Chapter 1 - Gisella

                                    

                                          
Chapter 1: Gisella
Needham's Mill
Outskirts of the Kingdom of Karil
Deckard had assured Gisella that it would not rain tonight. He claimed that he had been surveying the clouds. No chance, he had said. She cursed him under her breath now as her feet slipped beneath her, skidding along the sloped roof in the steadily worsening downpour. She paused for a moment, took a breath, blinked a few times to clear away the droplets that had gathered on her eyelids, and glanced around. Not much farther now.
Gisella was in the business of darkness and had spent years of her life on those very rooftops in the blackest nights, slithering her way along the tin and clay and tonight, despite the storm, was no different. Though, with the lightning, she had taken precautions to avoid certain metal rooftops.
She made it to the end of the row and paused to catch her breath. Gazing up at the tall, cold stone walls looming above her, she braced herself for her next task, then she inhaled sharply and sprinted to the end of the roof, rain beating down on her exposed face as she went. She vaulted into the air, spreading her limbs wide as she leapt.
She hit the wall hard, feeling the breath leave her lungs. Her fingers ached as she reached the top and clung to the solid edge above her. She held firmly to it and released her feet, swinging them back with such force that they flew over her head and carried her, in a complete arc, onto the top of the wall. She landed on the hard stone above in a crouch, knees bent and one hand bracing the ground between them.
The top of the wall was a path, worn down by generations of guards and graveled over for the thousandth time. It was at least six feet wide, enough room for two men to walk abreast and enough for a mild retreat from an onslaught of enemy arrows. Luckily for her, it was empty.
There were windows below, open slats in the stone, some covered, some opened. She had only to pick the one nearest the room she was looking for. She felt the rain soaking her hair as she stared down at them, counting levels and steps between. 
That one.
Gisella heaved herself over the edge, fingers finding purchase in the old stones once again, and lowered herself slowly to the farthest window to the left, the one with ruby red curtains billowing in the breeze. She rolled her eyes. He may as well have marked his position with a painted red X.
She slid her way across the stones, flexing her gloved fingers when they were not searching for purchase upon the wall, and peered in through the open window next door. 
Inside, it was dark. No torches, no candles, just the silence of sleep and the rhythm of a man in slumber. Her body, charged with having used her gift, felt the sleeping man's heart beat in its very bones. She looked down at the man slumbering on his giant bed.
He was balding, fattened by years of luxury and a forgotten taste for the glory of battle. It would be so easy to accomplish her task now, while he was asleep. One quick strike or, even easier, another taste of what she'd done to his guards but this time, one he would not awaken from. But there was no honor in that and, contrary to popular opinion, she did have honor left.
Above a desk in the corner hung a sword. She reached up and pulled it from its frame. Then she pulled her own from the scabbard at her hip. She took up her stance at the foot of his bed and then reached out with her sword to slap the bottom of an outstretched foot with the flat of her blade. He snorted awake, eyes darting wildly about the room as they adjusted to the darkness.
"Who's there?" he cried out in terror. "What do you—
"Baldrick Von Barr," Gisella stated as she had rehearsed, "I am here to call in your debts."