“Go!” my father screamed and pushed me through the doorway ahead of him. I stumbled and fell against the tiles with a shout of terror. My whole body felt numb and my vision blurred with tears.
“Get up!” he screamed again and grabbed at my shoulder with his bloody hands. He lifted me up with ease and then we ran towards the stairs that would lead to the cellars of the castle.
“We have to get to the sewage pipes!” Shouts echoed behind us and I heard the door to the tower we had entered crack against a battering ram. We took a few more steps down the hallway and then dashed through another doorway.
“You’re hurt.” My eyes focused on the arrow that penetrated his shoulder, but my father ignored my comment. He’d always been a tough man and never complained about his endless work at the castle.
“This way.” I heard a louder smashing sound behind us and realized the hordes had breached the door. They were already in the courtyard and I didn’t need my father to explain to me that the fortress would soon be overrun by the horrible army.
The defenses of Crag Castle had done little to stop Raltenor the Conquer. His army was impossibly large and composed of berserker warriors. They could withstand untold amounts of pain and had earned the nick name of “Dogs” because of their savage methods of pillaging.
“What about the Princess?” my mouth formed the words before I could consider his answer.
“The King and his family will be killed if they haven’t already. Our life here is over. We have to escape or we will die along with them.” He looked at me and his lips twisted. “Stop crying, damn it! We have to be strong or we won’t survive. You’ve got to be tough. Understand?” I nodded and let him pull me along while I wiped my face and nose.
The screams grew louder. Most of the servants lived in this tower and the shouts of warriors soon blended with the screeches of men and women being butchered. I hoped for a moment that the Dogs would be distracted by their new found victims so we could escape, and then I hated myself for the selfish thought. I knew everyone in this castle. None of them deserved to die.
“Here. We made it!” He lifted a wooden hatch and pointed to a dark ladder. I jumped on the rungs and descended as quickly as my trembling hands would allow me.
I reached the bottom and my father slid down the ladder behind me. The air hung thick with the stench of sulfur and waste. There were half a dozen wide stone tubes that ran the length of the room. These cylinders joined other copper pipes that led down the hall away from us at a slight angle downwards.
“I saw them, this way!” someone shouted from above, and my father’s dark eyes widened with surprise. He grabbed my arm again without a word and we both sprinted toward the tubes.
I heard the boot steps now.
“There!” he hissed, and gestured to a hole in the ground. It looked almost like the stone circle of a well, but instead of a bucket or pump to pull the water out, the dozens of various sized pipes all pointed to the mouth of the opening. The smell was overpowering, and I felt the stench briefly push aside my terror. I gagged against the bitter tang of bile rising in my throat and turned to my father. Surely he didn’t mean for us to slide down the shaft? Even if we somehow made it down the slick sewage passage, we would be dashed against the ocean and the sharp face of the Crag.
“This is the only way.” He seemed to have read my thoughts, and I knew better than to object to his logic. My father was a hard man, and the few times I complained or questioned his authority had quickly resulted in a belt whipping that left my ass bruised for days. He grabbed me by the pants and the scruff of the neck to lift me over the side of the stone wall around the hole.
“Hang on to the edge and I’ll hold you while we slide--“ I heard a wet sound and his eyes grew wide. His mouth closed and opened, but no words came out. He leaned forward and the top half of his body fell over the wall.
A small axe was buried in the back of his skull.
I heard the shouts of the approaching Dogs. I let go of the ledge and grabbed onto my father’s hands. My weight pulled him down and we both started to slide across the slippery sludge-coated walls of the shaft.
Our descent continued into darkness, ending in the cold embrace of the ocean.
I tied my climbing spikes to my oilskin-wrapped boots and secured my claws around the palms of my oilskin gloves, after fixing my other weapons to my body. I had dozens of killing instruments: darts, daggers, short swords, spiked caltrops lined with deadly poison, and a collapsible hand crossbow that folded down to half the size of my fist. I knew each of the weapons intimately and had used them to murder my path to the rank of Master within the Guild of the Mask.
Once I was satisfied with the lay of my climbing tools, I tied my spare oil cloak over my head and waited for the swell of the ocean to lift my rowboat higher. The sea complied with my desire, and I leapt from the dark waters and latched onto the lip of the slime covered shaft with ease. After I felt confident of my grasp, I swung my legs back and forth like a pendulum. Soon I carried enough momentum to bring them up and dig the spikes on the bottom of my boots into the slimy walls of the tunnel. Once they sunk in securely I breathed a long sigh of relief and inched my way up by pushing the oil wrap of my cloak into the slick side, while my legs stood against the other wall.
The hard part was over now.
Perhaps a part of me had expected to die in the water. Or maybe I would have made it into the passage and found that the sewage tunnel was too high to reach, or the walls were too slick. But now that I was climbing up the inside of the tight shaft, I only had to deal with the noxious smell and the nausea it elicited. Those were small prices to pay. I’d been through the rigorous training of the two most powerful warrior sects known, and rose to the very top of their ranks. There was no single person on this world that could match the combined skill of my sword or my assassination techniques.
