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

by R. L. McIntyre

  “Like you Raft, I took an oath, and that means something to me. I will uphold it.” She couldn’t let him die in the battle to come. “Stay close to Ike when the fighting starts. He’ll watch your back.”

  He nodded, his smile dropping.

  “But who watches your back?”

  She felt agitated by the hope he gave her and persisted with. She needed to focus on other things like the battle ahead.

  “I do. Go line up with the others.”

  She turned back to the entrance of the tunnels. It felt strange leading armies through that door. It was a door meant for escaping and was now turned into their only hope to infiltrate. She turned back to her men.

  She looked at the faces of the men she was to lead. They were a mix of Acrean and Templarian. They looked nervous and anxious. Raft smiled at her. It reminded her again that he should not be with her. He should’ve been sent to go to a different group away from here where there would be less danger if that was possible. She looked at Ike, who glared at her as if his placement had been her fault. She sighed and looked back to her group, trying to think of what to say. Never did she feel the need to give inspiring speeches before a battle. She didn’t know how to rally troops. Fighting alone was her preferred method, and yet again she was forced to play outside the shadows. She wasn’t a leader. They knew the plan. The Captain went over it with every one of them. He was leaving nothing to chance.

  “Does anyone have questions before we go?” she said, hoping no one would. Rehashing what the Captain already explained annoyed her. He probably explained it better than she could. The men looked nervously at each other and then back to her. She noticed their eyes rested on her clothes. Peering down at her outfit, she smirked. Of course. The Captain introduced her earlier, but they hardly accepted her. They accepted the Captain’s decision. Not her.

  “Oh yes. The rumors are true. I am the Death Sparrow and yes, I’m currently on your side so no, I won’t be killing any of you. Anything else?”

  The men shifted their weight back and forth, still seeming nervous.

  “When do we start?” Raft said full of eager excitement again. Serena hoped she made him realize he should be focused, not excited. Apparently not.

  “We start when I tell you we start. I know being led by an assassin isn’t an idea. We’re not known for being friendly and frankly, I don’t have experience leading soldiers anywhere, but I know death. I know the cost of this maybe better than all of you, and I will give you the best chance of survival I can. If you spot assassins, I will take care of them. Just give me a shout or something. I’ll come to deal with them.” She said hoping her attempt at an olive branch would work. The soldiers seemed steadier.

  “How do you expect us to tell?” said a voice. She looked at the man. The pointed nose and pale skin gave away his Templarian descent. He was built for battle. His muscles filled out his armor and a few scars could be seen from the small opening of the skin. Meeting him on the battlefield, she’d stay far away from his arms. He stood with an air of understanding. He knew war, intimately. Probably survived many battles. Earning his respect would help others in the group respect her and her judgment more.

  “They’ll be covered in black fabric from head to toe. They’ll stick to shadows, so if you feel like the shadows have eyes they probably do. They won’t have armor either, just the fabric on but that doesn’t mean they’re easy. They’re fast and agile. If you must fight them, don’t get cut. They dip their weapons in poisons and that will be as deadly as a sword in the heart.”

  The men listened to her attentively, seeming more at ease, now knowing what she offered them.

  “Then we better put them down fast or get out of your way,” the soldier returned gruffly. She smiled at that and saw the soldiers relax, smiles on many of their faces. Serena nodded and turned, heading towards the door. It was open and she could see torches illuminating the stone room inside.

  Once inside, she spotted the Captain speaking with James. They were over in a corner closer to the door, waiting for their men to arrive. They were staggering who went into the tunnels based on the distance needed to travel. Her group would go first.

  The Captain looked over at her and she could see the nerves in his eyes. This was all dangerous, and if it failed, they’d be trapped inside the walls with no way out. There was no guarantee they could get back to the tunnels if things went wrong. She could feel the tension as their unfinished business hovered in the space between them. For a moment she regretted not kissing him. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought. Now was not the time to regret things like that. Now was the time to remain focused on the battle.

  She turned to her men, watching them walk with her as she headed towards the tunnel. The statue of Altara slipped into her vision like a shadow. It drew her in like a moth to a flame, and she stopped. She faced the statue trying to glean some sense of, well, she wasn’t sure what she wanted from the carved stone. The cloak of the Goddess seemed to welcome her as the protection she offered the babe in her arms suddenly made her feel jealous. She wanted her to protect them too. To protect all the innocents.

  She felt a sense of connection to the statue and the Goddess it represented. She wasn’t sure she believed in the gods in the ways she read about them in stories, but she accepted them more and more as possible. Her experiences with magic tried to force this new resolve, but it still felt like a slippery illusion wavering before her eyes. It was likely their Gods still watched over Acreage. It was also true, having one on your side would be beneficial. Especially a Goddess of Death. Especially at this moment.

  She walked over in front of the statue and gently touched her forehead with her hand and then the feet of the statue. An old custom she read in the margins of the book of legends. A mark of respect to a Goddess or God. It was a symbol of placing your soul at the feet of their divinity for them to care for it.

