The Writings of Assassination: Book One

by Cameron Style

  For a moment, nothing happens. My grip loosens on my sword. I continue to put pressure on my leg, sustaining the wound.

  “Let me out there dammit!” Thorn yells from the gates.

  “Go, die with her then!” Gravnere growls. I see the gate lower, as Thorn comes running for me clad in bright steel armor. More boos and hisses break out from the crowd above. Thorn runs up to me, leaning down as I stumble onto the ground unable to stand any longer. His hands force down hard on the wound with much more pressure than my own. I wince, gritting my teeth.

  “I don't know how you did it, but I'm glad you did. I'm getting you out of here.”

  Swallowing air I wipe blood with blood, pushing loose strands of hair out of my face.

  “Ladies and gentleman.” A loud male voice booms over the speakers in the arena. “It appears we have a very rare occurrence in our midst. We have ourselves a hero to our damsel in distress.”

  Damsel in distress? I slayed the wolves and humans on my own!

  More mixed reactions sound from the crowd, this time mostly laughter. They’re laughing at us. At me.

  “Round three will ensue momentarily.”

  I look to Thorn, “Round three? What is he talking about? The dragon?”

  “No, it can’t possibly be. They have to know about that in advance and hunt down a nest.”

  “What then?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  “Do you even have a weapon?”

  He shifts his back to me, blended in with the armor is an elegant steel bow and small steel quiver.

  “Where's your arrows?”

  “I don't have many, but there are more arrows in the arena. There’s a lot buried in the dirt and weeds from previous fights.”

  “I thought you used an ax?”

  “And I thought I was just practicing today, so I only had this.”

  We look at each other a moment, before our eyes are diverted to a noise at the gate.

  Rattling chains.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” the voice booms once more, “we have a very special treat for you today.”

  The gate lowers, an enormous man steps from the shadows bearing sparse spiked armor on his shoulders, head and knees. His shoulder width is nearly the length of my body. Two steel horns curl up from his mask with thin slots for his eyes, ending at the bridge of his nose. Spikes dart up in between the horns. He lugs a steel spiked ball twice the size of my head at the end of a chain. A flail. Thorn looks to me, releasing his hands from my leg.

  “Trade me weapons.” He takes off his bow and quiver, handing them to me. I pull the sword from my sheath. He takes it without looking. “Can you stand?” He gets up leaning with his hands down for me to grasp. I grip hard using all my might to pull myself up before stumbling back to the ground. My right leg has gone completely numb. Panic sounds from the audience as I hit the ground. Thorn looks back to the gate as it lowers.

  “Grab my hands, quick!”

  I reach out as he pulls me up and around his shoulders holstering me by my ankles and wrists around his neck. He runs with me on his shoulders to the vacant side of the arena and props me up on a boulder, moving the quiver to my side where it's accessible.

  “Can you shoot from here?”

  I detect panic in his voice. I swallow hard with a nod. It’s taking everything I have just to keep my eyes open. The blood has mostly coagulated from the wound in my thigh, but it still seeps from the bite in my heel. Thorn makes his way back across the arena, as the giant enters, heading our way. I shift myself upwards, pulling the bow across my lap. My dried bloodied fingers dip into the quiver and pull out a white-feathered steel arrow. I fix it on the bow, readying my fingers without aiming or pulling back on the string just yet.

  The giant makes his way close to Thorn. He begins swinging his flail in anticipation. It sounds as it cuts through the air.

  Woosh. Woosh. Woosh.

  With one heavy swing the ball comes crashing down missing Thorn by a hair. He swings my sword into the giant's belly. The giant juts his head back with a scream, yanking the flail out of the ground. He begins swinging it in the air, circling faster this time.

  Woosh. Woosh. Woosh.

  And faster. Thorn leaps to the right as the spikes miss him. Rolling onto his knees, he juts the sword into the giant’s side, all the way to the hilt. With a horrifying scream the giant wastes no time picking the flail back up and swinging hard into Thorn. Protected by his armor, the spikes throw him across the arena. He slams hard against the wall, dropping the sword.

