The Priest's Assassin

by V. C. Willis

  “All seven. I still don’t understand them at all and can’t tell you which are useful.” He shoved them to the side and tossed more of the Saint’s journals into the flames, a dark smoke rising from the brazier sending flakes of ash fluttering into the air. “And who will carry those? They may be small journals but…”

  “I’ll carry it all if I have to.” I scooped the remaining books into my arms and tossed them into the brazier. “Now, pack your things. Grab some food. We may have to hide out before moving too far out of the city.”

  “Yes, please hurry or the Marquis’ men will be taking you instead of the Royal Guard,” insisted Valiente, following John and Montgomery. “I’ll stand post at the library entrance.”

  I turned my attention to moving the library back in order in a weak attempt to hide our presence. There wasn’t much I could do about the disturbed dust, so I aimed to make it look as if a failed attempt to keep up with it all. Grabbing a stack of books on modern fauna and flora of Grandmere, I marched to the hidden room and tossed them into the sarcophagus. Assuming the Fallen Arbor or Marquis’ henchmen wouldn’t bother to question the contents, I pulled the lid tight and paused. Palms flat on the cold marble slab, I glared bitterly at the Saint’s name and the black bloodstains that made the letters louder. Ashton’s blood seemed thicker in the air with the weight of events unfolding upstairs. A shudder shook me to think he may very well have died there on that white marble coffin of his lover.

  Is this the fate waiting for me in the end? No, John and I will not follow in their footsteps. We walk our own path. The past needs to stay in the past. It’s our choice to forge a future of our choosing just like Ashton tried to do later in his life. I can’t say we’ll do much better or not fail as he did, but it’s worth fighting for, isn’t it, Old Farmer?

  “Living is fighting for not only your survival, boy, but the survival of the things you love most in this wretched world. Show me how much fight you’re willing to give it. Show me how much blood you will shed to carve your way to live as you see fit.”

  Every nerve tightened as I recalled the Lord Knight’s words. He had beaten me without mercy but brought me to my feet with those very words and proved that I could always find the will to rise to my feet, no matter how battered my body might be. Did you see that battle that day on Salvation Road? Hope you cackled and puffed on your pipe with pride wherever you may be beyond the land of the living.

  Spinning on my heel, I marched for the stairs, but a harsh gust stopped me, blowing through the room. The candles blew out, and a chill spiraled up my spine. Peering through the darkness, I saw nothing, but deep down, it seemed as if some spirit agreed with my resolve, perhaps the old man, the Saint, or even Ashton himself sending a sign from the great beyond. This magic has served its purpose, I suppose. Shaking it off, I marched upstairs where Valiente argued with another person at the threshold.

  Chapter 31

  Hallowed Grounds

  “You tell that Marquis Dog the Royal Guard already has the bishop in custody! The old man deserves a moment to gather his things,” roared Valiente, his voice bouncing off the ossuary walls. “Does Marquis show no respect for his fellow priest?”

  “Sir, we’ll do what we can to hold them back, but they’re threatening to take action and draw swords against us,” stuttered the younger knight. “They seem to not care for the fact no blood is to spill on hallowed grounds such as these.”

  “Damn it all.” Valiente turned to me, hands on hips. “You might have to fight your way out of here. I’m sorry. Marquis has the King’s blessing, and Sonja is gaining favor with the council to overthrow him as we speak. Until she can make that happen, we have all this shit to deal with.”

  “We appreciate the support.” Shuffling closer to where he stood just out of view of the hallway, we both stared at the doorway where John and Montgomery had disappeared. “Glad to hear you both are alive.”

  “Barely,” he grunted before whispering, “About that kiss—you know it wasn’t meant to be…”

  I held up my hand, silencing him. “Not a word,” I warned. “Any news of Fallen Arbor?”

  “Well, we discovered Marquis has aided in corrupting the king and church,” he offered. “Never did I think I would live to see the day I needed to rely on the Guild and the House for aid. Sonja has pitched the treaty and the resources your father and Ruth have sent in good faith have helped until this mess.”

