Tayne blinked to clear his blurred vision as he shook his head slowly from side to side, the motion immediately ceased as a flash of pain shot down his spine like a fork of lightning. What the hell?

“So you see dear boy, not a single one of your men are of any use to you now, at least not until tomorrow morning.” What? Drearily in amongst the mind fog, Tay raised a grubby hand to his eyes, a silent curse on his lips as chicken grease smeared itself over his eyelids. What in Tarran’s name had happened? Tayne, being a seasoned drinker, a professional of sorts if you will, had experienced hangovers prior to this point, often on a regular basis; Hangovers of every kind, the painful life sapping hangover of the hallucinogenic Shkren, the deadly head drums of Tynerian Firebrand whisky, he’d had them all. This wasn’t a hangover.

“Now, you’re going to tell me where it is Raydian. You’re going to tell me where it is, or I’ll cut the throat of your pretty little daughter, right before your very eyes.” Tayne froze. Slowly, as to avoid notice, the drunk turned his head. The horrific pain that the movement brought ignored as a sense of self-preservation (or bone rattling fear) struck. His vision had cleared to an extent that the scene before him was visible, although smudged, as if what his eyes witnessed was but a painting of life, a painting that had been smudged by a careless thumb. Every head around the great hall was down. Some of the guests were sprawled across the floor, some with eyes open, some closed, others across the great food laden table or slumped against the wall. Not a single man or woman still stood. Other than one. A white robed slave stood with his back to Tayne, right next to the chair that Tay, by all rights should be sat in a tthis very moment. Why he was not was beyond him, as apparently he had somehow travelled to the other side of the room and ended up on the ice cold marble floor.

“Blink if you understand me.” The voice seemed to be coming from the slave, although with his vision s blurred as it was, there was no way to tell… The man’s mouth was but a pink smudge. Something caught Tay’s eye as it glinted in the sunlight, an object held by the slave, clasped in his blurred white hand. A knife. Shit. Raydian was before him, slumped forward over the table with his head on its side, his deep eyes wide open glowed with anger. Strange, in his situation the only thing he would have been feeling was his own urine running down his inner leg, an incredibly uncomfortable feeling in these ridiculous trousers, or so he would assume.

Think Tayne, how do you get out of this mess? The door. Directly behind the knife wielding slave was an open wooden door. A quick glance at the main entrance let him know without a doubt that the would be assassin had somehow barred this way to ensure no wandering guards entered unexpectedly as he performed his morbid duty. He had to make a run for it. Who’s to say what this freak would do to the guests after he had had his way with the lord of the house, I mean come on… If he was insane enough to go for the head of the Von’Faygan household in the middle of the day, he was definitely insane enough to slit a few throats on the way out, and Tayne liked his throat fully intact thank you very much.

As quietly as he could, the cowardly beggar in disguise attempted to rise to his feet, but stopped as his legs began to tremble dangerously. Shit. He thought again as he realised that he must have ingested some of whatever It was that had left the others unable to move. Mind over matter… If a thought could be classed as a growl, then this is what these words were as they reverberated around the inside of his skull. Every ounce of effort the faker had in him went into pushing himself to his feet without making a noise. Yes! He thought as he reached a standing position, although somewhat precariously as he wobbled forward and backwards. Clumsily, Tayne grabbed the long carving knife from the banquet table as he stumbled forwards. Panic flashed through him as his numb fingers almost released their hold on the wooden handle only to reclaim his grip at the very last moment. Whew… Another painstakingly slow step brought him closer to his escape, five more without incident and he was scott free.

His right leg trembled to the extent he nearly lost his balance as his left rose up high to step over a downed guest, the panic flared anew. Fear and worry increased the shakes as his left foot landed. For a moment he stood still, silently waiting for the shakes to stop.

“I’ll be taking these also…” The slave chuckled, his blurred white form hunched over Raydian, the noise of metal as it clinked together let Tayne know what the slave meant by his words. He was stealing Lord Von’Faygan’s jewellery.

Don’t get distracted. He reprimanded himself as his concentration returned back to the placement of his feet. Just two steps now. Excitement began to override the fear as his escape drew ever closer. One step more…

THUMP. A huge crash followed by yells and shouts from the main door made Tayne jump mid step, the door in front of him literally moments from being within his grubby grasp. Unfortunately, where his body responded to the sudden noise in the form of a bone jarring flinch, the one wobbly leg that was still planted to the ground faltered before folding in on itself. The degenerate’s life flashed past his eyes, or more realistically, an image of himself sat in the local inn with a bottle of Tarran knows what attached somewhat permanently to his filthy lips.

“Arghhhh!” Tay roared in frustration as he fell, he was so close! His arm lashed out in blind terror, the knife in his grasp forgotten as he attempted to grab anything and everything, something to stop his fall and stabilise himself, something to give him a bit more of an advantage after his failed escape.

It was too late. He was down. Strangely though, the floor seemed a lot softer than he remembered… somewhat warmer too.

CRASH. The doors imploded in a shower of splinters, wood and iron fixtures flew outwards towards the bounty laden table to soil the food where it landed noisily. This was followed by a stampede of footsteps as what seemed to be an entire army wearing the Von’Faygan colours, rushed into the room.

“Secure the family!” A soldier barked, evidently a ranking officer. Immediately a group detached from the main body of the armoured men before splitting again as they carefully lifted Thorne, Raydian and Amelia amongst themselves, before returning and placing them within a man-made protective circle formed of bodies and blades.

“Secure the assassin.” Another group detached and rushed over towards Tayne himself. Thank Tarran, Might see tomorrow after all! The cheery thought was suddenly dashed to pieces as firm hands roughly grasped him by the shoulders and hoisted him to his feet with a bone wrenching crunch. What? As he rose from the floor, Tayne realised why the ground had felt so strange. Beneath him was the white robed slave, the wooden handle of the carving knife protruded from his back, right between his shoulder blades, surrounded by an ever growing circle of blood stained fabric.

“lock him up.”

Immediately, the men began to drag him away towards the broken door, the rubber heels of his borrowed boots squealed painfully against the floor as his feet dragged behind him.

From the corner of his vision, a dark shadow quickly approached.

Shit. Was the last thing that went though Tayne’s mind before the gauntlet enclosed fist of the Von’Faygan soldier connected with his temple and the lights went out.7