The assassin tried for the apparently sleeping wizard with the cat in hir lap. The tiny gnome, a dragon in disguise, seeing the assassin's thin hand said "Ask for help instead, it'll be far less painful, and they'll help you escape your contract." -- Anon Guest
[AN: Whoop. Forgot about Bibrid. He doesn't have to be in every Wraithvine story you know]
With catlike tread, a cautious way Zeb felt. It was pitch black inside the inn when it was this close to midnight. So far, their darkvision was working to turn all the interior into shades of grey. The dagger had a whole vial of Nuruthara in its sheath. An ancient poison against Elvenkind, not used since the last set of Xenophobia Wars petered out.
They still made it, though, for jobs like these. When it was vitally necessary to make sure an Elf died.
Zeb oiled the hinges and the lock of the room they'd been told to enter. Carefully easing the lock into an open position. Equally carefully shifting the door open. Beyond, nestled on the bed, was a seated figure. Pointed ears. Pointed hat. Hands on hir knees and an orb of fluffy cat in the lap. The hat was all patches, and the face matched the picture the Master had let them memorise.
One strike, and the client would make all of Zeb's troubles vanish.
They didn't want to do this.
They had to do this.
Zeb drew the dagger. Lining up the strike. Trying to ignore the sick feeling that came with ending a living legend. It felt like trying to assassinate Greatfather Langeven himself.
Shaking to their bones, Zeb wound up to strike. Summoned all of their strength. At least this should be quick and clean.
May the gods forgive me... Zeb thrust.
And their arm felt like it was caught in tar. When they opened their eyes, they were facing the gaze of the Eternal Wizard. The judging gaze of someone who had had to face such threats before.
It was over. Zeb was done for. They relaxed and whispered, "I accept my fate. If I may ask... please... free my creche? They're innocent in this."
Wraithvine transplanted the cat to a thick pillow, and scooted out of the way. At a gesture, the dagger resumed its former velocity and embedded itself in the wall. "Most Deep Elves send trained assassins after me for insults to their venom god," said Wraithvine. "They've not sent children before today." Ze picked up Zeb's hand, put hir fingers around their wrist. "Especially not half-starved ones."
"I'm not sent by the Matriarchs," said Zeb. "They're dead. Adventurers." Which explained everything. "They caged up the creche and... sold us to the Master. He's the one who... I was better than all the others and now they're going to die because I wasn't good enough." Honestly, Zeb was shocked they'd been permitted to live this long. They didn't expect to live much longer.
"The others in your creche," said Wraithvine. "How many are there? How old?"
"I'm the oldest," said Zeb. "There's nineteen of us and me. Well. Nineteen now. The babies didn't survive the trip up. The tiniest ones got sick and..."
"We can't help them," said Wraithvine, "but we can help those who have survived. Let me have your oil flask, please?"
Zeb had wanted to be stabbed with the knife, but handed it over anyway. For all they knew, it was a crucial ingredient in their impending immolation. They handed it over. And watched in shock as Wraithvine summoned a table full of good, Everdark food.
"Stay and eat," said Wraithvine. "I will return with your surviving creche."
Zeb couldn't deny their hunger, and fell onto the feast. Savouring every flavour that made them homesick and prone to tears.
A touch made them jump out of their skin. It was Lini. Their closest creche-mate.
"Got some Arach Roast for me?"
Zeb didn't have words. Just a huge hug for their best friend. And for about three or four of the others who happened to be close enough. It was so good to see them alive. Half-starved, true, but alive. The whole surviving creche.
"Congratulations," said Wraithvine, "you are the person who's come closest to perhaps killing me. I'm glad I could rescue you from that fate."
So was Zeb.
[Photo by Carlos Felipe Ramírez Mesa on Unsplash]
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