The Death Sparrow's Shadow: The Assassin of Acreage Book One

by R. L. McIntyre

  THE DEATH SPARROW’S SHADOW

  The Assassin of Acreage Book One

  R.L. McIntyre

  Copyright © 2021 R. L. McIntyre All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-7365182-1-2

  E-Book ISBN-13: 978-1-7365182-0-5

  Cover design by: Getcovers.com

  rlmcintyreauthor.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedicated to my Batman, Raymond F. Brockway Jr

  You are missed.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Acknowledgements

  Sneak Peak of Book Two

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter One

  Numb misery. Nothing new for an assassin, especially not her. She scoffed, tossing the fallen strands of her braid over her shoulder. The insistent cawing of gulls filled her ears, as a frigid breeze blew in from the horizon, carrying with it the essence of the sea. The smell of salt hung heavy in the air, reminding her how close another option was. The whole point this place existed on the edge of the world, was the allure of the cliffs. Many decided the sea would be more forgiving than continuing here.

  Weak.

  The great Death Sparrow, Assassin of Acreage, would never give in to such powerlessness. Serena stood up straight, leaning into the frigid breeze. The scent of a storm carried with it. Not that it mattered to the guards.

  She craned her neck, scouring her surroundings. Prisoners crowded the treeless fields, their silhouettes blending into the tree line as they endured their tasks. She spotted a man no further than ten paces from her and scrutinized him with a predatory instinct. A grin crossed her lips. Her assassin’s eye acknowledged each detail. Tentative breaths. Darting glances. Fidgeting. Things others might ignore, but which gave her all the information she needed. A newbie guard amid the Templarians claimed worst criminals. She wondered who he angered to get such a job.

  Further assessment settled on his clothes. Boots stood four inches above the knee, drastically higher than regulation. Neatly pressed trousers hung on his legs, leading up to the uniformed white shirt and blue overcoat. Each piece decorated him, untainted by the brutal climate of the prison camp. Her eyes rested longest on his coat. A travesty to any illusion of protection. Too short to swing as a diversion and too light to stop an arrow. It served no purpose but to deem the wearer superior. A perfect symbol of her current captivity. A simple ruse. A snarl settled onto her lips at the thought. Perhaps it could not be called a ruse anymore. Reality sunk in around her.

  One year. One long year, and still she remained trapped here.

  A single misstep. One careless calculation. And the enemy forced her to her knees. A growl stuck in her throat at the memory. Months spent studying the guard's patrols and mannerisms culminated in nothing more than a few outlandish attempts at escape. Each brought about its own vengeance, and each raised the growing tension to escape. She clicked her tongue and formulated another plan. The shackles on her wrists and ankles posed the greatest challenge.

  She settled on the keys of her salvation, hung on the waist of the most sadistic guard at the fields. Graven Avalley. Even thinking the name arose a fiery rage she forced into check. The short and stocky man walked with ease through the camp, ignorant to her glare. If only he stood closer, she might finally pay him back for every misdeed.

  Dark memories fluttered into consciousness, reminding her of the retribution she sought. The lack of food and clean water felt like futile attempts to chip away at her resolve, but his attempts to humiliate her landed. She remembered every detail of his sick game. Of the way, the rocks bit into her hands and knees as she was pulled forward. Of the heat that warmed her bare body as she was forced to crawl. Of the muzzle he tied too tight that gave her a piercing headache from the pressure. The worst part were the laughs. The endless barrage of laughs from the guards and Graven calling her every name they thought of. Savage. Barbarian. Acreage Scum. Animal. So many words that should have bounced off her like arrows off armor did not. The piece of her these conquerors stole reminded her of the reckoning they deserved. If the Acrean Gods still existed, these men surely deserved a good smiting. If the Gods refused to act, then no one could blame her for doing the job for them. Altara Goddess of Death would surely praise her for sending more into the Goddess’ domain.

  The jingle of the keys brought her back to the present. Yes. The Assassin of Acreage would settle this matter like she always did. Graven’s life belonged to her.

  Graven walked out of sight on his rounds, so Serena returned her gaze to the new guard. Her anger settled there. She counted one, two, three, four, five. Five steps and she’d reach him. A handful of dirt in his eyes and she’d snatch his neck in her hands. She planned, further salivating at the imagined sensation of her fingers on his warm flesh. The tension of his muscles straining against her as she looped her arm around his throat, crushing it. The wild frenzy as he struggled to accept the inevitable. The peace that came after life left him. She shivered with the image. A perfect dream.

  She released the breath she held.

  A faulty plan. Too many eyes watched. The cost of such an act would be too great. She cracked her neck, releasing the strain.

  A thrashing arm caught her attention, grounding her as her body prepared for an attack. The new guard stood swatting gnats. She rolled her eyes. Stupid. He stopped only to notice the dirt on his hand. Glaring at it, he rushed to wipe it away. The fair-skinned Templarians hated more than the way she looked. Her culture, her gods, everything about her was savage or exotic to them.

