The Assassin's Tale

by Jonathan Moeller

  ###

  Two weeks later, Mara sat in an overstuffed chair in Jager’s library, her knees drawn up around her, another goblet of wine in her hand. The library was as opulent as the rest of the domus, the shelves lined with handsome books. Jager had admitted that he had not read most of them, that he had bought them as simple markers of status.

  “Ten years,” said Mara. She had drunk too much wine, and it had gone to her head.

  “You’ve been part of the Red Family for that long?” said Jager. He sat in the chair next to hers, both of them facing the crackling fireplace.

  “Almost,” said Mara. “My mother died. Orcish raiders had taken us as slaves, and she never stopped looking for an opportunity to escape. It came, and we took it. But she was already sick, and the journey was too much for her. She died in the wilderness, and I have been alone ever since.”

  “And the Red Family found you,” said Jager.

  “Yes,” said Mara, taking another sip of the wine. Actually, the Matriarch had found her, as Mara had struggled to keep from transforming into a monster. But Mara did not dare tell Jager about the Matriarch. The Matriarch valued her secrecy, and would kill them both if Mara breathed a word about her. “They were…impressed by my skills. How I had survived on my own for all these years. They recruited me.”

  “So you joined, as you had nowhere else to go,” said Jager. His voice had the faintest hint of a slur. Perhaps he had drunk too much and lowered his guard around her. Or perhaps he was trying to lure her in. “And now, years later, you regret it, and they have a hold over you.”

  “No,” said Mara. “I never wanted to join. They coerced me from the beginning.” Without the jade bracelet, she would have transformed into a monster years ago, becoming the slave of the Traveler or whatever dark elven lord found her first.

  “It is a cruel world,” said Jager. She looked to see if he was making a joke, but he gazed into the fire instead, his expression distant. “Still, my past is not as cruel as yours, it seems. I am sorry for your losses.”

  “Thank you,” said Mara. She felt a little woozy. She had indeed drunk too much wine. “What of your family?”

  Jager shrugged. “Dead. Mostly. My mother died when I was a child. My father died about…nine years ago. I do have a sister. But we have not spoken since my father’s death. She…would disapprove of some choices I have made. Severely, I fear.”

  “It was your father’s death,” said Mara. “Wasn’t it?”

  “Wasn’t what?” said Jager.

  “That made you lose your faith,” said Mara. “That made you hate the nobles of Andomhaim so much.”

  Jager stared into the fire. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” said Mara.

  Jager let out a bitter little laugh. “An odd thing to say to a man you plan to kill.”

  “True,” said Mara. “But I do not want to cause you pain. I do not delight in cruelty. I am not a dark elf, I am not…”

  She stopped talking, aware that she had said too much.

  “A dark elf?” said Jager. “An odd thing to say.”

  “You have made me drunk, sir,” said Mara, hoping to cover her lapse. “One might think you have untoward intentions toward me.”

  “Well, of course I do,” said Jager. “But considering you plan to kill me, that is a most hypocritical accusation.”

  “True,” said Mara.

  Jager grunted, got to his feet, picked up a poker, and started to shift the coals in the fireplace.

  Mara stared at his back, which she had to admit she found handsome, and a thought occurred to her.

  They were both slightly drunk. Or more than slightly drunk. All it would take was one sharp push, and he could crack his skull on the mantel or the side of the fireplace. When the servants found him in the morning, they would assume that he had drunk too much wine, lost his balance, and fell. Or, even better, Mara could push him now and then fake a hysteric fit, weeping and screaming until the servants arrived. They would simply assume their master had tried to seduce her, lost his balance, and come to a tragic end.

  It all flashed through her mind, clear as crystal.

  She stared at Jager’s back, and did not move.

  She desperately did not want to kill him. It had been a long, long time since she had been honest with someone other than the Matriarch. And the Matriarch was cold and hard, her heart as black as her eyes. The Matriarch only laughed at her pain, regarding it as an amusing diversion.

  Jager straightened up and turned, and the moment passed.

  “Were you planning on pushing me into the fire?” he asked.

