Instead of Arya, I prefer her mom (Chapter 41) (Patreon)

“Blast it, this was a lot easier when I was sober.”

Almost stumbling over a stone, Bertram kicked it with the sole of his shoe, sending it clattering over the cobblestones.

Anne giggled, her own cheeks slightly red, though the late hour made it difficult to see.

“At least you’re admitting to it. Cedric and I tried stopping you, but you insisted on emptying every bottle.”

She glanced at Cedric, who returned her smile. Unlike them, he was entirely clearheaded. He had a few glasses, but not enough to addle his wits. Even if there was more alcohol in his bloodstream, the effect would be minimal.

His resistance was a side effect of his magical powers. More specifically, his vibrant life-force – the result of repeated drainings – bolstered his body’s capabilities. It didn’t give Cedric superpowers, but made him far more robust than a normal human.

Seeing his wife acting so chipper, Bertram grumbled.

“Well, the sooner we return, the sooner we can have a rest. If I knew we’d have a guest, I’d have prepared a carriage. Though, I admit, I would’ve liked to take advantage myself.”

Given their proximity to the upper district, Cedric doubted the walk would take longer than ten minutes, but as coddled as these rich-kid types were, that might be enough for blistered feet.

“Why don’t we use that shortcut, Bert? The one your cousin showed us.”

Anne looked at her husband, who nodded at her suggestion. Perhaps he hadn’t thought of the shortcut due to his inebriation.

“Damn, you’re right. That saloon should still be there. If we go around back, we’ll cut through the next block.”

Without waiting for a response, he doubled backward, patting Cedric’s shoulder as he went.

“Sorry for this mess. I haven’t made a good first impression tonight, have I?”

His attitude gave Cedric a weird feeling. Certainly, it made sense that the young noble wanted to recruit him, but this overly bowing-and-scraping demeanor was odd.

Cedric knew his own talents, but these two couldn’t know for sure. It would make sense to withhold judgement until the situation was confirmed. Then again, being polite didn’t cost anything.

Thinking his own thoughts, he followed the two of them through Teirm’s streets. At this late our, they were mostly deserted. Unlike his previous expedition shortly after arriving, the atmosphere was calm and safe. On account of the many affluent and powerful individuals living in the area, the city guard actually did their job.

As such, and contrary to whatever suspicions Cedric may have had, they reached their destination safely.

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Laying on his side, Cedric breathed quietly with his eyes closed. To an observer, he may have seemed fast asleep, but that wasn’t the case. He might have seemed careless tonight, and while he was happy to take the opportunity to relax, he had another purpose.

Though he considered that slave nearly useless, his disappearance didn’t bode well. Cedric knew he’d stepped on a few toes after starting his operations—both pirates and nobles likely wanted a piece of him. He couldn’t afford to be careless, especially not now.

Arguably, he was at his weakest. Not only was he alone, having sent his only useful servant and combat-ready creation to the empire’s opposite end, he was still young and inexperienced.

As much as Cedric wanted to pat himself on the back for being smarter and more talented than everyone else, he knew it would only be detrimental. Even if he was right, both knowledge and talent needed time to bear fruit.

In fact, he was suspicious of Bertram and Anne suddenly approached him. How could he not be? However, he decided to play along. If there were schemes targeting him, he’d rather find out sooner than later.

Of course, the most immediate question was why he hadn’t dug through their minds, discovering the truth in a direct fashion. Ultimately, it was too risky. Among the lower classes, mages were rarer than hen’s teeth, but as one climbed the social ladder, they became more common.

Those higher-ups with enough clout to enter Galbatorix’s court were not only able to detect a mental invasion, but defend against it. Cedric was wary of encountering someone like that. It wasn’t a matter of whether he’d win or lose, but giving himself away.

At the moment, his biggest advantage was being relatively unknown. The last thing he wanted to do was announce ‘look, I’m a powerful mage wanting to oppose our evil king’s authority!’ 

It wasn’t like he was hoping for the best – his wards covered pretty much everything he could think of – and he had enough mana stored in gems, drained from Teirm’s citizens without their awareness, to power all but the most outrageous spells.

If it existed, he only needed his suspicions to be correct. That way, not only would he ferret out whatever lurked in the dark, wishing him harm, but he’d deal with them while he was at it.

“…”

However, as the night wore on, Cedric was faintly disappointed to find nothing happening. He had some expectations, wanting to try out real combat for once.

Frying a single urgal and Brom’s kiddy-proofed sessions were poor substitutes. There was no real danger, nor life-or-death struggle.

Cedric didn’t actually want to die, but that kind of experience was indispensable to have. Better to get into some trouble when the stakes were still small and the risk of death negligible.

Regardless, Cedric didn’t know if the gods cared too little or too much about him, because his safety seemingly wasn’t going to be jeopardized tonight.

As the hours passed, he felt himself drifting off. It couldn’t be long before the sun rose, and if it was at all possible, he wouldn’t mind getting some sleep. On account of his bolstered vitality, he could function pretty well without any sleep, but ‘pretty well’ didn’t mean optimally.

