by Hans Bezdek
“Thanks for your sympathy,” nodded Jester. “It’s nice to know someone cares about my beauty sleep.”
Lotus looked around the room for someone to explain what just happened.
“Fine,” growled Warden. He was no stranger to politics, but keeping a group of assassins happy was proving to be a serious time commitment. “We won’t have meetings before noon ever again.”
“Yes!” exclaimed Jester, jumping in his seat and laughing. “We did it Lotus! I knew we could!”
“I… I’m so happy,” said Lotus, more confused than ever.
“That makes one of us,” growled someone in the doorway.
“Finally,” sighed Warden. “We can get this meeting… Chaos, what happened?!”
Chaos hobbled out of the shadows, revealing a severely broken nose. Dried blood was caked to his chin and the front of his tunic. He favored his right leg as he stumbled forward, nursing his right arm as well.
Lotus ran over to him as he took his seat. The elf held her hands over him, a white light emitting from them.
“This is thanks to you!” hissed Chaos at Phantom.
“Me?” asked Phantom, sounding genuinely surprised. Warden liked hearing the man sound out of his element. “How is this my fault? If I wanted you dead, I’d do it myself and make sure the job got done.”
“It’d be the end of you,” snarled Chaos. “But no, I know you didn’t send someone for me. This is your fault because you don’t know how to finish someone off!”
“Oh!” gasped Jester, suddenly very awake and very interested in what was happening. “That’s quite the serious accusation!”
“What are you talking about?!” demanded Phantom, pounding his gauntlets onto the table. “I’ve never failed a job. Never!”
“Calm down, you two!” shouted Sage. “Now isn’t the time to be fighting with one another!”
“Let’s wait until Lotus is finished patching Chaos up,” said Warden, holding a hand up. While he wouldn’t mind Chaos and Phantom taking one another out, he was curious to hear what had happened.
After another minute, the elf’s hands quit glowing and she took a step back.
“I healed your wounds the best that I could,” explained Lotus. “You had some minor tears in your elbow and knee that I repaired, but I can’t fix your broken nose.”
“Looks like someone won’t be winning any beauty contests anytime soon,” snickered Jester.
“It’s fine,” growled Chaos as Lotus returned to her seat. “Every time I look in the mirror, it will remind me not to get too complacent.”
“Please, Chaos,” said Wild calmly. “Tell us what happened. Was this the work of Demarcus?”
“That sad excuse for an ogre?” scoffed Chaos, folding his arms. “Please. He wasn’t even able to give me a scratch before I slit his throat.”
“So Demarcus is dead?” clarified Warden. That meant they could continue on to the final name of their list.
“Of course,” growled Chaos, glaring at Phantom. “I actually kill who I’m supposed to.”
“All of my targets have a giant hole in their chest,” said Phantom, holding his hand up and toward Chaos. The gauntlet began to glow blue. “If you’re so confident I’m leaving them alive, why not try taking the hit and proving it to us?”
“Morning meetings are the best!” cheered Jester.
Sage’s red shield formed between Phantom and Chaos. The two continued to glare at one another through it, but Phantom lowered his glove.
“Out with it, Chaos!” snapped Sage. “Who did this to you?”
“Some freak with a sledgehammer for an arm,” spat Chaos.
The room was quiet for a moment.
“I don’t see how that’s Phantom’s fault,” said Warden slowly. He wasn’t exactly sure what Chaos was talking about, but that description didn’t fit anyone on their list.
“After taking out a few guards, I strolled right into Demarcus’ office,” explained the assassin. “The ogre was talking to a poorly dressed elf and a quiet guy. It comes out that they’re claimin they’re the ones who killed the Alchemist. I explained that couldn’t be since Phantom is the one that did it. Let’s just say that didn’t go over well.”
“You said my name?!” growled Phantom.
“It’s a code name,” said Chaos, rolling his eyes. “I think you’ll survive.”
“Anyway…” said Warden, prodding the man to continue.
