With a frown, Corco looked over down to the cup of coffee he had brewed before. The shimmer on the cold, black drink's surface was just about the only thing he could see. Of course the prince was sure that no one would be stupid enough to attack him here. However, he was no fool either, so he had brought himself to waste some of their precious coffee, a luxury product from halfway across the world, to make it through the night without sleep. At first Corco was convinced that he had been right, that tonight had been a waste of coffee and a perfectly good bed, but then he saw the light. Right away he looked back up, to find the door open bit by bit, a dark figure in the entrance silhouetted by the light behind it.

As ice rushed through his veins, the prince became wide awake, more than the coffee could have ever managed for him. He fell back on his bed and reached under his pillow, his fingers closing on the dagger he had hidden there. Once more he got up, to be blinded by the dim light from outside. In the room's doorway, the figure still stood there and watched. The lighting from the lamp and the roaring storm outside made the already large figure even more imposing. For the fraction of a second, the two stared at each other, until the intruder shot forward with inhuman speed. In response, Corco threw his dagger on instinct and rolled away to get the bed between them.

With a sharp clank, the dagger bounced off what should have been heavy armor under the robes, but the throw had still shown the desired effect. In reflex, the attacker had flinched backwards as the well-placed dagger had gone for his head.

Has to be enough, Corco thought as he grabbed into the folded leather on his nightstand and turned around. By this time his opponent had recovered and leapt over the bed in a single, impossible jump as he thrust his sword towards Corco's heart, another glint in the darkness. Despite his imminent death, there was a strange calm in Corco's actions. Any doubts or fears were suppressed by the rush of adrenaline. The world around him felt like it had slowed to a crawl as his left hand went for the assassin's wrist in an attempt to divert the blade. The tip brushed past his heart and left a deep cut in his left shoulder as the force of the attacker pushed Corco's back onto the nightstand. With his assailant's blade in an awkward position and his own hand free, he pointed at the man's chest and pressed the trigger.

The enormous boom of the pistol was drowned out by the raging thunder outside, but it made the projectile no less deadly. Finally, for the first and last time, Corco saw his attacker's eyes. Enlarged from shock, the man's ice-blue eyes stared at his killer, as his hand lost grip on the sword and he sank to the ground.

Although the battle had only taken a second, Corco could feel the sweat run down his face. With heaving breaths he looked at the man with the massive hole in his chest.

"Well... shit."

He had been far too arrogant. Never would he have expected for them to be so brazen and attack him on the first night. Luckily, he had been prepared. Back in Arcavia, he had learned how to handle assassins and kidnappers through years of constant danger.

The presence of guards everywhere in the castle had also done nothing to help Corco feel safe. Those servants had led him up a flight of stairs and along several corridors until they had arrived here. He had been separated from his men, on purpose, and so he knew he had to take care of security himself. As soon as the door had been closed behind him, Corco had checked every corner of his room for hidden paths or hidden people. Then he had placed his weapons, brewed his coffee, and waited.

Still in a daze, he looked down on the weapon which had saved his life. After only a single shot, the pistol's short, but overly thick barrel was deformed beyond salvation. This one couldn't be used any more. He put away the now useless gun and ran to the still opened doorway. He looked outside and, after finding the hallway empty, took the intruder's lamp inside and shut the door. It seemed like the storm had droned out the sounds of their struggle, but Corco couldn't be sure when the guards would come back.

Suddenly, a numb knock in his shoulder crescendoed into searing pain. The effects of the adrenalin had worn off. A look at the wound showed that the cut was not too deep, but he was bleeding far too much. If he couldn't stem the tide, he would soon be too weak to fight, or even move. Thus, he rushed back to the nightstand and suppressed the tremble in his hands to grab the bottle of high proof brandy he had left there.

His fingers too clumsy for any work, he uncorked the bottle with his teeth and put one of the meditative bamboo slips from behind the bed into his mouth. A few quick breaths to ready himself, then he bit down hard as he poured the alcohol over his open wound. The sound of the scream was swallowed by the wind, just like any other. After he had gotten back his dagger to fashion a pressure bandage out of his bedding, he finally bent down to inspect the dead intruder.

With the robe's hood down and the helmet off, the attacker had become a person. A strangely lanky face, a nose crooked as if it had been broken several times and, most importantly, pale skin and red hair, unusual even in Arcavia and completely unheard of in Medala.

The attacker had been a foreigner. The plate mail armor under his robe confirmed Corco's suspicion, though the steel might not have been the highest quality, considering the bloodied, gaping hole in the man's chest.

Corco started to put on his own protection, the old chain mail, and added gloves and backpack to his outfit as he considered his situation. Even though he should be safe as soon as he met a Medalan guard, he was still in serious danger. Whoever planned the attack couldn't be too brazen in their actions and take him out in the open, but Corco had been wrong before. At this point, he would rather be safe than dead. If he left the room, he couldn't know whether or not the first guard he found would be on some suicide mission and ram a knife into his stomach. His eyes raced around the room in search of an answer. He still had one pistol left, the one he had held for Dedrick, but with only a pistol, a dagger and his chain mail he didn't fancy his chances against who knew how many elite guards. He guessed that even healthy and uninjured, he couldn't take on even one sipiy warrior after he had used his final shot.

Still trapped in thought, a loud knock on the door brought Corco back to reality.

"Anyone in there?" someone shouted over the rain.

It looked like the missing guards had returned, and considering they had no other reason to knock in the middle of the night, it looked like they were in on it. This was worse than he thought. Without many options, Corco decided to bet. In a deep, gruff voice, the prince shouted a few Bornish towards the door.

"Done soon, I'm cleaning up!"

Whether or not the men outside understood his excuse, they let off for now.

Precious time.

As quick as he could, Corco took the black robe and full helmet off the corpse and fumbled them over his chain mail and his pack. He looked back at the terrible wound which had killed the now revealed man and realized something he had forgotten. As he kneeled next to the half-cooled corpse, Corco squinted his eyes. He would rather not see this. His face scrunched up from disgust, he jabbed his gloved hand into the fist sized hole he had created. Iron in his nose and raw liver on his hand, the prince suppressed his gag reflex as he rummaged around in the man's torso. Finally, he managed to pull a large chunk of deformed metal from the wound, like a splash of paint on canvas, black and shiny from the blood.

Just in case, he thought as he cleaned the piece and put it away. Those pistols were his life insurance. He wouldn't want anyone to find out how the attacker had died. Done with his preparations and the lead ball secured, all that was left was to remove the body. Under his own grunts. Corco dragged the corpse over to the far side of the room and heaved it out of the window. His eyes followed the body down onto the smooth, slippery stones of the sloped wall and into the raging Argu River below. During his inspection just a few hours ago, the view had looked completely safe from any attack, but now it had turned into a death trap. At least the lack of a body could buy him precious time. Just as the heard a second knock, he closed the window.

Impatient.

Ready to risk it all, Corco put down the visor of his helmet, put up the robe's hood and smothered the lamp's flame. His chances would be better in the dark. Then, he grabbed the lamp and the assassin's blade and drove open the door with force.

Before the guards could even react, he had out of the room and past them.

"What happened? You done?" he heard from behind.

As he mumbled something vague and waved his hand with the bloodied sword towards the warriors at his back, Corco just kept walking into the darkness, until he had made it around the corner and into safety. At this point, he just hoped that whoever had orchestrated the attack would not decide to get rid of the witnesses.