The Assassin Princess (The Legacy Novels Book 1)

by Blake Rivers

  Ami’s next few steps were on solid wood, but after that some slats had fallen, leaving gaps like broken teeth of a comb; others were sound, but slanted and useless.

  But wasn’t she powerful? Couldn’t she jump cliffs and oceans? She closed her eyes and visualised what she wanted to do, and took her first step forward. She felt her foot fail for purchase, her boot slipping against ropes and splinters.

  Concentrating, she took a deeper breath, and called up an image of steps, white steps in a green moonlight, and even though her eyes were closed, she could see the columns that rose tall into the sky, the arches that were incomplete.

  She stepped down onto the soft grass, looking for her rosebush. It was growing as always, against the wall of the walkway, the flowers blooming red. She reached to pick one, wanting to feel the petals against her palm, soft and velvet, but the stem wouldn’t break. This is my place, she thought, mine alone.

  She turned to the walkway itself and followed the outside wall toward the far building, where she’d met him.

  There was a window, large and low.

  Ami knelt, and peered through it.

  There he was, sitting in a large and ornate chair. He was bent forward, his hands in the grate of a fireplace, the flames a bright green. His face was smooth and seamless, plastic and false, but his eyes were alive and fierce in their voyeurism—he was watching her.

  She knew he would look up at her in a moment, so she turned before he could.

  Walking now, Ami approached the trees that bordered the grassland and watched as they swayed, shuffling gently under an unfelt breeze. There was a face peering out at her from between two trunks. Small features, a girl. As Ami watched her blonde hair blow about her face, her skin turned grey and old, shrinking and sagging. The blonde hair became white.

  She opened her eyes and looked down.

  Her boots were firmly planted on what was left of the wooden slats, though the sky was to her right. The rain lashed at that side of her face, numbing it.

  Ahead, a man stood upon a horse, ready to jump the ravine to safety, and above her hung Hero, the girl at his back. They both held tight to a rope, their only saviour from a drop—a rope that was fraying fast.

  Ami laughed, loving the sight of their helplessness. Hero, protector and kidnapper. She was about to drink from his fount of fear, about to kill his valiant-self.

  Ami moved in.

  *

  Small beads of purple light formed on Hero’s fingers and travelled the length of his raised sword. The light became a mist through the rain, a vapour that spun around the blade, curling its fingers and tightening.

  Raven jumped and Hero thrust the sword outward, sending a shower of purple flames shooting across the abyss like fireworks. They struck Raven’s legs and grabbed at them like hands, lifting him and throwing him to the other side. He landed on the wet slats and skidded forward into darkness.

  It was then that Hero saw it, glimpsed from the corner of his eye. A bloom of light behind him, a burning green fire in the shape of a blade.

  Florence took her sword in her free hand, but Hero shook his head. “No, put it away.” His voice was hushed and private. “Get ready to jump.”

  “I can’t jump the distance,” she said.

  The figure was closer, the fiery blade raised toward them.

  “Now,” he shouted and swung his sword behind him as Florence jumped on faith.

  Hero felt every muscle in his body go into spasm as the green fire hit his chest. The world swooned, his eyes closing to a sea of pain that twisted and turned inside. His grip had weakened on something vital, though he was hardly aware of anything but the burning in his veins. It was over now, surely, and he would fall and fall and fall.

  “Hero, fight him.” A voice carried to him from somewhere far away, and his eyes fluttered open, his fingers clamping down on the rope again. Across the bridge he could see the horse flailing for purchase, Florence on its back clutching Kane’s shrouded body. The voice was Raven’s, calling to him from his left. “Fight him, Hero. Don’t fail now.”

  The green blade was raised again on his right, ready to strike.

  Hero threw himself forward, jumping the chasm as a burst of green fire missed him by an inch. Splinters flew alight in green flame, cutting into his skin and singeing his robes as one half of the bridge exploded behind him. He landed upon the horse’s back, his free hand snagging the rope that felt dangerously loose.

