Mage Assassin

by Logan Jacobs

  The Master turned to me and looked me in the eyes and paused for a while.

  “I have one other thing to tell you,” his eyes fluttered to the ground.

  “What is it?” I asked him.

  “The gods tell me that something is coming,” he announced. “A force that I might not be able to ward off. They tell me that I may die soon, that the end for me is quickening.”

  “But I--” I stuttered. “I thought you said it was going to be a while before you pass.”

  “You will be fine,” he nodded. “It may be a while, I don’t know when it is coming or how, but I need you to know so you are prepared. This transition might happen sooner than expected.”

  “I will step up,” I said and raised my chin up to the sky.

  “I have no doubt about it,” he smiled.

  Then the Master walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and got out a small knife.

  “We have only one phase left if you are to take over from me,” he said as he grasped the small knife in his hand. “Please follow me.”

  He shuffled to the other side of the room, where his prize possessions clustered, and he waited for me to approach him. As I did, his knife raised slightly, and his hand turned upwards to face me.

  “There is a ceremony,” Master Abbot spoke, “that takes place between the two of us here and now. You will have another one once I am gone, but this one should be kept for us.”

  “I will not speak of it to anyone,” I assured my Master.

  With his free hand he took my hand in his and faced it palm side up.

  “You see here on my hand,” he said and focused his attention on his creviced palm. “There is a symbol. It is the symbol of the house that only I carry. Once I cut into this symbol, I will transfer the power to you. Only when you succeed me will you know the true strength behind it.”

  I squinted down at the symbol etched into his skin. It was a circle made from waves with a blue hint of color. In the center of the circle, there were the four elements branded like a compass at four points. Central to that was a sword and a bow and arrow, and right in the middle was a cluster of dots.

  “I have never noticed it before,” I remarked. “Have you always had that?”

  “Since I became the Master of the house, yes,” he confirmed. “But I can choose when to show it and choose when to hide it.”

  “I see.” I nodded.

  Suddenly, the Master dug the knife in the center of the brandishing stamp, and he pushed down into his hand until the symbol began to glow. It turned a strange shade of lavender before it shifted to a deep wine, and then it lightened to a bright red, and finally, a pearly white.

  The glow grew and contracted as the Master dug deeper, and I couldn’t help but flinch at the skin that had been pieced by the pointed steel. Not an ounce of blood fell from his palm, but the glow grew stronger, and the Master didn’t move. Instead, he stood completely still as if nothing was even happening to his body at all.

  “Keep your palm flat and facing upward toward the sky,” he instructed me as he concentrated on the symbol.

  I did as he said and tried to stay as still as possible.

  Suddenly he placed his palm on mine, folding it over until our fingers perfectly aligned.

  My palm began to burn, as if I’d just placed my hand in a fire, and I could feel the warmth travel up my gut until I was almost nauseous. The stinging continued, and he pressed harder into my hand with his. A thousand little lightning bolts echoed through me, and as the feeling grew stronger, my stature felt weaker. I held my breath and thought of the town centre to keep from focusing on the discomfort, and the fruits that I loved to eat so much sprang to mind until finally, the pain stopped.

  A dull thud of pain released from my skin, and I let out a sharp exhale.

  The Master had taken away his hand. The blueish symbol on his palm dulled to almost nothing before disappearing back into his skin, and my own hand remained unbranded even though it throbbed and became a blistering red.

  “It is not the most painless process,” Master Abbot spoke.

  He must have noticed that I was struggling to breathe normally, and I coughed a bit while I realigned my back and stood tall again.

  “I’m fine.” I nodded.

  “Are you certain?” Master Abbot smiled. “When I first grew the symbol, it felt like I had been stabbed over and over again by a most unforgiving blade.”

  “It didn’t feel that bad,” I said with a shrug. “Just… stung a little bit.”

  “Interesting,” the old man mused, and he turned to look at his spectacular collection of weapons beside us.

  A five-pronged demon’s fork gleamed in the amber lantern light, and the gilded warhammer beside it still had the caked blood of the only banshee in the kingdom on it. Below these, seven identical daggers made of petrified wyvern ichor were mounted in a strict line, and I let my eyes wander to the fabled Staff of Aerisid to the right. It’s moonstone orb still reflected the face of the last sorcerer Master Abbot had killed with it, but even the legendary display couldn’t distract me from my confusion.

  I cleared my throat and glanced sideways at my Master.

  “What just happened?” I asked in my most confused manner, and I gestured to my blistering palm.

  The Master chuckled lightly to himself and shook his head, and then he patted me on the arm as he made to return to his fountain.

  “It is binded,” Master Abbot sighed. “You are now destined to become the next Master to succeed me. There’s no backing out of it now, Dex.”

  Chapter 4

  A rainbow of light ran through the window of my room and reflected a prism of multi-colored rays onto the floorboards. I looked down at my throbbing hand as I sat up in bed, and as I squinted through my tired eyes, I noticed a faint outline of a circle.

  It was from where the Master had merged palms with me the day before, but my branding looked nothing like his. Instead of the blue hue that reflected from his palm, mine was almost unseen to the naked eye.