  “In the valleys of death, I shall walk, let your light be my guidance either to the next tomorrow or to my everlasting life. Bless me on my journey, my Goddess of Death. Patron of assassins.” She prayed in a whisper. With a final breath feeling content with her prayer, she turned. She began walking towards the entrance to the tunnels, her muscles tensing in anticipation. The shadows behind her grew but stopped. She looked stunned by the image of the other Acreans in her group mirroring her. They formed a line before the statue, reminiscent of a past none truly remembered. Then one by one touched their foreheads and then the statue’s feet with silent prayers before following her into the tunnel. Again, she felt nervous for the Templarians. Altara would protect Acreans, but there was no God who would protect Templarians. Their ancestors did not feel nearly powerful enough to help them here. They were Godless, and she hoped Altara could have mercy for them as well.

  The group walked quietly, following the path she laid out for them. They reached the end at the nearby pub and waited. Serena placed her ear to the wall, listening for noise. It was late. By this time, all the soldiers should be resting, and the pub sounded empty. She gently pushed on the wall. It didn’t move right away, the old hinges straining against her. She put her body weight into it as the stone creaked and groan before opening. She peered out into the dark basement, searching. Seeing nothing, a small torch was lit to help illuminate the room. Still, they hovered at the entrance as she inspected the basement. It was full of broken and empty barrels, no doubt the Samorians enjoyed themselves.

  “Move in squads and stick to the shadows. Kill any Samorian you see. It doesn’t matter who they are. Until we have Bathon, they are our enemy and will kill you without hesitation. Give them the same courtesy.” She whispered before walking out into the basement.

  Keeping to the shadows, she led the group up the stairs to the pub room where a large bar stretched across the wall. Not seeing any movement, she slithered behind the bar, watching in silence. Moonlight reflected off the discarded mugs and plates that littered the room. The Samorains spent plenty of time destroying the place.
Broken pieces of chairs, stools, and tables filled the room. Glass shards littered the floor, making silently trekking across the room difficult, especially for those who followed her. The air held still. The pub was deserted. She looked back at the men and pointed to the torch to put it out. The last man smothered the flames, plunging them into the lowlight of the night.

  Slowly, Serena led the men forwards as she crept towards the door. The men behind tried to follow as silently as her, but she could easily hear their footsteps and the crushing of glass. Their weight sat too heavy on their heels and they picked their feet up too high. It felt incredibly loud to her, but she knew outside it wasn’t nearly as loud as she thought.

  She looked out at the streets. Quiet. No one around. She looked upwards at the roofs. Her eyes scanned for shadows. They waited and she could tell some men were impatient by the rustling of their shifting weight, but she had the sense to wait. So they waited. She heard a noise to the north. The Captain’s men were there.

  She crept outside, sticking to the side of the building. Her instincts told her to take to the roofs. The high ground would be most crucial, but these men weren’t assassins. They were liable to slip and break their necks trying to match her. Not to mention the noise they’d make attempting to jump from rooftop to rooftop.

  “Scan the nearby buildings,”

  Several groups of men fanned out their steps loud to an assassin but not to sleeping soldiers. She waited, listening to the whistle of the breeze. The moon rose high into the sky, casting the shadows she needed.

  The sound of steps drew her attention as several soldiers returned.

  “The nearby buildings are empty,”

  She nodded.

  “Loop around the town hall. If you see any Samorians, don’t let them leave our circle but don’t cause a ruckus yet. You’ll hear my whistle.”

  The men nodded, rushing back off. Raft and Ike stayed next to her. She turned to a nearby building and climbed a barrel out front. Raft opened his mouth.

  “Serena-”

  “Sparrow,” Serena said. She looked up to the roof. “Follow the plan.” She reached up and gripped the roof. She nimbly hoisted herself up and looked around. Seeing no targets on the roof, she ran and jumped. Years of practice made her steps almost silent, the gentle creaking of roofs barely detectable over the wind.

  She jumped again, getting closer to the large towers ahead. As she neared, she noticed the sound of fighting did not begin. The Captain was waiting. At least she hoped.

  A shadow caught her attention as she looked up at the roof of the building. A figure crouched, watching. She knew the form well.

  Assassin.

  She pulled the bow from her back and strung an arrow. For a moment she questioned killing him. Would the sound of his body hitting the ground after falling draw too much attention? Would it wake those sleeping?

  The chance was greater he’d poison half her men from that position. She released her arrow, watching it sail through the air. It landed true, and the man jolted forwards gripping at the arrow protruding his chest. He fell over the edge, tumbling towards the ground before landing in a thud.

  She held another arrow at the ready, watching. She held her breath, her eyes searching.

  Several tense minutes later, there was no sign of anyone reacting. She looked out at the men surrounding the hall from the outside.

  Still, they waited.

  A whistle caught her attention, and she looked over at Ike. He motioned at her to come closer. She traveled across rooftops closer. Ike pointed to a nearby window. Sparrow crept from her roof back to the ground and then the window.

  Inside, she noticed at least fifty men sleeping on cots in what would have been a large dining hall or ceremonial hall. She was unsure which, as the room was devoid of any furniture besides the beds.

