Imperial Assassin

by Mark Robson

  The circular hall was dim, lit only by the torches mounted in brackets around the walls. Shadows danced and flickered in the niches and alcoves, tormenting the vision of any who were unfamiliar with the vagaries of the chamber. It was a strange place. Secret. So much so that one could be forgiven for sensing paranoia in its design.

  The central floor space was empty aside from an enclosed, raised podium, large enough for a single man to stand in. Next to it was a dark hole in the chamber floor, concealing a flight of tightly spiralling steps that descended into blackness. The podium was like a pulpit in design, though no priest had ever visited this dread place. The staircase that plunged beneath the floor led to the most secret places of the inner sanctum – the chambers of the Guildmaster. Few had seen what those chambers held.

  The ceiling of the hall was high and domed, but not ostentatiously so. Although the craftsmen who had delved this place into the rock had carved decorated, arching buttresses that met at the centre point of the chamber roof, the room had been designed to be practical rather than ceremonial. Twenty alcoves had been carved into the chamber wall. Each was independent of the others, with no immediate access from one alcove to the next. A wall, built to an average man’s waist height across the front of each alcove, made them look almost stable-like from the centre of the chamber. All were identical in design and size save for the carved insignia on the wooden access gate through the front wall of each recess. None was internally lit. The architect’s intent was clear. Those in the alcoves were to remain anonymous and be considered equals, with no prospect of being promoted above another except to the position of Guildmaster.

  A sudden movement in the centre of the chamber grabbed the attention of those seated silently waiting in the alcoves. The shadow that marked the well of descending stairs bulged upwards as a black shape flowed from the forbidden depths. It was the Guildmaster, hooded and cloaked in the traditional black garb of the Assassins’ Guild. All of the assassins were similarly dressed, their identities concealed from one another by their deeply cowled hoods and the darkness of the alcoves.

  The shadowy figure climbed smoothly up onto the podium, rising up the steps as if floating on a cushion of air. If the chamber had been quiet before the Guildmaster’s appearance, it was deathly silent now. A torch guttered, the sound of it amplified by the stillness. The figure in black looked around the room, slowly turning full circle as he paused to focus his gaze into each of the alcoves in turn. Most were occupied. It was the most complete gathering of the Guild for many months. That fact alone gave testimony to the serious nature of the meeting.

  ‘I accept . . .’ the Guildmaster prompted.

  As one, the assassins began chanting the litany of the creed by which they lived.

  I accept that as a member of this Guild:

  I must accept the ultimate authority of the Guildmaster.

  He is my guide, my father and my conscience.

  He will maintain me on the path of light.

  I will accept his orders without question,

  And carry out his requests, regardless of cost – even be it my life.

  I will accept only those contracts that have a just purpose.

  I will accept no contract that I foresee may cause the destruction of the Empire.

  Those who offer contracts that do not clearly demonstrate a just purpose,

  Or that work against the greater good of the Guild

  I will report to the Guildmaster.

  I will kill only to fulfil a just contract,

  Or to cover my tracks, such that none shall learn more of the Guild.

  I will kill at the Guildmaster’s direction.

  He is the discerner of truth, my leader who seeks only to serve righteousness.

  I will kill anyone who kills indiscriminately,

  Regardless of status, age or sex.

  These evildoers deserve the ultimate punishment.

  I will never kill for pleasure, revenge, in anger, or out of jealousy.

  I accept that doing so would place me at the mercy of the Guildmaster.

  I offer up a tenth of all contract monies to the maintenance of the Guild.

  As is fair and just.

  I state this creed in the full knowledge that should I break it,

  My life will be forfeit.

  The echoing mantra finished and silence descended once more.

  When he began speaking, the Guildmaster’s voice was warm and friendly, in stark contrast with his bleak appearance and dread position. Some amongst the Guild had thought him a strange choice when he had risen to lead them, as his voice gave the impression of a gentle grandfather taking care of his family. None, however, disputed his reputation as a professional killer. Deception was one of the key qualities of a successful assassin. The Guildmaster possessed this skill in abundance.