  I inspected the small, flesh-colored indentation and realized I hadn’t dreamt about my conversation with Master Abbot yesterday.

  I was, in fact, on my way to becoming the next Master.

  I was still in my bed and waiting for the sun to finish rising, so I wiped the night dew off my face before I got up from my bed, stretched out my body, and clicked my back one disc at a time. Then I headed to the sink near the far side of the huge room and washed off the rest of the sleep in the corners of my eyes before I looked at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.

  I was still a young man with much to learn, but I wore the experience I had endured on my face. Just a hint of crow’s feet had started to gather near the corners of my two-toned eyes, and a hard furrow line was etched between my eyebrows. A sharp line shaped my jaw, and my cheeks had become more defined in the past few years, but I didn’t mind the sterner look of my appearance. It meant very few strangers approached me to make small talk about what I did for a living.

  I shaved off the start of my beard with my folding razor and washed it off with water, and then I worked out for a while in my room and went through a series of push-ups and sit-ups against the floorboards. As the sun rose higher, I finally headed into my bathroom and took a shower to get ready for the day, and I finished my daily routine by pulling on a pair of dark cotton trousers and a light khaki tunic before heading back out to my room.

  My bedroom was positioned above the Master’s office, so my view from the window was the same outdoor training area and encroaching forest. My bed faced the glass panels that looked out, and the other three walls were made from the same red-toned oak that was smothered around the building.

  My mattress sat on the floor without a frame, and to my right was a wall of ivy that clung to my more unordinary weapons. They weren’t as special as the Master’s, but they were the ones I reached for less often. Hung from the ceiling and wrapped up by the green fauna was my sword that I carried with me th
e day before, as well as my machete, fu tao, katana, and rapier. Though none of these swords were used often, there were a few I considered to be my favorites.

  My dao hung closest to my bed. It was a single edged sword that had been forged by the local blacksmith. It shone under the light that poured in from the window, and the top was carved from bamboo, but was covered in the fabric from my first ever kill.

  He was a shepherd who poisoned another shepherd’s flock.

  It was a rather elementary assassination, but like everyone else in our estate, I had to work from the ground up.

  I killed him in his field next to his sheep and managed to rip off a piece of his brown cotton shirt, and then I brought it home with me as a memory. When the others heard my first kill was completed, the blacksmith gifted me the sword as an inauguration, and I immediately wrapped the handle in that piece of fabric as a reminder of how far I’d come. That was many years ago, before my twelfth birthday, but I had never reached for that sword to actually use in combat. Instead, it rested like an ornament and was hung suspended in the air.

  Next to it was another favorite of mine that I reached for often. It was my flamberge, and the fanciest sword I owned. The flamberge had an undulating blade with a wave that ran along both edges of the steel weapon. I had come across it one day when I was in the south quarter of the town. It was meant to be used for contact sword fighting, which was not a hobby I partook in, but I couldn’t resist its elegant, and yet brutal, design.

  The blacksmith told me it was the only one they’d had in the shop for many decades, and as a sixteen-year-old kid with a lot of gold to spare, I decided to buy it. Although not necessarily used in assassination work, there had been a handful of times I used it in combat, and more times I had trained with it.

  An assassin was never supposed to engage in melee combat, but I was still well-versed in all elements of weapons training. I wasn’t as well-versed in combat as a true man of arms who didn’t have to split his time between various forms of clandestine murder and could focus on a smaller set of weapons, but I practiced six days a week and for many hours at a time to ensure I could handle most situations.

  Though my swords all usually hung from the ceiling collecting dust because my preferred weapons were mounted on the other side of the room.

  I took myself over to the other wall where my weapons of choice were stored. They were bound against the walls and hung on a rack that was made of wood and just barely peeked through the fauna that covered the whole wall.

  The bows were placed to the right, closest to the glass-paned wall, while the arrows rested on the left, closest to the door.

  I had a clutter of different bows ranging from recurves to compounds, composites, flatbows, and longbows. My favorite, of course, was the longbow because of its simplicity.

  It was the first bow I had trained with, and actually, the first weapon I had ever trained with. Many other assassins took to other weapons, mainly swords, but this was my chosen one.

  I had several of these longbows mounted horizontally on the rack. A couple were laminated, but the rest were made from a single piece of wood that had been constructed to arch ever so slightly in the middle. They were the largest of my bows, which meant using them wasn’t always an option depending on how stealthy I had to be, but they were generally my first choice.

  One longbow in particular was my go-to.

  The wood was nothing special, but the bowstring was made from a mixture of silk and rawhide. This gave it a tension and sleekness unlike anything I had grasped my fingers around before. It didn’t have a memory attached to it, but it was second to none in terms of precision, and the arrows I preferred to use with it were my expensive silver and copper ones. They had obsidian edges and were the sharpest in my collection, and they were specialized for archers who liked to shoot from long distances.

  I had to think about weapons of choice a lot, especially considering this decision was the difference between life and death, and in my instance, I needed to absolutely ensure the latter.

