Dark was the mood of the three spies that night as they climbed the staircase that led to the Envoy's quarters.
"I care not what happens to us now," one muttered, speaking for them all, "as long as I see the blood of that accursed sorcerer!"
As they neared the landing that was their goal, they were most encouraged to see that the Envoy's door was unguarded.
"Odd, this. Magician or not, I'd say he's too confident for his own good–"
"The Envoy," said a voice behind them, "is defended better than you think." Galadriel55, the assassin, stepped into the pool of flickering light cast by one of the torches that lined the stairwell. "Shall I slay you now, Northern devils? Or will your craven souls, lusting after a few more hours of life, tempt you to surrender, that you may be led to execution tomorrow?" The light flashed on the long, sharp blade of her dagger. "Which is it to be?"
"Neither. It is you we shall slay, barbarian!" they said, drawing their own weapons.
"By Elbereth!" said one. "Is it to be only women we kill, though? Doesn't seem right..."
"A woman? Say rather, a fiend. You saw what she did to those slaves, didn't you? And she played full part in poor Nogrod's killing," replied another grimly. "Tonight the assassin shall be assassinated! For Gondor!"
"For the Empress!" shrieked Galadriel55.
Like Rikae before her, Galadriel fought with the savagery of a true fanatic. Her blade did the work of three, flashing and whirling in a deadly dance of steel. Outnumbered though she was, it seemed she might yet prove more than a match for the three spies. Then one of them managed to lunge past her guard, gashing her across the shoulder. It was not, in itself, a mortal wound, but the shock of it sent the blade spinning from her hand. Worse, it made her lose her precarious footing on the edge of the step.
The assassin teetered for a moment, arms flailing, then with a scream fell backwards and crashed down the stairs, to lie sprawled and motionless at the bottom.
The three made their way down gingerly, half-afraid she was merely shamming, but they need not have worried. Galadriel's broken neck was bent almost at right angles to her body, though she was so newly dead that the blood still ran from her wound.
"Wait, that's funny," said one of the spies, bending for a closer look.
The rip in the black cloth of the assassin's robe revealed another layer of clothing beneath– this one a brilliant scarlet, embroidered on the shoulder with a design in gold thread.
Bloody though it was, they had no difficulty in recognising the triple serpent insignia of the Captain of the Guard.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Living
Boromir88 –Wealthy mûmak breeder.
Sally –Messenger girl.
Shasta –Particularly attentive guard-lieutenant.
Steve –Court Jester (from Umbar).
Pomegranate –Entertainer.
A Little Green –The Empress's favourite snake-charmer.
Pitchwife –Captain in the "Provisional Royal Númenórean Navy" and emissary of Angamaitë IX, Lord of Umbar.
Lottie –Accident-prone sorcerer's apprentice.
Inziladun –Minister of the Treasury.
Lommy! –Court physician.
Legate of Amon Lanc –Legate of Khand.
Dead
The Empress of Harad. Mod.
–assassinated in her sleep.
Bom Tombadillo –Greatly afflicted beggar. Ordo.
–multiple stab wounds.
Eruhen –Court eunuch. Ordo.
–burned to death on the Empress's funeral pyre.
Rikae –Empress's handmaiden. Royal Executioner.
–garotted with own wire.
Nogrod –Camel and coffee trader. Spy.
–poisoned with own merchandise.
Galadriel55 –Professional assassin. Captain of the Guard.
–neck broken in stairwell fight.
Day Three has begun.