Tales From a Thousand Worlds

Deep shadows closed in around Carse. Clad head to toe in the darkest black, from the soft soled boots on his feet to the scarf wrapped about his head, he fused in with the night, all but unseen. Not alone did his outfit aid him in this. The storms of the day had abated, though not yet had the clouds departed, and they shrouded the stars and the moon so a deep stygian gloom clung to the city, seeping into all its corners and nooks. Torch light and lamp light, seeping out from behind shuttered windows, provided the scant illumination that Carse used to navigate his way through streets all but deserted. On the infrequent occasion that he perceived another, either seen or heard, he sunk into the shadows and wrapped himself in them. Holding as still as a statue, with nary a breath passing his lips, he disappeared from view, remaining so until they had passed on their way. Well used were the skills Prador had taught him that night, for he put them to good effect as unseen he closed upon his quarry.

Follow this link for Part Nine of The Red Blade