Na'sai sighed and edged forwards. A young and pretty merian maid, she was clad
in the customary garments of those who served the Star Palace and, summarily,
the King of Celest: her breeding was reflected not only in her appearance but
in her manner and speech, which was clipped, formal and thoroughly lovely.
"Sir," she implored, "you've been at that window for hours now. Don't you think
that you may have overestimated the danger of this so-called assassin?"

Tiberon, King of Celest, slowly turned from his vantage point. Fully seven feet
tall and bulky for a merian, he was clearly aged, yet no less in fierceness for
that: rather his girth and his experience seemed to add to his ferocity, give
him the appearance of a cunning old lion. Yet the smile with which he greeted
his chief servant belied that fierceness. "My dear Na'Sai, how old are you?"

"Twenty eight, my Lord."

"Well, I am eighty two, and for the past sixty of those years I have been the
crown sovereign of Celest. I make a point not to underestimate any foe I face:
for assassins, this rule counts double."

Na'Sai was evidently intrigued. "You mean there have been previous attempts on
your life, Lord?"

Tiberon chuckled, a dry, rusty sound like the cawing of a crow. "I do indeed.
In fact, the first attempt on my life came just a few months after I was
crowned. Very inexperienced, back then - green as an elfen, so I was," he gave
another throaty chuckle at this feeble joke, "because the would-be murderer,
you see, disguised himself as a statue. Like a fool, I looked the gift horse in
the mouth when he was delivered to the Star Palace by a very shady looking
assortment of characters. Tainted, I see now they must've been, but back then I
thought merely gypsies. Performers, you know, a gift of fealty to the ruler of
New Celest. Anyway, two of my best manservants carried up this remarkably
realistic statue, placing it in my study. I followed up after them, and though
I arrived in my study mere seconds after them, the assassin had already
dispatched of them both, and had both daggers drawn, ready for me."

Na'Sai gave a peculiar kind of sigh - one almost of awe. "Whatever did you do,
Lord?"

Tiberon smiled grimly. "I'll tell you what I didn't do - pull any punches. No,
I drew my greatsword and a heated battle ensued. Being ruler does not preclude
combat ability, as I taught that foolish assassin that day. You see, his
mistake was the one that I am determined not to repeat - he underestimated me.
He thought that as a King, I would rely on my servants and guards for defense.
Yet I am self-sufficient, and he paid for his ignorance with his head."

Na'Sai was evidently impressed, but her goal was apparently not in siphoning
stories from the King, but in getting him away from the window: "A fascinating
story, sir, but surely there are other factors to take into account than
underestimation? I mean, what about poisons? What about subtleties and
vagaries?"

The King nodded sagely. "Na'Sai, my dear, I have not even begun to tell you of
the second attempt on my life."

Na'Sai arched one elegant eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Almost four years later, it was. This assassin was cleverer than the last one
- a poisonist of some renown, from the forests, he was. Outcast, little elfen
fellow, enraged at the loss of the Gloriana and looking to lay the blame on the
heads of we Celestians. Infilitrated the palace, contaminated my meal with some
tricky little venom, and attacked me when I was weakned with his blades."

A slight edge had entered Na'Sai's voice, now: almost mocking, it seemed.
"However did you escape, Lord?"

"Ha. There is a lesson in my escape this time, too. You see, this assassin had
not underestimated me - he had anticipated my strength, that I would fight, and
he planned for it with that devilish poison of his. He did not, however, plan on
location, for the dining room of the Star Palace possesses a dozen escape routes
and many obstacles. Even in my weakned state, I was capable of fleeing and
leaping from a window, leaving behind chairs and tables to impede his way.
Before he could catch me, the alarm was raised, and he, too, was executed, this
time by the Palace Guard. The lesson here, of course, is that the skilled and
worthy assassin must also factor environment into his plan. If you give the
slightest environmental edge to your opponent, they are going to exploit it to
their advantage, and that could well tip the scales in their favour, you see?"

Na'Sai had apparently given up attempting to move the King from the window.
"But surely, a sixty year reign and only two attempts on your life. That is not
to be sniffed at. Some leaders have suffered that many in mere months."

