The Godling Chronicles The Shadow of God

chapter 4





The lanterns burned brightly in the front of Starfinder manor that night, as they did every night. The sound of restless horses in the nearby stables carried on the chill night air, masking the rustle of the approaching footfalls of two cloaked figures. One was tall and thin, the other shorter and portly. They made their way around the edge of the yard, then to the back of the house.

“Are you certain he's inside?” whispered the short man.

The other brought his finger to the side of his nose and scanned the area. He pointed to the second window from the corner of the house. The short man nodded, then slowly pushed it open. The soft sound of the well-crafted window sliding upward caused both men to wince. They paused and waited to see if they had been heard, but to their relief, no one inside stirred.

The tall man peered inside. Blackness stared back at him. After a minute his eyes began to adjust and he could see that the window led to a small pantry. Shelves filled with cans and jars lined the walls; herbs and dried meats hung from small hooks on the ceiling. He looked back to his companion and nodded sharply. Carefully, he pulled himself inside and gently placed his moccasin-covered feet on the floor. The slight squeak of wood against wood was like a thunderclap, but he ignored it and went on.

He crept to the door at the far end and cracked it open. He could see no one. He glanced behind him to make sure his companion was following, but to his dismay, he was still alone. The tall man hissed, but there was no response.

“Devon,” he whispered, angrily. “Get in here.” But Devon was silent. His lip curled with anger. He drew his knife and crept to the window. Devon was nowhere to be seen. Coward, he thought. I'll have his hide for this. Devon had been far from his first choice to go with him on this mission. He was fat, clumsy, and not very bright. But his father was rich, and had largely funded the efforts of the faithful in Sharpstone. However, rich or not, the faithful would not tolerate a coward.

He tip-toed back to the door. Going on alone was a risk, even if Starfinder wasn't in the house, but there was no backing out now. He knew what would happen to him if he failed. He pushed the door open wider and ever so slowly stepped silently into the kitchen. The room was still warm from an earlier meal, and the air bore the scent of roast meat and bread. Beads of sweat quickly formed on his brow.

At the far end of the room was a door that he assumed led to the dining hall. From there he needed to make his way to the other end of the house to the sleeping chambers. One of Starfinder's less-than-loyal servants had given them a good description of the layout, and he had been over it several times. Still, there was always the chance that it was inaccurate. He shifted his knife into his left hand, dried his palm on his trousers, and took a slow, deep breath.

He heard movement behind him coming from the pantry. The coward regained his nerve. He was almost at the kitchen door when it burst open. A dark figure stood in the doorway, the glint of steel shining through the darkness. He instinctively raised his knife. Then there was a thud and sharp pain to the back of his head. He fell to his knees, his knife falling from his grasp.

“I surrender!” he cried.

The figure in the doorway stepped forward, his face still obscure by darkness. “Again.”

Another blow came from behind; this one sent him into unconsciousness.