“I killed the target, then the elf and the other guy threaten to fight me if I didn’t lead them to Phantom,” laughed Chaos humorlessly. “As if that was gonna happen.”
“Then they beat you up?” asked Jester, leaning in.
“They got lucky,” emphasized Chaos while turning his glare to Jester. “The elf wasn’t a threat at all and I nearly had the human beat. But get this… I stab into his right arm, and my dagger breaks!”
“That’s odd,” said Wild, vocalizing everyone’s thought.
“He then lands a punch with his right arm, sending me through the wall and down into Demarcus’ warehouse,” said Chaos, shaking his head. “I’ve never been hit that hard before.”
“I still don’t see how the blame falls to me,” said Phantom.
“You don’t get it?” asked Chaos, shaking his head. “This is that guy you tried to recruit!”
“Impossible. Even if he somehow lived, he’d only have one arm left.”
“Trust me,” said Chaos, holding up a finger. “It’s him. His right arm ain’t natural. The thing is imbued with some sorta power. Maybe that elf rigged it up for him.”
Phantom was quiet as he stared at Chaos. Warden wasn’t sure if Chaos had all of his facts straight, but he knew the man would never admit to getting beaten unless it actually happened. If this one-armed assassin was really still alive, that had the potential to pose some problems for their group.
“I take it he’s still alive, then?” asked Warden. “Should we add him to the list?”
“Unlikely,” grinned Chaos, leaning back in his chair. “I was surrounded by Demarcus’ goons and told them the human and elf were the ones that killed Demarcus. The last I saw, they all rushed up the stairs to get a piece of those two.”
“Good thinking,” nodded Wild.
“That should be the last of that nuisance,” agreed Sage.
Warden wasn’t so sure. He always preferred to make sure there was proof someone was dead, especially someone that had already survived an assassin’s deadly attack. He didn’t want to prolong Phase One any more than he needed to, however. They were so close to accomplishing the first of their goals, of his goals.
“An unfortunate bump in the road, but we will continue if everyone is on board,” said Warden.
Nods answered him around the table. Phantom was the last to do so, and he did it begrudgingly. It was clear the man held the same reservations Warden did. It didn’t matter, though. The group had spoken.
“Tonight is Grand Duke Jaspar’s party,” smiled Warden. “This is the perfect opportunity to kill him while causing panic all across Durzheim.”
“Who gets to do the honor?” asked Sage. “It’s not every day that an assassin gets to kill a member of the Council.”
“That sounds fun to me!” said Jester, offering himself.
“Who are we killing?” asked Lotus.
The room looked at the elf.
“Don’t worry about it, Lotus,” said Wild kindly. “We’ll let someone else take care of it.”
“Oh, okay,” nodded Lotus.
“Allow me,” said Phantom, offering up his name as well.
“If you’re going, I’m coming with to make sure you don’t screw it up,” growled Chaos.
Phantom thought about this then nodded. “So long as I’m the one that does it, I don’t care what you do.”
“We’ll take it to a vote, then,” said Warden. “The one with the most votes can be the one to kill the Grand Duke.”
They went around the room, voting for Sage, Jester, and Phantom. Each assassin tha
t wanted to do it voted for himself. Wild voted for Sage, Lotus for Jester, and Chaos for Phantom.
“That leaves you as the deciding vote, boss,” said Phantom. “Choose wisely.”
Warden stared hard at Phantom. He knew a threat when he heard one. Would Phantom expose who he was if he didn’t vote for the assassin? Warden didn’t take well to be blackmailed. However, there could be some benefit to Phantom being the one to assassinate the Grand Duke. There would be those loyal to Jaspar that would hunt down his killer…
“Very well,” smiled Warden under his mask. “Phantom and Chaos, don’t let us down.”
Chapter 11
“Do you think I look okay?” asked Grayson, for the twentieth time.
“No,” said Anselm, glancing around to make sure they weren’t being watched.
