The night air was cold and still. It has gone quiet in a way that even trained men were on alert. The moon wasn't so bright, and the darkness around the dungeons was complete, broken only by the occasional flickers of torch from the battlements above and a few around the stone walls.
The patrol guards stationed outside kept their usual positions, some holding their weight on their spears, others pacing slowly to stay awake.
From the darkness beyond the outer walls, thirty figures moved as one, a single organism of shadow and cloth. They wore dark clothing from head to toe. Their faces were wrapped, leaving only their eyes exposed. They had no armor or unnecessary gear. Some had two swords strapped behind them, some had knives strapped to their legs and an axe in hand, and five of them had a small hand crossbow loaded with bolts. Their boots made no sound on the earth as they moved, steady and controlled.
They were assassins. Men trained for one purpose. To kill.