  Every kill had to be as swift and as clean as possible. One false move could have meant blowing my cover.

  This was why my collection of various weapons was so extensive and included a broad array of arrows, too. I rarely used the same design for more than one kill every two months.

  Only an amateur would leave a signature like that behind.

  I also ensured absolute exclusive use of my weapons with the help of the fauna in my room. If anyone else were to try and handle the objects, the vines would fall over them like an unshakeable cage, but they knew me, so when I stepped closer to them, the plants retracted further into the wall.

  I always took a small selection of items with me to train, and today, I chose the compound bow. Then I crossed the room and fumbled around where the swords hung from the ceiling so I could grab my broadsword and a pair of nunchucks. I caught a glimpse of the throwing stars buried under the stems of the plants, and I smirked at the lethal, pronged edges.

  The throwing stars were my least favorite weapon of choice. Not because they didn’t look as good, or work as well, but because I preferred a sharp incision over a slash, and throwing stars were better used for the latter. I’d still acquired a big collection of them over the years, though, in case I ever had a reason to rely on them. Some were as red as rubies while others were the color of the night sky, and a few were actually made of pure gold, which wasn’t really the best material to use. Most were made of more ordinary materials like stainless steel, but regardless of their makeup, they mostly collected dust.

  I checked the time and saw that it was almost seven o’clock, which meant the start of my training time was fast approaching. I quickly shoved my nunchucks into my satchel, sheathed my broadsword on my belt, and grabbed my quiver of training arrows from the floor before I unlocked my door.

  Then I marched out of my room, down the stairs, and through the long, ornate hallway. I followed the corridor past the other bedrooms and the indoor training ground before opening the door to the outdoor space behind the house.

  I wasn’t always the first to wake and train, but I was always on time for my sessions.

  Sheltered only by the trees, the area behind our estate comprised a whole acre of training ground for us assassins. Master had struck up a deal with the elements of the forest to keep us concealed, and in turn, he got the surrounding woods more rain from the water gods. This meant the trees grew so dense and large out here that from above, nobody could see what we were doing.

  A huge wall that stood fifteen feet high surrounded the perimeter while the outside of the wall looked like part of the forest itself. If anyone tried to step close, the screams of the forest would scare them away, so nobody ever found out our building extended as far back as it did.

  The inside of the courtyard had concrete flooring the same color as sand, and it was sunken into the ground with a wide platformed ledge around it. The lower area was where we did most of our sparring and fighting practice, but plenty of residents used the surrounding overgrown grounds for any purpose they required in their training.

  Our Master would often come and watch us from the platformed edges to ensure our techniques were well-honed, but he only ever trained us himself within the inside training ground.

  “Dex,” a woman called out as I made my way toward the farthest side of the courtyard.

  I looked over and saw two peasant-looking women, and the one who had called to me only joined the estate not too long ago. She had boils that grew across her rounded face and eyebrows that were gray and wild. Her skin was as thick and as textured as leather, and her calves bulged bigger than any other part of her body.

  “Spodium,” I called back to the woman.

  She was down in the sparring pit, so her head only reached up to my shin.

  “On time yet again,” Spodium chuckled.

  “As always.” I smiled back.

  The other woman, who was named Incrassatum, gave me a vicious smile
and turned back to practice her sword work. She was an unforgiving woman, with harsh, black eyes, and dull hair, and she’d been at the building for many, many years. So, she already knew small talk wasn’t really encouraged in the training ground.

  I humorously gave into Spodium, though, because she was still new and learning. She had a child-like sense of wonder and carried around her introductory sword as if it was made out of explosives.

  “We’re just doing some sword work,” she said with a nod of excitement. “Second day. Any tips?”

  “A sword is only as strong as the person who holds it,” I said and crouched down to meet her eye line. “Don’t be afraid of being tough and strong. I know for human women in this kingdom, these sorts of things are seen as negative qualities, but here, it is a sign of honor, and you shouldn’t forget that.”

  “That’s really good.” She nodded as if I had just told her the secrets of the universe. “Anything else?”

  I thought for a moment, and then I smirked. “Just try not to fuck up.”

  I quickly stood up as she muttered thank yous under her breath, and her sparring instructor spat on the ground before insisting they get back to their work.

  Spodium struck the sword heavy-handedly toward Incrassatum, who easily swiped it away from her, causing the sword to fly through the air and then hit the floor. The twang of the metal hitting the ground echoed through the training ground, and Spodium gasped with embarrassment.

  “Sorry!” she groaned.

  “Hmm,” Incrassatum snarled as she reached to pick up the sword, and she sent me a displeased look.

  I offered a light shrug in return.

  They started to fight again, but this time, Spodium was lighter and more agile. She was shaken up by the embarrassment of her previous try, but her swipes were still vicious and thoughtless. She would need lots more practice before she would be allowed out in the field.

  I mentally took note of her strength and spirit, though, and I knew she could be a valuable resident if she learned to clean up her technique. Strong and peasant-like women had always done well in our business. No one ever suspected they were sitting around and begging in the streets just to kill a nobleman, least of all the nobleman himself.