  I pull back on the bow, readying myself. The giant looks up to me and grins. I aim for the most exposed part of him and release the arrow. It cuts so sharp through the air you can hear it all the way until it sinks into his chest, narrowly missing where his heart would be. He falls to his knees this time, gripping the arrow.

  Thorn coughs up blood, wiping it from his face as he stands with the sword back in hand. The giant is preoccupied with the arrow in his chest as Thorn runs at him from behind, leaping onto his back and stabbing him in the shoulder. Another demonic cry pierces the air followed by simultaneous screams from the audience. They're not sure which side they're on anymore.

  The giant stands up, reaching for Thorn who is holding on by the sword stuck deep in its back. I reach into the quiver and ready another arrow. He's moving too much, and my vision is leaving me. With what sight and strength I have left I pull an arrow back and launch it. Miss. It goes right past the giant’s head, catching his attention. In one fell swoop he rips Thorn from his back, leaving the sword in. With his knee he kicks Thorn in the chest knocking him out. The giant picks up his flail and looks to me.

  I reach for the last arrow, pulling it back on the string as quick as I can. I aim right between the eyes. Time seems to slow down and almost freeze as he runs at me swinging his flail. The arrow launches, landing dead between his eyes. The flail crashes into the boulder I'm propped on narrowly missing my head. I fall to the ground with the giant. Bits of boulder come crashing down around me, pinning my legs. I'm trapped. My vision begins to go black, waning in and out with the shouts of the audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen...” The voice reaches my ears slow and thick like syrup. Everything is fading, fast.

  “It appears we have a winner...” The voice trails off. From the corner of my eye I see Gravnere slam the gate down and run out.

  “You worthless wench of a human! You've ruined everything!” He runs to the giant, whose lying face down beneath bits of boulder. Gravnere rips the sword from his back.

  My fingers fumble for any nearby arrows when my fingertip is pricked by a sharp edge. I found one. I grip the arrow tight awaiting him.

  “You were supposed to die!” Gravnere holds the sword above my abdomen, about to plunge down when I stick an arrow in his.

  Everything goes black for a moment. Thorn. I hear him. I blink my eyes open to a watery vision of him stabbing Gravnere.

  “Jaria...Jaria...are you with me?”

  Black again.

  I open my eyes to find Thorn pushing bits of boulder off of me. Crowds are screaming and cheering all at once, unsure of how to react.

  “Stay with me Jaria.” I can't feel anything. “Stay with me.”

  VIII: The Shrine of the Sword

  Noise. I hear something. It's distant, like I'm being held underwater. My chest feels heavy as I breathe. I can't feel my legs, or my arms, for that matter. I try opening my eyes but it's as if something is holding them shut. The noise comes closer, a little clearer. I try to speak, but only squeak out a moan. Someone's there, maybe more than one person. A heavy hand lifts my head. I feel limp and dizzy. I can feel myself being propped up.

  “Jaria? Can you hear me?” The voice sifts through my ears like waves. “Jaria?” My eyes flutter open halfway. Feet. I can see my feet at the end of an unfamiliar bed. “Jaria, stay with me.” My eyes flutter shut.

  I'm so cold. I'm freezing. Wrapping my arms around one another my eyes open. I'm al
one. A black wool blanket lies under my feet, I reach to pull it up over me, wincing with pain as I do. I am in nothing but white linen undergarments. Something catches my eye. As I pull the blanket up over my almost-blue feet, I see everything. The bloodied wrap around my right thigh, and right heel. The dark purple bruises spreading across both calves from the boulder. A few minor cuts stretch across my arms and stomach, lightly spattered with smaller, less severe bruises in emerging shades of yellow and green. Aside from the wrap on my leg, all the blood on my body has been cleaned. Who could have done this?