  “Certainly not,” said Mara, holding out her goblet.

  Jager grinned and refilled it.

  ###

  A week later, Mara stood in the Matriarch’s solar again. This time Cassius stood at the left of the Matriarch’s chair, scowling at her.

  “It has been over three weeks, my child,” said the Matriarch. “And the Master Thief of Cintarra yet lives.”

  “I know, Matriarch,” said Mara.

  “Do you mock me, child?” said the Matriarch, a note of anger entering that alien voice.

  “Of course not, Matriarch,” said Mara. “I would never…”

  “Do not presume to question the Matriarch,” rumbled Cassius, his black eyes digging into her. “She has brought us the word of Mhor. You dare to question her?”

  “I would never question her,” said Mara. “Nor go against her wishes.”

  “Of course not,” said the Matriarch. “Your devotion does you credit, Cassius.” The Red Brother beamed at the praise and bowed. “And I am sure our Mara would never go against my will. Yet it is my will that the Master Thief of Cintarra perishes. And he still lives.”

  “I will kill him, soon,” said Mara. She would find a way. She would force herself to do it. She had killed at the Matriarch’s command before.

  But this time…

  “Yes,” said the Matriarch. “Soon.”

  ###

  A month after that, Jager finally told her what had happened to his father.

  “He was the seneschal of a knight of Caerdracon,” said Jager, his voice quiet. They stood on the balcony at the rear of his domus, looking at the light of the moons glinting off the water of the River Cintarra. “Our family served that knight’s family for centuries, since before the wars with the Frostborn and the urdmordar, before the Two Orders were even founded. My father was the knight’s seneschal, and…I wanted to be him when I grew up. To be the perfect halfling servant, just as he was.”

  “And then he died,” said Mara.

  “Murdered, to be precise,” said Jager, staring into the river. “The knight’s son killed a freeholder. At the trial, the knight convinced my father to take the blame for the good of the noble house. They promised my father they would spare his life. Instead they let him be executed to protect their secret.”

  “I am sorry,” said Mara. “Truly, I am.” She had seen her mother die of illness and exhaustion, but it would have been worse if she had been betrayed and murdered. Or perhaps the pain would have been the same either way.

  “So you can see, I think,” said Jager, “why I hold the nobility of Andomhaim in little regard. I started by burning down the knight’s domus and stealing his valuables. I thought I might go to Westhold and become a merchant, but the nobles there were just as corrupt, and I…kept stealing. I was good at it. Very good at it.”

  “I can see that,” said Mara. She waved a hand at the domus. “It paid for all of this.”

  “I wound up with more money than I knew what to do with,” said Jager. “I have caches of it hidden across the realm. Properties and businesses I bought under false names. I could retire and live in comfort for the rest of my days.”

  “Why don’t you stop, then?” said Mara.

  “I don’t know,” said Jager. “I don’t know how to do anything else.”

  “I suppose I do not, either,” said Mara.

  They stood toget
her in silence for a moment.

  “We could leave, you know,” said Jager.

  “Leave what?” said Mara. “The balcony? The weather is quite nice tonight.”

  “Cintarra, I mean,” said Jager. “We could leave the city. Strike out together and start anew, far from the Red Family.”

  “What would you do then?” said Mara. “Keep stealing?”

  “Probably,” said Jager. “But I would pretend to be a merchant. Maybe I would actually become a merchant. I’ve been making more money from my legal interests lately.”

  Mara shrugged. “You can do that without me. Go and leave the Red Family behind. If you disappear, we’ll never find you again.”

  Jager looked at her without blinking. “Maybe I don’t want to go alone.”

  Mara’s heart sped up.

  He stepped closer to her.

  “I’m supposed to kill you,” said Mara.

  “You don’t have to kill me any more than I have to be a thief,” said Jager.

  “Why would you want me to come with you?” said Mara, her throat going dry.

  “What do you think?” said Jager, one hand coming up to stroke the side of her face.

  An electric jolt went through Mara at his touch, and she shivered.

  “Jager,” whispered Mara. “I think…you should probably kiss me now…”

  His hand slid along her cheek as he leaned forward, brushing the hair near her ear.

