The Son of the Warlord
The intruder moves like a shadow across the palace roof, testing each step to avoid dislodging any of the ceramic tiles. Up here, the moon is her greatest enemy. Were it not for its glow, her dark clothing would make her virtually undetectable. She pauses at the edge of the roof and looks inside.

She's here for one purpose: to kill. Kill without honor. It doesn't take her long to locate her target below. There he is. The boy is sprawled on his futon, one arm thrown over his head, lost in sleep. From her position, she's near enough to watch his chest rising and falling beneath his nightgown.

She draws her dagger and tests it on her sleeve, a nervous habit for a novice like her. It's not a long blade, but it's sharp. Sharper than she needs it to be for a soft target. She watches the boy for a long moment before committing. She clamps the weapon between her teeth and lets herself drop inside.

She lands in complete silence. Now she's inside his chambers, in the same room as her sleeping target. The only sound is his breathing. She creeps closer, moving like water.

The young ninja slips the dagger from between her teeth. The room is vast and decorated with polished furniture and vases. But her eyes are locked on the boy's exposed throat. Five steps. That's all that separates her blade from home. Her heart beats louder than a temple drum. Four steps. Three.

She lifts her arm. Lets her blade catch the moonlight as she draws it back. And that's when she sees it - a flash of silver in a mirror behind her that illuminates the whole room.

The boy's eyes snap open.

She goes still.

He immediately springs off his futon. She pounces on him, knocking the breath from his lungs, and jabs the dagger into the mat where his neck had been a second earlier. He yelps. For a split second, he can feel the pain - his body tricking him into thinking the blade has carved through his throat - before his mind catches up with reality. She missed. Just barely.

He shoves her hard, the sudden counterattack catching her off guard. He scrambles backwards, then dashes for a katana mounted on a stand. Before the girl can refocus and pull her dagger free from the mattress, he's already ripped the katana from its mount and spun around to confront her.

That son of a concubine has a sword now! Her heart jumps and her mind suddenly races with panic. This wasn't part of the plan.

The boy tries to jerk the sword from its sheath, but it's a long ceremonial blade and it won't come off completely. Seeing this, she charges. In his panic, he doesn't even think of screaming for the guards. His brain has short-circuited, leaving him in pure survival mode.

She crashes into him and they both tumble to the floor. He stumbles backwards, but she's already on top of him, her dagger stabbing towards his face. He yanks his head back just in time. He catches her wrist, the katana slipping from his grip. It hits the tatami floor silently. He uses their momentum to roll her off and springs to his feet again.

The boy scrambles away from her and finally opens his mouth to scream. Too late. His foot catches on a low table he hadn't seen - where did that come from? - and he lands on its surface, his back hitting the wood with a thud. He tries to cry out again but she pounces on him, keeping him pressed to the table with her weight. Before a sound can escape, she clamps her free hand over his mouth, her fingers digging into his cheek and clamping his jaw shut.

MMMPH!

He tries to scream into her palm. She anchors herself with her knees on either side of his ribcage, her hand still locked around his chin, forcing it back hard so he can't lift his head. He's pinned. She's got him immobilized like a wasp with its prey. She readies her dagger and looks down, concentrating. The boy reaches for a vase on the table and smashes it into her shoulder. The impact cracks the porcelain but she doesn't give him an inch. She's fighting for her life, too.

MMMMPH!

Another muffled cry against the girl's hand. She can feel the warmth of his breath. He thrashes beneath her like a fish, twisting his torso left, right, trying to get out. It's useless. He's only wearing himself out while she steadies her own breathing.

The tide has shifted. Decisively. She positions her dagger at the perfect spot just below his sternum where the ribs meet and leans forward, putting all her weight into it. One nice, clean thrust upward and it will go straight into his heart. Then she'll have won.

The boy feels her shift above him and grabs her blade arm in a final throw to save his life. For a moment, it looks like he might be strong enough to hold her back. He's fighting so hard.

But her body weight is behind the thrust and he's losing ground. He can see the writing on the wall and opens his mouth in a silent scream when he realizes that this is going to be his fate. Despite all his efforts, all his luck and quick thinking, he's still going to die right now.

The blade is in. The steel slowly cuts through his flesh and muscle, angling up, until it pushes home. The boy convulses, squeezes his eyes shut from the awful pain, and gives up.

The girl knows she's succeeded when she feels the blade encounter no more resistance and then sink another inch. The boy's heart is soft and yielding compared to his chest cavity. His hands fall away from her arms.

She buries the blade to the handle, then pulls it out. There is a sickening, wet squelch. Blood spurts out, warm and copious. It wells up like water through a hole in a ship, soaking into the silk of his nightshirt.

She removes her hand from his mouth and steps off him. The dead son of the warlord lies on the table, his eyes half-lidded, staring at the painted dragons on the ceiling. He makes no sound. Just the quiet drip of blood.

She notices small, bloody teeth marks dotted along her fingers that sting when she touches them. He must have bitten her during the struggle. Oh well. That's nothing compared to the brand-new heart condition she's given him.

That was close. He almost got away. Well, almost. It was a clean kill after all, once she'd managed to slip past his defense. But there are still many lessons to be learned from tonight.

The girl wipes her blade clean on the dead boy's silk clothing. He bled a lot.