  ‘Brothers, it is good that so many of you are in attendance. I cannot stress the gravity of this meeting enough. The outcome of today’s discussion will shape the future of our Guild more than any since I became Guildmaster. In over six hundred years, our brotherhood has never faced such a crisis as the one confronting us now. We have news to discuss, options to consider, and difficult decisions to make.’

  The Guildmaster paused for a second to allow his opening words to sink in. He was not prone to exaggeration.

  ‘Please bear with me if you are familiar with any of the following, but I think it important that everyone knows the facts before we debate any course of action. I’m sure that all here are aware that the Emperor returned last week from Thrandor. The true purpose of his visit there is not known, but the common perception is that he went to negotiate peace. He sent an Ambassador to Mantor some months ago. Brother Falcon infiltrated the party under contract by a fellow Brother. This was an unusual arrangement, and not one of which I approve. An assassin contracting a fellow assassin to serve a per-sonal goal flirts dangerously with breaching the creed. Any considering employing such an arrangement in future should consult with me first. I will not have Brothers believing they are above our laws. We have maintained our reputation over the centuries by following the creed. If we abandon it, then we will become no better than common murderers. I am not willing to be painted with such colours.’

  He paused and there was a gentle mutter of agreement from around the chamber.

  ‘Let’s save discussion of that internal matter for another day.’ The chamber fell silent again, save for the sound of his voice. ‘Matters have arisen that require us all to focus our attention outwards. The new Emperor has been initiating policies during the last two days that impact hugely on the Guild. Brother Scorpion, would you please make your report to the Brothers?’

  ‘Of course, Guildmaster, though I’m sure most here are already aware of my tidings.’

  Where the Guildmaster’s voice was warm and friendly, full of expression and rich with variations in tone and pace, Scorpion’s was cold and lifeless. Words fell from his lips like dead wood from a tree – a thudding, inert mass, shed without feeling.

  ‘At the eighth hour yesterday morning, the Emperor sent forth his criers with news to the citizens of Shandrim. Part of the proclamation concerned us directly. The Emperor has declared the Guild anaethus drax – illegal and outcast for as long as his reign shall last. Any assassin caught in Shandrim after the midday call of the next rest day shall be summarily executed.’

  ‘But that’s only three days away!’ a voice exclaimed from the other side of the chamber.

  ‘Indeed, Brother Firedrake, which is why this meeting was called at once.’ The Guildmaster spoke gently. ‘There was more, but Brother Scorpion has stated the worst of it. Let us debate our response to this declaration before we consider anything else, for it is the crux of why we’re here.’

  ‘Kill the Emperor,’ a voice stated immediately. ‘His reign will then end and his proclamation will be void.’

  Mutters of approval and otherwise echoed around the chamber.

  ‘A tempting proposal, Br
other Viper, but not one that we can implement without destroying our integrity,’ the Guildmaster replied. ‘I’ll not deny that removing the Emperor has crossed my mind, but it would breach the creed on several counts. Firstly there is no contract. Secondly by killing the Emperor we would risk the collapse of the Empire. The creed specifically prohibits us from knowingly initiating a chain of events that has a high chance of destroying Shandar. We have our place in society, but it is not for us to dismantle the Empire by our actions. Thirdly, and finally, this proclamation looks likely to have been sparked by one of our own. The creed does not allow us to strike back in such a case.’

  ‘One of our own?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Why would a member of the Guild do such a thing?’

  Questions came from all directions like bolts from a dozen crossbows. The Guildmaster stood firm and unmoving in the crossfire, allowing the wave of questions to wash over him. When the eruption of voices died away he spoke again.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who caused it. The Emperor would have made this proclamation before long regardless. He is prejudiced against the Guild. Let that be reason enough. The question we should be asking is what are we going to do about it? I have already given the reasons why we cannot kill the Emperor, though that option will be kept under constant review. I will not discount the idea as a last resort.’