  Her ear.

  She flinched in alarm, jerking away, and her hair came loose, exposing her ear.

  “Mara,” said Jager, blinking. “What? Is…”

  Then he saw her pointed ear.

  Mara bit her lip, surprised at how upset she was.

  Jager blinked several times, his hand still lingering near her face.

  “That…was not what I expected to see,” said Jager.

  “I suppose not,” said Mara, her body tensed. “I told you the truth. My mother was a slave. My father…was the Traveler.”

  “A traveler?” said Jager.

  “No. The Traveler of Nightmane Forest,” said Mara.

  His eyes widened at that. “Then you are…”

  “Half human,” said Mara, “and half dark elf.”

  Jager did not look away from her. “But…I thought that dark elven half-breeds…”

  “Transform,” said Mara. “I would have. But the Matriarch…”

  In that moment she realized that she would tell him everything.

  “The Matriarch is a dark elven sorceress,” said Mara, “and she rules the Red Family from the shadows. She found me, and gave me this bracelet. It suppresses the transformation. Without it, I will become a monster. That is why I kill for the Red Family. Because without that bracelet, I will become something terrible.”

  She waited for him to answer, for him to attack her, to demand that she leave.

  “Or you could come with me,” said Jager.

  Mara blinked. “But the Matriarch…”

  “If she thinks that you are dead,” said Jager, “if we disappear together…you can take the bracelet and go. You can be free of the Red Family and do as you like.”

  “How?” said Mara.

  “I will think of a plan,” said Jager. He grinned. “I am rather good at plans.”

  “And…you want me to go with you,” said Mara.

  “Of course,” said Jager.

  “Even…knowing that I am half dark elven,” said Mara. “Even knowing that I might…transform one day and kill you.”

  “We all have to die one day,” said Jager. “And we are both outcasts, are we not? The halfling who forsook his family’s tradition and the half-breed assassin.”

  “This could be a trick, you know,” said Mara. Somehow she found herself holding his hands. “You could be luring me away to kill me.”

  “This is true,” said Jager, stepping closer. “You could be trying to trick me. Luring me to a quiet place to kill me. Seducing me with your beauty.”

  “You think my beauty is seductive?” said Mara.

  “Perhaps this will persuade you,” said Jager.

  He drew her close and kissed her. Mara went rigid at first, and then melted into it, her hands running through his curly hair. It went on and on, a pleasing warmth spreading through her.

  At last they broke apart.

  “Well?” said Jager, his voice a little hoarse. “Have I persuaded you?”

  “Not yet,” said Mara. “But I would like you to keep trying.”

  “As you wish,” said Jager. He took her hand and led her inside.

  ###

  Later, sometime after midnight, Mara stretched, the sheets of Jager’s bed smooth against her skin. Considering how much of her life she had spent sleeping on the ground, she could appreciate the luxury. Mara stretched and sat up, the blankets falling away, and saw Jager standing near his wardrobe, getting dressed.

  “Is that it, then?” she said, half-joking, half-afraid. “You’ll have your way with me and slip away in the night?”

  “Given that this is my domus,” said Jager, “that would be unwise.” He looked at her and grinned, and Mara remembered that she was not wearing any clothing. “And if I did that, I would miss this most excellent view.”

  “Flatterer,” said Mara.

  “Though I am glad you are awake,” said Jager. “I had some thoughts on how to escape from Cintarra.”

  “You do?” said Mara. She rolled to her feet and stretched, aware that Jager was admiring the view, and she felt both a little embarrassed and quite pleased by that. She began to gather her clothing. “What did you have in mind?”

  “We fake our deaths,” said Jager. “I have quite a few people annoyed at me, given that they hired you to kill me. And I imagine that the Matriarch is rather offended by betrayal.”

  “That is rather an understatement,” said Mara, donning her shift and then her dress.

  “So, we shall fake our deaths,” said Jager. “We’ll steal a few corpses from the mortuary and secure them here. Then we’ll start a fire in the bedroom. That will give my servants time to escape, and when they dig the corpses out of the rubble, everyone will assume that it is us. Most likely the Matriarch will believe that you tried to kill me and things got out of hand.”

