“Run!”
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Chapter Seventeen
Serena rushed forwards as the cats gave chase. Ike grabbed Raft, leading him off in the opposite direction of Serena. One cat followed them as two tracked her. She weaved between buildings, taking quick turns as she felt the heat in her veins rise. The closer they got, the hotter her veins were.
She neared the fighting in the distance. The clouds of smoke warming the air from the fires. The smell of burning flesh wrinkled her nose. She turned again, hiding behind a corner as the cats passed. She rushed to bind her arm and lower back, hoping to hide her scent as she started in another direction. The cats disappeared as she charged off back towards the front. Fighting War Cats was not something she wanted to do. She hoped she lost them, but she couldn’t be sure.
She kept an eye out for assassins as she drew closer to the clamoring. Ahead, she spotted James wielding a sword with a black blade. For a moment, the fire, the blade, and the armor felt too close to the night she was captured. Her body froze as her heart raced. She took a moment to refocus. She turned away from James and her questions, looking instead towards the gates.
A mix of people fighting filled the streets. The noise felt deafening, vibrating through her bones to her soul. She heard a yell and turned, seeing Ike struggle with a soldier. He and Raft managed to get back to the main front. Sparrow noticed the soldier’s uniform and scowled. A Captain. The man head-butted Ike, pushing him back and preparing to strike.
Raft spotted it as well. He ran towards the fight, ignoring the battle raging around. Another soldier he was about to run past noticed him.
Raft did not.
He raced forwards sword outstretched without a glance at his surroundings. For a moment he looked strong. The soldier stepped in front of him. Raft brought his blade down on his enemies. His feet were steady, his grip perfect. He moved to block the blow and pushed it back. He turned, shifting his weight but didn’t watch his left side. She saw the dagger moving upwards. Raft saw it. His eyes widening.
Sparrow found her feet moving to help him again. She slid two blades to her palms, preparing her muscles for the throw. However, even as she moved, she felt it in her gut. Reality was coming. War was no place for a child.
The blade moved past Raft’s defenses. It slid up higher towards his throat and sliced. Words stuck in her throat as her blades flew at the man. Her steps felt like they thundered as she rushed to catch him. Her arms caught his weight, falling to the ground with him. He dropped his blade. His frantic eyes looked at her as his hands moved to his neck. It was futile. She knew it. He knew it yet she covered his hands, holding them to his neck as if it would make a difference.
Tears slid down her cheeks as she shook her head, still holding him tight.
“You idiot. I told you. I told you to watch your left!” She hated being right in this moment. Before being right was like an easy victory, but this felt like a tragedy. He looked up at her opening his mouth to speak, but blood pooled in it. His eyes told her everything.
Fear.
It mirrored her own. What would come next for him? What God was there for them? If she asked, would Altara hear her? She looked up at the dark sky covered in smoke. There were no stars, even the moon was hidden. It was only darkness and death.
“Raft!” yelled Ike, running over. He skidded to a stop on his knees and grabbed Raft’s hand. Raft chocked on the blood as he gripped Ike’s hand tight. “Look at me, Raft. It’s going to be alright. We’ll be alright. You did good,”
Tears slid down Raft’s cheeks.
“Karla,” he gargled out.
“I’ll tell her. She’ll know. I promise.” Ike said, his voice cracking. She closed her eyes at those words.
“Please Altara. Please accept him into eternal life. Please give him more to know than war. He might not be Acrean but you’re the protector of the innocent. He is innocent and should not pay for the crimes of others.” She prayed, looking down at Raft as he attempted a smile. It was distorted by the blood and his head slowly lulled back, his eyes losing their light.
“Raft,” Serena choked out. How were they to tell his father? His fiancé? His father stood there proud of his son, and now nothing would return. He would be buried with the others afterward. There would be few who remembered him. His fiancé would mourn, but at such a young age her parents would find her another match. Who would remember how much of a light he was? How much potential he had to do good in the world?
