The Shadow Walker

1. Half a Payment...Again

My prey sat at the bar, hunched miserably over a pint of ale, shooting frequent glances over his shoulders.

Yes, my little target, drink up. Make my job easier.

He knocked back the cup, swallowing again and again, until it was empty. As he handed it to the bartender, he glanced around once more.

"Hey," the barkeep said as he filled the mug. "I know every customer here. Relax." At my target's unsure expression, the man added, "You're safe here."

But where there are shadows, you are never safe. Because I may be there. I am sly, I am quick, I am cunning. I am your greatest fear.

I am the Shadow Walker.

And I am no customer.

It took awhile, but after a few drinks, my prey had loosened up a bit and asked for a room upstairs. Arrangements were made, and the target went up the staircase. I slipped after him.

I already knew how I would do it. I would wait until he fell asleep, then gag and tie him. There would doubtless be a crossbeam I could hang him from. A little reworking, and it would look like suicide. My employer would be free of suspicion from his peers, but the others working his land would know, and fear.

And for once, I'd get the second half of my payment.

In the past, something would always go wrong. Something inexplicably random, at just the wrong moment. Like the time Denethor hired me to strategically relieve one of his captains of life. I had been two minutes from the kill, when the captain was found and ordered to return home immediately.

And, not having the guts to tell Denethor I failed, I left. Moved on to the next job. I always do.

I scowled. That would not happen this time. Especially since there was nothing high-profile about my target or my employer. This man was a coward, and a common thief - refusing to pay his landlord rent. Running when the landlord threatened him.

A steady snore filtered through the door of my target's room. It was time. I placed my hand on the doorknob, and slowly opened the door. The hinges gave a low whine, but it hardly compared to the noise emanating from the man's throat. I slipped into the room and closed the door behind me.

Another man stood behind it. A very tall man, wearing gray robes and a gray hat, with great eyes and gray hair. His wooden staff was long and gnarled. "You would take a life," he said, "for money?"

I froze. I hadn't even drawn a weapon! Usually, when people see me slip into a man's room, they think my visit is if a very different nature. And hopefully, they never learn otherwise.

How did he know?

I glanced at my target. He was sprawled out on the bed, unconscious.

"Please," I said meekly, bringing a blush to my cheeks. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I had thought perhaps my presence would be welcomed by this man." I glanced up, meeting his gaze through my eyelashes. "Rewarded, even."

He chuckled. "And a liar as well. Your parents would be ashamed, Amariel."

My eyes widened. I pulled my knife from my sleeve and attacked.

He deftly parried my blow with his staff, then caught my hand and took away my knife. There was something unnatural about how this man behaved, something besides the fact that he made me feel like an insolent child. This was bloody embarrassing, and with his hand around my arm, I couldn't escape the situation.

The old man dragged me from the room, down the hall, and down the stairs. Oh Mordor, what was he going to do to me?

No one even noticed as he pulled me across the pub and sat me down at the corner table, where I'd been not five minutes ago. The man released my arm and seated himself across from me, and I sighed. There was no point in running.

"You are talented, Amariel." He placed the knife on the table. "But you limit yourself."

"My name is Eda," I snapped.

He squinted, looking deep into my eyes. "Hmmm..." His eyes darkened, and he examined me closely. I looked away, trying not to squirm under his gaze. What in Eru's name did he want?!

Finally, he said, "My name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Gray. And I have been looking for you, for a very long time." He picked up the knife and examined the blade, then handed it back to me. "Here, I find you - working as a mercenary, hired to kill a simple fool and unable to accomplish even that."

I scowled, pushing the knife up my sleeve, where I could draw it again in a moment's notice. "How could I, when you stopped me?"

"You underestimate your own power, Amariel, because you are crippled with your value for life."

"Illùvatar, would you stop calling me that!?" I swore. I was more than a little irked that this Gandalf kept butting into my personal space, and stubbornly using my other name. Where did he even learn it, anyway?

"And yet," he continued, unfazed by my outburst, "the ability to take life is not power. Nor is valuing life a weakness."

Stunned, I met his gaze.

He smiled. "Now, that is better. You see, I should rather like to hire you."