  She looked down into a nearby puddle. Her hollowed, starved reflection stared back. The outward signs of weakness aggravated her. The Assassin of Acreage, the Death Sparrow, could not be weak.

  She angrily poured a bucket of seawater onto the dirt. Now softened she shoved her fingers into it feeling for the rock the Templarians wanted them to mine for. A part of her wondered if they really wanted it or if it was just a ruse to torture them. Her fingers encircled a solid object, and she pulled it free, ignoring the strain on her fingers. Once free, she dropped it onto her pile of rocks. She looked at the nearby pail, forbidden to her because of its use as a weapon. It didn’t matter how close such an option was. Not if Graven remained far from sight.

  “Savage!” snapped a nearby guard.

  Serena looked over out of the corner of her eyes. She noticed a veteran guard several paces away. He pulled a whip from his side as he descended on a prisoner. Her back tensed with phantom pain at the sight.

  “I said work faster!” The guard straightened
his whip.

  She recognized the frame of the inmate. Martin Thicket, a fairly successful thief based on the rumors. She noticed the slight movement of his palm away from the light and into shadows. The habit of a thief. He rolled his eyes at the shouting.

  “Are you deaf or stupid?” the guard continued.

  Martins’ dark skin stuck out like a target. He lowered his head, ignoring the words as he drove his fingers into the dirt. The whoosh of the whip going backward put Serena on her toes. Martin’s body grew rigid for a moment before relaxing into a fluid movement. He spun and snatched the bucket by his side, swinging it at the guard. The whip curved but missed its strike as the metal connected with the guard’s head. A satisfying thud rang out

  The guard fell to the ground as Martin panted over him.

  “You dare call me the savage!” he screamed as if his words would bring down the gods’ wrath. “You’re the fucking infestation, not me!”.

  Nearby movement caught her eye. The new guard pulled his bow, stringing an arrow. He shifted his weight as he pulled it taut, aiming at Martin. His fingers twitched with nerves. His feet were unbalanced. A simple push and he’d fall over. She wondered if he trained at all.

  “Hands in the air!” he yelled. She rolled her eyes at his inexperience. Never give your target a chance to move. His arms shook from holding the arrow tight for so long. Martin turned, a grave look covering his face. He snatched the discarded whip and moved to strike the new guard when the original one recovered. The guard pulled a dagger, bolting up.

  Serena held herself back from yelling a warning. Nothing good would come from drawing attention to herself. She watched it coming. The blade sunk into Martin’s stomach. The guard glared into his eyes. A rookie mistake to let emotions lead your senses.

  Martin ignored the wound and head-butted the guard back. The guard stumbled, blood pouring from his broken nose. Serena focused on the blade still in his stomach. A phantom voice entered her head.

  “Failure is unacceptable,” she heard her assassin master, Adrian, snap at her. His words haunted her, reminding her failure came at a cost. She surveyed the scene again, looking for an opportunity. Graven started over, drawn by the commotion. A grin slipped over her lips.

  “What the fuck are you doing, boy?” Graven snapped. The new guard flinched, releasing his arrow into the trees. Graven walked closer, curses spewing from his lips. Serena counted. Five steps. She looked down at the shackles holding her back. Making too much noise would draw her into the center of the commotion, but everyone watched Martin, offering her an opening.

  Slowly, she crept closer to the pair. Her mind blazed with possibilities. Graven snatched the bow from the guard and tossed him to the ground. He pulled an arrow from the boy’s quiver and strung it. Without hesitation, he released the arrow, sending it sailing through the air. It landed in Martin’s side and he yelled out. Serena looked back at the skirmish. The bloodied guard had his dagger back and Martin pulled out the arrow now brandishing that as his weapon.

  Their clash continued, but she had other plans. The new guard stood and offered Graven his quiver. Graven snatched it.

  “You’re useless!” he snapped, returning to the fight. The young guard hung his head, drifting behind Graven and closer to Serena.

  Serena crept closer to the boy, holding the chain taut in her hand. Sound would betray her. Her own heart raced so loudly she worried he would hear. With a small exhale of breath, she bolted forward and slung the chain around his neck. The boy struggled, scratching at her hands and futilely kicking the air, as she pulled him farther from Graven, who could not hear the boy’s gargles. Serena twisted the chain, sinking it deep into the boy’s flesh. Warm blood slid down her wrists. Finally, he slackened, but she held strong, waiting for the full release of his body. He slumped, dead.

  She laid him down and removed his dagger. Armed but still shackled, she drifted closer to Graven. Each second grew longer as Martin continued his battle. A new guard ran into the fight, but Martin stabbed him in the eye with the arrow. A fast punch of a move that felt feral. She smiled at the act. It reminded her how good the next part would feel. Graven pulled another arrow, exposing his waist. Bent behind, she reached forth and lifted the keys from his belt. He didn’t notice too focused on the actions of his guards, assessing their ability like a commander at war. Quietly, she unlocked the shackles from her ankles and wrists.