  She was supposed to offer support to the Captain, but he seemed to be taking his time. Caution was good, but inaction for too long meant death. She narrowed her sight onto the large bell hanging in the room. An alarm. She debated several options. Cutting the bell now would wake the men sleeping but prevent them from alerting others. Killing the men first allowed for the chance they might ring the bell and alert more soldiers. The last option was to do nothing and wait.

  This was a perfect opportunity to lower the enemy’s numbers with little recourse. She knew she was going to act even before she began climbing up into the window.

  “Sparrow!”

  She turned to Ike, who stared at her.

  “You want to help? Slit their throats fast.”

  She twisted on the windowsill and crouched close to the ground. She moved towards the first bed. Looking at the features of the man peacefully sleeping would be a poor practice. Humanizing a target was a deadly mistake.

  She slid a blade into her hand and cut deep across his throat. The man woke and flailed, reaching for his throat and trying to yell but his vocal cord was severed. The man bled to death quickly as Sparrow moved to the next.

  She noticed another figure and spotted Ike. He went in the opposite direction of her, making his way to the door. He did not squirm at the task at hand. His blade ran across a throat and he moved to the next. Raft climbed in next, bending by the window as his boots loudly set down on the wooden floor.

  Both Sparrow and Ike turned to him, glaring. The sound was too loud. Much too loud for sleeping men who were already hearing the rustling of their comrades dying.

  A man sat up in bed and spotted the three figures. He was too far away to stop with her hands. His position to the bell was too close to allow him to live. He opened his mouth to yell as he stood. In the moment she knew what she had to do. Sparrow threw her blade. It somersaulted in the air before it embedded in his throat, stopping him from yelling. However, his body flailed as he started to crash into the ground.

  She watched as time slowed. His limbs swinging wildly and knocking into the bed frame and a stool with his weapon on it. The loud banging and scraping of his bed as the body fell sounded louder than thunder. The sound echoed off the walls as more soldiers sat up in bed.

  A curse fell from Sparrow’s mouth.

  They looked around quickly, taking in the intruders.

  She bolted forwards towards the bell.

  Shouts rang out as soldiers got up, brandishing swords. Luckily, she was already so close to them and without armor had many options to kill. She pulled two knives to her palms and slid them across weak points of the body as she passed.

  Ike moved to block the door and keep people from escaping that way. He worked fast and silent like an assassin. She wondered about how he possessed such skill, but the sight of a soldier nearing the bell alarmed her. He reached out his hand one foot away and closing. She could almost hear the bell ringing, announcing their failure and their death.

  She prepared to throw a blade at the man, hoping to hit him in time. Too many blades swung at her, and too many soldiers stood in her way to offer a clear shot. She prayed to find an opening and quickly. There was only one shot.

  A sharp whoosh passed by her.

  An arrow flew out and struck the man. The man jolted with the impact, gripping his chest as he stumbled to the side. He fell to the ground as she glanced back at where the arrow came from. Raft stood stringing and releasing another from the window.

  Pride swelled in her from the shot. A well-aimed arrow, just like she practiced with him. In a few years, Raft would be even deadlier. He continued to fire arrows, offering support. Support Sparrow was grateful for now.

  The bell was still a problem. She focused on getting to it, not trusting they’d get lucky twice. She rushed forwards dodging attacks as she neared. It stood maybe five yards away. Almost in reach. More soldiers charged towards it, but arrows helped to keep them back. Sparrow ducked under a sloppy blow and kicked out at a knee, causing several soldiers to topple into one another. The satisfying pop as his knee was kicked out of place invigorated her. She caught another blade on hers and slide her blade down to
the guard, getting close enough to pull the dagger on his waist. She then stabbed it into his chest. She moved further into the room.

  Two men rushed her. She looked down and saw a stool. Grinning, she kicked it towards the pair. It swung into the one’s ankle and he toppled into another. She jumped up on a cot and used it to jump away from another blade. With so many swords attacking her, it was much easier to avoid them as the swords needed space to use their reach. In such close quarters that was impossible. A sinister grin rose on her lips. She dove forwards. Blades crashed into one another as they tried to reach her. Each blade blocking her as much as it attacked. She stayed low and kicked out another knee before sliding her knives through several major arteries in the legs. People yelled out as their legs gave way, toppling into others as the blood poured out. They’d be dead in minutes.

  Ducking another blow, she pulled two new blades. These clumsy soldiers left plenty of easy openings. Like the one before her, allowing her to slide her knife upwards into his jaw. She pulled back more blood sliding down her fingers. No time to wipe the blood away, she cursed herself for not just leaving the blade. Now her hand was slick. She threw the blade at another soldier quickly flicking her wrist to discard some blood as her left sliced outwards catching a throat.

  The bell was nearly in reach. Getting through the mass of men these last yards felt like it took much longer than it should. She hooked her foot on another stool and waited to count the next assailant’s steps. She then swung the stool up to hit the center man in the head. He toppled into a few others and she spotted her opening. She rushed forwards onto a cot and moved around blades finally at the bell.

  She cut the cord, holding it up. It fell in a deadening thud. Not loud enough to wake the entire building but enough to draw attention. Soldiers zeroed in on her, anger clear on their faces. She smirked.