  “Will that work?” said Mara.

  “It has before,” said Jager.

  Mara frowned. “You mean you have stolen corpses and committed arson to fake your death before?”

  “Only twice.”

  “Twice?”

  Jager smiled. “A long story.” Mara finished dressing, pulled on her boots, and clipped her dagger to her belt. “Would you care to walk with me to the mortuary? A friend of mine works there, and more importantly is most amenable to bribes.”

  “Charmer,” said Mara. “We…”

  The door burst open. Jager spun and snatched up his short sword and dagger in one smooth motion, the weapons’ jeweled hilts glittering. Mara drew her dagger and stepped to his side, holding the blade out before her. Three men stormed through the door, armed with swords and daggers. They wore leather armor the color of blood beneath hooded dark cloaks. Masks of red steel covered their faces, wrought in the shape of grinning skulls.

  The masks of the Red Brothers of Mhor, worn when they went to kill in the blood god’s name.

  Evidently the Matriarch had lost patience at last.

  “Run,” said Mara, her voice hoarse. “Go!”

  Jager said nothing. Did he wonder if she had betrayed him? If she had lowered his guard only to invite the Red Brothers into his domus?

  “Traitor,” said the lead assassin, his voice familiar. He reached up and lifted his mask, and Mara saw Cassius’s blocky features glaring at her. “I knew you would betray the Matriarch. I knew your zeal for Mhor was lacking. But I never expected you to spread your legs for a halfling worm.”

  “Flattery, sir?” said Jager. “You should know that I am not amenable to it.”

  He took a sidelong step towards the massive
wooden wardrobe.

  “Silence, dog,” said Cassius, gesturing with his sword.

  “What do you want, Cassius?” said Mara, hoping to buy time. Perhaps Jager had a rope and could scramble down from the balcony.

  “Don’t think to beg,” said Cassius, taking a heavy step forward, his weapons coming up. “I want the blood of the target poured out as an offering to Mhor. And I want your blood, Mara. A fitting end for you, since you spurned Mhor.”

  “Since I spurned you, Cassius?” said Mara, hoping to keep his attention upon her. “Jealousy? Well, I’m not surprised. Jager was twice the man you’ll ever be.”

  Jager snickered. “Why, thank you.” He took one more step toward the wardrobe.

  “Shut up,” said Cassius.

  “Kill me if it will make you feel better,” said Mara, “but then live with the knowledge that I preferred a halfling to…”

  Cassius bellowed in fury, dropping his skull mask back into place, and Mara saw her death in the movement. The shadows stirred within her, rising in response to her fear and rage, and she knew that if she removed her jade bracelet and called to the darkness, she would transform. She would become invincible and immortal, and could slaughter Cassius and the others with ease.

  But in her rage, she would likely kill Jager. And anyone else she could find.

  And then the Matriarch would exert her will and make Mara her slave forever.

  No. Better to die as herself. That had always been the best fate Mara could hope for.

  Though she wished she could have spent more time with Jager…

  She raised her chin and set herself as Cassius strode forward.

  In one smooth motion Jager plucked a massive crossbow from the wardrobe, raised the weapon, and pulled the trigger.

  The quarrel blurred past Cassius and sank into the chest of the assassin behind him. The assassin fell with a gurgling scream of pain, blood leaking from his skull mask. For a moment Cassius froze, stunned by the sudden death, and Mara sprang into action, driving her dagger for his chest. At the last moment Cassius twisted aside, and Mara’s blade sliced his left shoulder, drawing blood. The Red Brother bellowed in fury and attacked, and Mara retreated as Jager charged into the fray, his sword and dagger flying. Both Cassius and the surviving Red Brother were bigger and stronger than Jager, and were both hardened killers. Yet Jager was faster and considerably more nimble, dodging their attacks with ease. Yet he did not manage to land any blows, all his efforts devoted to staying ahead of his foes’ attacks. It would only take one solid hit to wound him critically, maybe even to kill him.