  ‘If we cannot kill him, then let’s strike where it would hurt him most,’ purred a female voice.

  ‘And where would that be, Brother Fox?’ the Guildmaster asked, smiling beneath the deep shadow of his hood as he attempted to anticipate her proposal. He knew her to be a natural strategist with a sharp mind. Whatever she proposed was likely to be worth listening to.

  ‘The Legions, Guildmaster. Let us hit the Legions. Surabar has devoted his life to the armies of the Empire. That is where his heart is. Soldiers go to battle. They die. It is what they’re paid for. The average man on the street will care little if we pick off a few key Commanders. It will not cause much public outcry, but Emperor Surabar will feel the pain of their passing as if they were close family. He does not like unnecessary death. He will get the message quickly enough.’

  The Guildmaster nearly laughed aloud. Trust the Fox to see past the obvious and find a cunning solution. She was a fox indeed, and a worthy bearer of her symbolic predator’s insignia. The Legions were the perfect place to strike. It would not be difficult to find people willing to pay a small fee to see particular Legion Commanders die suddenly. That would satisfy the creed. Yes, it was a good plan. It was easy to implement, unlikely to outrage either the common people or the Nobility, yet sure to give the Emperor the desired message.

  ‘Your suggestion has a lot of merit, Brother Fox. If we are to take the offensive, this seems a positive way ahead. I say “if”, for we should at least consider the Emperor’s standpoint. If I were to play his advocate here, then I would have to ask what our role is in today’s world. Has the Guild outlived its purpose? Are we a relic of the past that has survived beyond its time? The Emperor would have us believe this is so. The Assassins’ Guild has been a part of life in Shandrim for a millennium. It’s easy to see how the Bakers’ Guild and the Merchants’ Guild have a consistent role to play, but does today’s society really need assassins? The Emperor would argue it does not. He sees us as murderers, or hired thugs who act as a destabilising influence in society. Do any here feel empathy for this point of view?’

  There was a long moment of silence before the woman spoke again.

  ‘Guildmaster, there are none here who do not believe in our purpose. We have a creed that has stood the test of a thousand years. We have as much of a right to exist here in Shandrim as the merchants, the bakers, or any other trade you care to name. We do not kill indiscriminately. If a Nobleman had taken the Mantle, this decree would never have been made.’

  ‘Yes, the military have always displayed ignorance of our role here in the city, and around the Empire,’ agreed another.

  ‘Aye, they bleat that we are murderers, yet they slaughter men far more innocent than many we are contracted to kill.’

  The Guildmaster nodded. ‘It is well that you’re all in agreement. Who here feels we should seek to make our point by taking contracts on military targets?’

  A wave of ‘ayes’ sounded through the chamber, echoing slightly with the chorus.

  ‘Those against?’

  Silence.

  ‘So be it. I will seek those wishing to place such contracts and will make assignments over the next few days. Now, on to other matters . . .’

  Femke knocked on the door of the Emperor’s study. At the prompt order to enter from within, she wasted no time in obeying. Nothing had changed in the room since her last visit. It was a bleak workspace, with nothing to give it warmth. The large desk, behind which the Emperor sat, was the main feature of the room. A few crossed weapons on the walls were the only items of décor, and these seemed to add to the cold, imposing atmosphere rather than detract from it.

  The Emperor smiled warmly as she entered and indicated with a wave of his hand that she should sit down. Femke bowed and looked around to where Surabar’s wave had directed her. There were a few wooden chairs positioned against the wall nearest the door, so she moved one of the chairs out towards the desk and carefully sat down.

  ‘How are the injuries healing, Femke? I can see from here that you’re still suffering some discomfort,’ Surabar asked gently.

  ‘They’re getting better slowly thank you, your Imperial Majesty. It’s frustrating to feel like an invalid, but I’m moving much more freely now. My ribs appear to be knitting back together well. They’re sore, but that is to be expected.’

