* * * * *
Gret sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the bloody bandages wrapped around his throbbing hand. The wound had stopped bleeding a few hours ago but the pain would last for a few days. He didn’t think he would be able to sleep tonight with the pain racing up his arm. He also did not know if he would be able to sculpt any more. Just moving the broom around, trying to clean up the mess those mercenaries made downstairs was painful. One thing was for certain though; he would never be as good as he once was.
Damn the thief! he yelled into his mind. Why couldn’t he have gone and bothered someone else? Why did he have to go and steal from someone with the means to hire mercenaries? Staring at his hand, he now felt a pang of regret for selling the map and taking the man’s coin. He should have known the man was up to something. That amount of gold would have been suspicious for even a wealthy noble to buy a map.
His anger and frustration would have to wait until morning. Though Solaris had just barely set, Gret had a rough day and the weariness was heavy on his bones, so he pulled back the covers of his bed and lay down.
Just seconds before sleep claimed him, Gret’s eyes fluttered open, just for a moment, but it was enough for him to see the figure standing over his bed.
“Eep!” he shrieked and jumped up, staring at the silhouette in front of him. Though the room was dark, almost black–it couldn’t be that late, could it?–he could still see the outline of the man standing over him.
“What–” he began, but his words caught in his throat as a candle burst into light on the table near his bedside. The flame illuminated the man’s face.
The pale flesh, black, lifeless eyes, and vileness of the man sent a surge of cold racing up Gret’s spine. He immediately started to sweat, as if he had been thrown into a forge, and found that his body started to shake. He could hardly move, let alone breathe. The only thing he could do was slowly pull the covers tight to his chest, hoping that they would protect him from the creature that had so easily invaded his room.
“I...” he stammered, his words falling away like his courage. “I didn’t say anything,” he babbled, staring into the expressionless face of the thief. The man didn’t move. It seemed he hardly breathed. He just stared at Gret, as if peering into his soul. Was he even alive?
“All right!” Gret said, feeling tears coming to his eyes again. “They know where you’re going. I couldn’t help it. Look what they did to my hand.” He held up his bandaged hand for the thief to see, but received no response. Those black eyes, the depths of oblivion, continued to stare without remorse.
“They know you’re going to Pelartis.”
And those were the last words Gret ever spoke. When the name of the city left his lips, a dagger slid across his throat. He never even saw the movement. He hardly felt the blade. One second he was speaking and the next he was gasping for air. As the blood tumbled down his nightshirt and his vision darkened, the thief just watched him die, as if he were simply a leaf, falling from a dying tree.
* * * * *