  “So, Marquis is trying to use the House as a means to cover up his involvement with Falco?” Adjusting the satchel, I groaned at the added weight from the books. “Figures.”

  “I don’t see what evidence he has though. And then the matter of John—”

  “Argh!” The man standing in the threshold fell down the stairs, sprawling across the floor with his throat gushing and sliced open.

  “Shit!” Valiente pulled his blade and laid a back against the wall to obscure anyone coming into the library from seeing him. “Check on John. Something’s not right.”

  Pulling a dagger from my coat, I rushed across the span. An arrow whizzed past me, confirming suspicions they were lying in wait for us. Sliding to a stop, I saw John squared off with a henchman farther down the hall. The attire matched that of the masked men back from the stables in Tavern Way, and my heart skipped a beat. John roared, Montgomery quivering in the corner behind him clutching his bag. The masked man was agile, but not fast enough for John’s flurry of strikes.

  A flash of silver and blue set me at ease. John had managed to get to his rapier in time and lashed out. Blood blossomed in the air, reassuring me that John’s strikes were doing damage. The man stumbled back, and I launched forward. Before he knew what had happened, my dagger slid across his throat and dropped him at my feet. John spat on him before turning back to Montgomery, offering a hand. The old man shook his head, grabbing it, and they went running forward. I spun and followed behind them. They halted at the archway, faces paling at the scene I could not see yet as I closed the gap.

  It’s a full-on attack! Valiente!

  Pow! Black powder burnt at my nostrils. John shouted out and fell to his knees as he gripped his side. Rage filled me. Turning, I saw a woman was reloading her flintlock. A wicked grin crossed her face as she glared at me. As I marched toward her, everything in my being boiled with vengeful desire.

  “Don’t ya want to check on’im?” she roused.

  I gritted my fangs, heart pounding fast and hard in my ears. “Flintlock Betty. The Cardinal is looking for you.” I pointed a blade at her, and she paled. “I think I’ll deliver you personally to that monster.”

  “The hell you are. Should have come at me faster, boy-o!” The muzzle rose with flame and smoke exploding into a plume.

  Pow! The ball was so clear in my sight that I leaned my head, the bullet clipping my left ear. Eyes wide, Betty slung the rifle across her back and pulled out her dagger. I rushed her, slamming her against the wall as our blades sparked from the connection. She squealed, pulling another blade from her belt, forcing me to leap back to dodge. I came swinging as her, and she ducked under it and into the kitchen. Grabbing a bowl of bread, she threw it at me, retreating posthaste. I let it bounce off my chest, seething with each step.

  “Landon sends his regards.” She lit something and tossed it, pungent smoke filling the room.

  Shit, I know this smell. It’s that damn herb again, but will it really bother me anymore? Inhaling deeply, I dared to take the chance. A hint of gunpowder and sweat called my attention, and I closed the gap. Swinging in a wild attempt to land a strike, I manage to draw blood. She yelped, and the scrape of stone against stone encouraged me to chase the scent of blood. The smoke opened for a moment. Blood ran down her face where my blade barely scraped across a brow, skimming across the bridge of her nose, slicing her cheek. She kicked something, and the stone door swung into me, shoving me to the floor before sealing and locking.

&nb
sp; Scrambling to my feet, I slammed my shoulder and weight into it, but nothing budged. Coughing, I could tell the smoke was fading but still starting to take its toll on my strength. I shoved the tables and anything heavy against the hidden passage before running back into the hallway. Relief washed over me to see John back on his feet, but the smell of his blood in the air sent goosebumps over me.

  “Let me see,” I demanded, and he pushed me off.

  “Help Valiente and his men,” he commanded. “Did you find where they came in at?”

  “Y-yes.”

  Valiente ran another henchman through, but he and a Guild assassin were surrounded as they poured in.

  “I blocked it. Stay here and protect the bishop.” I dropped the satchel and claymore at their feet. “Wait for me.”