  She tapped his shoulder, and he turned face red.

  “What do you want?”

  His eyes grew wide seeing her. She smiled and dropped the shackles.

  “Sparrow—”

  She punched him.

  He stumbled back, blood falling from his nose, and swung his bow at her like a sword. She flipped the dagger in hand, ducked, and snatched his arm as it swung through empty air. Yanking him forward, she landed her knee into his chest. He coughed out, falling to his knees.

  “You’re gonna pay for this, savage,”

  Sparrow smirked and grabbed him by his hair. He reached for her with one hand, and his sword with the other. She connected her foot with his hand before he snatched his blade. Being so close, he had no room to pull it. He quickly recoiled, moving his hand to his back for his dagger. He snatched it and pulled her arm down, swinging his weapon.

  Her body reacted, blocking the attack, the clang of metal sounding too loud. The fight with Martin was slowing. Soon all eyes would be on her. Her breaths grew into sharp bursts as she grabbed his outstretched arm, twisting it behind him as she pulled them to their feet. She held him steady, her free hand unclipping his belt, so his sword fell free. A further twist of his arm and he let go of the weapon.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she slid the blade to his neck. His body froze as she leaned into him. She drew her lips next to his ear.

  “Don’t worry, once I’m done with you, your King is next. You can worship him in the next life too.” She let the heat of her breath overwhelm him.

  His fear twisted into fury as he thrashed, but a simple flick of her wrist and his lifeblood fell from his throat in torrents. He reached for his neck, his eyes swimming with panic and desperation as she released him. His fingers drenched in red unsuccessfully tried to stop the inventible.

  Goosebumps rose on her skin with the sensation of victory. As Sparrow turned to assess Martin, she wiped her hand over her mouth, smearing it with blood.

  The hilt of one of the guard’s blades was buried fist-deep in Martin’s chest. The man it belonged to clung to it like an appendage. Martin released a primal, guttural roar, and head-butted the man. The man reeled backward from the blow, pulling the blade free from Martin’s heart. Martin dropped to his knees, eyes lingering for just a moment on the sky, and then pitched forward, dead.

  “May Altara carry you to everlasting life,” she whispered, placing her fingertips on her forehead before outstretching them to the body of Martin.

  Eyes began to wander again. She kicked up the belt of Graven, snatching his blade midair. She tied it to her waist before turning to her spectators. With a devilish grin, she whistled the three long notes she was known for.

  Everyone watching seemed to take a collective gasp, staring at her, then the body of Graven. The air shifted as electricity filled it. Thunder roared from the south. Black clouds rose from the ocean towards them.

  Sparrow grinned.

  “Who’s next?”

  Her muscles tightened in anticipation of the coming battle. She noted the location of the nearby guards and then their weapons. Breaking the tension, she kicked the keys to the shackles to a nearby prisoner and bolted forwards.

  Drizzling raindrops caressed her skin, sliding down her cheeks, as she closed the gap between herself and the guards. She ran faster. Four steps. Three.

  Boom!

  Everything shook. Everyone stumbled off balance. Serena froze, turning towards the source of the explosion. In the south, where the crude tents the prisoners used for shelter sat, a cloud of smoke rose into the air. The angry
wind of the storm blew the black air towards them. Screams of agony rose towards the heavens as the sounds of fighting erupted.

  A sense of dread fell over the camp. Clamoring weapons roared. Smoke destroyed visibility as the sounds grew louder. Guards turned from her to the new problem, viewing her as the lesser danger.

  A bitter smell of spices raised her suspicion as dark crimson shields appeared in the smoke like demons from the underworld. The crest of a lion with the tail of a snake meant only one thing.

  Samorians.

  ◆◆◆

  Chapter Two

  Fear flashed through Serena as her heart pumped harder. The Templarian King’s newest conquest in Samoria failed. Now the war landed in Acreage.

  She spun on her heels, knowing better than to fight an army alone. Her eyes took in the sea of trees ahead that made up the Mystic forest. Ghost stories about magic and mystical creatures suddenly felt impossible, as the reality of an army licked at her heels. Growling cats rose behind her and she dared not look. Her mind settled on the possibility the Samorians had brought their horse-sized war cats with them. If Acrean magic wasn’t a problem, surely Samorian magic was.

  “Over there!” The brutish Samorian tongue felt like an assault on her ears. Its harsh sounds grated her as she widened her steps, hoping to disappear into the tree line before the cats caught her scent. Another foreign voice rang out.

  “Don’t let her escape!”

  She was surprised they noticed her in the chaos.

  “No one can escape! They can’t know we landed!”

  The sound of pursuit grew behind her. She ran faster.

  Reaching the safety of the trees, she darted between the branches and bushes as they scratched her. She cursed at the realization she was leaving her scent everywhere. She prayed for harder rain to wash it away as the pounding of feet grew louder behind her.