His eyelids heavy, Cedric felt his consciousness growing fuzzy. Unconsciously, his breathing slowed even further...

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Outside the Cornwallis Teirm-manor, underneath the guest room’s window, a shadowy figure skulked. It was so silent and unmoving that, if one didn’t look closely and attentively, it would appear part of the scenery.

Hours passed without it budging so much as an inch. Only when the faintest grey light appeared behind the clouds, signaling the coming dawn, did it finally shift.

Almost languidly, like a spider unfurling its legs, it started climbing the guest-room wall. The movement was effortless, shifting from handhold to handhold without so much as disturbing the ivy growing on the rough brick.

From this alone, one could guess the experience and proficiency of the cowled individual. Reaching Cedric’s window, shut on account of the early spring chill, the figure took a strange device from somewhere. It was some kind of short metal handle, flat on one end and pointed on the other.

With practiced ease, they slid it under the window frame. After a bit of wriggling, somehow without producing any noise, the latch was undone from the outside. Restowing the device, they opened the window a sliver, the gap hardly being big enough for a finger to fit through.

A thin pipe was shoved through the space, looking rather strange with some kind of bag on the other end. The figure squeezed it rhythmically, producing a gas from the other end. Aided by the nearly unnoticeable draft, it wafted into the room—a fine, white mist.

Whatever it was, it seemed heavier than air, because instead of dispersing evenly throughout the room, it clung to itself, sinking from the window’s top toward the bed. And more importantly, the figure sleeping in it, curled up with a pillow over his head.

The intruder continued watching like a hawk, waiting while the gas covered Cedric, diffusing slowly. Due to its coloring, movements in the air-currents were visible. Strangely, though the cloud was disturbed by Cedric’s breathing, he never inhaled it. Instead, the gas seemed to press up against an invisible dome, progressing no further.

Outside the window, the figure’s hands twitched minutely. They watched for a few moments longer, but seeing the drug was useless, they restowed the strange pipe. It was swapped out for another. This pipe was longer and thinner. On one end, it had a mouthpiece like a flute, but smaller and narrower.

There was something like a sliding latch on one side, which the assassin opened, inserting a hair-thin, gleaming needle. Bringing the pipe to his mouth, he took aim, his hands as steady and unshaking as those of a statue.

There was a subdued sound of rushing air, then the needle suddenly shot out from the thin pipe, flashing wickedly. In the blink of an eye, it arrived at the back of Cedric’s neck, exposed between the covers and pillows. However, instead of piercing deep beneath his skin, releasing whatever toxic compound was likely smeared all over its surface, it veered ever so subtly upwards, missing by a fraction of an inch.

The figure watched this happen silently. They hadn’t missed. Instead, some kind of field had interfered with the projectile, nudging it slightly off-course. With both methods foiled, the assassin only had a single remaining option, prepared for such an eventuality.

With resolve, it reached inside its cloak for a third time, stowing and retrieving another object. It was, a knife, but not like anything that was commonly seen around these parts. Instead of metal, it was made of bone, and strange scratchings were made on the ‘blade’. Adding to the strangeness, the pommel was some kind of bird-skull, with something black and jewel-like glimmering in its empty eye-sockets.

Carefully gripping the esoteric thing, the assassin opened the window slowly, paying rapt attention to Cedric’s sleeping form. When it was halfway open, the boy shifted in his sleep, possibly disturbed by the chilly air.

The intruder froze entirely, their posture still in the middle of climbing, showing no strain. Time passed like that, perhaps five or ten minutes. Only when they assured Cedric was truly asleep did their movement resume, slipping in through the half-open window.

They didn’t waste time, padding over to his bed. Their movements closer resembled a ghost than a human, so unnaturally quiet were they. Clutching the knife, the slowly brought it over in a reverse grip, hooking the bone blade under Cedric’s neck. Shockingly, there was no magical interference, likely the doing of the strange knife.

With a sharp jerk, it parted Cedric’s flesh like it was nothing, slitting his pale throat and severing the arteries underneath. Blood spilled out on the pillow, soaking into the white fabric and dying it crimson.

The boy awoke suddenly from the pain, floundering in his bed, but his shouts were smothered by his own blood, choking and gurgling as he died. Eyes wide, he stared at the intruder in shock, but before he could offer even the slightest resistance, the same knife punctured his eye, digging deeply into his brain.

The assassin twisted it, eliciting a few spasmic jerks, before withdrawing. Retreating toward the window, he watched, satisfied with a job well-done as the young mage died helplessly in his bed. In the end, the boy was like a newborn babe. Whatever formidable magics he had were completely bypassed, first by the magic-dispelling blade and then his severed throat, cutting the larynx to pre-empt any spellcasting.

He died just like the assassin’s other victims, helpless and confused. In the end, he was only flesh and blood, as mortal as anyone else.

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