  Pulling the other dagger, I ran fast and hard. The henchman closest turned in alarm, catching me in his peripheral. He swung instead of blocking, and I grunted in reply. Pushing off the strike with one blade, my other dove in and out of his chest, piercing his heart. This earned a moment of distraction in the man next to him, and the assassin took the opening. Hopping over him, I blocked the strike intended for the assassin. The henchman yelped, unaware of where I came from, my swing slicing his throat. Kicking him into the remaining two gave Valiente a chance to strike.

  An arrow stung my shoulder. Grabbing the tomahawk at my side, I reacted with precision, and the blade lodged between the archer’s eyes. He buckled and fell forward before joining the poor knight they had killed earlier. Pulling the arrow out, I hissed with the pain. A chill snaked up my spine, the excitement and satisfaction of exerting so much energy. Or is it the satisfaction of delivering a killing blow? Walking off the thought, I retrieved my tomahawk and glared up the long stairwell for any more intruders.

  “Any more?” I asked, glancing back to Valiente and the Assassin.

  “Not yet.” I recognized the voice as the assassin who had given me the keys months ago. “Master sent me here to watch over this one.” Bourbon threw a thumb at Valiente, then pointed at me. “And tell you the plan still stands. Whatever that cryptic shit means.”

  “Thank you, I think.” Valiente leaned on his knees. “I wasn’t expecting for a fight on hallowed grounds.”

  “They came through a secret passage and jumped John.” I turned, marching to where John leaned on the wall, squinting in pain. “Can you lead us out of the catacombs, Bourbon?”

  “No can do, big guy.” He was picking the pockets of the henchmen, taking items and money as he went. “Orders are to watch Valiente. 23, 43, 77. Take all left to leave. Take all right to rosary.”

  “What?” I turned, confused by his riddle.

  “The turns.” He paused to read a note found on one of the dead men. “Oh, this is a fun note. Ah, back to directions. So, remember 23, 43, and 77. Turn left at 2, turn left at 3, as in opening or doorways. Doesn’t matter. You still got those keys, yes?”

  “I see, and yes, what about them?” I watched as he finished cleaning out the contents on the last body.

  “77 ends in a locked path. Only keys can pass. Be sure to close the gates to cover your escape,” he instructed, standing to check the hall. “Hurry. They won’t take long to send more down. I can hear sword strikes still.”

  “R-right.” I twisted away, gathering my things at John’s feet. “How bad is it?”

  “Stings.” John pulled himself off the wall and sheathed his rapier. “I’ll live. Bleeding has stopped. Burned like fire, though my back felt worse by comparison.”

  “Indeed,” I snorted. “She hit me three times on Salvation Road with those.”

  “No wonder you were…” He redirected his words, “Bishop, we leave you in the care of Valiente and our assassin friend.”

  “But you’re hurt, both of you.” His eyes bounced between the red painting my right arm and the blood soaking John’s jacket and partially down his pants.

  “Par the course.” John managed a sheepish grin.

  He marched away without a word, and I followed obediently. As we slipped through the heavy oak door, we heard shouts echoing down into the library. We slipped back into the dusty corridors of the catacombs. John reached for a torch, and I grabbed his arm. As I shook my head, he abandoned it, and I took the lead.

  At least they didn’t sneak into the library via the catacombs. I wonder if that’s because the Guild keeps them from using them. I repeated the numbers in my mind over and over again: 23, 43, 77. It felt as if we were spiraling in circles and just twisting deeper into the underbelly of Captiva City.

  John gripped the back of my shirt and pulled on the claymore’s halter. “I need a moment.”

  Glaring down the catacombs, I heard and smelled no signs of any other living thing other than the rats and insects scurrying all around. John leaned on the wall, panting in the wake of his pain. I could smell the blood coming from him, and for once, it didn’t incite a need to feed. Is it because I’ve been satisfied for some time? He held the spot and coughed, grunting in annoyance.

  “Let me see,” I offered.

  “How? I can barely make you out and you’re in front of me,” he fussed.

  Pulling his hand away, I squatted and pulled up on the shirt and jacket. The bullet had ripped through the chainmail with ease but at least managed to enter and exit his body. The entry had come through his back and out the front of his torso. Reaching in my satchel, I was glad I managed to pack in preparation for us leaving one day. Granted, I never imagined we’d be swinging our blades inside the damn church. I wrapped it tight to help with the bleeding. It wanted to stop, but moving so quickly to escape had continuously goaded it to bleed. Tying it off, I pulled his clothes back in place.