She looked down at him, feeling her anger soak into her bones. She seethed with rage. Children paid the price for the decisions of adults. She lived it her whole life and now the dead body of another child laid in her lap.
She’d kill every single Samorian. Altara willing, she’d make sure blood was paid in blood. She stood as Ike took over care of his body. With a last glance at the broken form of Raft, she wrapped her fingers around her blades. Raft’s blood on her hands cooled as she took a heavy breath, narrowing her eyes on the army. The largest group of Samorians nearby suddenly felt too small for her rage. Her muscles moved swiftly, fueled by the emotions swirling around her. Charging towards them the Samorians sensed her presence like a storm about to swallow them. She dodged blades with ease as her dance of death began. She stabbed out with her knives, never missing a mark. Twisting and turning in elegant patterns, she slid her blades into the perfect kill spot. Blood splattered her as she continued darting forwards and backward like cresting waves. Each shift in the movement leading to another dead body dropping to the floor.
Finished with her current group of Samorians, she turned looking for others. People stared at her as she peered out from behind her bloody hood. No doubt they saw the Death Sparrow in all her glory.
She charged again, spotting new targets. The swinging of her cloak draped her in shadows as if she was one of them. Fear hung in the air as Samorians began to disengage, trying to get away from her. There was no pity in her heart for them. Her tears dried with the drops of blood splattered on her cheeks. Both could not exist at this moment, and blood was an easier comfort.
She spotted movement. Three shadows. The remaining assassins. She grinned, charging them. They threw out pins at her, but she spun her cloak like a shield, catching the small projectiles. She drew closer and threw a blade, catching one off guard. The other two turned and ran. She stared at their receding figures, debating what to do. A part of her wanted more death, but a part also relished in the tale they’d tell. The great Death Sparrow, the savior of Bathon would be an interesting tale indeed. There would be no better deterrent than the idea of fighting a legend.
Seeing the assassins flee, other soldiers followed their lead and run.
A movement towards her right drew her attention.
James stood before a man dressed in a large robe. The man lifted his hands, and she spotted black symbols lighting upon his skin. Magika symbols. Samorian witch. The magic rose towards James, but James just cut his sword through it. Magic did not affect the black blade. Maybe the sword absorbed the magic. Maybe it destroyed the magic. Regardless of which, her blood ran cold at the sight. She felt the change in the air's energy. The magic was gone.
The witch tried to recover, but before he could James thrust his sword through his chest. She stared at James. She didn’t understand how any of that was possible. James looked over at her and scowled. He then moved forwards to another soldier to fight. She felt more uneasy about him than ever before.
Daryl’s voice broke out above the noise of battle. He yelled something into the abyss of war and the cavalry moved to create a wall of men. They began pushing out the remaining Samorians towards the door. Some still tried to fight, but others gave in and ran. It didn’t matter where they went. As long as they left.
Soldiers cheered and celebrated as the reality they won settled in. Serena looked back, searching. She spotted Ike. He carried the limp body of Raft in his arms. Her heart seized, threatening to bring her to her knees.
She fe
lt her grief sliding forwards at the thought. She should’ve done more. Taught him more. Drilled him harder. She should’ve protected him. She… she was an assassin, not a babysitter. Yet his death still hit her hard. Her heart ached, and she knew it shouldn’t. An assassin shouldn’t cry for those who died, but she already had.
“Serena!” She turned to look at Daryl. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
“Of course, I am,”
“Shouldn’t you be helping to get this cleaned up?”
“The Captain is already on that.” He pointed. She looked over and saw Wesley. His arm was hurt, but otherwise, he seemed alright. He was yelling orders to secure the doors and then to clear the dead.
