Cirath sat on the edge of the small bed, naked, staring at the glowing coals that still smoldered in the little stone hearth. They did little to illuminate the room, but between their orange radiance and the slivery light of the moon pouring in through the only, window behind him he could see well enough. The chamber was a bit cramped, but he had seen worse. The single table, and stool on which his clothes were draped, were the only other furniture, yet still there was space for little else. A trunk sat at the foot of the bed, presumably full of clothes, and the table held a pitcher and basin for washing, a hairbrush, and the now empty brandy bottle he had brought with him.
He had been sitting there for nearly an hour, thinking, planning his next move, and the one after that. Things were moving much more quickly now. All the planning and maneuvering were beginning to come into effect, yet there still seemed to be so much left to do before it was all finished. Would there be time?
A sound behind him triggered a reflex, and the assassin snatched up the blade he had left near the bed as he whipped around. He relaxed just as suddenly when he realized it had just been the girl, murmuring in her sleep. She had given her name at some point in the night, but he hadn’t cared enough to remember it. "Too jumpy,” he said quietly as he replaced the knife. He had been tense for the past couple of days, all the plotting he supposed, and had thought the barmaid that had served his drinks earlier that night would make a fine distraction. The romp only served to delay the thoughts that had him sitting up in her tiny chamber now.
A few things had been pressing on his mind lately. The attack on Tsakchanar, for instance, she had escaped the ambush, but not unscathed. How badly was the creature injured? Would the poison finish her off? He hated being uncertain, considering what he had at stake. Then there was the rumor he had heard just the other day, that the Tvorlite priest that had everyone so worked up and confused was dead. Certainly and annoyance, Cirath had rather liked the man, but all of that was secondary.
One thing took precedence over all of that: Lilira’s death. It wasn’t so much that the half-breed was dead, she had served her purpose for the most part, and one less mutt in the Realms didn’t bother him a bit. What kept pulling his thoughts back to that event was that someone had taken pains to see that he took the blame for it. Perhaps his efforts had not gone completely unnoticed, and whoever framed him wanted others set against him as well.
There certainly wasn’t a shortage of people that would smile at the thought of Cirath’s head on a block, that was the nature of the life. However, not many of those that would like to see him dead would be willing to go to such ends to accomplish the task. He tried to stay on the good side of those that would, they made good clients. A few possibilities had occurred to him, but he hadn’t been able to narrow them down yet.
No matter the reason, someone had decided to make him a pawn in their game, and Cirath intended to make quite sure that that game came crashing down on the one responsible in the most painful manner he could devise. Having decided on his next move, he stood and dressed. Gathering his things, he slipped silently out the door. He had a bloody few days ahead of him, best get to it.
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