  “Shocked you didn’t lick my wound clean,” he teased.

  Leaning into his ear, I countered, “I still can if that pleases you.” His heart fluttered in my ears, and I snorted, “My arm aches, but it’s already healing. It’ll do us no good for you to lose any more than you have.”

  With a deep breath, he pushed me back and steeled himself again. “Let’s get to safety.”

  “Agreed.” I reviewed the numbers and picked up where we left off.

  Three openings down, I took a left, and after a few paces was met with familiar smells: saddlewood, meadow sweet, and rosemary. “There’s something I want to check on before we leave here.”

  “If it means I can sit for a spell, I won’t argue,” grunted John.

  Two corridors farther, I took a right instead of the left, following the smell. “Sit here to mark the corridor. I shouldn’t be long.”

  John slid down to the ground, eyes closed and his breathing heavy with pain. “Sitting is nice.”

  Inhaling deeply, I followed the scent, weaving in and out of turns until, at last, I stood before the item I sought. The grand prayer totem stood before me with its fanged skull. My heart raced, and I swallowed, curious if all those months ago had been some fever dream. No, otherwise I wouldn’t have found it so easily. Please let it still be here in the wall. Squatting, I peered through the eye socket and saw the bejeweled pommel still in place.

  “Anyone home?” I flicked the skull on the forehead.

  “You’re a rude fuck,” it scoffed. “So, what has brought you back to my resting place once again, little Traibon?”

  “I don’t know who or what you are, but there’s a weapon in the wall here,” I proclaimed.

  “You already have a weapon, do you not?”

  “I do. A claymore that’s chipped and cracking after some chains slammed into it. Preveran steel can only take so many hits.” My mind raced. How can I convince this spirit to give up his weapon? If we get ambushed at the exit, I can’t depend on the claymore I have not to break. There was silence, long and agonizing as I played the weeks through my head. We thought we would see someone that could take it to a smith or—

&nbs
p; “A claymore?” It sounded intrigued.

  “We’re being chased by Fallen Arbor and—”

  “Pull the blade,” demanded the voice, a chill rising in the air all around. “I was made for cutting down Fallen Arbor, my sworn enemy, and if you wish it, I will aid you down that path to destroy them.”

  I reached for the skull but retreated, every muscle tense and heart racing. “And what does that mean? What if I decide later to not continue to hunt them down?”

  “Then you lay me to rest back in these catacombs. It’s not like I can pass on after what they did to me.” Something blue glowed, the jewel on the pommel pulsing to life with an eerie light. “Now pull me out! For you, I will spill blood to protect what you love! Is that not someone special to you who bleeds in these halls as you argue with the dead, little Traibon?”

  The words spurred me into action. Yanking the skull out of the way, I gripped the hilt. I pulled, muscles stinging as it slid slightly in my hand as it locked against the stones and bones catching the rain guard. As I grunted, my wound ached and seeped.

  “Fucking pull, you weakling!” My skull rattled with the voice now, the handle on fire with the rage it projected, and I gripped it tighter.

  Power pulsed through me, and I placed a foot on the wall. Another hard yank and the hilt knocked once more until the wall broke. A claymore came loose, and I stumbled back into the hall where I leaned on the wall wide-eyed at the iridescent blue tone of the blade. I could see myself reflected in the blade, and something hauntingly familiar made me shudder. Ancient runes much like The Fanged Lady came to life and a seal of the House of Traibon that matched those of the white sarcophagus made my stomach flutter.

  Was this a blade of someone from the start of the Civil War?

  I bounced it from one hand to the next, the balanced lightweight blade seeming unnatural. Again, I pulled the wide side of the blade close, the glow pulsing as if staring back with the same level of curiosity. Is this a soul weapon? Another pulse and the runes flashed again in reply. Indeed, it must be, but what kind? Blessed or could it be…