The Silent Enemy by Richard A. Knaak

politely. Bundled in his hands were the various things that he had promised the knight earlier.
    There was a small table with an accompanying chair on one side of the room. Nermesa gestured to it. “There, if you please.”
    Depositing the items on the table, Wulfrim glanced around the room. “You’re alone.”
    “Yes.”
    “I hesitated before knocking,” the Gunderman explained. “My lady Jenoa can be very persuasive, even to those of the staunchest of hearts.” When Nermesa remained silent, Wulfrim executed another slight bow. “Forgive me, my lord. I meant nothing unseemly about it. Just alerting you.”
    “Thank you, but there was no necessity.” Nermesa eyed the parchment. “It shouldn’t take me long to complete the message.”
    “Then, with your permission, I shall wait outside your door and take everything with me to Braggi, who already prepares his mount for travel.”
    “I’d be grateful.”
    Setting aside his sword and sheath, Nermesa went to work as soon as the Gunderman departed. At first the message flowed quickly, but the more Nermesa sat, the more his exhaustion sought to take hold again. It was with some effort that he finally finished, then readied the pouch and seal.
    Wulfrim, who had been leaning against the opposing wall in the corridor, straightened as soon as the door opened. He took the sealed message from the Aquilonian, stating, “I’ll see to it that it’s taken care of, my lord.”
    “Thank you again, Wulfrim.”
    “Best you get some sleep now, my lord. Truth to tell, you look all done in.”
    Bolontes’ son could not argue with him. “I plan to do just that.”
    Once the Gunderman had vanished down the hall, Nermesa not only shut the door but bolted it, too. He did not want to chance his hostess suddenly materializing at his bedside in the middle of the night.
    Nermesa quickly doused the candles, leaving only the lamp by the bed on. He sat down atop the bed, trying to catch his breath. When that failed to work, the Aquilonian did what he normally would not have as a guest in such a house. He lay down, armor and all, atop the blankets and pillows. A few minutes’ recuperation would be all that Nermesa needed. Then he would remove everything.
    A bleating sound briefly caught his attention, a sound that reminded him of the call of a goat or sheep. Nermesa would have paid it no mind at all save for the odd notion that it sounded much too close, almost as if the animal wandered inside the house and not all that far from his chambers.
    But when he listened for it again, he heard nothing. Nermesa finally chalked it up to his exhaustion. Once more he cleared his thoughts—
    And the next instant, a hand was covering his mouth with a cloth while some heavy force—his attacker, Nermesa slowly realized—pressed him down onto the bed.
    The oil lamp still glowed dimly, but it failed to reveal much to Nermesa. His attacker was no more than a dark shadow above him. Yet that shadow pressed down upon the Aquilonian as if the world itself.
    Despite his terrible predicament, the Black Dragon felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. There was some concoction on the cloth the intruder held over his nose and mouth that sapped Nermesa of his strength.
    But if the mysterious assassin had caught Nermesa unaware, he himself had underestimated the knight’s resolution. Nermesa did not attempt to knock the figure off of him, but simply used what leverage he could to twist his own body to one side of the bed.
    It was enough to cause his attacker’s hand to slip from his mouth. As Nermesa inhaled fresh air, the other man tried to readjust his position. However, Nermesa’s reflexes took over, the desperate knight managing to shove both of them from the bed.
    They dropped to the floor with a loud thump, their bodies crashing into the small table and knocking it over. The oil lamp went crashing to the floor, and small licks of flame splattered the area. Most faded, the marble providing nothing able