I was a fitting foil to the most ruthless conqueror that had ever existed.
“Why are you here?” the man asked. His face was tattooed with the visage of a tiger, and he spoke with the empty voice of one who was much older than he appeared.
“I want power.” I was trembling from the cold of the rain but I didn’t care. This was the second week of my solitary kneel outside of the monk’s temple, and I was becoming delirious from the lack of water and food.
“Power?”
“Yes. Power, to become the ultimate weapon,” I answered.
“We don’t make weapons here, Northerner. We learn how to bring our souls into balance with this world. You are wasting our time.” He rose from his cross-legged pose and turned to walk back into the temple.
“I want to kill Raltenor the Conquer,” my words spat into the rain. I wanted to turn my head up to drink the water, but I knew that they watched me constantly for any sign of weakness. These were hard men and I didn’t want to fail their first test.
“Many desire the power to kill that man.”
“He has conquered the Northern nations. He will eventually come here. Someone needs to stop him.” I trembled again and my vision swam in time with the cold rain.
“Why do you believe that someone is you?” I felt like his voice whispered the question in my ear, but the red-clothed monk still stood a few feet away from me.
“Because I will never give up. He took everything from me. He killed my father and raped the woman I love before he murdered her.” The anger brought strength to my words and the tiger-faced man studied me.
“So now you want to give him your life as well?”
“He won’t kill me. I will murder him first.” It was that hope that had pushed me through the endless miles I had traversed to reach their temple.
“You misunderstand my words, Northerner. You will need a lifetime of training to be able to kill Raltenor. He is beyond the reach of mortal men. That is how you give your life to him.”
“I understand. I should have died at the feet of his Dogs, yet I live. I shall have vengeance.” Our eyes met across t
he dark rain and I saw his ink-stained face smile.
“We do not train people to kill. The answer is no.”
“I am not a person. I am a ghost. I’ve already died.” His eyes opened at my words and he nodded his shaved head.
“What is your name, child?”
“Rose Boy,” I replied, and I tried to keep the hope from showing on my face.
“That is an unusual name,” he said.
“Will you teach me?”
“No. Now leave our temple.” He turned and walked towards the gate of the massive structure. The doors silently opened before him and he entered the courtyard. I stared at his back until the red painted gates shut. Then I stared at them until the rain stopped and the days spun until I couldn’t count them anymore. When my face hit the cold ground I felt my heart begin to beat the last struggles of its life.
Then their hands picked me up from the gravel and carried me inside the temple.
I expected guards at the entrance of the sewage pipes but there were none. Part of me was relieved, but I also felt a bit of disappointment. My ultimate target was the Conqueror, but this would have been the perfect place to kill a few of his Dogs. No one would find their bodies if I threw them down the passage I had just ascended.
I removed my oiled clothes and tossed them into the shaft, then pulled out a spare cloth and wiped off my climbing gear before wrapping it in more oil rags and placing them into my pack. The King’s quarters used to be located at the top of the center tower. Raltenor would probably keep his room there, so I might have to use the devices to scale the rough edges of the spire.
I threw the cleaning towel down the shaft and checked my light armor again. I didn’t see any trace of sewage, so I hoped that I wouldn’t carry the stench of rancid shit with me. My nose could not be trusted for a few more minutes, so I had to rely on my eyesight to judge that I was clean.
I walked into the adjacent room and the memory of fleeing the Dogs returned. The tubes and pipes looked the same as I remembered, and I was thankful that Raltenor only seemed to care about destruction and not upkeep. They could have easily joined the stone tunnels and metal pipes to seal the top of the shaft.
Perhaps they never imagined anyone would be insane or skilled enough to risk the ocean and climb up the sewage tunnel.
I moved to the familiar ladder and listened again. There were voices this time, up above, and I spent a few minutes listening to their conversation before I determined that they were guards playing a game of cards. I guessed that their table was a few feet from the latch above the ladder and I considered how I would be able to eliminate them silently.
Time was often an assassin’s misused tool. If one of my trade waited long enough, there would always come an opportunity to find the target at a disadvantage. However, there were plenty of jobs that involved a deadline, and that often led to compromises or poorly executed strategies.
My deadline was based on the position of the moon and the tide of the ocean, but now that I was inside of Crag Castle there was no rush. I wanted Raltenor to feel my blade tonight but there were still many hours until the sun rose again from her slumber.
So I waited.
Eventually one of the guards remarked that he had to piss, and I heard the sound of his chair legs scooting across the floor. Boot steps sounded above me and I realized that the heavy man was making his way towards the trap door above the ladder.
I slid down the rungs quietly and then hurdled over a larger stone tube that carried sewage. I made no sound as I moved and the darkness of the room concealed my presence perfectly. The man wore red armor with black trim. The markings on his shoulder showed that he was of the lowest possible rank. He belched as he walked past me and his partner chuckled from his position on the floor above us.
I crept out from behind the tunnel and followed the man like a shadow.
He swayed and I wondered if he was drunk. I didn’t smell the scent of booze on him, but then again, I could not really smell anything but shit. He reached the hole of the shaft and undid the buckle to his weapon belt. A few seconds later he had his dick in his hands and a robust stream of piss was flowing into the endless hole.