After talking with Calina, the two of them had returned to Grayson’s place to sleep and prepare for the big day. Anselm was too wound up from escaping Demarcus’ men to go to sleep, so he spent a couple of hours practicing some fighting techniques with his left hand. Compared to the average Durzheim citizen, he was confident he had more skill in his one hand than they had in two. Compared to other assassins… he’d need to keep practicing.
The two reached the gated Lance District in the early afternoon. Anselm kept to his leather armor and a red cape, and even managed to convince Grayson to wear one, too. The elf refused to wear armor, however, and wore red tights and a blue tunic under the cape.
“Why not?” pouted Grayson.
“You’re going to stand out and you won’t be able to fight well in that,” explained Anselm, looking around again as he adjusted the glove on his fake hand. He was fairly sure they hadn’t been followed, but he didn’t want to risk any of Demarcus’ men stumbling upon him. “That’s the opposite of what we’re going for.”
“No, that’s the opposite of what you are going for,” said Grayson, wagging a finger a few inches from Anselm’s nose. The assassin swatted it away. “I don’t want to fight. Plus, if I can mingle with the guests well, I might be invited back to the next party. Could you imagine? Maybe I’d even manage to bribe my way into a title one day!”
The Lance District was one of the wealthiest spots in all of Durzheim. While there were a handful of nice areas in other sections of Durzheim, such as where the Alchemist’s Mansion was located, the bulk of the upper class felt safest in the gated communities. The Lance District was one of the newer ones, having been set up a decade earlier by forcibly removing anyone who didn’t meet a certain net worth. Those with money who wanted to seem trendy quickly moved in, and the Lance District had become the place to be.
Naturally, Grayson wanted to live there badly.
“Let’s worry more about keeping the Grand Duke alive than finding the right people to schmooze,” said Anselm.
“About that…” said Grayson, itching the side of his face and looking at the ground. “Have you ever protected someone’s life before?”
“I’ve protected my own life plenty of times,” shrugged Anselm.
“Yeah, not what I meant,” said the elf. “I’m a bit worried how this is going to go down. Neither of us are in the saving lives business. I think this might not go as well as you’re hoping it will.”
“What are you talking about? We take lives all the time,” said Anselm. “We just need to do the opposite of that. How hard could that be?”
Grayson wrestled with that logic for a moment then nodded. “Good point.”
“Besides, it’s not like it’s a horrible thing if we mess up,” said Anselm, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “So long as we get Phantom, I’ll consider today a success.”
“Right,” smiled Grayson.
“There you two are!”
Anselm and Grayson jumped, each of them spinning to see Calina only a few feet from them and smiling.
“Y-You’re surprisingly quiet!” said Anselm, alarmed that he hadn’t noticed her coming.
“I think you two were just focused in on your conversation,” she laughed, adjusting her glasses. “What were you two whispering about?”
“We were talking about how excited we were to attend the Grand Duke’s party,” said Grayson quickly. “Also… What are you wearing?”
Calina glanced down at her clothes then gave the elf a confused look. She was wearing a gray scaled robe, which looked to be made of dragon hide. It was tied off with a large belt around her waist, which held a large stick on each hip. Anselm believed they were most likely wands.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Those look like battle robes!” exclaimed the elf.
“You know what kind of clothes mages wear to fight in?” asked Anselm.
“I study all the great fashions,” said Grayson, brushing Anselm’s question away.
“They are my battle robes,” grinned Calina. “We’ll need them if we’re going to have to protect Grand Duke Jaspar from Phantom, aren’t we?”
“Won’t it draw attention?” asked Grayson, somehow not spotting the irony of asking that.
“The guests will know we are bodyguards,” she shrugged. “I don’t see why that would grab their attention.”
Anselm took a half step away from Grayson as Calina’s words sank in.
“B-Bodyguards...?” asked Grayson slowly.
“Yes. Was that not obvious?” asked Calina, tilting her head to the side. “We are going to the party in order to protect someone.”
“That completely makes sense,” agreed Anselm, trying and failing to hide his smile. He gently guided her to the front of the gate. “Shall we get inside now, before anyone recognizes us?”
