahir Lorahn awoke suddenly in his chambers, hearing commotion in the halls just outside. Looking out of his bedroom window he could see that the sun had long ago set and thinking that the noise was uncharacteristic for the hour, he decided to step out to tell off whoever was causing all that ruckus.
He got out of bed, groaning and feeling the past few years on his back and legs, and walked slowly over to the door. With the window open, he felt the fresh autumn breeze hit his bare back as he approached. With his hand now on the handle, he heard the sounds on the hall getting louder and louder, until they stopped all together. After a few seconds, he had almost decided to not open the door, seeing that the noise had stopped. But then, he felt a strong vibration on the other side of the door, like a heavy object hitting the oak wood, but no sound came out.
Feeling pissed, he opened the door straight away, and began walking out into the hall. Before being able to, though, his sight was drawn to a familiar object that had been supported by the door hitting the floor by his feet. A helm, with the symbol of his house engraved on its side. The head that had once worn the helm was a few feet away, cut off from its body, which laid at the end of the hall.
Just outside the door were two cloaked figures, still and silent. One held a thin and long blade on his right hand, while the other walked toward him. Count Lorahn tried to speak out, to wake up and warn his wife, or call for help, but his voice wouldn't work. He turned and ran to the bedside, the figure with no blade walking into the chamber after him, slowly. As he ran, he noticed that his footsteps made no sound.
Vilahir Lorahn grabbed a sword that was mounted on the wall right above his bedside table and turned to face his attacker. Even though the count's age showed from his long, gray hair to his somewhat slow movements, and the pain on his back; he had once been a great warrior, commander of armies for the Lost King, and his sheer size and frame made up for his recent lack of speed. He had been involved in the training of his guard, defeating in duels opponents far younger than him.
He swung the longsword with one hand, catching the approaching figure by surprise. They managed to turn and evade it, but not before getting cut on their shoulder. As they dodged, their hood fell, revealing a metalic mask that covered their face.
Count Lorahn swung the sword again, expecting an even better result, but the figure was faster this time. They ducked, and the sword arched past them, hitting the frame of the bed and getting stuck on the wood, where the countess slept peacefully, unaware of the danger.
The count tried desperately to pull the sword back, but it remained stuck in place. He let go of the weapon and tried to punch the masked attacker in the gut, with a force that would've been sufficient to leave a normal man kneeling on the ground, winded. The attacker dodged though, and reached a hand out toward Vilahir's face. The count braced, expecting the feeling of a blade across his neck to come right after.
But it didn't. Instead, the figure put a hand on his forehead, and he felt all of the energy and strength leaving his body. He wanted to fight back, but his legs were giving up, and his eyes closing as he fell to the ground. He looked at the door, and saw the other figure standing there, no intention of approaching. Then, when he turned his head, he saw the first figure walking towards his sleeping wife.
He once again tried to call for help, to warn her, anything, but no sound would leave his throat. Right before losing consciousness, he thought of his son: 'Elia, please…', and then his eyes closed.
When the count opened his eyes for the second time that night, he awoke to find the figure with the blade being fended off by another individual. The other one, the one that had walked into the room and knocked out Vilahir, had disappeared, leaving no trace. Sound seemed to have returned to the world.
The masked attacker wielded his thin blade, and was fighting a man, who had his back turned to the count, and had in his hands the count's sword. The clanking of metal blades hitting against each other made a rhythmic pattern, characteristic of a fight between skilled individuals.
The count could not see the face of the man that was defending him and his wife, who was now awake and watching the scuffle with a wide-eyed, scared look on her face; but from the fact that he wasn't wearing a guard's uniform and his short brown hair with the recognizable streak of white on it, he could make out who was the one who had come to their aid.
"Father!" screamed his son, Elia, parrying his opponent's blade with impressive mastery. "Are you alright?"
"Y-yes…" to the count, his own voice sounded raspy and uncanny. He got up off the ground, where he'd been laying, and took another blade that was hidden beneath the bed. He walked over to his son's side, careful not to disturb the flow of his combat. "Thank you, son! For coming to our aid."
The very act of swinging a sword around a couple of times made him feel weak and winded, and he started cursing his age under his breath. Nevertheless, he used the short blade that he had now acquired to aid his son in combat against the figure. The attacker parried and dodged attacks with incredible speed, but between the fighting ability of both nobles and the fact that it was a two on one, he could not afford to strike back.
Slowly, the count and his son forced the attacker back, until his back was practically touching the window. Elia, in his mid twenties, was faster than his father, and was able to strike the opponent on the thigh, making a deep cut along his leg. When the count got ready to strike, he saw the determination in the attacker's eyes, whom, seeing as he had no other choice, parried Lord Lorahn's blade, jumped back, and fell out of the window, into the lightless, silent patio.
Both the count and his son looked out of the window, trying to figure out if the masked figure had survived, but the dark of the night and the lightless lanterns gave no information.
Then, they both leaned on the edge for a while, catching their breath after the battle. The count looked at his wife, terrified and still in bed, looking back at them. "We are alright" he said, "we are fine, dear."
He sat on the edge of the bed, and held the countess's hand, both trembling from adrenaline and fear. His son sat beside them, after putting away the weapons than he and his father had been using.
"Son" the count said, putting his hand on his son's shoulder. "I don't know what could have happened if you hadn't been here".
His son was breathing heavily and sweating, but he didn't seem scared. "You don't have to worry about that, father, it's all right now".
"I am immensely proud of you, Elia, you don't even know how much. You have saved your mother's and my lives. I thank you for that."
"Thank you, father."
"We should head downstairs and assess the damage" declared the count, looking back at his wife and squeezing her hand. "See how many men are dead, and how the assailants got inside the castle".
"Father" his son interrupted him, "Assailants? Do you mean there were more of them?".
Count Lorahn looked confused. "When I fell unconscious, there were two attackers. One was inside the room, and the other one just jumped out of the window. I had assumed you had dealt with the other one before."
"When I came in, there was just the one hooded individual, father, and he had just come into the room. That was what allowed me to take him by surprise. I did not see any other figures in the room or in the hall".
"That… cannot be…" the count's mind was fuzzy. What had happened to the other attacker? Had he jumped through the window once he'd heard Elia coming over? It was hard for him to think.
"We must go downstairs, and assess the damage" the count insisted, but it was now his son who laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Father", he said, "stay here with mother, please. I will deal with all of this. I would rather you be safe, and you seem exhausted."
After a while of complaining, count Lorahn finally gave up and let his son take the lead. Elia kissed his mother on the forehead, and he wished them a good rest of the night.
After his son had closed the door, the counts could still hear them out in the halls, giving orders to the guard. "Listen, I want two soldiers posted on my parents' door all throughout the night. I don't want to give the attackers another opportunity in case they decide it's a good idea to come back. The rest of you, come with me, we must go meet with the captain". With that, at least half a dozen pairs of boots were heard going down the stairs, and the noise subsided.
The counts were now back in bed, and Vilahir could feel his body, asking for sleep. After reassuring his wife once again that the danger had passed, and reminding her of the reliable son they had, she calmed down as well, and they both fell fast asleep.