The old clock over the fireplace was the only thing I could hear from my perch beneath the oak desk. Its reliable hand moving back and forth. Tick, tock, tick, tock. My back was beginning to get sore, from sitting here for so long.
My black cloak pooled out on the wooden floor around me, melting in like a shadow. Like the shadow I was. I preferred the dark. It was much easier to conceal myself when it was dark. This time I just happened to get stuck under a desk.
The room was small and cosy. It was more of a rectangular shape, long leading to the door and window, and short in between. The big window looked over the rest of the village, it sat at the east end of the room. Currently the heavy black drapes were pulled shut, letting in little light. Beside the window sat a large chest, that reached the beginning of the north wall. The north wall had the fireplace, a warm ember burning slowly. There were many paintings scattered across the room, mostly of battle.
On my end of the room was the desk, it was big and wide and probably cost a fortune. The underneath part went right to the wall, the perfect size for me to fit into. A wooden chair sat beside it. On top of the desk were many official papers, from the king, orders of death and capture.
And I was at the top.
Of course, not by name, nobody knew my real identity when I was in the cloak. When my golden hair was pulled back and my face hidden by shadow. Only my bright blue eyes shone through the darkness.
On the Kings paper, I was known as the Shadow Assassin. Because only the dead saw me fully. Everyone else saw shadows.
I'm very good at hiding.
The door creaked open and I pressed my back against the wall. From my view point I could see two heavy leather boots. The man, a high ranking knight, pulled the chair over to the desk and sat down.
I still had lots of room. I could easily bend over and my hood would barely brush his legs. It was times like these where I wished I could shoot a bow, There was just enough room to get a good shot at his stomach. But I could only work a knife and sword, and occasionally poison. Oh! This would be a perfect time for poison! It would be even better than a bow. Just a nice stab to the thigh and he'd be good as dead. But for the victims of this list, I was told not to use poison.
We sat there for about half and hour. Me waiting for the right time, and him working on his papers. My hands itched to hold the blades that were strapped to my fore arms, or the one on my thigh. They weren't long like a sword or short like a knife, they were in between. They were as long as my wrist to my elbow. Perfect.
The man stood up with a groan, he moved away from the desk, not bothering to push in the chair. He walked to the window, his boots thumping on the ground.
Slowly, I crept out from under the desk, The man was standing by the curtains, his back turned away from me. All he had on was a white long sleeve shirt and leather pants and boots. I almost laughed at how easy this was.
I silently stood up and walked over to him. I let my blades slide into my hands and cloak fly out behind me. The floor creaked under my feet and the man turned around, a look of surprise on his face.
"The Darier says 'Hi'" I said as I quickly slip a blade between his ribs. A circle of red blossoms on his shirt. I pull my blade out and the smell of coppery blood fills the air. His mouth opens in large 'O' of surprise, he tries to talk but falls over onto the floor. I step around him and wipe my blade on the drapes.
It was a clean enough kill, or it is until the blood forms a puddle. But I don't intend to stick around. I swiftly walk out the room and down the hallway. I let myself out the front door and disappear into the darkness.