One of my daggers resembled a needle. It was not sharp and was safe to carry in a thin silk sheaf under my armor. The hilt of the weapon had a perpendicular grip and its point was perfect at penetrating bone. The man felt nothing when I punched the metal icicle into the base of his skull and then lifted his dead body into the hole. There was a slight sound of scraping when his corpse caught onto the lip of the shaft, but once the majority of his mass contacted the slime, he continued to travel silently.
Looks like I got to use the shaft as a garbage chute after all.
I floated to the ladder and ascended the rungs with the sound of smoke. Based on what I had overheard, I surmised that the other soldier sat with his back to the trap door. He didn’t notice me move behind him, and by the time my gloved hand closed around his mouth, it was too late for him to offer any resistance. I pulled him off the chair and threw him down the ladder before he could utter a gasp or scream. His neck broke with the fall and I watched his body twitch a few times before I slid down and dragged the corpse into the room with the shaft.
I cleaned my needle on his leather armor and searched the body for keys or anything else of interest. This guard Dog was also of low rank and I found nothing of value in his pockets. I sheathed my pointy weapon and then lay the corpse to rest in the ocean with his brother.
After I climbed the ladder again I closed the trap door and moved towards the exit to the servants’ tower. In the many years I planned this mission I often debated stealing a Dog’s armor, or perhaps a servant’s uniform, and moving through the castle unencumbered. The strategy would have been a sound one if I possessed any gift of verbal charisma or charm. I was quick with my body, but not with my tongue, and I knew that trying to act as if I belonged in the castle would not play to my strengths.
I also knew every nook and cranny of this massive fortress. There was no need to be anything other than a shadow.
The hallways were tall, and a thick beam of oak ran the length of the ceiling down each one. Whale fat lanterns hung from the beam and support pieces kept the massive weight of the structure from collapsing. In a quick movement I bounced off of the nearest wall and pulled myself up atop the beam above me. A small family of rats started at my sudden appearance and dashed away with squeaks of terror.
It was a good omen.
“My father says that I am to be married soon.” She glanced at me sideways and the ocean wind pulled her hair back so that the tips of the curls brushed against my face.
It felt as if angels were caressing me.
“My father tells me the same.” There was a cold knot in my stomach and it chilled the rest of my body. We had been friends since we could talk, and I loved her more than my own life.
“I wonder who my husband will be.” She smiled coyly at me and turned away from the bay to focus her blue eyes upon my face. My clothes were dirty from the garden, but she had asked me to join her for lunch and I had time to rest from my work. There was still plenty to do, but I would finish all of my tasks today and make my father proud.
“Your father hasn’t told you?” I asked. My heart was breaking into pieces, but I tried to force the lump in my throat down with a powerful swallow.
“No. You are so silly Rose Boy. Why would my father tell me of such things?” Her eyelashes fluttered and my heart danced through its pain.
“Forgive me, Princess. I do not know how you live. I am just an apprentice gardener.” My head bowed sarcastically before her and laughter rewarded my humor.
“You are my gardener Rose Boy, and soon you will be my husband.”
“What?” I felt my jaw drop along with my stomach.
“Yes. I intend to marry you. I told you before that I loved you. Do you love me?” She seemed concerned and her eyes opened wide.
“Yes Princess. I love you with all my hea
rt. But I am just a boy. A commoner. I am not fit to do more than tend to your rose garden. My father says that you shall wed a king of another nation. How can you marry me?”
“Bah! That is why I love you Rose Boy. You are so humble and caring. If you tend to me with as much enthusiasm as you do my flowers, you will be a wonderful husband. My father wants me to marry some other royal buffoon, but it will not happen. I care for no one but you. I've loved you since the first summer we played together.” Tears came to my eyes and I wanted to pull the beautiful girl into my arms. Still, my father had told me many times that my heart would be broken by the Princess and she would never have more than a passing fancy for me. He even warned that he would whip me if our romance caused the King to be upset.
“Princess, I am flattered by your words, but we cannot be together. My father has told me so.”
“Bah again! Your father will do what I tell him. Just like mine does whatever I tell him. I am skilled at manipulating these men.” She smiled again and reached out her hand. I hesitantly returned the gesture and our fingers intertwined.
“You don’t even know my name, Princess.” I laughed and stuck my tongue out at the girl. She had always called me Rose Boy and the name stuck. Now everyone in the castle called me by it, including my stoic father.
“Ha! Of course I do Rose Boy. It is--“A sudden gong sound interrupted her voice and her eyes narrowed. Soldiers filled the courtyard and a quartet of muscular warriors approached us.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded of the man wearing the most ornate mail.
“We are under attack, Your Majesty. Raltenor the Conquer has entered our valley and we must prepare for a siege. Accompany us to the Dynasty Quarters.” His voice was quick and there was no mistaking the fear in his intonation.
“We must bring my fiancé.” She gestured to me, and the guards glanced at each other with obvious confusion.
Rose Boy Page 2