  Ruins and smashed remains of the burning bridge fell to the ravine beneath, the flames winking out in the rain. The remaining section tilted almost over, the ropes fraying and unwinding in his hands, Raven’s horse slipping and screaming.

  Hero glanced to his right, and through the rain he saw the green sword closing on him, a step away, the blade pointed at his chest. He swung his sword, catching the other blade. Sparks fell through the air, green and purple, sounds of clashing steel woven through a blast of thunder. His teeth gritted as the blades scraped, steel on steel.

  Another taunting laugh and the green fiery blade swung backward, ready for the final blow.

  With the last of his strength, Hero pulled to his left, his feet pushing against nothing but a hope of power as he jumped toward the sound of Raven’s voice, his hand leaving the ropes and grabbing the horse’s mane.

  The same purple flames that had grabbed Raven, gripped his waist, and Hero was thrown the distance. His muscles screamed, and he screamed along with them as the weight of the horse hung from his arm, with Florence hanging below.

  The sky and land joined and separated in a struggle as light flipped with dark, and up became down.

  They landed on the bridge, the horse, Hero, and Florence a mess of bodies and movement. In the confusion, the horse was the first up and ready to bolt, though Florence was only a second behind. Scrambling in front of it she took its muzzle in her hands and it calmed, stopping short of where Raven stood. Hero, last up, staggered to the edge of the bridge on his knees and looked across, his sword raised and lit.

  In the dull purple light, hazy through the misted rain and dark shadows, he saw a silhouetted figure, walking toward them. Long wet hair against white skin, a smile.

  The wind howled through the mountains and the bridge swung at an angle, the last remnants of a path travelled, an impassable wreck—yet the figure kept steady and now crawled toward them, climbing the slats to level footing, only feet away.

  “Hero,” Raven called, stumbling to join his captain, his blade drawn, “let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Behind them, Florence had brought the horse. “Come,” she shouted, above the wind, “quickly.”

  There was a laugh as Raven and Hero turned to mount the horse, Raven backward, facing the danger, Kane between his legs; Florence and Hero sat forward, and pushed the mare to a sudden gallop.

  Hooves hit wet wood and they raced away from their pursuer. “Raven, what do you see?”

  “I don’t see—wait—” Raven peered through grey, the wind a roar in his ears. “I see the sword. He’s still coming! Adam is gaining on us.”

  Hero turned and saw a line of green flame flying past, a mountain to their right exploding in a shower of rocks. He pulled the horse hard to the left, avoiding the debris, just as a second flame hit and they were pelted with shrapnel. They needed to ride faster, to get out of range, to get to the tunnel. Hero placed his hand on the horse’s head, the wind and the rain heavy in his eyes.

  “Help us, speed us, carry us to the tunnel,” he said, his voice a whisper repeated as Florence joined in the chant. “Speed us, carry us to the tunnel.”

  They were speeding up, the world a blur either side of them, and the mountain tunnel was clear ahead. A purple glow shadowed the galloping horse upon the slick slats.

  “I don’t believe it,” Raven said, turning to them. “He’s gone. We’ve lost him.”

  Hero knew it wouldn’t be true. The bridge was only a path, and Adam was powerful, but soon they’d be safe. Adam couldn’t enter Lega
cy.

  Their gallop slowed as they came to the end of the bridge and reached the mouth of the tunnel. Two torches burst into welcome flame as they stepped on solid rock, panting and shaking.

  Hero saw no sign of their pursuer.

  Dismounting, he brought Florence down with him and stepped under the cover of the rock canopy, the rain now on the outside. The sky above looked a little less dark, and he thought it would not be long before the storm would pass over them.

  “What the hell just happened?” Raven said, dismounting and checking over Kane’s body.

  “That was Adam, right? Sheesh,” Florence said, “that is some weird stuff. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “I pray you never will again,” Hero said. “I’m sorry. I knew our path was dangerous and yet I let you come along.”