  I sit up in the bed pulling the blanket over me tight as I huddle my legs and arms together for warmth. Where am I? This place is not familiar to me. The walls, floors...all cold stone. Beside my bed is a small nightstand and paraffin lamp. On the floor lies some kind of animal fur. My clothes and boots sit propped against a wooden chest next to a book case in the corner. There is no door to the room, merely half a wall and a rounded doorway. Its dark out in the hall. Dim light stretches through it though I can't see much. I lie back against the pillows huddling against myself.

  “Jaria?” A tall brooding figure enters the doorway. The man from the alley, from the inn. I recognize his deep voice and stature.

  I huddle tighter under the blanket and say nothing.

  “How are you feeling?” He enters the room, cloaked in black. He steps near the bed, pulling the chest over to sit by me. The paraffin lamp flickers some light to his hooded face. His skin tone is warm like Thorn's, his eyes an iridescent icy blue.

  “Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?”

  I shake my head. “The last thing I remember...is waking up here.”

  “Before that.”

  Taking a deep sigh I lean my head against the stone wall and think. What was the last thing I remember? It all seems like a blur. I shut my eyes.

  The arena.

  “The boulders.” Being crushed beneath them. “The giant, his malice.”

  A nod from the figure beside me, “Yes, go on.”

  I furrow my brow in frustration, willing the memory back to me.

  “The wolves, the prisoners...Thornain, he came out to help. He gave me his bow.”

  “Yes.”

  There was something else. I could feel the trace of a memory bubbling up to the surface. “Gravnere...” My eyes open as the memory rushes back to me. “I killed him. Shoved an arrow into his gut.”

  An approving nod from the figure beside me. “It is good to see your memory is intact.”

  I turn to him, looking into his eyes. “Thorn...is he?”

  “He is here. He is safe and recovering.”

  I let out an exhale of relief. He'd saved my life, after all.

  “Where are we? In the city?”

  The dark figure clasps his gloved fingers together, leaning a little closer to the lamp shedding more light on his face.

  “We are at Fort Guarded Dusk. North of the city.”

  Relief spreads through my body like a fire. The fort. I've finally made it.

  “You need to heal now, rest.”

  I feel overwhelmed with exhaustion.

  “How bad are my wounds?” I ask through a yawn, lying back.

  “Not bad anymore, you have already been here one week.

  “One week? I feel like I’ve been asleep for a night.”

  “You still need rest, at least another day or so. Sleep. Information will come when you are ready.”

  With that the large hooded figure stands and departs.

  ¶My eyes blink open sometime later. I sit up in the bed with ease, hardly feeling an ache as I do so. Stepping across the chilled stone floor I make my way to the chest and slip on my bloodstained leather and boots. They aren’t enough, it’s freezing in here. It’ll have to do for now. I exit my room to find myself in a circular enclosure. Rooms with open doorways similar to mine mirror the entire circle. In the middle of the circle is an opening to two additional floors below. As I walk around the rooms, I find they are all empty. The last room isn’t a room at all but rather a passageway with a small set of stairs to the levels below. I make my way down to the second floor. Still no one. Walking further to the bottom floor I am met with a crystal fire in the center. There are no bed chambers on this floor, which appears to be ground level.

  “Hello?” My voice echoes.

  I pull up my hood and cross my arms over myself for warmth. A large wooden door catches my eye. Walking up to it the sound of whistling wind pierces the air with immense cold. This must lead outside. I pull open the door to be met by a gust of blinding snow and wind. It takes all my might to shove the door shut. Across the room I notice an apothecary table adorned with skulls and potions. Is alchemy still practiced here? It has been forbidden in the Realm since long before I was born. Right around the same time necromancy was forbidden, though I have no idea why someone would care to practice such a thing.

  “Lady Jaria?”

  I turn to find an elder man draped in a deep purple cloak. His beard as white as the snow, not passing the length of his chin.

  “Yes?”

  He lowers his head with a deep bow, placing his hands together as he does so. “It is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.” He rises back up, pulling the hood from his head to reveal a surprising lack of hair, given his beard. “It appears that you are well rested and healed.” He says it like a statement but waits for an answer.