  ‘Indeed it is. I cracked a couple of ribs once; a glancing blow to my breastplate with an axe – not a pleasant business. At least you’re looking more yourself again now the bruising around your face has receded. Might I suggest that if you ever decide to take on someone like Shalidar in hand-to-hand combat again, you use your hands to deflect his blows, rather than your head? It tends to be less painful, you know.’

  ‘Really, your Majesty? I’ll try to bear that in mind,’ she replied, maintaining a completely straight face.

  The Emperor laughed and shook his head. ‘You’re one extraordinary young woman, Femke. I cannot help but be impressed with how you handled the business in Mantor. I find it hard to imagine anyone else proving their innocence under such circumstances. Somehow, you did. You saved Shandar from the political embarrassment of having to own up to spying on our neighbours. You saved me from having to order your execution, which was not a task I relished. You broke more Thrandorian laws than I care to imagine. Shand alive, you even robbed the Thrandorian Royal Treasury! Yet the King of Thrandor likes you. Young lady, you deserve whatever reward I can give, but you know that I can’t do anything publicly for fear of compromising your role as a spy.’

  Femke smiled. ‘Give me something to do, your Majesty. That would be the best reward I can imagine right now. I’m bored witless with sitting around and recuperating. I need to be doing something. Anything! Please, give me another assignment.’

  ‘You’re not fit—’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ she interrupted, giving a smile to apologise for her impertinence. ‘I’m not asking for you to give me a dangerous mission. I simply want to be useful again. I think I’ll go insane if I have to endure any more of the medics’ patronising exhortations to rest. I need to get my fitness back. I need to move around and do something. Surely there’s some little bit of information I can go looking for that will not put me in harm’s way?’

  Surabar looked at her with his calculating gaze. Her young face still showed slight signs of the battering it had taken at the hands of Shalidar, but her eyes were bright with intelligence. Femke knew exactly what she was asking. She knew that there was no such thing as a ‘risk free assignment’. He could set her an administration task, but that would be like asking a freshly graduated soldier to stand and guard the suppl
ies whilst all his colleagues went off into battle. He would do it, but would resent the duty. That resentment would then fester against the person who gave the order. The Emperor needed Femke’s help too much to alienate her. No, she would need something to do that would utilise her skills, yet not be likely to result in physical confrontation. As he thought about it, he realised he had the perfect task.

  Shalidar was a picture of calm. He sat in the simple, windowless chamber, painstakingly stroking the whetstone along the blade of his dagger. The steel blade glinted in the dim light as he turned it from side to side, taking care to apply an even effort to both edges. The slow, rhythmic, grinding ring of stone on metal was almost hypnotic as the assassin waited for the Guildmaster. It was not a meeting he was looking forward to, but he knew it was necessary if he were to avoid being hunted by killers far more deadly than any the Emperor had in his employ.

  The Guildmaster, hidden in the shadows outside the open doorway, observed him silently for a moment. ‘Shand, but you’re a cool one, Shalidar!’ he thought. ‘If you weren’t so damned talented, I’d have you killed where you sit. It would be a terrible waste, but it would save me a host of trouble.’

  He looked at the lean figure sitting in the wooden chair, one leg casually crossed at ninety degrees over the knee of the other, and he felt cold anger build within his gut. After jeopardising the future of the Guild with his recent antics, Shalidar must know that his life hung by a thread. The Guildmaster held the power to snuff him out like a candle with a given word, yet Shalidar sat, cool as ice, and apparently unconcerned with the precariousness of his situation. How could anyone be so arrogant and self-assured? For a moment, the Guildmaster considered slipping away and ordering Shalidar’s termination. ‘No,’ he thought. ‘I’ll give him one chance to explain his actions first.’

  It was likely that Shalidar knew the Guildmaster was there. He had not become a deadly killer without having a keen awareness of his surroundings. The Guildmaster had made no noise, yet he knew that to Shalidar it was almost like a sixth sense, an awareness of being watched that would alert him to his master’s presence.