Necroben's StoryBlog

Death’s Door

I’d been warned that the Gorstav were after me. In three days, the assassins would come to kill me. For years I quietly worked against them. Spreading rumors, hunting them down one-by-one; trying to find why they’d targeted my daughter.

I fortified my cabin. Only one who knew the secret ways could get in unscathed. Or if the were lucky.

The sound of my son crying woke me. He was wet. After changing him, I laid awake, staring at the ceiling. If my informant was right, tonight would be the night.

Soft footsteps outside my room broke me from my reverie. I pulled my long knife from under my pillow and crept behind where the door would open. The door swung gently and a shadow passed, going to the bed.

I hooked the intruders left arm with my own, stepped behind them, and put my knife to their throat.

“Answer my questions, and your death will be quick.”

A sibilant whisper, “Daddy?”

Too late, I felt the blade prick my belly. Then my son began crying again.

“Wha—?” She flinched slightly.

Pushing and pulling, I completed what the Gorstav could not. Dead inside or not, my son needed me.