  “Yes, I’m feeling much better, thank you.”

  “The bruises will fade with time. I’m afraid, however, the scars will not. The ones on your thigh were especially deep.” An image of a wolf sinking its fangs into my leg jumps to the forefront of my mind accompanied with the echoes of sheer pain. “Come, we have much to discuss.” He leads me down a long hall to the left of the entry door. We pass into a dining hall filled with tables scattered with a few seated people. Beyond that is the kitchen. Down the next hall we are met with a door. He procures a small brass key from his velvet pocket and unlocks the door.

  He leads me into a room with a ceiling three stories high filled with books and enormous double panned glass windows. The outside view is stunning. We are right at the base of the mountain itself. The view to the north shows nothing but mountains and thick snow in the direction of the second sanctum of Winterstrand. To the south is lighter snow, followed by a very high view of the city, untouched by snow. The fort is caught somewhere in between putting it in this beautiful weather vortex. Walking up to a ladder two stories high, he wheels it several bookshelves over until he’s reached the window. Watching him climb the steps I realize there are huge dark iron chandeliers dripping with melting candles hanging from the ceiling, two, each half the size of the room.

  “Breathtaking view, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not typically this snowy. The weather can be very indifferent up here.” He makes his way up the ladder all the way to the top and retrieves a brown leather-bound book from the seventh shelf with the roman number VII on the side.

  “Is that the story of the Seven Saints?” I ask as he descends the ladder.

  “Yes, and I take it you are eager for answers. I am not sure what Connar has told you.”

  I shrug, or maybe shiver, as he walks over dusting off the brown book embossed with gold letters. “Not much, other than to come here. When I was being threatened by Lord Helwain, the Realm wanted my head. I had no choice but to go.”

  “Yes, such a sad state of affairs Helwain has steeped to in order to protect himself.”

  “Protect himself from what?”

  “Patience my lady, I will cover as much as I can.”

  “Before we do, there is one question in particular that has been plaguing my mind.”

  “Yes?” He takes a seat at a large oak table with the book. I take the seat next to him.

  “What are ‘The Writings of Assassination’?”

  He closes the book with a solemn expression. “I presumed you might ask about that.”


  “What can you tell me?”

  “The Writings of Assassination are a writing of the truth. The story of the Seven Saints is not fit as you are aware of it.” He pauses, awaiting my reaction.

  “I’m listening.”

  “As the story currently goes, Lady Akidira placed a spell on the dragon and died in the cave. This is the ending you know, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “The truth is another story entirely. You see, she did place a spell on the dragon, but it was not to kill it. The spell she placed on the last blood dragon was to preserve him safely in Mount Kitum. If successful, the Realm would be forever protected by the immortal blood dragon and no longer attacked by it. However, once the spell is cast, if the blood dragon perishes before the spell is complete, the town was then cursed with immortality in his wake. Connar was in the cave with the blood dragon, but it was already dying. He was hoping to save it, yet could not. The damage had already been too great.”

  “Then why attack the dragon at all? Why not just place the spell?”

  “Because, the dragon had to be close enough for Lady Akidira to place the spell upon. She could not do it when he was in the mountain, flying above, or attacking the village.”

  “She had to get him on the ground first.”

  “Correct, like when she saw him in the cave.”

  “The Saints were the distraction.”

  He nods. “They were only doing as told. The dragon was quite powerful, the prediction of his death was not foreseen by Akidira, though she was aware of the risk.”

  “So what really happened to her?”

  “Lord Helwain had caught wind of the dragon's presence a few days prior and wanted him for himself. He wanted to kill the dragon and have immortality. He came to the Realm and assassinated Lady Akidira while she slept in the tower. Having done so before the dragon died, immortality applied to him. As he was already in the spirit plane, Connar had chosen to protect her. He saw everything, but could not attack Helwain. The only other person in the Realm who has seen Connar's spirit was Fandoor, the book shop keep. I believe you've met him.”