Between Shadow and Light
“Matters of the Heart”
Today is one of those days, a day torn between feelings of the heart and thoughts of the mind. A day torn between emotions.
The sky is at its darkest tonight. Big, looming clouds hang threateningly above the heads of the inconsequential humans walking idly below, reminding them how small and insignificant their life is should they actually bother looking up. It’s raining too, fast and hard as if the world is trying to cleanse itself of the vermin disturbing its peaceful existence.
It isn’t raining hard enough.
On one of the highest buildings of Atkathla, capital city of Amn, stands a sulking figure, his face obscured by the large, pitch-black hood hanging loosely over his head. He is a rogue and an archer, one of the few in Atkathla, probably one of the few in the whole region of Amn. He is here with a goal, a personal one. I am him, and I am waiting, waiting for a window to be opened in the large, wealthy house in front of me.
It’s taking too long, and I wonder if I hired the right person for this delicate job.
A cold chill runs down my spine, sends shivers through my entire body, and almost makes my flesh creep. I draw my cloak tightly around me and wait patiently. The rain is increasing its numbers and the ferocity of its attacks, but it does not bother me. If anything, the drips on my hood work soothing, calming, like the waves of an ocean gently slipping up and down a beach. If it wasn’t raining and thundering, I might’ve actually been able to hear the waves of the Sea of Swords crashing on the Atkathlan docks.
A flash of lightning rips the sky in half and illuminates the surroundings of the government district in Atkathla, where the richest and noblest of people scurry around like they are the most important beings of this world. How little they know of their life outside of their wealthy houses and secure havens, how little they care. I shouldn’t be bothered, though, this is the city of coin. A few gold pieces mean the difference between the disgusting gutters in the slums and the exorbitant houses in the government district.
Another lightingbolt thunders down from the skies above my head. I squint my eyes and take a closer look at the house I’m about to enter. There is a host of guards standing at the front entrance, their weapons and armor finely polished and cleaned. For the common man the blinking metal in the dim lighted entrance might be a threatening and imposing sight, but I know better. These guardsmen are standing there more for show and appearance than actual safety. The skilled warriors are all gathered inside, probably within close distance of their respective employers.
The guards are inspecting everyone who enters, and there are many to inspect, for the Lord of the House, Galdron Venray, is hosting a costumed grand ball. Every other entrance to the mansion is guarded by at least another two or three guards and are therefore impossible to enter without alarming the entire compound. Not that I would simply kill them anyway, needles bloodshed isn’t quite what you’d say right up my alley.
It continues to poor from the skies while I wait and wait for the sign that tells me all is well.
Two short and fast flashes of light are suddenly noticeable from one of the rooms inside the building. It’s coming from the third floor, just above the main room where the ball is being held. Still, it’s several feet below me, a jump impossible to make. I am standing on the Cowled Wizards’ building and they don’t come much higher and more impressive than this one in Atkathla.
Another two flashes quickly follow the first two. The room is empty and the room is safe.
I swing my Longbow off my back, grab the specially crafted arrow from my quiver, and attach the rope hanging idly over my shoulder to the shaft of the projectile. Bringing the arrow to my eye, I wait another few seconds for my contact to find a safe place inside the room. When the wind suddenly changes direction and blows a host of raindrops in my face I release the arrow. It whistles lowly through the air, through the window, right into the room. It buries itself with a dull thumb in the wall at the end of the room and again I wait, wait for my contact to finish his preparations.
Another two flashes. I tie the rope around a small chimney, give it a short pull to test its strength and reliability, and, finally, untie the string of my bow. I swing the bow over the rope and slide smoothly into the room. In the dark, rainy night I’m barely noticeable, like a bat silently hunting its unsuspecting prey.
As I slide through the window, my contact extinguishes his torch and moves to the center of the room. “You’d better meet your end of the bargain,” comes his husky, crackling voice as untie the rope from the arrow and throw it outside.
I laugh silently under my dark hood. Who does he think he is? and who on earth does he think he is dealing with? He doesn’t notice my haughty grin, though, for I’m probably little more than a shadow to his eyes, to all his senses. My leathery armor is dark blue, almost black, while my cloak is darker than the darkest of nights to have ever graced Amn with its presence. At the edges my cloak is adorned with intense blood red engravings, which light up for a short period of time to my command, to my will.
He shuffles uncomfortably from foot to foot and gives a small cough. “The gold,” he begins again, but more firmly this time when he notices I’m not replying, “we had a deal. I expect you to honor it.” The man’s voice is appalling, he talks as if a fireball exploded close to his face and scorched his entire throat.
I do not like his threats. I’ve never been able to stomach commands, much less the demanding of this scum, no matter how useful he may’ve been. “Or else?” I challenge him with so coolly that it straightens the hairs on the back of his neck.
I pull the arrow from the wall and attach the string to my bow once again. He looks at me intensely, trepidation clearly visible in his light green eyes. As I put the arrow on my bow and aim the weapon casually at his heart, he hesitatingly takes a few steps back.