The Kings brow furrowed and the half-smile that had played around his lips
during these (evidently) happy recollections now vanished, to be replaced by a
sombre look that better befitted his stern countenace. "There was one further
attempt on my life. This one has no lesson attached to it, except, if you wish,
that even a master opponent slips up occassionally."

"How do you mean, sir?"

"A Champion of Magnagora. In his thrall were two mighty archdemons. He flew
into Celest through the harbour, slaying all those below him with magical
bursts of cosmic flame, and he proceeded to the very gates of the Palace. He
was like a tempest - none could stand before him. This will have been just
weeks before your own birth, I should judge. The three Paladins at the gate
stood no chance, despite their extensive training and advantage in numbers. One
was crucified to the very walls of this Palace. The other two, well... their
full bodies were never found." The King shuddered slightly at this
recollection. "He sealed the lock of the gates with magic, barred up the
windows, killed all who interfered or meddled with his ultimate intent. I
myself was in this very study when I heard his voice, seething with rage and
hatred. 'WHERE IS HE? WHERE IS TIBERON?', 'I WILL TEAR THIS PLACE APART FOR
TIBERON!' I did the only thing I could think of."

Na'Sai smiled humourlessly. "You stood and fought, like a leader and King, to
protect your servants and slaves."

"I did indeed. My greatsword clashed with the claws of his demons, time and
again, and eventually the two were dispatched of, but the man himself remained.
Nine feet if he was an inch, enshrouded in equal parts shadow and robes.
Serrated wings like a giant bat rose from his shoulders, and in his eyes were
the very light of Nil itself. I half-belief Luciphage Himself..." Again the
King paused. He was pale, sweating slightly. "The very recollection makes me
feel ill. Too ill."

Na'Sai gave another of those cold smiles. "Perhaps you ate something which
disagreed with you, Lord."

"Perhaps. In any case, we fought. For hours, it seems. At first I was
optimistic - we were at the least evenly matched without his demons, and what I
lacked in youth and vitality I made up for in experience and intelligence. But
he did not tire. Through hours of fighting he never once stopped, never once
slipped up, never gave an inch, nor asked for one. But the inevitable
occured... he slipped up, and I took the opportunity. I chopped him in two. He
remained steadfast in his hatred of me to the very last... His last words were
'false King, false King'..." the King trailed off.

Na'Sai nodded her head slightly. "So three attempts on your life thus far. But
what of this present assassin? This current threat that you feel cannot be
underestimated?"

The King passed a shaking hand over his sweating forehead. "I... I feel ill.
This present assassin... Necromancer... sadist... Magnagoran... Na'Sai, could
you call for the Palace healer? I... I feel ill. Short... short of breath... "
The King made towards the door, but found Na'Sai in his way. Placing a palm on
his broad chest, she effortlessly pushed him into a nearby chair despite the
fact he outweighed her by perhaps triple her own weight.

"Lord, would you mind describing the perfect assassin to me?" she inquired with
venomous sweetness.

"I... you..."

"Those are not skills, Tiberon. Please list skills."

"You... need to be... you must be ruthless. You must be cunning. You cannot be
seen by anyone..." as the King listed these dubious honours, Na'Sai ticked them
off on her elegant fingers, "You... never underestimate... always... always work
terrain to your advantage..." the King whispered these last in a voice almost
too quiet to be heard. "Na'Sai, you... all your life... loyal servant..."

"Na'Sai has all her life been a loyal servant." hissed a cold and alien voice
from within the pretty maiden. "Indeed, she swore fealty to you in her dying
breath. But fealty does not save one from the assassin, does it? Nor does
estimation. Nor does terrain. Nor does luck, or skill, or a thousand other
piddling factors. We all owe a death to the Fates, Tiberon, and your time has
come. May I say it is long overdue."

"But... how?" the King gurgled.

The necromancer - sadist, Magnagoran - smiled as he buried a dagger in the
breast of the King of Celest. And with that smile, the flesh suit he wore
finally fell away to reveal the grim and ghastly visage beneath. "Crotamine on
your evening meal. The one prepared and tested only by your loyal servant. Only
Na'Sai. You forgot one factor, 'my Lord' - disguise."

Tears rolled down the cheeks of the King as he breathed his last.

"A beggar boy provided the excess flesh, and a very nice fit it is, too."