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**The Thrill of the Kill** "We will strike with the noon sun! With the world alight, we cannot lose!" The Captain crashed his plate-covered fist into the table for emphasis. "They are mere brigands, and we are the Crown's Finest! The undefeatable army! There is no need for further plans!" Lissan, the King's treasurer, sighed in exasperation. "Captain, we've been over this. Many, many times. They fight with the wind, they flee into the trees. You'll lose a thousand men to kill a hundred. Neither the royal treasury nor the kingdom's men can afford this plan." "Money? There are bandits in the highlands and you think of money! What of glory, honor, the thrill of the fight!" The Captain was shouting now, his vision already distraught with images of the oncoming fight. "We shall have heroes once again in this too-quiet land! Mark my words, my man, today, we ride to war!" Lissan shook his head again; "You can't 'Ride to War' against a force that lives on berries and sleeps in caves. There will be no crash of lancers, no charges for the poets to write about. Merely a senseless slaughter, of hungry men in the hills and fat knights on overfed horses." "Do you propose we feed these rebels? They take from the King's fields, they steal from honest traders on the King's Highway, they sack granaries meant for the King's soldiers! Man, if you feed these... these... these traitors, then you'll have no kingdom left." The Captain's eyes narrowed, and he dropped his voice to a malicious growl; "Or perhaps, the greatest traitor sits across from me." Lissan's eyes bulged with rage, but he collared his anger. Standing, he addressed the Captain. "You mark MY words, Captain. You won't live long enough to regret this day as you should." With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the conference room. "Sergeant! You have your orders, carry them out! The company line rides to the highlands, full battle gear at the ready! I will join you there!" The silent sergeant sitting behind the Captain stood, and withdrew wordlessly, with a small bow. The Captain turned to a tapestry on the wall, depicting a knight, riding full force downhill towards a group of infantry. "Such glory, such thrill. Truly, today, I will join you in history... Father. I will slaughter enough traitors to fertilize our pillaged fields with their blood." The Captain knelt in front of the tapestry, in genuflection to his ancestor. Closing his eyes, he didn't notice the black-clad figure drop from the rafters behind him, or sneak silently across the carpet. He didn't even notice the rapier that penetrated his back until he saw its front end sticking out beneath his chin. "The truth is, Captain," said the man in black, "We did nothing but warn you. Your pride will let you hear no plan but your own. Your troops, they are walking to their deaths. We know everything, we know everyone, and we love the irony... the irony of you telling us your moves ahead of time. The irony of your confidence, bumbling headfirst with polished helms into a realm of trees and shadows, easy pickings for our archers. And the irony of your pride, to sit here and hear no sound but that of your own voice, not even knowing it chants your death hymn. All you had to do was share your food, but you couldn't resist the thrill of the kill. Well, I suppose in that respect, you and I are one and the same." The assassin gave the sword one final twist, pulling it free as the Captain coughed blood on his too-shiny armor one last time, and died. "Pity," he thought, "That will leave such a stain." With a grin, the master assassin turned and walked into the night, taking time only to grab a torch from the wall and set the old tapestry alight. Grudo | |