  “Oh, don’t start that again,” she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “All this chivalrous crap is meaningless drivel. We almost died, and it appears that Adam wasn’t even trying very hard. He’s playing with us.”

  “Why?” Raven asked, pulling on the ropes over Kane’s body, and then smoothing the horse’s coat. “Why would he want to play with us, why not just kill us if he thinks we’re that much of a threat?”

  “We’re not a threat,” Hero said. “We’re an annoyance, insignificant to him. He wouldn’t bother to attack us. He has what he wants…he has the princess.”

  “Then I repeat, what the hell just happened?” Raven stepped up to the mouth of the tunnel and looked out across the ravine, his hand holding to the rock. Hero saw that Raven’s hands were shaking, though his own were still and calm.

  “I’m not convinced that it was Adam,” he said in a whisper as he joined him, staring out into the rain, “and I don’t think we should linger too long here. Whoever it was has not gone. We’re not safe. We’ll recover, and then we’ll go on to the city. We have been lucky, very lucky.”

  “Lucky that you were given that power,” Florence said. “You helped Raven jump, you helped me to safety. You lifted the horse and flew to the other side.”

  Hero stared at her. She was speaking the truth, but he couldn’t believe it. What was it he’d been given? It had helped him in some ways, when in danger, but it’d not helped him save Kane. It’d not helped him save Ami.

  “Not Adam?” Raven said, turning to look at Hero. “Then, you think—?”

  “I think it was Ami,” he said, “but let’s first set a fire.” He gestured to the torches, niched into the walls of the tunnel. “We can camp and dry out, eat and drink from what supplies we still have, if any. But we must stay alert. Adam can’t cross this point. But if it’s Ami and he has corrupted her? I don’t know if the same applies.”

  He looked out again into the torrential downpour, into the darkened morning and the mountainous waste lands of Edorus.

  He felt it. She was out there and she was watching—and she hadn’t finished with them yet, not by a long shot.

  *

  It’d been fun, but had also been disturbing. Had Hero always had such a power, and if so, why had Adam not mentioned it to her? This made Hero an adversary, not an easy target to play with. Instead of dying he’d fought back and gained strength—and his next-girl had survived also. Oh, she had enjoyed herself, and it had been fun to parry with him, but she’d not expected him to escape. They should’ve all died, Ami, the reaper of their souls. Instead they’d reached the tunnel where they’d stopped, thinking themselves safe, thinking Adam chased them. Fools. She was far from gone.

  Ami had watched them race away in a purple haze, galloping at an unnatural speed through the rain. She’d never catch them while being so obvious—but she could make a game of it. In movies and TV shows someone made a plan, and now a plan had formed in her mind.

  She’d squatted down at the edge of the bridge in their wake, and as her Hero rode off toward the tunnel, Ami had slipped off the side, her fingers easily fitting between the slats. The rain was slick and heavy still, falling in floods, running into her eyes. She ignored it and lifted herself, pushing the toes of her boots between the slats and gripping to the underside of the bridge.

  Under the cover of thunder, lightning, her covert friends of nature, Ami was off, crawling as fast as the power would push her until she was a shadow beneath the purple mist, an unnoticed element underneath the trio.

  Once they’d reached the tunnel, she’d stopped and listened to them talk, watched them through the slats as they moved around at the edge, musing on Adam’s motives, and possibly her own.

  She listened now, very carefully.

  “I don’t understand why we’ve stopped? If he, or she, wanted to, they could just kill us right now.” The voice belonged to the girl, and Ami felt a surge of hatred. She didn’t want to admit the reasons, but she was aware of them, and hated them too.

  “No, they won’t,” a man said, Hero’s voice, deep and reasoned. “If it was Adam, he cannot pass this point, and is hiding out there somewhere. If it was Ami, and I hope for all our sakes it was not, maybe she cannot pass either. If she can? She doesn’t want to, not yet. She is playing with us, like a cat with a mouse. And she is probably enjoying it—”

  “Come on, Hero,” another man, Raven, said. “Ami? The girl you brought here and we travelled with? She doesn’t know this world, and—”

  “More’s the reason that she could be corrupted, if she was not expecting it.”