“I knew this was too good to be true,” mumbled Grayson as he hung his head and slacked his shoulders.
“What did he say?” asked Calina, but Anselm kept walking.
“He said he’s excited,” lied Anselm.
A dwarf and human guard stood by the front of the closed gate. They stood at attention with their hands on their weapons as the three outsiders approached.
“We would like in, please,” smiled Calina.
“Are ye an invited guest?” asked the dwarf.
“I am, indeed,” nodded Calina. “I am the Alchemist’s apprentice, Calina.”
“Oh!” said the human, bowing awkwardly to her. “I was so sorry to hear about the loss of your master. Durzheim has truly lost a great mind.”
“Thank you,” said Calina, patting his arm.
The dwarf opened the gate. “And who be yer two companions?”
“They are my guards,” she said, waving at Anselm and Grayson to follow after her.
“Really?” asked the dwarf. “The human I get, but the elf?”
The human guard nodded. “He looks like he’s someone’s butler dressed to play a fool.”
“I’ll have you know this style is on the up and up!” said Grayson, taking a step toward the guards.
Anselm immediately pulled the elf back and turned him to follow after Calina. The assassin lowered his voice as he turned to the guards. “He’s in character. This way no assassins or thieves would know to keep an eye on him.”
“Ah,” nodded the dwarf. “Interesting tactic.”
After the three of them made it through, the dwarf closed and locked the gate. The streets of the Lance District were somewhat busy. Residents went from shop to shop with large bags filled with unnecessary goods, wearing expensive looking jewelry and outfits. Horse-drawn carriages slowly moved through the streets, happy looking couples sitting close to one another and appreciating the extensive gardens that were well maintained along the edge of the road.
“I’m not so sure Phantom will be able to get in here,” commented Calina. “Assassins surely have a rough time getting to their targets in the Lance District.”
“I can only imagine,” agreed Anselm.
Grayson slowed down and whispered to his friend. “I thought you’ve had a couple of jobs in here?”
“Seven, actually,” nodded Anse
lm, keeping quiet. “Surprisingly simple to get in and out. No one looks at you twice in here.”
They walked after Calina, appreciating giant estate after giant estate. Anselm wondered how many people were hired just to maintain these structures, not to mention all of the landscapers that were inevitably needed. No one thinks about all the workers needed to keep a place like this running, doing all the jobs that the residents definitely didn’t want to do or think about. He certainly noticed more than a couple of people following the horse carriages, wearing gloves and carrying large bags.
After some time, Calina brought them up to what Anselm could only describe as a palace. It was easily the largest building they had passed by, with a yard twice as long as any of the others. Large white columns decorated the front of the five-story building, various statues of women dotting the entrance. The giant wooden doors were engraved with golden floral designs, and the servants that opened it for them each wore finely pressed black aprons.
“This place is amazing!” gawked Grayson as they entered the large front room. It spanned at least five floors and was decorated with beautifully painted forest scenery.
“It is rather nice, isn’t it?” nodded Calina. “I almost feel like I’m outside of Durzheim!”
“You are all too kind,” came a hearty laugh.
A large man came down some white marble steps to their right. He was wearing a silver-colored tunic with a fur coat over it. A golden cape trailed was hung behind him, nearly touching the ground but not quite.
“Grand Duke Jaspar!” exclaimed Calina.
“Calina, it’s been far too long,” smiled the Grand Duke, taking her hand and kissing it. He then held it for a moment and gave her a look of pity. “I was cut to the core hearing that the Alchemist was killed. I can only imagine how hard it must be for you.”
“Thank you,” nodded Calina. “That really means a lot.”
“On the bright side,” he continued, letting go of her hand. “That means you should be next up to fill his shoes, correct? You’ll be the new Alchemist before you know it!”
“Uh, I suppose that’s right…” said Calina, adjusting her glasses uncomfortably.
“How about that for a silver lining!” smiled Jaspar, putting his fists on his hips.