She turned from it all and headed off alone. She needed time to think. Her head threatened to split open between the pain and the thoughts of Raft. She walked away from the noise and the smell of death. The smell hung in the air, feeling like it blanketed everyone. She wanted nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with the cleanup of war. She paced walking in circles but found no solace from the smell or the lingering feelings in her chest. Retreating to the silence and mossy smell of the tunnels, she returned to the room with the statue of Altara. She sat before the statue, unsure what she was doing. What was a statue going to do? What comfort could its hard-stone edges give her?
A mixture of feelings swirled around her like a cyclone trying to pull her apart at the seams. She was supposed to have her emotions under control as an assassin. This wasn’t fair. It felt so infantile to be upset over such a fact. She learned early in life that nothing was fair, but as she looked up at the smile on the statue, it felt more sinister than before. A mockery. Life and death were both cruel.
She cleaned her wounds and bandaged them before sitting back down. The thought of Raft slipped back in rising tears to her eyes. They fell in steady streams as sobs escaped her lips. Her grief felt suddenly too big, as if it encompassed the entire life of pain she never fully acknowledged. He might be Templarian, but he deserved more.
She stumbled over her thoughts, trying to wipe the tears away.
“I guess you wouldn’t be crying over me,” said a sultry voice. She froze, knowing that voice by heart. She cursed herself for not paying attention. Her training should not have slipped. She should’ve heard him. Not hearing him was too vulnerable of a mistake.
She stood slowly and turned to the man at the door of the tunnels. He dressed in black from head to toe. A mixture of Samorian and Acreage clothes on him. He pulled down his hood and scarf. His face was the same. The same caramel skin. The same warm chocolate eyes. The same wry smile and angled jaw. She felt her heart trip over itself with all the fond memories they shared. She noticed the new scar over his left eye. Curiosity piqued looking at it.
He stood leaning on the wall with ankles and arms crossed, watching her.
“It’s been a long time Ren,” he breathed his warm voice bouncing off the walls. That name woke her, and she grabbed a blade, throwing it at him. It landed next to his head. He didn’t flinch. Both knew she wouldn’t kill him so easily. He just stood looking back at her.
“There’s a lot for us to talk about. I’d prefer it if you left my throat intact.” He returned.
“What are you doing here? You ran off and left me for dead! You sold us out!”
He glared at her, standing up tall and striding towards her. His taller frame glowered over her.
“I did none of that. I thought you were dead. You did a fantastic job of pretending that.” There was an edge of pain in his voice that broke thru. “Then I find out you’re alive because you were fighting with the Templarians. Are you fucking crazy? After what they did, you would even tolerate the idea of fighting by their side?”
“You didn’t even try to find me. No one did, least of all you, Sam. I wasn’t hiding I was being tortured and run into the ground by cruel men while you run free!” She pushed him back. He stumbled back, his face a mixture of remorse and anger.
“I had to run for my life! After Adrian was killed, the assassins thought it was me. I hopped on the first boat I could. I was told you were dead!” he shouted, his voice cracking.
Serena mirrored his pain. He walked closer to her and grabbed her face in his hands. “If I had known… I never would have left you to that fate. I would’ve been here a long time ago.”
Her head and heart hurt too much for this. She stepped back away from him.
“Why are you here?” She held her head in one hand, hoping the pounding would calm.
“For you.” He said, his eyes meeting hers. “The Samorians won’t hurt you anymore. I’ve worked with them. We’re on the same side. We’ll kill the King and his court. We’ll kill them all and take back Acreage. We’ll do it together like we always planned. We’ll prove to the assassins I’m not the traitor they think I am.”
“I don’t even know if I want to be an assassin anymore!” She hated how, despite all the pain and anger she held for him; he still had a place in her heart. His presence alone could still pull at her resolve. His face dropped. His eyes opened wide and his smile turned into a frown.
“What are you talking about? There is no getting out of the assassins! We’re branded for life.”
“You once wanted more.” She whispered.
“Ren, I’ve spent my last year in Samoria either freezing my ass off or burning up. Training in everything I could with the one goal of killing the King and taking back Acreage. The King fucked up in thinking Samoria would just let him take it. They will burn Acreage to the ground if the King is not dead by the end of next month. Their ships will arrive, and no army will stop them. Please just come with me. Leave this all behind. Help me save Acreage!”