  The voices continued, and Ami continued to hang, her limbs not tiring as she clung on. The rain had slackened, and the darkness had begun to fade, the storm passing overhead. She could see clouds through the slats, dark and light grey, beaten black and hints of silver, moving to the west. The first new rays of sunlight touched her face, and it felt good.

  Ami could remember her home better when the sun was on her skin, and could recall her parent’s faces clearly. Always in the same places, in the same ways. Her father mowing the lawn, her mother weeding the garden. She felt the warmth of the sun when she walked across the grass, turning back to look at the arches, the columns rising high into a green sky.

  Ami shook her head. The rain had stopped, only a few drops of water falling to her cheeks, cold on her skin.

  “I’m going to meditate,” Hero said above her. “Keep watch, and when I am finished, we will leave.”

  “Hopefully when we get to the city, the damned storm will be well away,” Raven said. “I am too wet, and I hate being wet.”

  “Warm yourself by the fire then,” the girl said. “You don’t have to tend to the horse, or—or Kane, the whole time. They will go nowhere.”

  “The horse almost bolted, but you calmed it. How did you do that?” Ami heard Raven sitting down by the fire, grit on stone crunching beneath him. What had happened to Kane? A lick of guilt touched her as she remembered his face. She hadn’t noticed he was missing.

  “I don’t know,” a pause, “I have always had a knack for calming animals, especially horses. Some people called me a horse whisperer, but—I don’t know.”

  Quiet, the crackle of a fire, the calm wail of the wind, a gentle rocking of the bridge. Ami listened as the voices changed to whispers.

  “Is he, you know…sleeping do you think?”

  “No,” said Raven. “It is traditional in the Guard to meditate, to balance our emotions, our feelings, so we can be objective and efficient.”

  “But you aren’t joining him.”

  “I like my emotions where they are at the moment.” His voice dipped lower. “I don’t want to brood on them, or lessen them.”

  “But Hero has to, because he is the leader?” The girl was astute. Ami felt the jealousy raging in her stomach, but she kept her eyes focussed on the white clouds that sailed above, chasing the darkness and shadow.

  “Yes. He has to be strong, even when everything falls apart and he—”

  There was a shuffle, gasps of breath.

  “What? What is it?” Raven asked, getting to his feet.

  “We have to go,
right now. Florence, I want you and I at the rear, Raven you’re riding. We need to go right now!”

  Ami knew this was her cue, but as she started to pull herself up, she felt a drain in her power. She saw the pulses of green light run down her arms, down her legs, followed by a streak of purple light.

  She saw the mirror in her mind, and a familiar presence opened her arms to her. Ami greeted her like an old friend, and walked the grass again, looking down between the trees.

  There was no face, but she sensed something there, just beyond the shadows. She knew it, and it waited for her. The sky above was brighter than before, a little blue, billows of clouds like a steam train’s plume, settled and moving softly on. The rosebush was lush by the walkway, and she knew if she went over now, she could snap a stalk and feel the petals in her hand.

  Dangerous.

  Hooves echoed and became faint. Damn. What was with all the daydreaming?

  She climbed up the side of the bridge and stood at the mouth of the tunnel. The bridge behind was a wreck, fallen and broken, and beyond it were the green hills of the Commune Valley, the Planrus Lands on the horizon. There was nothing she wanted there. The blackened remains of a campfire still smouldered on the floor of the tunnel and torches were lit on either wall, leading down and along.

  She saw the distant figures disappear round a bend.

  Ami pulled her blade, and started into a run. She would get to them before they reached the end, and they wouldn’t see the sunlight again.

  *

  It was bothering him.

  Adam looked back to the window once more, the last few raindrops cutting through the condensation that gathered in the corners of the pane. Outside and below, he could hear the raging sea, the cruel waves that kept his home in isolation, just as he wanted it. It was perfect.