She didn’t know what to think about any of this. Her head was spinning, and she honestly felt lightheaded. She took a shaky breath, trying to formulate a thought. She focused on his words and not the feelings.
“Gwayne figured they were close, but that’s so soon.” She stepped towards the altar again, peering at the Goddess for guidance. Her thoughts shifted. “No one can get to the King. He’s too well insulated.”
“You’re the Death Sparrow! You can do anything and with Viper back at your side-”
“I don’t need Viper!”
“Ren, with your help we can do this. You have the ear of the Captain of the Royal Guards and their heir Prince! That is no small feat.”
Her head pounded harder, and she rose her hand to her temple, massaging them. The room began to spin, and she tried to blink it away.
“The King has private guards that only listen to him.”
She looked back at him and noticed the room was spinning faster. Her instincts warned she forgot something. She tried to rub it away with her fingers, but it only got worse. She stumbled forwards and Sam’s face changed again. Concern flooded it as he rushed to catch her. She couldn’t help but compare his arms to the Captain. The Captain’s were warm and strong. The thought of them made her feel safe. Sam’s were similar, but there was apprehension in them as they cradled her.
“What’s wrong?”
She tried to think and wanted to curse herself. The poison. A rookie mistake She hesitated on taking the antidote and forgotten about it. She moved her hands towards her pouch, noticing her fingers feeling numb. She couldn’t grab anything. Her tongue was swelling, and she looked at Sam.
“Poison,” she tried to say, but all that came out was a hiss of syllables that made no sense. She looked at him desperately, hoping he could figure it out. She reached at her pouch again and saw recognition in his eyes. He started saying something, but she couldn’t hear it. It sounded like angry mumbles. Her vision started blacking out as she slumped in his arms. She could feel him holding her up.
Cool liquid filled her mouth, forcing her to swallow. A trail dripping down the corners of her mouth before everything went black.
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Chapter Eighteen
Boom!
Thunder shook the walls as Serena bolte
d awake. Her back screamed in pain as the loud pattering of rain on a window alerted her it was merely a storm. Her heart raced as she pulled the cool towel from her forehead.
Did she have a fever? She thought. She felt her forehead trying to gauge her body, uncertain of what happened. Her mind raced through possibilities until she remembered going to the tunnels and crying before the altar of Altara.
Raft.
She fisted her hands around the towel. He was gone. She had to stop dwelling on that and figure out where she was. Her eyes took in the room. Empty wooden room. Nothing inside but the bed she laid on. The sensation of being a prisoner overwhelmed her as she noticed she was unarmed. No weapons on herself or in the room. Nothing to use. Not even a blanket. The towel in her hand was too small to be a weapon.
She let out a curse, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. Her toes tentatively touched the grain of the wood. Cold. She flinched at the sensation, her back warning of the pain to come. This would hurt, but she needed to know where she was. A part of her knew this wasn’t Bathon.
She pushed off the bed, forcing her legs under herself. They shook her legs, far too weak to support her weight. She stumbled forwards reaching for the window before falling to her knees. Her chest rose in heavy breaths. Pain rippled up her back. She reached around to the bandages and felt stitches through them. It was also tender.
The wound itself was a hindrance, but it was worse because of the poison. It nearly killed her. In these moments she realized how stupid she had been. She nearly gave up her life because she let her emotions get the best of her.
Stupid mistakes.
She looked back at the window as lightning flashed, illuminating her. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself back to her feet.
Where was Wesley? Where was Daryl? They should be at her side. They’d be worried about her. She worried about them. Was Wesley’s arm healing alright? How were the other soldiers? How was Daryl after the toil of battle? How was Ike handling the death of Raft?
The Death Sparrow's Shadow: The Assassin of Acreage Book One Page 21